Must Love Pogs (Must Love Series Book 3)

by Xavier Neal

  The suggestion has a salacious connotation I’m beyond grateful for. Getting London moaning and naked where we can possibly be caught by little eyes and ears dampers the desire but doesn’t kill it completely. As hard as my dick is right now, anything that isn’t coming inside of London’s pussy or a Texas sized tornado, doesn’t have the power to make it disappear. Even the latter might not do it. Dying from sex in a storm would be a helluva way to go.

  “Thanks, Big Foot.”

  My oldest brother gives us a final nod and starts off the direction his wife is waiting.

  After assuring there’s no more risk of additional interruptions, my mouth aggressively descends London’s. She meets the impact with equal force. I toss the blanket to the side, and we hastily begin to free ourselves from the wet confines. Boots end up against the closed tailgate. Shirts thrown miles away and shorts slung over the edge. Our bodies oscillate between letting one another dominate the situation. With London on top of me, my fingers thread themselves through her messy strands to anchor us together, but she abruptly pulls away. Turns her slender frame the opposite direction. Positions herself with her hands pressed to my thighs and round ass taunting me. There’s no opportunity to make the obvious objection for protection. London emerges my dick deep into her soaking wet heat. My entire body bows off the bed of the truck from the inconceivable feeling at the same time a roar is ripped from my chest. The absence of the barrier binds us in ways more intoxicating than any of the alcohol that touched our lips tonight.

  Our verified bill of health was exchanged a couple months ago yet we made no effort to change our sexual situation. The test was done as courtesy to me. London knew I would take her word, but wanted proof she is clean and just as fully committed as I was. Shortly after, I showed her the same results, and we celebrated with sex in the shower, making us late for dinner with Matty. That was one case when London was right about being tardy. Some things are worth being late over.

  London’s head tips towards the stars yet my attention stays planted at the one in my lap. The beautiful, burning ball of life that has illuminated all of my strengths and empowered me to move past my weaknesses. I wind my hand around the end of her braid, tugging it in tandem with my thrusts. An unearthly energy whirls around us as we fill the cool air with sensual cries and passionate praises.

  Suddenly, London’s nails cut into my skin and her back arches harshly. “So…so…close.…”

  The announcement threatens to make me come long before it’s time.

  “Just…a little harder.”

  Fulfilling the request becomes more than just a basic task. It becomes my life’s mission. I drop my hands to her hips and begin to pound viciously. Each pump is brimming with a barbaric devotion to having her come on my cock.

  She breaks with a loud shout into the dark night, “Oliver!”

  Her pussy begins to ceaselessly pulsate, milking my dick in the process. Our bodies continue a gluttonous grind for what feels like hours. The fierce groans rapidly falling from my mouth feel oddly foreign. They don’t feel the least bit familiar. Which makes sense. Having London’s pussy swallow my cum like it’s starving is something new , so the sounds I make because of it should be as well.

  When our orgasms finally fade, the two of us don’t rush to sever the connection. We simply slow our movements. Soften our touches. Give our aching lungs reprieve.

  Eventually, we settle ourselves under the dry blanket. Her face is pressed against my heart, and my arms have her caged in. She hums her satisfaction, and I do the same.

  And I truly am satisfied. I’m content on every level in every aspect of my life. This is the happiness everyone else in my family has. I couldn’t be more thankful to finally have it too.

  I continue to rummage through the pile of shoes for the match to the one I wanna wear. “I said no, Bratney.” Throwing a heel towards the back of Oliver’s closet, I snap, “I know it’s your least favorite word in the world, but I’m not changing my mind. No.”

  “And why the fuck not?” She snaps into the phone. “You did a favor for that hillbilly you’re banging by getting his stupid brother’s company a beer cart at the Hellcats’ games. You’re always willing to do a favor for whatever asshole gave you pity dick for the year. Why can’t you do this for me ?”

  That’s not true.…I don’t sleep with men for favors or allow them to do that to me. No. Unlike my father who had two demon seeds before he realized the mistake not being responsible with his cock can cause, I never exchanged sexual favors for professional ones. Besides, getting Runt’s Beer a cart at the Cliffsworth Hellcats game wasn’t exactly hard nor solely done because I’m sleeping with Oliver. There were already discussions in the works. I simply nudged a few of the noes into yeses because it’s damn good beer. Besides, they didn’t ask for the help. I just did it. I knew how happy it would make them and how Oliver’s pride in them would grow. And again, it’s damn good beer.

  When I don’t immediately reply she repeats, “Why can’t you do this for me?!”

  “Because I love him, and I don’t even like you.”

  “You are the absolute worst !”

  “You’ve been sayin’ that shit since I got to ride a float in the Macy’s Day parade as a kid.”

  She growls at the reminder. “Dad only let you do that then so you wouldn’t whine about being neglected later, just like he’s having you read that stupid script now so you won’t bitch about not having a role in the movie later .”

  “Well I guess that makes two of us because I am not putting in a good word for you with the casting director if this film gets made.”

  She ends the call on a pissed off squeak.

  Like I don’t have enough on my plate right now? Between this wardrobe extravaganza and my father expecting some sort of answer on whether or not to agree to a biopic being pitched about his career, I haven’t even had time to book my ticket to visit Azura who gave birth to my God child. Ugh. I also haven’t had time to buy him a slumber wheel to help his spirit connect to the stars while sleeping.

  “Found it!” I shout lifting the orange suede pump victoriously into the air.

  “You know it would be easier to find the clothes and shoes you wanna wear if you would just put them away once in a while.” Oliver leans against the door frame to his bedroom. “Maybe once a week? Once a month?” He offers me a playful smile. “Perhaps once a decade.”

  After giving him the finger, I wiggle on the discovered shoe, and scold, “Not in the mood, Hot Stuff. My energy is already unbalanced.”

  Oliver trails behind me as I enter our ensuite bathroom. “Believe me, I know, Sunshine. You have been in a mood all day.”

  I don’t bother retorting.

  Truth. And him bitching about the wax from my tranquility candles damn sure didn’t help.

  Frantically, I begin to search the counter for my sunstone bracelet in anxious need of a calming gem. Moving around bottles of my relaxation bubble bath, hair products, and make-up, my irritation begins to increase.

  “Hey, did you look into letting me tag along for the Dog Sled competition this month?”

  I mumble more to myself than to him, “Fuck me, I forgot….”

  “You forgot?”

  “Yes,” my voice snips. “I forgot . Again .”

  “If you don’t want me to go just say it.”

  “If I didn’t I would .”

  Maybe. I mean, I love the excitement on his face as he learns to embrace the adrenaline pumping through his system as he watches competitions, but I loathe the negative energy he exerts when I then need to spend time talking with whatever male I was there to watch. Oh, and then of course the whining about why aren’t there more female athletes in extreme sports and why don’t I hunt harder for them. Explaining how I don’t follow someone based on what lies between their legs so much as the passion pumping through their veins is never an enjoyable conversation for either of us.

  There’s a brief pause followed by Oliver asking, “Hav
e you had a chance to ask your father about that Christmas gift for Blake yet?”

  The reminder about acquiring an autographed Hellcats’ basketball bounces around my brain bitterly.

  Is Britney right? Is Oliver no different than all the other guys who march into my life to get something from me or my family? Were these past few months just a long con, I fell for? Is him wanting to travel with me about staying in luxurious places for free and eating the fancy food he fawns over on the cooking network without having to wait in line?

  I quickly shake away the thought. “No. Been a bit busy with the script discussions.”

  “It’s fine if you can’t. I’ll just see if I can buy one….”

  “No. I said I’ll do it. I’ll do it. I just… haven’t yet.”

  “Like lookin’ into me coming along with you to Alaska?”

  The glower he is given before I return to searching for jewelry is harsh.

  Oliver watches me search behind our toothbrush holder and the box he keeps his watches in. “What are you looking?”

  “My-” the word escapes me so I tap the area it belongs. “The one we both have.”

  He points to the drawer directly to my left. “There.”

  I quickly open it, slightly relieved it isn’t lost. “Why’d you move it?”

  “The same reason I move everything. I was cleaning .”

  My eyes helplessly roll. “Every time you clean I lose stuff.”

  “You really wanna have this fight now ?” Oliver sighs, shoving his hands into his gray suit pockets. “We’re already late.”

  “We’re always late.”

  Okay not always but often.

  “I know,” he restrains his voice. “I hate being late.”

  The temptation to bite back becomes so strong I have to turn away from him. I give my outfit one last look. The high waisted gray dress pants paired with a lacy red crop top give off the more casual vibe I was hoping to achieve.

  As I wiggle on the bracelet and then a set of gold decorative ones on the other side, Oliver announces, “Looks like Runt and Ollie’s wedding present just shipped.”

  My face scrunches. “Doesn’t it seem a bit early to be buying them a gift?”

  “They’re wedding is less than a month away, Sunshine. Remember I went to his bachelor party last weekend while you were in New York.”

  I remember fighting about me being in New York.…

  Seems like we’ve been doing it a bit more lately. Ever since Blake asked Abby to marry him and Ford’s wedding seems to be steadily approaching, we seem to be arguing more. He keeps insisting I make time for more family things with them. I keep swearing I can’t. Our relationship has yet again hit another snag in the balance department, and I’m concerned we’re never going to be centered on a permanent basis.

  “Did you remember to mark the time off on your calendar?”

  I lean against the edge of the counter. “I think so?”

  “London,” his voice is firm, “you need to be there. This is my baby brother’s wedding!”

  The words cut me wrong. “Excuse me?”

  “You should be there. You should want to be there. It’s a big day, and they’re family for crying out loud!”

  “Damn it, Oliver, I’ll make sure I am. Will you just get off my case?”

  “No because if I don’t stay on it, it’s gonna be the Halloween incident all over again.”

  My lips press tightly together.

  We agreed to go to this party Matty was having. We had these cute matching costumes planned from his favorite TV show. I completely forgot to put it on my calendar and ended up with a conflicting charity event for X-treme X-press in Vermont. He was livid and then became even more so when he found out I could’ve taken him to it, but had already agreed to take Liam who needs to meet more people in the extreme sports community.

  “You know, I shouldn’t have to do this,” his rant continues. “I shouldn’t have to remind my girlfriend to do normal girlfriend shit like accompany me to my brother’s wedding! Like wanting to go to game nights hosted by my friends! I shouldn’t have to twist your arm to invite me to things like your father’s company parties or the occasional fucking work event! You should want me there! You should want me at your side the same way I want you at mine!”

  “Should I wanna be bare foot and pregnant too?!” I snap loudly. “Should I wanna be barefoot in the kitchen, pulling buns out of the oven while being overly thankful you stuffed one in mine?!”

  Oliver gives me a stern look. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “ You’re being ridiculous! You’re standing in my face basically telling me I’m a shitty girlfriend because I don’t ‘behave traditionally’. You’re pissy because you’re finally realizing I’m never going to be the token piece you were expecting.”

  “London-”

  “No,” my head shakes as I move out of the bathroom past him, “I don’t wanna fucking hear it.”

  He follows me across the apartment for the front door, “How the hell can you think I’m out of line for wanting you to do shit a normal girlfriend is supposed to do? Like go to fucking family functions with me or occasionally, occasionally takes me with her when she straps on her jetpack to fly off to Butt Fuck Nowhere! It’s not like I don’t have the time or flexibility or lack the desire to fucking go!”

  Snatching up my clutch from the dining room table, I turn around, seething like never before. “I’m never going to fit all the little behavior bullet points in your perfect relationship instruction manual! You want me to be someone I’m not , which is really fucked Oliver because I have never once asked you to be someone else.”

  His jaw tightens.

  “I’ve never once asked you to be some sort of sports fiend. I’ve never once asked you to stop re-washing the dishes I just washed because they weren’t clean enough for you or to stop ironing our sheets before you put them on the bed! I don’t demand you eat more potatoes and less pâté! I don’t call you a control freak the nights you insist on more frequent texts when I’m out partying with Guy or Chad or Tate! No, I deal with it and put up with it because I love you. Because I love you just the fucking way you are, flaws and all, but here you are, telling me exactly what I knew would come someday. I’m not what you really need and being what you want has finally come to a point where it’s not enough.”

  The choked back sob seems to meld with the painful sigh I’m holding onto, causing an excruciating pain to become lodged in my chest. Despite Oliver’s pleas not to head out the door, I do. And despite the dickhead way he’s acting I want him to chase me, to prove to me I’m wrong. Unfortunately, he doesn’t.

  Sliding alone into the limo my father sent for us, I let the tears slightly stain my cheeks.

  Love really should have its own extreme sports category. Between the adrenaline rushes you get while falling and the lifelong damage you receive when you hit the ground, it seems like surviving should win you some sort of fucking cup or place in the hall of fame. I guess the childhood nickname I was branded with is completely right. I am a loser. A loser no one ever truly wants to love.

  “I understand, Mr. Shaw.” Seth, my newest employee, nods repeatedly. “It was my mistake. It won’t happen again.”

  I give him a nod of dismissal, and he scurries out of my office, shutting the door behind him.

  While it was the man’s fault the computer got a virus during his search for porn, that’s not what you say . You help clear the virus, report to me, and then I tell his superior why the damage was done. But he’s new. The simple fact is we all make mistakes.

  My body slouches further down into my leather chair as I roll around the Hellcats stress ball in my hand. London got this for me before she left on a two-day hike. She knew I would be worried because we wouldn’t be having our usual texts and calls. She also knew I had been having a rough time keeping my department motivated. It was an attempt to help bring me peace. It was an attempt to help soothe the stress. It was what a caring girlfr
iend does….

  The hateful, haunting words hit me again.

  How could I have fucking said that to her?

  There’s a knock on my office door, and Brando’s face appears around it. “Lunch? We’re checking out Leo’s. Rumor has it they have great lobster tacos.”

  I place the object back down on my desk beside the framed photo of London and I from the night of the Hellcats’ summer banquet. “I’ll pass.”

  “But you love lobster tacos, especially when they use mango pico instead of the traditional type.”

  Pulling my eyes from the picture, I offer him a polite grin. “Just not hungry.”

  His eyebrows dart up. “You feeling okay?”