by Sierra Hill
I shoot her a ‘you can’t be serious’ look. “I’m a dude in my sexual prime. I still get stiffies if the wind hits me just right. Of course, I think about sex all the time.”
We both laugh as we finish up the cookies. Elbow deep in dishwater, my phone pings next to me on the counter and I flick a glance to see who it is.
It’s Roarke.
Roarke: Max was in here looking for you. Just thought you should know.
Every cylinder in my body roars to life, screaming and jumping erratically in a dance that verges on fear and loathing.
Peyton seems to notice the change in my physical stance, which is like a rubber band pulled tautly, my hands white knuckling the edge of the sink, water droplets dripping to the floor. She grabs the dish towel and swipes away the pooled water and then lays a hand on top of my shoulder.
“What’s the matter, honey? Who was that?”
My mind reels with flashes of the last time I was with Max. I’d come home from work to find my stuff bagged and boxed at his front door, a smug yet pitying expression across his face as he sat drinking his tea at the kitchen table.
Fucking tea drinker. He never allowed coffee in his house because he said he hated the smell. And heaven forbid if I’d gone to a coffee shop to study and came home with coffee breath or the scent of the roasted beans clinging to my clothes. He wouldn’t even touch me before I’d showered it off.
What a waste of my youth. I spent so much of my time bowing to his every wish and command those three years. Locked in a relationship that held me prisoner to my own wants and needs.
And I knew it. Deep down, I was aware of the control he had over me because I had nothing else. He owned me – paid my bills, gave me a place to live, helped with my tuition costs. Even leased my car under his name. Everything was Max’s.
When I walked out of his door, I had only the things I’d walked in there with.
I stare blankly at Peyton, her face a mixture of worry and support.
“It was Roarke. He said the Asshole was in the bar asking about me.”
“Oh my God. Max? What the heck does he want?”
Fury blazes inside me as I mentally kick myself for ever putting myself in that situation to be under lock and key by that man. Love. I thought it was love. What a stupid, naïve fool I’d been. Tricked into thinking Max loved and cared for me all that time, only to find out what a lying, cheating, and mentally abusive man he really was at the core.
Swiveling back to the sink, I let out the plunger and stare at the water as it runs down the drain, bubbles floating and swirling in light patterns until they disappear from view. Exactly like I did with Max, flushing all those memories and feelings down the drain.
“I honestly don’t know,” I offer blandly, trying to find the resolve inside not to care. Not to wonder what Max could possibly want after six months of no contact. “But I couldn’t give a fuck what he wants.”
Stealing the hand towel from Peyton’s hands, I wipe my hands dry and grab her by the shoulders, turning her around and marching her out of the kitchen.
“What do you say we get those swimsuits on and go enjoy a pool party?”
26
Lucas
I’m a man of routine. It suits me. The consistency in my life – no unexpected bumps along the road to get me sidetracked or interfere with my productivity.
Today, however, after a particularly grueling run and workout, I’m actually looking forward to the change of routine, and am excited to head over to Garrett’s for an impromptu pool party. He’d called me earlier this morning to invite me to come and hang out with Caleb, Brooklyn, and some of his basketball players for a barbeque and pool time. The temps have finally cooled off slightly being that we’re in late October, and Garrett informed me he wanted to have some fun before the basketball season was underway.
I didn’t need a reason to want to hang out with Garrett and Caleb. Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment, but I’d rather be around Garrett than not. I’ve perfected my ability to hide my once very strong desire for Garrett, and now just focus on our deep bond and friendship.
The funny thing is, if I admit it to myself, is that my feelings toward Garrett in that manner have waned. Nearly ceased to exist. As I ponder this, I realize it can only be attributed to another man. Kyler.
I pull into the long, curved drive of Garrett’s home and grab my bag from the backseat. Brooklyn promised I didn’t have to bring anything to eat or drink, but I stopped at the store and picked up a nice bottle of Scotch for me and Garrett to share later on.
Swinging around to the back yard, I already hear the gleeful sounds of Caleb and the noise of water splashing. I open the gate and smile at the scene in front of me. There are three very tall boys in the pool – obviously some of Garrett’s team – and Caleb in the middle with his floaties on. He’s flinging his arms out and shouting, “Marco!” as the guys hop around trying to avoid being caught, yelling in response, “Polo!”
My gaze flits to the corner of the patio, where Garrett stands at the grill. I notice my heart doesn’t give that once loud, longing thump it once did.
Turning my attention to the deck, I see two young women I’m not familiar with – probably guests that came with the players – lounging on the pool chairs.
I sidle up to Garrett and tap him on the back. “Hey man, looks like you have enough to feed an army.”
He flips me a look and smiles. “These guys eat like horses. Even more than we used to when we played ball when I could put back five burgers in one sitting.”
I chuckle, remembering all the nights we’d stop by the burger joint on campus and gorge on burgers, fries, and milkshakes. Nowadays, the dietary restrictions are much tougher on athletes, monitored closely by staff dieticians to ensure healthy ballplayers.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Those were the good old days.”
One of the guys calls out a greeting, directing my attention to the pool. “Hey, Prof! Hurry up and get in here. I need someone to take my place because this kid is too good at this game!”
Before I’m able to return the greeting to Lance Britton, one of Garrett’s coaching staff, Caleb gives a loud shout.
“I got you, W-ance!”
I laugh at the sound of Caleb’s high-pitched shout, which is adorable and sweet, his tiny boy voice a miracle to even hear. Doctors had told Garrett three years ago they never thought Caleb would walk, talk or even have the cognitive abilities to manage school due to the crippling car accident he was in with his mother, who perished in the accident.
But here he is, swimming and talking, with only a slight speech impediment that he’ll likely grow out of with the continued speech therapy he attends. It makes my heart squeeze with happiness over his progress and how far he’s come over the years.
“Ah man! You got me again,” Lance grumbles good naturedly, spanking the waterline with an exaggerated thump. “Caleb is just too good at this game.”
A proud and bright-smiling Caleb looks up at me, his long lashes and blue eyes glistening with droplets of water as he waves his little arm at me.
“Uncle Wuc! Come pway wiff us!”
I walk over to the pool’s edge and crouch down, dipping my hand in the pool and splashing at him.
“Hey, buddy. Give me a few minutes to talk with the grown-ups and then I’ll hop in. And then we can play water basketball and you can be on my team. Sound good?”
He nods his head enthusiastically and I wave hello to the other guys, introducing myself to the new players I haven’t met yet. “Hey, guys. I’m Lucas.”
“Tra’Von,” the taller of the two says, his large palm giving me a wave.
And then the other one chimes in. “Brett. Nice to meet you.”
“You, too. You guys ready for some two on two? Caleb’s got a mean slam dunk you need to watch out for.”
“Yeah,” Caleb agrees, lifting his arms in the air. “Wuc helps me swam dunk!”
Laughter reverberates off the water, the sound fi
lling my soul with contentment.
Turning, I head back toward the house and pass Garrett, asking if he needs anything from the kitchen.
“Nah, man. I’ve got my beer and I’m good. But if you can drag Brooklyn away from her friends for a second, ask her when she wants to start things. Meat will be done in about ten minutes.”
I give a wave over my shoulder and head in through the slider into the kitchen where Brooklyn stands at a large island counter, her back toward me, chatting animatedly with her friends. She twists suddenly toward me, her body no longer blocking the view of the other two sitting at the bar stools and I stop short, my breath being sucked out of my lungs with such force it could’ve been from a gut punch.
“Oh, hey Lucas. I’m so glad you could come today. Caleb has been asking about you non-stop this week.” Brooklyn wipes her hands clean on a towel and steps toward me with a genuine smile stretched across her mouth, arms thrown wide to envelop me in a hug.
I stutter in my response, arms enfolding around her back, my eyes wide as I stare in shock to see Kyler at the island counter, a wicked glint in his eyes but surprise on his face, as well. As if he didn’t know to expect me here either, catching us both off guard.
The instant tug of attraction slams over me – overwhelms me with the intensity of its mocking presence.
“Happy to be invited,” I mutter to Brooklyn, extracting myself from her embrace and immediately grabbing the counter for balance for fear I might lose it. I nod at Kyler and Peyton. “Good to see you both again.”
Peyton wiggles her fingers in the air and side glances to Kyler and back to me. “You, too, Professor Mathiasson. We were just chatting about the semester. How are your classes going this year?”
A restless urge to get the hell out of this kitchen settles in my belly, my eyes tracking over the room as if searching for an outlet. Any outlet to exit from this uncomfortable conversation.
As if noticing my discomfort, Kyler hops off the stool and over to the side counter where there’s a blender and ice bucket next to bottles of alcohol.
“You look like you could use a drink, Professor. You like margaritas, don’t you?” He looks at me over his shoulder and winks. I want to wipe that impish grin right off his face with a scorching kiss.
Which is exactly what I shouldn’t want to do.
Instead, I give in to the idea that I better get used to seeing Kyler in these settings and nod my head.
“Make it a double, please.”
27
Kyler
I’m a flirt. No one has ever said differently.
In fact, my mom used to say that my eyes – with my thick dark lashes – were snake charmer eyes.
I don’t know about that, but I certainly have used them to flirt shamelessly with the cute basketball players who showed up today at the pool party. One of them, Brett, has definitely shown interest with his speculative glances and fuck me eyes.
And I ate it up because I knew Lucas was watching from his spot on the lounge chair, positioned perfectly so that from under the brim of his hat and his Ray Ban shades, his heated gaze devoured me and never left me for a second.
It made me feel dangerously out of control and a little bit smug to know I was driving him wild with envy.
“I gotta go take a piss,” I announce to the guys in the pool who are all taking a break from the version of water polo we’ve been playing for the past hour.
As I hop out over the edge of the pool, grabbing a towel from the bench, I see the sun slowly beginning to sink behind the western mountains, its pink and orange hues hovering like a blanket over the palm trees. It’s a beautiful image and one I’d like to capture in my art collection.
“You coming back in?” Brett asks, his head popping out of the water, elbows propped over the edge of the pool wall so he hovers there, bare chested with broad toned shoulders.
He’s cute with his flushed cheeks, wide blue eyes and light blond hair all slicked back from his face. Maybe under normal circumstances, I’d suggest he come out with me sometime, but the glance I steal over to Lucas has me shutting that idea down completely.
Licking my lips, the water tasting of Chlorine, I consider my options. Brett has expressed interest in me all afternoon and I have no doubt we’d have a good time together if I took him back to my place.
But Lucas…
I shake off the suggestion because he’s been adamant that nothing more is going to happen between us, so I should just move on. I’m getting good at that.
Playing it cool, I shrug, snapping my damp towel down at the cement not too close to Brett’s face. “We’ll see.”
I glance over my shoulder at Lucas as I head into the house. His face is turned toward Brooklyn’s chair as if he’s listening to something she’s saying, but I know he’s been listening to my conversation. His body is strung tight, the ripples in his abs flexed and taut.
Yeah, he can’t feign disinterest. I can feel it stirring in my blood.
I work my way down the long main hallway of Garrett’s ranch style home. It’s large but fairly modest for a man who is a former NBA player. There are several wings of the house that branch off in different directions. I choose the right, where I think Brooklyn’s bedroom and guest quarters are down the long hallway, and find the bathroom unoccupied.
I flip the light and shut the door, catching a glimpse of my rumpled wet hair in the mirror, dark and thatchy. I sweep my hand through the damp strands and realize it’s been a while since I’ve had a trim. Add that to my list of things to do this week.
I bend down to lift the lid of the commode when there’s a knock on the door.
“Occupied. I’ll be right out.”
My fingers begin to untie the drawstring of my swim trunks when the doorknob twists and turns, the door swinging wide and then shutting closed, as I snap my head to the door in surprise.
“Hey,” I blurt out, ready to reprimand the intruder, but the words die on my tongue.
Lucas pauses with his back against the closed door, his hand locking the door behind him, as he glowers at me. He has the audacity to frown at me with an arrogant, petulant scowl across his mouth.
“What the hell are you doing in here? You can’t just…”
He ignores me and stalks forward as I step back from the toilet. Something skitters wildly inside my belly, breaking free like butterflies from a net. I twist around to face him and without any words, he skims his hands along the sides of my face, one cupping the back of my neck, as he takes me in an open-mouthed kiss.
It’s powerful, possessive, and fucking potent.
I press a hand behind me to latch on to the wall for fear my knees will buckle. The other hand instinctively reaches for Lucas, grazing over his pectorals, the heat of his sun-drenched body searing me with its fiery combustible chemistry.
His mouth forms over mine, his tongue lashing through my parted lips and inside my mouth. This kiss is fueled by rage and proprietorship. Of hidden longing and desire that’s been locked up tight and needs an escape. Pent up sexual frustration and a yearning that can no longer be controlled.
Lucas breaks free from the kiss but doesn’t let go. His eyes bore into mine and a zap of lightning scores down my spine.
His voice is rough and on the verge of breaking. “You did that on purpose today, didn’t you?”
I lift an eyebrow innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just having fun.”
He scoffs, hand gripping tighter at the wet scruff at the nape of my neck. “Fun. You know what isn’t fun?”
Lucas drops a hand, grabs mine, and covers his dick with our joined hands. I feel him throb against my palm and a puff of air escapes my mouth unbidden.
“This,” he emphasizes with a squeeze, his erection jumping excitedly, hips pinning mine in place. “Having to deal with this all afternoon as I watched you flirt and flaunt yourself with those dudes out there. You did that to torture me. To get under my skin. To make me break my rules and get you o
n your knees so I can fuck you again. Admit it.”
This uncontrolled and unrestrained Lucas is so sexy. I love it when he loses himself like this. When he lets his guard down, so unlike the controlled and perfected presence in his classroom. When he’s with me – alone and turned on – he’s a completely different man.
Both sides are equally compelling and sexy. But this Lucas is irresistible.
A riot of lust zooms through me, as I score my nails down his torso and watch as he visibly shivers. And then he steps back, as if he’s going to leave, but then he drops to his knees.
I let out a ragged groan, tipping my chin to my chest to watch as he grabs the elastic waistband of my board shorts and yanks them down, freeing my now very hard cock between us.
Lucas encircles my dick in his hand, dragging the tip of his tongue over the rim, his hot breath covering the head of my cock.
“You’ve gotten me so fucking horny, teasing me with your coy playfulness, that I’ve decided you need to be tormented just the same.” He swipes his tongue over the tip of my leaking dick and I gasp in utter delight. “I’ve decided that I’m going to bring you to the edge of insanity with my tongue, your balls will be screwed up so tight and ready to surge with release in my hot mouth. And when you’re ready to come, your legs will be shaking with need…and I’ll…”
Peering down into his dark, demanding eyes, a trace of dare lighting the edges, I’m gripped with the most deep and profound need that I’ve ever had. And I realize that I’ve wanted to experience this now for months.
To have Lucas Mathiasson on his knees in front of me.
“What? What will you do?”
He licks his lips and smiles seductively and darkly.
“I’ll make you pay.”
“Do it,” I retort through gritted teeth, roughly sliding my fingers in his hair to tug him forward. “I want you to make me pay.”
28
Lucas
I’m not sure what got into me, but it felt like a beast was locked inside me that had been caged for months, having finally escaped and been set loose into the wild.
