Page 50 of Give You Up

I would take her first from the front. She’d ride me, her tits bouncing and her back up against the wall. Once she comes, I would pull out of her, demand she put her palms on the wall with legs spread wide apart, and I’d pound into her tight wet pussy as I stroke her clit. We would come together, then wash each other off.

We’d get so horny again, I’d towel us off faster than I can dodge a sack, and take her on the bathroom counter with her ass hanging off as I languidly slide in and out of her, my finger circling that slippery tight ball of nerves. She would come again, her inner walls milking my cock.

After I come, I would pull her to me, rest my forehead on hers, and ask if I made it good for her. ’Cause that is the most important thing, that Syn likes sex.Ifshe wants to take it there. What is her reason for not liking sex?

“Almost there.”

Her encouragement pulls me out of my hot need. With her guiding me, her patience with my slow progress a trait I admire—I’m an impatient bastard—I amble to the bed. As soon as my back is to the mattress, I fall backward and land with a soft bounce that surprisingly eases the pain.

“Take off your shirt.”

“Come again?” I raise my head. Syn is rummaging in her luggage.

“It’s my fault for surprising you like that from left field. Let me rub out the pain.” She holds a small bottle in her hand. “Are you allergic to lavender or eucalyptus?”

“Nah.”

“Good. The oil is from Gwen. Her family makes lavender soaps, teas, shampoos, potpourri. Anything and everything lavender.”

Her high-spirited energy gets a chuckle from me, as well as a plan.

“You two should marry lavender and caramel together. Come up with candies, coffees, soaps, teas, shampoo, potpourri.” I take off my shirt.

Her big smile is my just reward for thinking on the fly.

“Taron Vaughn, that is a great idea. I’d like to own a gift shop someday. Dare and I started looking at property in McMillan. That’s where Gwen’s lavender farm is. Dare loves it there. Says McMillan is quaint like Cambridge, the farm town he and his family grew up in when they moved there from Dumas. Cambridge is only half an hour from McMillan. We should go. You’ll love it there.”

The green-eyed monster rears its ugly head. Syn shouldn’t like any place more than our old home of Mossy Rock, where I plan on moving to after graduation.

I was offered a coaching job at our high school if I don’t get picked up in the draft. Dad demanded I declare, but football isn’t what will get me far. A college degree in education will.

Since the stuff that has come out about hard hits, concussions, and the long-term effects, I’m not certain I want to risk my future health for short-term gain.

Money isn’t an issue. I have piles of it in the bank and in stocks. Women aren’t, either. They readily offer me their numbers and a banging good time whenever and wherever I want it.

Realizing my jealousy is wasted energy and I should take the high road, I rein it in and agree to visiting these “quaint” places with her.

“That’s a plan, Pixie Dust. I’d love to visit these properties you’re looking at.” What can be more quaint than Mossy Rock?

“Even though you won’t be sticking around after graduation, right?”

She’s onto me. Knows me well. Could she have predicted I would crash and burn, too, without her in my life, using women like I did, giving them a good time between the sheets and nothing else? No commitment. No call backs. No returned text messages.

“Have you thought of going home again?” I ask.

We had good times there. Solid memories that get me hot and bothered in seconds flat.

“Mossy Rock isn’t home. Here is.”

“It’s cliché, but home is where the heart is, Syn.” Shit, do I actually believe that stupid saying?

“Could I someday be ‘home’ to you?”

Her voice is soft, the hope and confusion in it hitting me like an opponent’s fast plow into my chest with his hard helmet.

“Home is where I have the best chance of succeeding, Pixie Dust.” My answer is cryptic as all get out. Goddammit, why didn’t I give it to her straight? It’s either a yes or a no.

“Would that be the NFL?” She climbs onto the bed. “Okay, big guy, relax. I’ll warm up the oil and see if I can rub out the pain.”

---