by Shandi Boyes
With us being left alone for the first time this evening, it doesn’t take long for the heat sizzling between Skylar and me to become too much to bear. Sharp jabs switch to flirty grabs, innocent touches to needy gropes, and grunts to moans.
By the time we reach the fourth serve in our game, our remotes are dumped on the coffee table, and we’re wrestling on the floor.
“We need to be quiet,” Skylar talks over my mouth, her hand slithering between us. “If my dad catches us, you’ll be a dead man walking and don’t get me started on what Brooklyn might do—”
I cut her off with my mouth, kissing and tasting her as I’ve been dying to do all evening. She melts for me, her breasts flattening against my hard, thrusting chest. I groan into her mouth when she slips her hand into my briefs. I was so caught up sampling the lip gloss I’ve admired from afar all evening, I didn’t realize she had undone my belt.
As I drag my tongue along the ridges in the roof of her mouth, she grinds her fiery heat along my leg. She dry-humps me and pulls me off at the same time. Something so simple shouldn’t feel so good, but I’m quickly learning that anything Skylar does is above my highest expectations. It feels fucking fantastic.
We don’t have time to be slow and tender. If we’re caught, I’m confident my nuts will no longer be attached to my body, but that doesn’t mean Skylar can leave this den unsatisfied. I have a no-orgasm clause to uphold. I just need to get her at a better angle.
Skylar squeals when I roll us over, so I’m crushing her tiny body into the carpet pile with my big frame. “Remember, shh?”
Her mouth falls open with a silent moan when I grind against her. I’m still wearing trousers, but the friction of my zipper on her damp panties is enough to spike her pulse. I rock against her on repeat, the face she makes when she’s close to coming doubling my pace.
Cum bites the crest of my cock when her moans ramp up, but since I’m conscious of where we are and what we’re doing under her parents’ roof, instead of listening to her pleas, I clamp my hand over her mouth before grunting for her to come. I don’t care if she leaves a wet patch on my jeans. I’ll pretend I pissed my pants like Joshua did just to see her face in ecstasy because I love seeing her like this, defenseless, and at my complete mercy.
“Come for me, amore mio. Come for me now.”
Skylar nods as the flare of her nostrils double. It takes another three rocks of my hips for her to succumb to the tingling sensation dotting her gorgeous skin with goosebumps, but when she does, the sight is even more beautiful than I hoped.
Lust flares through her eyes as her back arches. Although her mouth is still covered by my hand, the faintest whisper of my name breaks through the cracks in my fingers. It has me thrusting into her harder, making her become one with the carpet pile.
I’m close to making a fool of myself, but before I can, a commotion sounding from above us steals both my excitement and ease.
“Don’t walk away from me, woman. Get your ass back here.”
With Skylar’s head still in a lust cloud, she doesn’t respond to the clear act of violence in the same manner I do. She remains lying on the floor, unaware I’m bolting in the direction of the shouted words until I’m halfway up the stairwell.
She calls my name, but my legs continue pumping. I climb the stairs two at a time before ripping open the door with enough force to thread its hinges.
The horrid notion that ran through my head as I made my dash confronts me when I enter the living room at the speed of lightning.
Skylar’s dad is standing over her mom. Her knees are shaking, and her cheeks are red.
Blinded by rage, I charge for Tyler. My roar alerts him to my advance, but not even the panic on Summer’s face slows me down. I ram her husband with my shoulder, knocking his six-foot-eight ass onto the floor before I pummel my fists into his face.
I get three solid hits before I’m pulled off him by Legend and who I assume is Skylar’s eldest brother, Jethro. He’s the spitting image of Legend, just several inches taller.
It takes both of them to hold me back, my fight replicating one I did only a few months ago.
“Calm the fuck down, man. What the hell is wrong with you?”
I don’t hear a word Jethro is speaking. I can’t hear anything but the blood rushing in my ears and Skylar’s repeated demand for her brothers to let me go.
When they finally relent to her screamed demands, she drops to her knees in front of me, her panicked eyes shooting between her dad whose split lip is being assessed by his wide-eyed wife and me. “Jesus, Shortie J. What were you thinking?”
She inhales a sharp breath when I murmur, “He was hurting her. I made him stop.”
“No, he wasn’t,” she whispers with a shake of her head. “It’s a game they play. If my mom leaves the room without kissing him, my dad tells her to get her ass back to him. He’s done it since we were little. He’s just playin’. He’d never hurt her.” Although her eyes are still brimming with the effects of an orgasm, they’re also full of honesty.
“He wasn’t hurting her?”
Tears glisten in her eyes when she shakes her head. I wish they were enough to force me to stay and face the consequences of my actions like a man. Unfortunately, they have the opposite effect. I race out the front door of her family home even faster than I charged for Tyler, not stopping until my lungs are void of air, and I hate my dad even more than I already did.
Chapter Thirty
Lorenzo
I glance up from my busted knuckles when the crank of a car door opening sounds through my ears. White air puffs from Skylar’s lips when she spots me sitting on the stairs of a local football field a few miles from her childhood home. I don’t know how I got here, but I’m reasonably sure the blisters on my feet weren’t there earlier tonight.
After bobbing her head back into the car her mom is manning, Skylar grabs my jacket and a blanket from the backseat before making her way to me. The icy grass crunching under her boots is barely heard over the rumble of her mom’s engine when she leaves her with me.
Who does that?
Who leaves their daughter alone with the maniac who assaulted your husband?
Before I can work through half my confusion, Skylar stops to stand in front of me.
“Sky—”
“Don’t start, Lorenzo, as I’m still torn on whether I should kick your ass or bawl my eyes out.” I expect her to throw my jacket into my chest, so you can imagine my surprise when she drags my hands away from my body so she can straddle my lap. Her heated breaths on my neck warm up my dead-cold heart when she murmurs, “Do you have any idea how long you’ve been gone? We’ve been searching for you for hours. I’ve been panicked out of my mind.”
Why isn’t she angry?
Why isn’t her voice displaying one-tenth of the anger I anticipated?
I beat her father, yet she’s not mad.
Am I dreaming?
It takes several long seconds for the truth to find its way to my blurry head. “Who told you? Was it Jonah? Or did you google the reason I’m spending a season abroad?”
Skylar inches back, not enough that her body heat stops soothing the shivers wreaking havoc with mine, but enough I can see the truth in her eyes when she murmurs, “I’ll never google you. If I want to know something about you, I’ll ask you.”
My lips twist in anger. “So, it was Jonah.”
“No.” Blonde hair shelters her bright eyes when she shakes her head. “He’d never betray you like that, Lorenzo.”
“Then who was it?”
My past won’t excuse my actions tonight, but I’m clutching at straws, so I can’t let a single one fall.
Skylar hesitates for the quickest second before she murmurs, “It was you.”
I balk, stunned. We’ve had a handful of sleepovers the past month, but I don’t talk in my sleep.
Well, I don’t think I do. I’m sleeping, so how am I to know what I’m doing?
“Do you not remember wha
t you said while throwing your fists into my father’s face?” Her question increases the heaviness on my chest. “It wasn’t anything bad, Shortie J… it was just evident you weren’t beating my dad.”
She gives me a few seconds to ruminate over her reply before straight-up asking, “You weren’t beating my dad, were you?” She offers me a ghost-like smile when I shake my head, grateful for my honesty. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head again. What could I say? My father still bullies and intimidates his wife and children more than a decade after leaving us for his ‘other’ family. That’s why I agreed to a one-off chance to play abroad. It wasn’t for the record-breaking one-season contract like I’ve been showboating. It was to get away from my father before I either killed him or he killed my career.
Hate is a powerful word, but extremely accurate when referencing the man who created me. I hate him with every fiber of my being. But even more than that, I hate that it took my mamma so long to see him for who he really was.
Don’t get me wrong. I love and admire the woman my mother has become since my father left us. I just wish she could have been that woman years earlier—years before he broke me.
Although haunted memories are holding my emotions hostage, they’re not strong enough to know what I did tonight was wrong.
“Why aren’t you mad at me, amore mio? Why aren’t you angry I hurt the man you love?”
She brings her face close to mine. Lips to lips. Nose to nose. Eyes to eyes. “Because you protected my mother. Why would I be angry about that?”
“Because your father wasn’t hurting her.” Shock resonates in my voice. It’s as high as my confusion.
Skylar’s eyes bounce between mine. They’re not the least bit irritated. “But you didn’t know that at the time, did you?”
It kills me, but I shake my head, taking the cheats way out of my fuck-up.
“Then what’s there to be mad about?” I peer at her like she’s certifiably mad when she laughs while wiping a rogue tear off her cheek. “In a way, I kind of feel sorry for you.” When confusion makes itself known with my face, she laughs even louder. “You have no idea about the shitstorm you’ve created for yourself, do you?”
“I’m getting an idea,” I murmur while peering at her with a cocked brow.
She whacks me in the gut, taking my jib as intended—playfully. “I’m not talking about me. If you failed to demand a psych workup before signing our contract, that falls on you, hotshot. I’m talking about your ability to put a man double your size on his ass. If dad doesn’t already have Coach Sullivan awaiting your return, I’m sure he’ll pay you a visit before sun-up.”
“Coach Sullivan?”
I’m about to go on another rampage when her eyes flare at the mention of his name. “He’s the local football coach for this region. Four-time state championship coach, to be exact.” Her delicious scent eases my wish to go on a murdering spree when she burrows her nose into my neck. “You beat my dad, and he’s not even mad. I don’t see that being the case for Legend, though. You just became his father’s new pet project. He might hate you even more now.”
I swallow the lump in my throat before asking, “What if I don’t want to be your dad’s pet project?”
She peers up at me with her big bello eyes out in full display. “You should have thought about that before you put him on his ass. As far as my father is concerned, you’re no longer the number one striker in the continent. You’re an up and coming offensive lineman.”
I’d laugh if she didn’t sound so serious.
“You’re joking, right?” When she shakes her head, my irrational response to a man flirting with his wife is a thing of the past. “That would be ludicrous. I’m one of the highest-paid sports stars to date. I’m not taking a pay cut to play football.” I gag out my final word like Skylar does when referencing soccer.
Skylar isn’t the least bit confronted by my rant. “I’m sure I can convince you to give his idea a little more thought.”
I scoff. “I highly doubt that—”
My reply is cut off by a tasty pair of lips. Skylar’s kiss is so mind-hazing, it soon has me believing a switch in sport would be a small price to pay if it guaranteed her lips remain attached to mine for longer than our signed contract.
Chapter Thirty-One
Skylar
We kiss from the soccer field to the Uber I asked my mom to order when we found Lorenzo in the first place I should have looked.
We kiss the entire drive to our hotel.
Then we kiss some more while stumbling to our room.
I should be angry for the way he ran, but for the most part, I’m relieved we found him uninjured. I’m not lying when I say he scared the shit out of me. The look on his face before he sprinted out of my family home will stay with me forever.
Don’t misconstrue, I would have preferred our night to be without bloody knuckles, bruised cheeks, and a cut lip, but perhaps now my dad will think twice before playing his alpha, dominant game in public. My family understands it’s a joke, and my mom loves provoking his dominant side, but tonight exposed how easily it can be misconstrued as violence by someone who’s been through some sort of abuse.
Although I’m still in the dark about what Lorenzo went through, it’s obvious who his anger centers around. He didn’t mention his father’s name once while Legend and Jethro held him back from my dad. He shouted it multiple times, along with many other unkind words.
It broke my heart hearing what he said, so much so, I went to him before my father.
Most women would be mad their ‘boyfriend’ beat up their father. Fortunately for all involved, my family isn’t close to normal, so neither am I. Legend is pissed, but not in the way you’d expect. He’s as pleased as the rest of us that Lorenzo would protect our mother no matter how perverse her aggressor. He’s just annoyed what Lorenzo assumes is a joke isn’t.
My father was so impressed by Lorenzo’s tackle, he strategized ways for Lorenzo to switch sports while mom and I attended to his split lip and busted cheek. If he can defend a quarterback with half the intensity he used to protect my mom, I’m siding with my dad. Lorenzo would make a great offensive lineman.
Unfortunately, he’s too good of a soccer player for me to give my dad’s idea more thought. As much as this kills me to admit, Lorenzo wouldn’t be who he is if he didn’t play soccer, and I don’t want him to change for anyone.
As we break through the entryway of our room, we claw at each other’s clothing. With the night crisp, we have way too many pieces of material between us. We move remarkably quick considering the slow, teasing pace of our kiss. We’re yanking, tugging, and pulling with aggression, but the swipes of our tongue are gentle, almost sweet like, and the movement of Lorenzo’s lips are pure heaven.
“Help me, amore mio. Get those gorgeous tits out for me.”
Like a desperate loser, I yank down the front of my bra, spilling my cleavage over the flimsy material barely capable of keeping them contained.
“Grazie,” Lorenzo murmurs before taking one of my hardened nipples into his mouth.
As his tongue swivels around the peaked-with-need bud, we shuffle to the bed. His pants are wrapped around his knees, and his thick shaft is being stroked by my hand in the same tantalizing slow pace he’s caressing my breasts with. It should be awkward and clumsy, however, it’s as hot as fuck. The fact he can guide me across the room at the same time he initiates my sprint to the finish line is extremely impressive. I’ve never been more turned on.
A mere second after the bedding hits the back of my knees, Lorenzo releases my nipple from his mouth with a pop, then gently pushes me back. The floral duvet hugs my curves when I raise my backside off the mattress to aid in his endeavor to tug my jeans down my thighs. Once he has them dumped next to the bed along with his shoes and trousers, his lips return to my breasts. He drags his five o’clock shadow over the bouncing globes before cupping one in his big strong hand.
As he
gropes and caresses my breasts as if he hasn’t done the exact thing multiple times the past two months, he lowers his spare hand to the wetness I should be ashamed of, but I’m not.
“All this wetness for me, amore mio. I’ve barely touched you.”
I lose the chance to reply when he dips one finger inside me. Just like his attention of my breasts, he fingers me slower than the pace we usually go. It doesn’t lessen the impact, though. A wave builds quickly in my womb, equally terrifying and wanted. I writhe under him, my back arching when his fingertip finds the sweet spot inside me.
“Lorenzo,” I cry out, sinking deeper into the mattress.
His finger thrusts into me faster, deeper, a rhythmically talented pace that soon has me coming undone. “Do it, amore mio, beg for me.”
“Please… oh, God… please.”
When he adds a second finger into the mix, an orgasm slams through me, making me gasp and shake like the devil is being exorcised from my body. I can feel Lorenzo above me, his lips on my ear, his considerably thick cock weighing heavily on my thigh, but I’m lost to the sensation, blurred by lust.
He continues finger fucking me, taking everything I’m willing to give and more. While his thumb circles my clit, he tells me how good it feels to have my pussy sucking at his fingers, how he plans to have it doing the same thing to his tongue the instant I’ve begged him to taste me.
I’m barely coherent, but not even the world’s densest lust cloud can hold back my desires. “Do it, Shortie J. Eat me until I scream your name. Fuck me with your mouth. Please.”
I feel his lips raise against my neck before he murmurs, “It’ll be my pleasure, amore mio.”
When he draws a line from my neck to the invisible rim where the waistband of my panties would usually sit, I quiver. He takes his time kissing the inside of my thighs, the back of my knees, and the erogenous area above my heated core before he shifts his attention to the area acting as if it didn’t just reach climax.
