Give You Up (Dumas University Book 1)

by Ashlyn Mathews

  “Aw, baby, I’d never do that to you.”

  “Prove it.”

  “You sure? No regrets? I mean, once we do this, we keep on progressing.”

  “What happens after?”

  “You’re mine. Exclusive. I won’t settle for anything less, baby. I’m done with casual. Done with feeling empty. You get me?”

  “I do.” I slide my body over his. “No regrets.” Drop a kiss on his forehead. “No throwbacks.” On his big nose. “Only forward for us.” I capture his mouth in mine. Coax his mouth open. Tangle my tongue with his.

  He tastes good. Lime and tequila.

  I suck on his tongue. Tongue the inner walls of his mouth. Melt into him. His hand glides down my back. Cups my ass. I tremble. Shiver with anticipation.

  “Taron.” I whimper. Pant. Moan. Sigh.

  “Fuck, baby. The noises you make. So fucking hot.”

  That so? I can up the temperature.

  “I want to blow you.”

  “Jesus, Syn, the words that come out of your mouth.”

  “Too much?”

  Another chuckle from him, the deep sound stroking me from head to toe, and my oh my, my toes are curling.

  “Not at all. You are turning me on. Keep talking dirty to me, babe. I’ll never tire of it. But only with me. Talk dirty to a different dude and I will fuck him up, got that?”

  I am wet. Can’t speak worth a darn. Ready for a taste of him, I slide down his body. Skim my finger over the soft head of his erection. Stroke up and down his thickness.

  With my knees tucked under my chest, I take his length and thickness in my mouth. He is salty. Earthy. Warm flesh. Ridges. I cup his balls and bob my head up and down. I suck and suck. Lick him like a lollipop.

  “Fuck, baby. Fuck, what you can do with your mouth . . .” He tangles his fingers in my hair and guides me up and down his erection. “Digging the lip ring. That sliver of metal will be the death of me. Heaven, Pixie Dust. Pure heaven.”

  Good. I suck harder, hollowing my cheeks. Saliva coats his penis. Covers my fingers. I suck more. Run my tongue from base to tip. Mouth the head. I’m ready for another round, except large, calloused hands grab me under my arms, tug me up, and suddenly I am on my back.

  “Taron?”

  “Syn. Baby. No more. You’re gonna make me come.”

  Taron kisses along my temple, down my jawline and my neck. He keeps on going until he gets to my breasts. He palms my breasts. Grasps my nipples between his fingers. Tugs and pinches them. Pain. Pleasure. I arch my back. The throbbing between my legs is relentless. More so when he goes alpha male on me.

  “Beautiful. Perfect. Mine. Another man touches you and I will fuck him up, Syn. No doubt about it. Are you hearing me? You. Are. Mine.”

  “Yours. All yours. I would never cheat on you.”

  I’ll tell him the truth. In real life. What we are doing right now is a dream.

  He takes a nipple in his mouth, then the other, lavishing equal attention on the hardened buds. He uses his tongue, his teeth, his fingers. He grazes the buds with his teeth. Licks them with his tongue. Pinches them with his fingers until I am moaning and writhing beneath him.

  “Taron. Inside me. Now.”

  “Not until you come.”

  “I can do that with you in me.”

  “Have you changed your mind? Do you like sex, Syn?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why is this different?” He trails his fingers between my breasts and goes low. Anticipation courses through my veins. I tremble. Squirm. Beg for him to slip his fingers inside me.

  “What’s different, Syn?” He challenges me to admit the truth that’s been in my heart for the longest time.

  “You. You’re the different.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  He goes in deep with his finger in one thrust, the intrusion so sudden, I arch my back. Grind my hips into his finger. Beg him to fill me full. He slips in another finger and another until I am stretched. My head goes side to side. I fist the covers in my hands, sheer pleasure rocking through my body. Too much. This is too much. It’s also not enough.

  “Tell me what you need, Pixie Dust.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. Shake my head. Guys don’t go down on me. They want to climb inside me and get off.

  “Syn, baby?”

  “I want your face on my sex.”

  “Not dirty enough. Say what you mean, Syn.”

  “Eat me out.”

  “Eat what out?”

  Oh, God. Oh, God. I open my eyes. Lock my gaze with his.

  “Eat out my pussy.”

  “Better.”

  He presses his face to my sex. Drags his nose over my wetness. He worships me with his mouth, his tongue, and his soft murmurs of how beautiful I am, how good I taste, and how good I smell.

  He laps up my wetness. Sucks on my clit. I fist the covers in one hand. Fist his hair in the other. I press him against my heat. Implore him to please, please, eat me out. I expect my pleas to be met with him being rough with his mouth and his tongue. Instead, he explores my slit and my folds with a gentleness that has me squeezing my eyes shut and an ache heavy in my chest.

  He cares.

  Taron cares about my needs. That I get off. That I am liking us making love. Making love. Not sex. Not a hookup with a random guy. But making love with the man I want in my life as we progress through life together. Because isn’t that what life is, a work in progress?

  “Taron?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I like you.”

  His chuckle reverberates against my sex. “I like you too, Pixie Dust. No regrets?”

  “None.”

  “Good.” He sucks on my clit, and I shatter, coming so hard, my eyes roll into the back of my head.

  He licks more. Sucks more. Too much. Oh my God, his mouth on my sex as I’m coming off my toe-curling climax is too much. I shove him away. He is not having it. Taron hooks his arms under my trembling thighs and covers my sex with his mouth. The aftershocks are mind-blowing.

  I sink into the bed. Smile. Stretch my hands above my head. I am the pussy cat that got her way. The pussy cat getting stroked as the sun heats her.

  Sated, I reach for him. “Inside me. Now.”

  He doesn’t hold back. With one thrust, he is all the way inside me. I suck in a breath at how well he fills me. I am full of his thickness. Stretched to the max. Moaning, I sling my arm over my eyes and breathe in and out.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “No. You feel so good, Taron. It’s never felt this good.”

  “Then you’ve been with the wrong guys, baby.”

  I take my arm away from my eyes. He’s staring down at me with this shit-eating grin on his face, and I love it. So stinking love his smugness. Grabbing him by the back of his head, I bring him down to me and smash my mouth on his. He opens to me. Our tongues tangle. Our breaths mingle.

  He thrusts into me. Fast. Hard. Deep. I demand he go faster, harder, and deeper. My body tingles. My breaths come out in spurts. Pulling back my knees, I grab on to his ass cheeks and tip up my hips. He slides his palms under my butt and pounds into me.

  The bed shakes. My head nudges the headboard, and I am seeing stars, but for a different reason. Like the delicious throbbing between my legs and the thickness stretching my sex kind of reason. Done with my head bouncing off the headboard with every thrust from him, Taron helps me move down the bed, away from the headboard.

  Grateful, I hook one leg over his hip. Bring the other knee up. It’s the perfect move. The best position. He goes deeper. Hits a spot that eases the throbbing in my sex. He pulls out of me. I whimper.

  “I gotta go deeper, baby.”

  “Deeper than how deep you were?”

  “Yes, Pixie Dust. I want to make you feel so good. Let me.”

  I nod, my insides clenching with longing, my arousal pouring from me. Taron cinches his hands around my ankles. Sets my heels on his wide shoulders. I am spread wide for him. My legs shake. M
olten heat sweeps over me. Impatient, I reach down and finger my clit. It’s swollen. Slippery. I moan. Rub at the slippery knot.

  Taron watches, his eyes so dark with desire, I get lost in their depths.

  “Fuck, babe, that is hot.” He clamps his mouth over mine.

  Kisses me hard. Thrusts his thickness inside me, filling and stretching me. He is deep, his body rocking into mine. Needing to touch him, to feel a deeper connection, I reach up and splay my fingers on his shoulders. Caress along his jawline. He is so sexy. So damn sexy with the look of rapture and concentration on his face. Him inside me feels good for him, too, but he also wants to make sure I like it.

  “You inside me feels so good, Taron.”

  “Not too deep?”

  “You’re perfect.”

  As though he wants to prolong my pleasure, he slows his pace. Crushes his mouth on mine. I grip his biceps. Rake my nails over his flesh. Dig my heels into his shoulders. The ache between my legs grows. He takes me higher, pumping in and out of me, his thickness stretching me.

  “I’m close. Please, Taron.”

  He ups his pace. Is done with slow and worshipping. He goes faster. Pounds harder. Thrusts deeper. It’s too much, and I shatter. He comes with a loud, “Fuck,” and a whoosh of breath. He collapses on me. Drops kisses on my forehead, my nose, my cheeks, my mouth. I grin from ear to ear.

  This aftermath is different from my random hookups. Taron didn’t roll over and go to sleep, not too worried for my safety to see me out, just as long as I’m not around in the morning. I wouldn’t want to do the walk of shame, anyway. Instead, after showering kisses on me, he cleans our sex mess from between my legs and cocoons me in his arms. I have never felt so wanted.

  He pulls the covers over us, dropping a kiss on the top of my head. The intimate gesture undoes me, and reaching back for his arm, I sling it over my body and press a kiss to his knuckles.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what, Pixie Dust?”

  “For changing my mind. I like sex. With you. A lot.”

  “I like sex with you too, Syn.”

  Like. Sex. Not love. Not making love. I am right and wrong. Right that this is a dream. Wrong that our “work in progress” will lead to love.

  In real life, Taron and I won’t be falling in love. We fall into sex.

  That is all we’ll be good for together.

  We’re different people now and want different things in life. We have different priorities too. And even if he did want me for more than sex, will he accept my past when he finds out about my life with Hunter and Rhett?

  Or what if he only wants me for the sex? I’m different from the other girls he’s been with. The girls who post pictures of Taron’s dick aren’t tatted or pierced. They look clean and wholesome. Some are tall and slender. Others are slender and petit. Some have large breasts. Others have smaller breasts than mine.

  I like sex with Taron. He likes having sex with me. But will it ever be just me he wants? Or is he more like Beau, going from one woman to another after he is bored with them or is propositioned by someone younger and prettier than the current woman he’s with?

  Dashing away the doubts, I snuggle into his heat, curve my body into his large, muscular frame, and give in to sleep, ready for another dream of making love with Taron.

  21

  Syn

  I wake up sore the next morning, and it’s the good kind. Like a night of marathon sex with a guy capable of giving me multiple orgasms.

  Smiling, I rise to a sitting position and stretch my hands to the ceiling. The sheets fall from my body, and my nipples harden from the rush of air hitting my chest. I look down. No tank top. I lift the sheets. No panties. What the—?

  “I wasn’t dreaming.”

  “Not at all, Pixie Dust.”

  My head snaps up. Taron is standing at the foot of the bed. In his hands is a tray, and on it are two mugs, doughnuts, sandwiches, and bowls of fruit.

  “Good afternoon, sleepyhead. I have brunch.”

  Brunch? I’m starving, but my head is not on the food.

  “We did it.”

  “Hell yeah, we did. Best sex of my life.”

  “This is a dream.” I pinch myself. “The aftermath of a dream.” I pinch harder. “I’m dreaming in my dream.”

  Masculine laughter. My attention swings back to Taron. His dark eyes gleam.

  “Syn, babe, you are sexy when you panic.” He sets the tray on the bed and picks a grape off the vine, rolling the green ball between his fingers. His eyes hanging on my breasts, he pops a grape in his mouth and moans.

  I bunch the covers in my hands, freaked out of my mind I’ll start tweaking my nipples and beg him to suck on them again. Or worse, sliding my hand between my legs and touching myself while watching him pop more grapes in his mouth, Taron moaning as though they are the best things he’s tasted since chocolate was discovered.

  “Syn.”

  Gravelly. Low. Seductive. The place between my legs throbs anew. My face heats. Taron hunches over the foot of the bed with his hands planted on the mattress. He is ready to pounce, and God forbid if he takes too long. I am ready to collar him around his neck, shove his head between my thighs, and demand he lick me until I come apart from the force of my climax. Instead, I remember I have a brain and come to my senses.

  I stick out my hand. “Don’t you dare get any closer until we talk through what happened. And panic is an understatement. I’m mortified, Taron.”

  I throw off the covers, and balanced on my knees and my hand, I point a finger at him.

  “We had sex and you weren’t wearing a condom. For the love of all that is holy, you have partners in the high double digits!”

  “I gloved up every time.”

  “Not with me you didn’t.”

  “My one exception. Anyway, I get tested regularly.”

  “When was the last time?”

  “After I saw you at Bayside.”

  “And sex? When was the last time?”

  Lopsided grin. “You and me in the wee hours of the morning.” He pops another grape in his mouth. Moans.

  I will not be distracted.

  I will not think of his mouth wrapped around my nipples.

  Or how my toes curled every time he sucked on the little balls.

  “Aside from me, how long ago?” I ask, out of breath from the vivid images of his mouth and his hands all over my body. And his cock? God, he filled me full. Made me feel so special with how tenderly he took care of me afterward. Safe, too, wrapped up in his arms.

  “Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”

  He waggles his brows. This guy. I hurl a pillow at him. He ducks, and it sails past his head.

  “Eight months ago.”

  “Damn, you got me beat, Pixie Dust. Six for me.”

  “Weeks or months?”

  “Do you have to ask?”

  “Yes.” I climb off the bed and stand with my hands on my hips. “Yes, I do. You are prolific.”

  “Prolific?” He laughs. “I call it stamina. Should we test out your choice of words, Syn? When I eat you out, finger you until you come, or pound inside your pussy until you see stars, will you be telling me I’m prolific or have stamina?”

  He has had more sex partners than I have, but I can keep up, thank you very much, and I tell him so.

  He rubs his chin. “Hmm, is that so?”

  I hold back the urge to wipe the smirk off his face. “So.”

  “Are you telling me you would forego a tour of the city and would rather spend it in bed?”

  “Afraid you won’t be able to keep up with my prolific demands and stamina?”

  Smiling, he cups the back of his head. His T-shirt rides up, showing off his steel abs. His low-hung jeans slide down his hips, giving me a mouthwatering view of his V-cut and strip of dark hair disappearing down there.

  “Not afraid at all, Pixie Dust. Show me what you got.”

  “You asked for it. Strip, champ. Let’s get this o
ut of our system.”

  He yanks off his shirt. Slides off his jeans and boxers, giving me a hell of a show. Good God, those grabbable hips, thick thighs, oodles of dark hair on his legs, his monster erection. He put that thing inside me this morning? I swallow down my nervousness.

  “One full day of you won’t be enough, Syn.”

  “It has to be.”

  “Give me a different option.”

  “Like what?”

  “You’re the smart one, baby.”

  “Fine.” I lick my lips, ready for him to put his hands and mouth on me and his cock inside me. “Friends with benefits. No more. No less. If anyone asks, we disavow our FWB arrangement.”

  “Disavow? Like we never slept together?”

  “Yes, Taron.”

  “For the record, I’m not fine with that. If I had my say, I’d be shouting to the world you’re mine, Syn Winters, but to keep you at my side and in my bed, you have yourself a deal.”

  “Good, now get over here and make me come until I see stars.”

  22

  Taron

  Syn has never been this wild before, and I am digging this new her.

  That sliver of metal gliding over my cock as she blows me will be the death of me. I sink into the bed, ball the covers in my hands, and concentrate on not coming in her mouth. Her mouth is tight, wet, hot, taking in my length and thickness with ease.

  And the slurping noises she makes, the way her cheeks hollow . . . I close my eyes and groan. Jesus, she has no gag reflex.

  Syn goes faster. Takes me deeper. I fist my fingers in her hair, and with my other hand on the back of her head, I guide her up and down my cock. She’s between my thighs with her knees tucked under her, her beautiful tits bouncing with every bob of her head.

  “Syn. Fuck, baby, you’re so good with your mouth.”

  Her eyes slide up. They are hooded. A flush paints her pale cheeks crimson. Syn is beautiful, sexy, and she is mine. Releasing my hold on her hair, I skim my fingertip over the purple balls above and below her right brow.

  “Sexy. So fucking sexy.”

  Next, I sweep my finger under my cock and caress the strip of metal hugging her bottom lip. Her lips loosen around my steel rod, and eyes closed, she licks up and down my shaft. Heat coils in my groin. Cool metal heats my throbbing flesh with every stroke, gliding over the ridges of my cock. I go from simmering to boiling in a heartbeat.