by Shandi Boyes
The sparks that forever sizzle between us assures me we have nothing to worry about, but Skylar would rather be safe than sorry—although she was quick to agree to my request for no condoms. I’d had her bare. I couldn’t go back.
Limp and exhausted, Skylar buries her head into my neck. “Oh, God… I don’t think I can do another one. I’m fucked.”
Her lips raise against my skin when I murmur, “Literally.” I peel her off me by her shoulders, lie her flat on the bed, then adjust the tilt of her hips. “One more, then you can rest.”
“I can’t… I’m done… I need to starfish…” Her words grow needier with each one she delivers. It isn’t her wish to sleep that has her resurrecting from the grave, it’s the roll of my hips. I’m not giving her all my cock, but I am ensuring the rim around the crest hits the sweet spot inside her that’s acting as if it hasn’t been stimulated multiple times this week. “You’re mean, Shortie J. You shouldn’t even know that spot is there. No other guy ever has.”
Usually, the mention of another man would bring out the big, ugly beast only Skylar can conjure, but since he was mentioned with a compliment, his second head isn’t as big as the one I’m feeding in and out of Skylar’s drenched pussy.
“Look at me, amore mio. Let me see those bello eyes.”
She peers up at me, blinking and exhausted and so fucking beautiful.
“You’re going to come with me, okay? Then we’ll sleep.”
She doesn’t freak about my underhanded suggestion for her to spend the night. More times than not, she’s up and dressed before the last drop of cum shoots from my cock. She’s quoted multiple times that she understands what our arrangement is and how she’ll never do anything to make me panic that she’s becoming attached.
Little does she know, I’d rather her stay.
Coach is pissed I’m not getting close to his required sleep schedule. I would if I didn’t spend half my night tossing and turning while wondering what Skylar was up to. Name one addiction that’s good for you. I’ve yet to find one.
“Yes, amore mio. Like that,” I praise when she swivels her hips, welcoming me inside her more. She’s drenched, but her swollen pussy is struggling to accept all of me.
For fake lovers, we sure know how to make love. We move together in sync as if designed to only fuck each other. When our eyes collide, I can’t fight the sensation gripping my sack for a second longer. My hips jerk to a halt a mere second before hot spurts of cum rocket out of my cock.
My orgasm sets Skylar off. She comes again, shuddering in a way that prolongs my climax.
Once my balls are spent of cum, I untie her, brush away the hairs clinging to her sweaty head, then roll onto my side. She stiffens when I tug her over so the soft contours of her body can fill the hard ridges in mine, but she doesn’t voice a protest.
“Goodnight, amore mio,” I breathe into her neck, my commanding tone advising her this sleepover isn’t up for argument.
My lungs push out a windless chuckle when she murmurs back, “Heads up. If your morning breath smells like a raccoon’s ass, we’re going to have words.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Skylar
Fresh and minty air is fanning my lips, my front is heated by something that feels endurance ready, and the aura of hot, heated sex is sizzling in the air. I’ve woken to worse—much much worse, and this is the first time I’ve had a sleepover with a male bed companion.
The joys of older brothers.
“No, stay. Just a few more minutes,” Lorenzo begs when I attempt to free myself from his clutch. I remember falling asleep with his still-hard cock nestled between my butt cheeks, but I have no idea how we ended up in the twisted mess we’re in now.
“I need to pee.” The squeezes of my pelvic floor muscles to amplify my statement unlocks another travesty. “And I’m in desperate need of a shower. I’m covered in goop.”
“My goop. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Says the guy not covered in cum.”
I whack him in the chest to loosen his grip before rolling over. When I stand from the bed, I’m tempted to crawl straight back into it. I don’t care how afraid of commitment you are, everyone loves the revitalizing zap of an orgasm, much less multiple ones. My thighs are shaking, and it has nothing to do with the five hundred butt crunches I do every morning.
But, regretfully, I wasn’t lying about needing to pee. My bladder is about to burst, and any girl over the age of eighteen knows the importance of peeing after sex. With that in mind, I trudge into the bathroom and plop onto the toilet.
My stream stops mid-flow when Lorenzo shouts, “Fuck!”
I shoot my eyes around the bathroom door, panicked. I only partially closed it during my shuffle to the bathroom, but I was sure it was shut enough he wouldn’t witness my peeing.
We’ve grown close the past month, but we’ll never be that close.
When I fail to find any sign of him, I ask, “Is everything okay?”
He grunts and groans before muttering, “I forgot about the friendly match coach arranged. He’s going to kill me if I don’t turn up.”
“A friendly match?” I finish peeing, wipe, flush, then wash my hands. “Since when has any game been classed as friendly?”
When I enter the main bedroom, I see Lorenzo is flinging clothes in all directions as he hunts for his keys. Regretfully, some of them managed to land on his glorious body, hiding it from my view. “Between bragging rights and testosterone, they’re rarely friendly, but they’re a good way to build morale amongst team members.”
He grunts in victory when he finds his keys in the pocket of his trousers. When his eyes lift to me, his stare pins me in place. “Amori mio…” he grunts again, this one more in pain than happiness. “If I don’t attend this friendly, I’ll be benched for my next game.”
“Then go—”
“And leave you looking like that?” He thrust his hand at my naked self leaning on the doorjamb of the bathroom. “Not a chance in hell.”
My hips sway more than intended when I enter the room. I can’t help it. I love the look he’s giving me. I’ve never felt more treasured. “Then, I guess you’ll be benched.”
I shrug as if I don’t care he’ll be sidelined from a game I know he loves. I’m not doing it to be mean, I’m just hoping my dislike of what he classes as a sport will see him tearing out of here sooner rather than later, then I’ll have a few minutes to work out why I’m not freaking about our sleepover.
My dislike of soccer is displayed on my face when Lorenzo says, “Come with me.”
“To a friendly match? Not a chance in hell.” He doesn’t smirk over my impersonation of his accent like he usually does. “It’s not even a real match.”
“It will help get the press on your side.”
I arch my brow at him. “As I said last night, I don’t care what they think about me. I’m a big girl. I can handle their wrath.”
He looks torn between tying me to his bed and ripping my head off.
I really hope it’s the former.
After a few seconds of silent deliberating, he asks, “What if I sweeten our deal, will you come then?”
After picking my clothes up from the floor, I shake my head. “It’s almost killing me orgasming three times a night as it is, so I doubt there’s anything you could offer that would be of interest to me.”
I’m such a liar. I can think of hundreds of things he could give me, but I’ll never let him know any of them. We’re friends with benefits. Nothing more, nothing less, so pretending we are will only end badly.
My eyes snap to Lorenzo when he asks, “What if I went with you to your cousin’s wedding next month? Will you attend my friendly, then?”
I stare at him, shocked and muted. How does he know about Natalie’s wedding?
Bile scorches my throat when he lowers the privacy blind that showcases we’re not the only ones having a late awakening. The city below is surprisingly quiet. The wall calendar Willow
, Elvis, and I ruminated over for hours is tacked to the back of it. I’m not shocked he kept it, it’s an excellent way for him to keep track of the dreaded witching days, but I’m not a fan of the red crosses marking the days we’ve been ‘courting.’
Usually, people countdown to joyous events in their lives, not one that will see them returning to Singleville.
If I needed a reminder that our relationship is only temporary, I don’t anymore.
My eyes drift to Lorenzo when he says, “The last thing you want is for Lincoln McGuire to think you’re still single because you’re pinning over him.”
His comment reveals he pays more attention to me than I realized. I only said to Willow last night how much I’m dreading going home. I love my family and my friends, but who in their right mind wants to attend the wedding of her ex whose affair with her cousin produced a child?
I could pretend they have me to thank for their buck-tooth bevy of children, but then I’d have to be the bigger woman, and I’m not known for clemency. If you do me wrong, I’ll screw you sideways until your insides fall out.
“If Lincoln doesn’t already know what an idiot he was, I’m sure he’ll realize when you show up with a bigtime footballer on your arm.”
“You had me at idiot, Shortie J, but you lost me on big-time footballer. You play soccer—”
Lorenzo finalizes my much-loved scorn for me while bridging the gap between us. “You don’t want to do this wedding alone, and I want to experience what America has to offer. We can cross off both items off our hitlist with one event. It’s perfect… much like our previous arrangement.”
His frisky wink makes me smile. I’m naked, so technically, he could force my agreement as he has multiple times the past month. I like that he’s trying something new. It has me being more flexible. Not much. Just a little.
“One friendly match without body paint. That shit takes time. And…” I pause, building the suspense. “… you have to do me a favor before the wedding.”
I eye him curiously when he says, “Deal,” before holding out his hand in offering.
“Don’t you want to know what the favor is first?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Why?”
He crowds me against the bathroom door with his big, impressive, yet height-restricted frame. “Because if it’s happening with you, amori mio, I’m up for anything.” He nips at my kiss-swollen lips, his mouth lingering as he murmurs, “Now get dressed before I throw my entire career down the toilet just for the quickest taste of your lip gloss.”
Ten minutes later, Lorenzo begs me to hurry up.
“I’m coming. Sheesh. This shit takes time.”
His eyes bug out of his head when he takes in my teeny-tiny booty shorts and singlet strapped shirt. Then his jaw falls to the floor when he spots the badly botched number nine on my cheeks. “I didn’t have access to my body paint, so I used eyeliner.” When his eyes can’t pick between drinking in my legs or my face, I ask, “Should I get changed? I don’t want you getting injured.”
“No. There’s no time for that.” He ushers me into the elevator I rode upside down in last night before murmuring, “But you’re sitting near the opposition’s goal line the entire match. If his eyes are on you, he won’t see me coming.”
He stops halfway into the elevator car when I murmur, “Coming at him with the ball or your fists.”
If he smirks one more time today, we won’t make it to his friendly.
“I’m undecided. My balls no longer resemble Smurf nuts, but their natural coloring didn’t factor in when I drank in your teeny-tiny shorts. And these…” The female elevator attendant’s knees wobble as effectively as mine when he growls while peering at my breasts. “Fuck me, amori mio. Are you trying to kill me?”
“Depends.” I swivel on the spot like I’m hoping he’ll buy my innocent act. “Am I in your will?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Skylar
I’m wiping the last of the eyeliner off my cheek when Willow enters our dorm. Her brow cocks when she drinks in the red welt the makeup left on my face. This is the first time my cheek has worn a single-digit number, and she’s more than happy to announce she’s noticed it.
“Lorenzo had a friendly match. I couldn’t show up without some sort of gimmick on my face. It wouldn’t be me if I did.”
“That’s true,” she agrees, entering our room and closing the door. “I’m just struggling to work out where you slept last night that had you in the position to attend a friendly so early on a Sunday morning. The Magic Mile Slug-a-thon was on, which means you generally bunk with me in an unknown location during festivities, yet, you didn’t answer any of my texts offering for you to stay at E’s. I thought you would have been there with bells on.”
“Three months ago, I would have been. Now…” My words trail off when I can’t find a suitable reason for my lunacy.
I will always be Presley ‘Elvis’ Carlton’s number one fan, he just doesn’t have all my devotion right now, and as much as I want to say it’s because Lorenzo’s team plays friendlies shirtless, that wouldn’t be entirely true. I enjoy spending time with Lorenzo, so much so, I’m making up more and more excuses as to why we need to see each other more than twice a week.
As Willow approaches me sitting in front of the mirror tacked on the inside of our closet door, I strive to wipe the riled expression off my face. It does me no good. Even with her head being banged into the headboard many times the past three months, she still has enough brainpower to see through my ruse.
“You’re not under arrest, so you didn’t attend Magic Mile. The nightclub closed its doors not long after we parted ways, and my call of every hotel outside the five-mile radius of your plea-bargain perimeter revealed you didn’t pay for a room for the night. So, where were you, we’re-just-fuck-buddies Maine?”
The suspicion in her tone exposes she knows my answer, but I help the girl out. It’s a wing-woman’s job.
After placing my soiled makeup-remover wipe into the waste bin, I swivel around to face her. If the guilt on my face doesn’t tell her my whereabouts, I’m sure the gigantic hickey on my neck will.
She doesn’t know whether to be pleased or angered by my love bite, so she goes with concerned. “I thought you said rule number one of your contract was no feelings.”
“It is. A hickey doesn’t mean anything.”
Willow dumps her backpack onto her bed with a huff. “He’s branding you. That’s a clear fuck- off-she’s-taken sign for any guy... even the stupid ones.”
She’s right, but I play down her worry. “We have an exclusivity clause, so as far as I’m concerned, he can mark me for the next three months. Then, once our contract is over, he’s free to brand anyone but me.” I cough to hide the gurgle my stomach got during my last sentence.
“So, you’re still casual? There are no feelings whatsoever.”
I nod. It’s not a solid, straight-up confirmative head bob, but it’s a nod, nonetheless.
Willow gives me her motherly glare. “So, sharing pictures of you on his social media accounts is perfectly normal?”
She doesn’t wait for me to answer her. She just pulls her cell out of her pocket, logs into her Instagram account, then swivels her phone around to face me. I’m not surprised by the image she brings up. Lorenzo caught me by surprise in the locker room. After shouting, “catch,” he tossed a soccer ball at me. I barely had the stupid ‘football’ in my hands for two seconds, but it was long enough for him to snap a picture of me with it.
I wanted to die when he uploaded it to his social media accounts. However, my panic subsided when I saw how many likes and comments he got. It wasn’t even up for five minutes when his page went into meltdown from his fans wanting to know who I was, how they could get copies of his picture, and if I’m single.
Lorenzo loathed the last question. Serves him right. He’ll think twice before uploading another picture of me in booty shorts.
“Have you ever hi
t the little translate comment link at the bottom of his posts?” Willow underlines the link she’s mentioning with her index finger. Her mothering is cute, and it makes me smile.
“No…” When she attempts to interrupt me, I cut her off with a stern glare. “Because I don’t want to know what he’s saying about me. I like the mystery. It’s why I’ve never googled what amori mio means.”
“Sky…”
“Willow…” I mimic her worried tone. “It’s fine. We’re just fuck buddies, and I’m perfectly okay with that.”
She flops onto her bed with a groan. “If he hurts you, I’ll be forced to illegally import a koala to shred him to pieces.” I’m dying to jump in, but I wait for her to elaborate. Thankfully, she doesn’t keep me hanging for long. “I threatened him with a drop bear if he got so much as a scratch on you.”
I love that she went to bat for me, but I’m still confused. “I thought you said drop bears don’t exist?”
She rolls over to face me, the worry on her face fading. “They don’t, but I wanted him scared.” When I laugh, she joins in. “It worked. He looked ready to poop his pants.”
I laugh so hard, my muscles ache as much as they do every night I sneak out of Lorenzo’s bed. I know, without a doubt, Lorenzo is more than capable of taking care of himself, but it’s funny how others believe his height lowers his bad-ass factor. I bet their mindset would change if they saw how he took down Joshua and his two brawny friends. Jonah did such a remarkable job burying the story of Lorenzo’s arrest, only a hundred or so people saw the footage before it was removed from all sites. With a large check more enticing than new followers, the people who recorded Lorenzo’s fight permanently deleted it from their phones and social media accounts.
