A/N: Thank you all SO much for the reviews for the last chapter. I feel so bad b/c I didn't get to respond to all of them like I normally do. :( Sorry, guys. Please know how super appreciative I am for every single review. Yeah, so this chapter is LONG. But, it all just seemed to fit, so I hope you enjoy the ride. Definite progression in this chapter.
A special thanks to Mandy, as always, for being super-dee-duper awesome. Also, to Rachel and Jenna. Mwah!
"There's our little starlet," Quinn warmly greeted, looking up from the sink where she was peeling potatoes when Rachel walked into the spacious kitchen. "You looked and sounded fantastic, Rach!"
"Thank you, Quinn," Rachel beamed, setting down the carrier of pies she'd brought with her. She wrapped her arms around her friend for a quick hug. "Happy Thanksgiving." She opened a cabinet and grabbed an apron. "What do you need help with?"
"Can you get started on the dressing? The bread is already dried out. It's in that bowl over there. I hope we have enough food," Quinn said, looking nervously around the kitchen.
Rachel snorted out a laugh. She was fairly certain there was enough food to feed two armies. "I think we'll be okay, Fabs."
"Well, Finn eats a ton and I would assume Puck does as well," she shrugged. "And I've seen you eat Thanksgiving dinner before, so I should probably send you back to the market for another sack of potatoes." Quinn made a silly face and Rachel laughed.
"Hardee har," Rachel snapped, without heat. She put a gigantic skillet on the stove and added three sticks of butter. The smells in the kitchen were heavenly and she couldn't wait to tear into some food later. She methodically chopped onions and stalks of celery, adding them to the pan. "What time is everyone else getting here?"
Quinn glanced at the large clock mounted on the wall. "Hard telling with them. Any time really. Are you going to be okay with Puck here today?"
Rachel continued sautéing vegetables and nodded casually, even as her blood sang just hearing his name mentioned. "I already told you it's not a problem."
"I know you did," Quinn evenly responded, looking up from potato duty. "I don't know what came over me, but when Finn said Puck wasn't working and he wasn't going home for the holidays, I just invited him over. No one should be alone during the holidays. Even that Neanderthal," she added with a sigh.
A smile lit across Rachel's face. "You're softening," she teased. "Seems love agrees with you, my friend." She lifted her head met her friend's eyes.
"We're not—" she began, but the arch of Rachel's eyebrow stopped her. With color flooding her cheeks, she blurted, "I am one hundred percent, completely and ridiculously in love with Finn Hudson."
She pressed a hand to her chest. "Sweetie, that's amazing!" Rachel gushed.
Quinn shook her head, started pacing around the kitchen. "It's insane! We've only been together for a couple of months. How can I already be in love with him? I'm not this person. I make fun of the people that are totally ass over teakettle after a few months and look at me now! I'm one of them," she cried, gesticulating wildly.
Rachel opened a cabinet and pulled out two wineglasses, pouring them each a full glass of white. Handing one to Quinn, she looked at her encouragingly. "But?"
"He's it for me. I know it…I feel it. It's just—he's just—everything," she finished, tilting the glass to her lips and drinking deep. Her eyes brimmed with tears and a few spilled over as she started a hybrid of hysterical laughing and sobbing.
"Aw, honey," Rachel cooed, setting down her glass to wrap her friend in a hug. "I'm so happy for you," she murmured against her blonde head. And she was really and truly happy for her best friend. Her own eyes stung and went blurry with unshed tears. "Have you told him how you feel?"
"N-n-noooo!" she cried.
Rachel pressed her lips together to stifle the giggle that bubbled up in her throat. "Fabs, you should tell him. I'm willing to bet anything that he feels the same way about you."
Quinn lifted her head from Rachel's shoulder and glanced up into reassuring brown eyes. "You think so?" she sniffled.
Puck followed Finn through Quinn's apartment and his mouth instantly watered. His belly was going to be nice and happy later and for that, he felt very thankful. He carried the case of beer and bottle of wine he'd brought (hey, he wasn't raised in a barn no matter how many times he'd been accused) into the kitchen and ran straight into Finn's back when the taller man stopped abruptly. "Jesus, Finn. Been walking long?" He looked around his tall frame and saw Quinn and Rachel hugging each other and crying. "The fuck are they crying for?" he muttered loud enough for Finn to hear.
"Quinn?" Finn began carefully. "You okay, babe?"
Her head shot up and her terrified gaze sought comfort in Rachel's warm and reassuring smile. She nodded slightly and brushed away the tears. With one last you can do it from her friend, Quinn went and stood before her boyfriend, looking way up to meet his kind eyes. "We need to talk," she smiled, lacing her fingers through his and leading him out of the kitchen.
Embarrassed that she had tears in her eyes, Rachel tried to discreetly wipe them away with the back of her hand before turning and offering Puck a watery smile.
His brows knit together as his mind ran over possible reasons for the tears. "Jesus, Quinn's not knocked up is she?" he asked.
Rachel barked out an incredulous laugh. "What? No!" she said, shaking her head adamantly.
Puck expelled a breath and bridged the gap between them, reaching out the pad of his thumb to gently wipe away a stray tear on her cheek. "What's with the waterworks?"
"Nothing. Quinn and I were just having a total girl moment. All's well." The dimple on her chin winked when she flashed him a genuine smile. "Hi," she started over. "Happy Thanksgiving."
He shook his head, deciding that he'd never in ten zillion years understand teary women. But seeing as the tears weren't his fault and she was now smiling and wishing him Happy Thanksgiving, he damn well knew better than to question it. "Happy Thanksgiving," he smirked. Looking over his shoulder and seeing no one, he decided to take advantage of their moment of privacy. He leaned down and captured her lips with his, savoring their sweet warmth for a brief moment. The stern, warning look she attempted when he stood to his full height made him chuckle.
"We need to be careful," she whispered heatedly. The admonition quickly fell away when those full, sexy lips of his quirked into a lopsided grin and it made her feel tingly and warm all over. "Seriously," she added, smirking this time. Turning her attention to the bottle of wine in his hand she lifted her eyes to his and arched a brow.
"My mama raised me right," he laughed, handing her the bottle.
A crafty smile stretched over her pout. "And how is your mother? I trust our wedding plans are progressing nicely," she teased, turning her attention back to the pots on the stove.
He leaned against the counter and smirked down at her, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath about her being evil. "Your name is now Jewish Rachel just so you know. The ol' yenta called me this morning to natter on about seeing you in the parade. She thought you were wonderful—though not as wonderful as you could have been had you sang a Jewish song."
Rachel laughed and picked up her glass of wine. "You shouldn't talk about your mother that way."
"Whatever. She's bat shit crazy. I'm sure you have a nice normal mother. Me, I've got Rose Puckerman." He noticed the smile on her face falter and a hint of sadness ghost in those brown eyes of hers. Shit.
"I don't have a mother," she told him simply.
"Shit. I'm sorry," he offered lamely," running a hand over the back of his head.
Her smile returned and she shifted to look at him. "Don't be. That's just a fact of my life—I don't have a mother and I never have. Well, I mean she gave birth to me of course, but she never took care of me outside the womb. I have two amazing dads though."
Puck's brows furrowed together. "You have two…" then he remembered the picture in her room. Oh. Oooooh. "Hey, right on," he shrugged. "That's two more than I've got," he told her flippantly, scratching his eyebrow and grabbing a beer.
The corners of her mouth turned down as she stared at his back. "I'm—"
"Don't say sorry," he told her flatly, turning back towards her. "Because I'm not. Mitch Puckerman is a worthless piece of shit that was a drunk on the good days and liked to slap his wife and kids around on the bad. I'm not the least bit sorry dear old Dad's not around anymore." The muscles in his jaw clenched tightly and he wasn't sure why the hell that had just come pouring out. He hadn't talked or thought about his sperm donor in a long time.
"Noah," Rachel said softly, laying her hand gently on his arm.
The use of his first name hadn't gone unheard. If it wasn't used under these circumstances, he might have enjoyed the sound of it on her lips. "Rachel, seriously, he's not worth the oxygen," he insisted. He brought the can to his lips and took a big gulp, ending his participation in this particular conversation.
With a slight nod, she turned her attention back to cooking. She knew better than to press when family issues were involved.
"And what's with the Noah business?" he asked lightly, leaning back against the counter again.
Deflection it is, she thought, her lips twitching from his statement. She slanted her eyes towards the door before sliding them back in his direction. "I can't call you Noah?" she asked coyly. His full lips pursed, making the sexy chin dimple pop. Her head cocked to the side and she looked up at him under lowered lashes. "You put your dick in me on a regular basis—I think I can use your given name from time to time." She smiled kittenishly when his eyebrow quirked up in surprise. Light and fun—those were their terms—and so far, they'd served them both very, very well. He chuckled and twisted a lock of long, dark hair around his finger briefly, bringing the beer to his lips once again, not taking his eyes off hers.
"Touché, Rachel."
The front door opened and Kurt's voice called throughout the apartment. Rachel gave Puck one last knowing smile before moving around the kitchen to grab the remaining ingredients for her dish.
"Happy eat yourself into a coma day," Kurt called happily, breezing into the kitchen, his boyfriend, Drew, close behind.
Rachel popped the baking dish into the oven and set the timer. "Happy Thanksgiving!"
Puck nodded at both of the men and muttered a few words before brushing past them on his way to the living room.
Kurt and Drew both angled their heads and watched him go, appreciating that fine male specimen.
"I saw that," Rachel called in a sing-song voice.
"Well, Rach, just because we're happy and committed, doesn't mean we're blind or dead," Drew said with a wry grin, making Rachel chuckle. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Happy Turkey Day, doll face."
"Same to you, Drewsifer," Rachel said warmly.
"Where's Q?" Kurt asked.
"She and Finn are talking somewhere—probably professing their love to one another," she smiled. "They're so sweet." Rachel gathered all the plates and silverware that she needed and headed for the dining room.
Kurt waited until she was out of earshot and gave Drew a pointed look. "Well?"
Drew shook his head as he poured them each a glass of wine. "I think you're reaching—I don't see it."
"Pfft! I stand by what I told you last week," he said, lowering his voice. "Rachel and Puck are totally doing it. I'm now 99% sure."
Laughing, he took a sip of his wine, handed a glass to Kurt. "Okay, you've now gone up two percentage points from last week. What brought that on?"
"His cologne," he nodded seriously. Drew snorted into his glass. "You laugh now, mister sister, but I'm willing to bet my new Gucci loafers that those two are a making the beast with two backs at every available opportunity."
"What does his cologne have to do with it?"
"The cologne he's wearing today? I smelled it on Rachel last week when I was at her apartment. She took forever to open the door and she looked, for lack of a better word, thoroughly had, when she finally did."
"Why don't you just ask her? Have you said anything to Quinn?"
Kurt gave his boyfriend his best withering bitch, please look. "Of course not. Hello! Please keep up." Drew rolled his eyes. "We can't tell Quinn because she still doesn't like Puck much and she would probably talk Rachel into putting a stop to sexing him up. I can't talk to Rachel about it because she's clearly trying to hide this and once light gets shed on it, she'll retreat and possibly miss out on something great."
"Then why are you so hell bent on figuring it out. Why not just let Rachel live her life and stay out of it?"
"It's like you don't know me at all," Kurt sniffed. "Because I'm helping—just, you know, in a behind-the-scenes, puppet master kind of way. What's the name of that cute guy in your office that I wanted to fix Rachel up with?"
"Mark?" Drew asked, struggling to follow Kurt's train of thought.
"Yes! Perfect," Kurt exclaimed, clasping his hands together.
"Oh, no—I know that look. What are you up to?" Drew asked hesitantly.
"I'm merely collecting information and testing a few theories. Just follow along at dinner."
The large dining room table was impeccably and ornately decorated and large dishes of food spanned nearly every inch of available surface. Everyone took a seat and raised a glass in toast of the holiday. Rachel saved Puck, who was seated across from her, for last. He shot her a sexy little smirk before tapping his glass to hers. "Let's eat," she announced, averting his gaze as warmth surged to her cheeks. It was really proving difficult to keep their—whatever—a secret.
Conversation and laughter flowed around the table as they ate and Quinn was remarkably more relaxed since she'd told Finn that she loved him. Her happiness multiplied when he told her he felt the same. She felt a tiny bit guilty for rushing off like that and leaving Rachel in charge of fixing the rest of the meal. But, she and Finn had gotten a little carried away after their verbal I love you exchange with some physical expression and they'd lost track of time. She leaned over to Rachel. "Thanks for getting everything finished. I'm really sorry about abandoning you."
Rachel grinned knowingly back at her friend. "No, you're not. And I wouldn't be either if I was in your shoes. I'm really happy for you, Fabs."
"Thanks, Rach. I still can't believe it," she whispered, the bright as sunshine smile lighting up her pretty face.
She felt Puck's foot nudging hers under the table. When she glanced up, she found him fully engaged in a conversation with Drew about the Giants. At first she thought it had been an accident, but when his foot travelled higher up her leg, she should've known that he'd try and mess with her for his own amusement. Well, two could play that game. Slipping out of her shoes, she trailed a bare foot up his jean covered leg until her toes nestled against his crotch. Wiggling them gently, she lifted her fork to her lips and took a big bite of mashed potatoes, her eyes dancing playfully when he looked lazily over at her and arched a brow in warning. They really weren't very good at being inconspicuous today.
"Rachel, darling," Kurt began, noticing the way her head snapped to his quickly like she'd just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. He quelled the urge to grin.
"Yes, Kurt?"
"Drew has this friend at work, Mark, and we—"
"You," Drew corrected pointedly, wanting to stay the hell out of it.
Kurt stared indolently at his partner and then back at Rachel. "As I was saying, I think Mark would be perfect for you. Why don't we set that up?"
"Oh, that's—that's sweet, Kurt, but no thank you," she said, trying to be polite.
"Come on," Kurt prodded, sparing a glance at Puck, who was leaning back in his chair, seemingly amused by the whole situation. "I showed him your picture and he's very interested in meeting you."
"Well, bully for Mark," Rachel said sarcastically, spearing the green beans forcefully with the tines of her fork. She was uncomfortable, to say the least. Puck was watching her interestedly across the table, his lips twisting into a wry smirk; Kurt's eyes were boring intensely into the side of her head. Then Quinn joined in the mix.
"What are we talking about?" she inquired curiously.
"I'm trying to set up Rachel with a guy that works with Drew. His name is Mark; he's 27, super gorgeous, smart, funny, athletic, looks great in a suit and he has season tickets to both the opera and the Giants."
"Rachel, he sounds perfect," Quinn said. "You should give him your number."
"No, I'm good. Thanks," Rachel begged off.
"Do you have a picture?" Quinn asked Kurt. "Maybe a picture would help."
"Mmm hmm," he hummed, grabbing his camera and flipping through his photos. "No, no, no. Oh, here we go. Met him at happy hour last week."
Rachel grudgingly took the camera and looked at the photo. He was a cute guy—seemingly tall, nicely built, crystal blue eyes and light brown hair that was just shaggy enough to be considered fashionable and not unkempt. "Not bad," she shrugged, not daring to look at Puck for fear of giving them away.
"Need your eyes checked, Rachel? He's a little hottie," Quinn exclaimed. "Do it. Go out with him."
"Yes, Rachel, go out with him," Kurt chimed in, noting that Puck was beginning to look a little perturbed.
"I'll think about it," Rachel snapped, inwardly wincing the moment the words were past her lips. "Can we just table this for now? It's Thanksgiving."
"Hmm, fair enough," Kurt said, pleased as punch, this time catching the muscles in Puck's jaw tightening as he stabbed a piece of turkey harder than was necessary. Excellent. Mentally, he rubbed his hands together in a Mr. Burns-like fashion.
Rachel and Quinn were putting the kitchen back to rights after the meal when Puck called out from the living room, "Yo, Berry, your Colts are about to start playing."
"Rachel, I've got this," Quinn said, snatching the dishtowel from her hands. "I know you want to watch the game, so just go. I owe you for finishing up dinner."
Her eyes lit up and smiled gratefully at her friend. "Thanks, Fabs." She never got to watch games live because of work, so this was a rare opportunity. After cutting a slice of pecan pie and adding whipped cream to the top, she hurried to the living room. Finn was sprawled out over the length of one sofa and Puck's frame ate up a large portion of the loveseat. "Scooch," she ordered haughtily, sitting down next to him.
"Maybe if you give me your pie," he said lecherously.
She rolled her eyes. "Your lines land like bricks. Mine," she scolded, slapping his hand away when he reached for her plate.
Finn stood up. "I'm going to go help Quinn clean up," he said.
Puck smirked and made a whipped sound, complete with hand motion. He chuckled lowly when Finn flipped him the bird and lumbered away.
"You're an ass," Rachel told him, casting her eyes sideways towards him. She found his careless shrug adorable and held her plate out, offering him some pie. "One bite."
He grinned, and grabbed the fork and shoveled a mammoth bite into his mouth. "Holy fuck this is good," he grunted with his mouth full. "You make this, Smalls?" He swallowed and went for another bite.
"Yes, now go get your own. Oh, the game is starting." She forcefully yanked the plate out of his hands and dug in, her attention focused on her boys in blue.
With an exaggerated sigh, he pushed himself off the couch and strolled into the kitchen, finding Finn and Quinn sucking face and getting extremely hands-y. Deciding against acting like himself and interrupting with a way to go, bro! he grabbed the pie carrier off the counter and fled back to the living room. "Time for us to go, Berry."
"What? Why?" she looked up with a pout.
"Shit is about to get x-rated in the kitchen." He leaned in closer, "how about we go do the same at my place?" He noticed the look on her face and smirked. "After the game is over."
Rachel beamed. "I'll get my coat."
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" she shouted, jumping to her feet when Peyton connected with Dallas Clark in the end zone. "Number 44, baby!" She plopped back down next to Puck on the couch, nudging him playfully. "Did you see my boyfriend, Dallas, score? Huh? Didja?"
Puck rolled his eyes and chuckled. "You've got serious lady wood for Dallas Clark."
Rachel let out a little moan by way of agreement. "I do. He's thick and juicy."
"He's not a steak, Berry. And he's got a porn 'stache."
She turned her head slowly and regarded him. "Jealous?" she asked impishly.
Puck snorted. "Bitch, please," he tossed back jokingly.
"And it's not a porn 'stache. It's a goatee," she corrected primly. "Extra point—good!" she excitedly called, raising her arms straight up in the air before turning and shooting a dimpled smile at him.
Puck shook his head, fighting off his own grin. He had to admit that he was shocked by her knowledge of football. He figured her one of those girls who claimed to like the game but only knew the name of the quarterback. (He'd met many of those girls in his day) The fact that she knew every player, coach, and the types of plays being run was fucking sexy and it impressed the hell out of him.
But then again she was constantly surprising him and keeping him on his toes. And he liked that about her. A lot. He usually didn't get to know any of the girls he slept with and he sure as shit didn't keep them around this long. This thing between them was a nice change of pace. Now before you go thinking he'd gone and sprouted lady parts, they were still just friends who fucked (a lot), and he had a knuckle sandwich for anyone who suggested otherwise. Puckerone didn't do relationships and she didn't want one either. It was the perfect setup. Seriously. Rachel Berry was a smoking hot chick who made him laugh and was killer in the sack. It was a wonder though that she didn't have guys falling at her feet and eating out of the palm of her hand. He thought that if she wanted that, she could easily make it happen. (With lesser men of course and not him obviously. Duh!)
He felt her lips press against his earlobe and her warm breath on his neck. "The game's over. Wanna play with me now?" she whispered seductively. He could feel her smile against his neck as she walked her fingers along his bicep, her scent surrounding him.
She could very well be the best friend he'd ever had, he thought as a slow, wicked grin spread over his features. "You're not going to pretend I'm Dallas Clark are you?" he asked gruffly.
Rachel stood up and smirked down at him. "I wouldn't do that. Again."
His jaw dropped; she grinned. And like a shot, he was off the couch, chasing her through his apartment as her laughter squealed through the air. He caught up to her, slung an arm around her waist and hoisted her off her feet, effortlessly tucking her tiny form under one arm. Growling in her ear, she laughed even harder. "Berry, Berry, Berry," he scolded, carrying her towards his bedroom, "what am I going to do with you?"
"I can't wait to find out," she giggled.
Her face was illuminated in the soft golden glow from his bedside lamp as she slowly writhed on top of him. He watched her, completely transfixed, while her hips swiveled in a slow, tantalizing rhythm that made his breath come a little faster and his heart pound a little harder. She was absolutely gorgeous with her head tossed back and a hand tangled in that mass of thick, dark hair, the other trailing down the valley between her perfect breasts. The breathy way she moaned his name while looking down at him through lowered lashes with a faint smile on full, pink lips made him never want to leave his bed.
It was in these moments that he allowed himself to think she was completely his and he was hers. (Even though he didn't want to begin to define what that meant exactly.) But she was fucking his, because the thought of her doing this with anyone else made his skin turn fifty-seven shades of green and had his hands itching to rip faceless men limb from motherfucking limb if they even dared to look in her direction.
He was sure she wasn't sleeping with anyone else. Well, mostly sure. That was something that hadn't been defined or even talked about in the midst of laying the ground rules for their…whatever. He hadn't so much as breathed in another woman's direction since the afternoon he'd kissed her on the sidewalk in the middle of the goddamn snow—and that shit, while trippy and weird, didn't bother him. What bothered him now, as more breathy moans passed through her lips, were guys named Mark that her friends wanted to set her up with; or that fucking dude Ben that he'd found in her apartment that one night and knew for a fact she'd gotten on her back for. Well, fuck all that. Because Noah Puckerman? Didn't fucking share.
"Rachel?" he bit out, his voice raspy.
"Hmm?" she sighed, her hips rocking a little faster.
His hands came to her hips and guided her movements. She felt so goddamn good. "I've got a rule to add to our…arrangement."
She opened her eyes a little wider and smiled down at him, planting her hands on his chest. "Okay," she said, quickly followed by "Oh, God, this is good. What's this new rule?"
"As long as this thing between us lasts, you only fuck me. No one else," he said harshly.
The words hit her like a bucket of ice water. Her hips stilled and her eyes flew open to glare into his. "Excuse me?" she ground out. She moved to climb off of him, but his grip tightened around her hips and kept them joined. He bucked his hips, thrusting deep inside her, and her eyes rolled back in spite of herself.
"What's the big damn deal? I just want to hear you say you're not doing this with anyone else but me."
"You're an asshole," she snapped. "And an idiot. You're the only one I've been doing this with, Puck. Though after this, I don't think we will again."
His eyes narrowed to thin slits and he reared up so they were face to face. "Like hell, Rachel. You don't want this to end." He fisted a hand in her hair and roughly dragged her lips to his, kissing her forcefully. She resisted briefly, then he felt her resolve slip and she kissed him back with as much fervor as he did her. "Neither do I. Just tell me," he bit out.
Angry tears stung behind her eyes. "I already told you," she spat heatedly. "I'm not with anyone else. But I also said that we should only do this for as long as it's fun. You insinuating that I get on my back and point my heels to God for anyone with a penis isn't fun."
"That's not what I fucking said." She struggled in his grasp and he wrapped his arms tightly around her, burying his nose in her hair. "That's not what I said," he repeated softly. "Don't put words in my mouth."
"What about you, huh, Puck? Are you out banging chicks in bathrooms or closets until I get off work?" She hated that she went there, but turnabout was fair-fucking-play and when she was backed into a corner, she swiped back.
He lifted his head and stared down heatedly at her. "I haven't touched anyone since you. Haven't wanted to."
She believed him. But, God, it would make everything easier if she didn't. This thing was getting complicated already and she wasn't sure she was equipped to handle it. "I believe you," she sighed. "Why don't you believe me?"
"Dammit, Rachel! I never said I didn't believe you," he growled. "All I'm asking is that we only have sex with each other for as long as whatever this is lasts. And you're not going out on a fucking date with that douche Kurt wants to set you up with either."
It was as though the clouds had suddenly parted, allowing the sun to shine clearly over the real issue at hand. He was jealous. "You're an idiot," she said again, though she rolled her hips into his. And then did it again.
"You still pissed?" he asked dumbly, loosening his hold on her arms. He figured if she was still having sex with him they must be good.
"Yes, I'm still plenty pissed and I'd like for you to just shut your damn mouth for a little bit," she bit out, screwing her eyes tightly closed, pumping her hips furiously against his. His lips closed over hers in a bruising kiss and she dug her fingers into his shoulders as she rode him as hard and as fast as she could, sprinting towards the finish line as the crazy and commanding lust wound itself into a tight coil in her belly.
Puck swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet finding purchase on the floor. His hands gripped her shoulders and slammed her down again and again on his cock, which only served to make her movements even more powerful and frantic. His brain screamed for oxygen and he tore his lips away from hers, sucking in a ragged breath. Her eyes flew open and locked heatedly onto his. "Fuck me," he ordered, bucking against her. "Fuck me!"
And she did. Hard. Fast. Furious. The burning between her thighs hit a fever pitch and her entire body was on fire. His teeth bit down against her pulse point and his fingers slipped between them and pinched her clit, hurling her over the edge as every color of the rainbow bloomed in her vision and a primal scream ripped from her throat.
Her walls clenched like a vise around his cock and he came hard and fast after her, shuddering violently as the orgasm wracked through his body. He swallowed thickly and raised his head. Rachel had her forehead pressed against his shoulder, her chest heaving and her warm breath hitting his heated skin. Gently, he combed his fingers through her hair and tipped her head up until her warm brown eyes met his.
The heat and anger had melted away from his eyes, she noticed, and his fingers were ghosting lines up and down her spine as he dipped his head to kiss her lips. That kiss was tender and sweet and everything that the last ten minutes had not been.
"I'm sorry," he murmured against her mouth. "I'm an asshole." She didn't say anything and it unnerved him. After a moment she pressed her lips fully against his and leaned back to look at his face.
"That whole fucked up situation aside, Noah, I'm still having fun with you," she said finally.
Puck's lips twitched up into a relieved smirk. "Ditto."
She sighed, her own smile fluttering across her face. "Want to go eat some pie?" she asked, smoothing her hair behind one ear. "And by that I mean dessert, not a euphemism for my vagina."
He laughed and kissed her noisily on the cheek, making her giggle. "Sounds good. You wanna watch your parade performance?"
Rachel's eyebrows shot up. "You recorded it?" she asked incredulously.
He bit the inside of his lip and shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed before remembering badasses don't get embarrassed. "Yup," he grinned.
And when her face lit up like the Fourth of July, he knew he'd been forgiven.
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