by Vera Roberts
Dean slid the bikini bottom to the side and entered her. Sydney gasped and Dean groaned as he completely filled her. She softly convulsed and tightly gripped him as he slowly eased himself inside her.
Sydney felt like she was about be split apart as she pushed out another harsh breath. She’d known about his length and girth for a while but it still surprised her every time they’d made love.
He moved inside her with deep and powerful strokes before he increased his tempo to hard and fast. He wanted to hear her moans, her screams, and her cries. He wanted to feel the deep welts in his back as she couldn’t get enough of him.
Every stroke was a silent gesture to Sydney – You’re mine. Now and forever.
“I want you to beg me for it,” Dean whispered, “beg me to please you. Beg me to let you climax.”
Sydney felt delirious as the room spun around them. The man she wanted to spend forever with was making love to her as if the world was going to collapse. Small pings of pleasure zapped and pricked all over her body as Dean continued his unrelenting thrusts to her. “Dean, please….” She cried.
Dean soon got his wish as Sydney’s moans filled their loft. Their bodies slapped against each other in perfect rhythm as they held hands and tangled tongues. They switched positions with Dean sitting on the sofa and Sydney cradling him.
She eased up and down on his long and thick length before building to a steady tempo of her own. She drove him to new and inexplicable heights with her lovemaking as if she were descended from above just to please him. She kissed and nibbled on his neck while her hands caressed his muscular chest. Heat swelled inside her as she increased her tempo and took all of him.
Dean guided her hips before he slid his strong hands easily to the curve her ass and held on tight. He called out her name as she taunted and teased him with her movement. He wanted to make love to her forever.
“Am I yours?” She asked as they rocked back and forth.
“Forever,” he breathed, “are you mine?”
“Forever,” she nodded.
They raced to a frenzied finish as Sydney softly convulsed around Dean, softly called out his name while he soon joined her in a white-hot explosion.
Sydney fell back to the sofa, as Dean collapsed on top of her, and she stroked his blond locks. “You know, I can really go for some Kool-Aid right now,” she spoke.
“Red?” He asked.
“Red.”
Ten
That son of a bitch!
Rebecca stared at the People magazine layout for the umpteenth time that morning. In glossy photos were the pictures of Sarah’s and Jameson’s spontaneous Vegas wedding. Up close photos showed Sydney and all of her blindly white teeth. Rebecca retrieved a Post-It note and placed it over Sydney’s face. Much better.
She flipped the page and saw pictures of Dean getting ready with Jameson. He was happy, with his whole mouth full of teeth showing. They were laughing and joking about something.
Dean looked gorgeous in tuxedo with a black tie. He always hated wearing a bow tie and felt it could never look good on him like it did other men, so he went another direction. It worked. Dean was often listed as one of the best-dressed athletes.
Because of me.
Before Rebecca got a hold of Dean, he was nothing to write home about. He always looked like he just left some bar and half the time, smelled like it. His clothing was just rags he picked up from the mall and never spent a second thought on how to coordinate. His old car was a jalopy he’d driven since high school that often broke down.
Within a year, Dean transformed everything about his life – his finances, his looks, and even upgraded his cars – and Rebecca was the reason why.
He grew his blond locks long past his shoulders. His workouts became more serious and his washboard abs showed the hard work. His cheap dollar store colognes morphed into Creed, Gucci, and Viktor & Rolf. His jalopy was traded in for a SUV, convertible, and BMW.
Soon, every woman wanted him and he took advantage of his newfound popularity. The gossip rags were filled with stories about Dean’s sexcapades and pictures of him with various models. Rebecca never thought he wanted a commitment with her – she was seven years his senior – but she didn’t turn down the idea of it potentially happening.
Then Sydney happened.
She didn’t know how Dean met her nor did she care. All she knew the moment Sydney was in Dean’s life, he unceremoniously dumped Rebecca without a second glance. It wasn’t like they were official but they were, in her mind, unofficial official.
Rebecca harrumphed and sucked her teeth as she turned another page and saw the happy couple celebrating with Dean…and Sydney. This bitch. Another picture showed Sydney and Dean in a close embrace. He whispered something in Sydney’s ear as she giggled.
The steam finally let out through Rebecca’s ears as she threw the magazine across the room. She was beyond pissed at Dean and whatever little game he played with her. He fucked her six ways to Sunday – literally – just for him to discard her like nothing ever happened.
She couldn’t have been surprised and knowing Dean’s history, it was simply par for the course. It was also why she had photographic evidence. If he wanted to play with her heart, she was going to play with his reputation.
It was time to make some calls.
Eleven
“So, what do you think?” Dean asked as the stylist turned him around.
Sydney folded her arms. The cut and color looked amazing on him. They went with a dark brown, almost black. The stylist not only colored his hair but also his beard. It made his green eyes stood out and even sharper.
He looked like a bad boy rock star or biker; the type of guy that every woman wanted to be with but knows she shouldn’t. She wanted to hate the new look but Dean looked smoldering with it. “It’s…it’s alright.”
Dean smiled at his girlfriend. He could tell she was lying and was trying to hold her true opinion. “Just alright?”
“Okay, fine. You look absolutely hot and amazing!” Sydney chuckled. “When’s the commercial shoot?”
“In a couple of days!” Dean replied. “It’ll only take a day or two and that’s it.”
“And then you can change it back?” Sydney inquired.
“And I can have my hair grow out before I change it back. Besides if I dye it again now, it’ll fall out.” Dean tipped the stylist and walked hand in hand with his girlfriend to his parked BMW. They buckled up and drove off. “So what are we doing now?”
“I need to head over to Quinn’s home to continue working on the mural I’m doing for him. And that’s pretty much it. It’ll be a late day so I’ll be home late.”
“Did you want to spend the night at my house tonight?” Dean asked. “It’s been a while since you’ve been there.”
“No, it hasn’t!” Sydney defended. “I was there just the other day.”
“No, it’s been a while since you spent the night there,” he corrected, “I want you to.”
Sydney glanced over to him and smiled. “Really?”
“Really,” he kissed her hand, “it’s your home, too.”
“Well, no. It’s your home.” She replied. “I just stay there from time to time.”
“Hey,” they stopped at a red light and Dean looked over. “It’s your home, too, baby. I know we’re still taking things slow and what-not but I want you to move back in with me. I don’t like doing this my place and your place when we have our place.”
Sydney’s heart warmed. “I like the sound of that. But I need to finish working on this piece. I’m supposed to shadowing him for a week so I can get a better idea of what to include in his mural.”
“Let me know what time you’ll be finished. I’ll go pick you up.” Dean nodded.
“I can drive, you know.” She replied.
“I know you can,” he kissed her hand again, “I want to pick you up.”
“I’ll call.” She smiled. “What are you going to do this afternoon?”
> “I need to meet with Ian and go over the transfer of property and that’s it. I’ll work out, relax, and just wait for you.” He stared at her. “Can’t wait to see you tonight.”
“You’re going to keep me up all night?”
Dean began driving again. “Yes.”
~~~~~
It didn’t matter whenever Dean saw Ian, he always had the same pompous-ass look as if he did a slip and slide into a pile of dog shit.
Dressed immaculately in a business suit on a blistering August day, Ian looked like he just stepped out of a GQ photo shoot. He looked, walked, and talked like old money with a thick stain of arrogant asshole in every sentence.
He mostly went unnoticed before and if Dean were completely honest, Ian was invisible. He wasn’t present at any games, team meetings, or even functions. In fact, Dean had no idea team owner Anthony Ferguson had another son because Ian was that incognito.
He definitely knew who Ian was when he showed up at Sydney’s art show a few months ago.
It was clear from the jump, Ian’s interest in Sydney went beyond her art and he was trying to force Dean out of the picture in some form. He was almost successful with it as well, getting one night with Sydney in return. One night was all he would ever get because Dean made it very clear he was permanently in Sydney’s life, regardless of whatever dreams Ian sold to her.
The conference room at the Staples Center was deathly quiet as the two men to sign off on the housing purchase. Dean knew Ian could’ve handled everything through a broker and lawyer if he wanted to, but the older man was too smart for that.
He wanted to confront Dean about something and Dean hoped to God he didn’t end up with too-harsh of a suspension from the league when his fist connected with Ian’s face.
“So, now that I’m the owner this means I can control who comes in and who doesn’t?” Dean met Ian’s eyes.
Ian simply blinked at Dean and his games. “Dean…” Ian began. “…I know you’re not still mad at me for paying more attention to your girlfriend than you did.”
Dean released his tightly closed fist as his nostrils flared. He quickly remembered prison orange was not his color. “Are we good?” Dean signed off on the last contract sheet.
“We’re good. Now that’s out of the way, I need to talk to you about something important,” Ian began, “the other day I received a rather precarious gift concerning you.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a large manila envelope. “I need for you to tell me what the fuck were you thinking.”
“What?” Dean grabbed the envelope and removed the photos. In spectacularly clear and high-definition, were many photos of he and Rebecca in numerous sexual positions. “What is this?”
“You tell me,” Ian folded his arms across his lap, “they were sent to me a few days ago.”
Dean studied the photographs again. His face was clearly shown and no one could say it was another person or even photoshopped. The photographs were so clear, he could make out the sweat forming on his abs as he looked at picture of Rebecca giving him head.
His concern over the photos quickly turned to anger once he remembered who gave him the photos. Ian always made it clear he wanted Dean out of the picture in one form or another and he found a surefire way. “You brought me here to blackmail me?” Dean quietly asked.
“I brought you here because I’m not the only one with these photos,” Ian sharply replied, “I’m sure your little costar in these photos is the one who sent them. And if my assumption is correct, I’m sure she has TMZ on speed dial. It’s only a matter of time before these get sent out.”
Dean’s worst nightmare about Rebecca came true. He should’ve known she called the paps. “Great.”
“Hardly. Dean, you need to understand is I don’t give a damn about you. I truly don’t. You are my father’s financial interest and most certainly not mine. I do care, however, about Sydney and her art. She has the potential of being this generation’s Warhol, Haring, and Basquiat. Her art and legacy will live on long after she dies. Your great-great-great grandchildren will still be rich and reaping the benefits of her hard work. Therefore, when I’m telling you your little ‘Hide the Penis’ game with your reality starlet is a fucking problem, I suggest you listen.”
Dean didn’t want to admit Ian was right. Once Sydney discovered the photos, it was sure she was gone. “What do you want me to do?” Dean asked. “Sydney can’t know about this.”
“No, Sydney will know about this. You’re going to tell her and preferably this week.” Ian replied. “Meanwhile, we’re going to get ahead of this story before it becomes any worse. Rebecca is merely sitting on those photos until you piss her off enough to release them, which should be relatively soon.” He let out a small breath. “Let me get Scott Reed on the phone.”
Twelve
It was her, God, and Chance the Rapper.
Sydney wasn’t a fan of hip-hop. Too many misogynistic lyrics, and people yelling in her ears talking about sex, drugs, slang words she honestly had no idea what the hell they meant for her to put everything all aside to thoroughly enjoy the music and beats.
Yet, Dean somehow influenced her. He actually listened to good music and she could understand what the rappers enunciated without wanting the need to consult a thesaurus.
As “Angels” blasted in the background, Sydney focused on her side project for her upcoming art show. She decided she needed to show everyone what she was really about aside from the protest drawings and sentimental feelings. She wanted to show the raw sexual and sensual side of her.
Her side art forum was going to be called a rather unoriginal name – SydNASTY.
It was a name Sarah came up with and while Sydney wasn’t sold on it at first, she eventually grew to like it. Sydney was fun, pure, and innocent. SydNASTY, however, was raw and unbridled. That woman was someone who enjoyed sex and had no qualms getting dirty and nasty while she did it.
Lips biting, tongues twisting, hands holding, and soft gasps in the night. Hair pulling, ass slapping, dirty talking with begs, moans, and pleads were the name of the game. The nastier, the better.
Where’s Dean?
Sydney felt her skin become hot and her breaths slowed down to a steady tempo. She didn’t mind taking care of business until he arrived home but she also could wait if needed be. A vibrator could only do so much.
Dean was an expert on her body, knowing it better than Sydney knew it herself. His strong hands smoothed over her curves and supple skin as if she were his personal maze. Her sighs and moans were cues he was doing it right; her non-reaction told him he needed to try harder or move onto something else.
The orgasms Dean gifted to her left Sydney shaking, sweaty, and unable to convey proper sentences. His tongue flicked on her as he held her steady with his hands firmly gripped on her hips. He kissed and sucked her pearl, using circular motions when appropriate and rapid licking when his tongue narrowed.
When he finally entered her, he made love to her with slow and steady strokes before he built up to a hypnotizing rhythm that was only learned by experience. He stretched her to the limit as she quivered and shook around his length, encouraging him to orgasm with each stroke until he finally did, collapsing on top of her as he called out her name and emptied inside her.
Fuck, where is my man?
Sydney glanced up at the clock above her. It was only eight o’clock and Dean wouldn’t be home for another hour. She lightly sighed and shrugged off her self-imposed arousal as she continued on her piece. It was several up close drawings of fruit – a cantaloupe, a grapefruit, an orange, and a honeydew. It was no question what the fruit symbolized and she was sure it would stir controversy on its own. She had to straddle the line of sexy and obscene.
Heavenly flower.
It was the Indian term for punani and it was perfect for her drawing. Women were from heaven and their bodies gave birth to life. It fit Sydney’s drawing to a tee.
Now that she was done with her drawing and aroused to the point of
no return, it was time to take the coldest shower. She needed to take the edge off.
~~~~~
Dean pulled into his garage and turned off the engine. It was an unusually hard workout at the gym and even his trainer wondered what was going on with him. He wasn’t as focused as he normally was. He simply went through the motions like an underpaid employee at a job they hated.
His mind was everywhere. His mind was on Sydney.
She had her upcoming art show and was focused on that. Preseason workouts were about to start with the Kings and Dean needed to be on top of his game. Meanwhile, in the back of his mind, he waited for Rebecca to make her move.
She was unusually silent which only meant bad news for him. He was sure she would blow up his phone once Jameson’s wedding photos were released but she didn’t call him at all. Maybe, he hoped, she finally took the hint and was going to leave him alone.
Fat chance, he realized. She was plotting her time.
Sydney was going to lose her shit, Dean knew. There was a chance she would forgive him and move on. After all, they were on a break, and she slept with Ian. Somehow, Dean felt his indiscretions were bigger than hers and a bit more unforgiving. He had to admit, he probably wouldn’t forgive him, neither.
He begrudgingly left his SUV and forced his way into home, feeling like he carried cement blocks on his feet. He needed to tell Sydney and time was running out before she found out via the paps. If she left him, he deserved it.
If she forgave him, he was going to give her the world.
~~~~~
He felt her energy the moment he stepped foot inside the home.
Dean heard the muffled sounds of “Other Side of the Game,” as it blared out in the surround sound speakers upstairs. The mewing of Erykah Badu greeted Dean as he entered the foyer of his home.
He dropped his duffel bag on the floor and looked around the home, thinking about where she would be hiding out. A slow smile crept upon his face once he realized she was probably painting.
He removed his shoes and walked up the long staircase to the bedroom balcony where he found his love, as the music grew louder with each step and the thumping bass line seduced him. His eyes widened and swallowed a couple of times once he realized the magnificent sight before him:
