Page 65 of Give You Up

“Fuck, I love when you come on my hand. Love when your puckered little hole milks my fingers. Babe, you are hot.”

His words . . . Oh, God, they are dirty, and I come again. He leans into me, curving his body over mine, his breath hot on my neck.

“You come like this for me only, Syn. Only me, you got that? Otherwise, I will fuck up any guy who dares poach on what’s mine.”

His thick fingers slide inside my pussy. His other fingers stretch my puckered hole. He fills me, and I am in trouble.

There is no going back to what I was after I’ve had a taste, a feel of Taron all around me. There is no chance I will ever let him go unless he messes up big time.

“I’m yours, all yours, Taron. Fuck up any guy who messes with us.”

Clamping his hand on my jaw, he pivots my face until I am staring into his pool of ink eyes darkened with desire and satisfaction.

“That’s my girl. Now get on your knees and suck me off before I ride you hard.”

24

Taron

It takes all my will power not to rush onto the dance floor and pull the mother-effers grinding on Syn off her.

One guy has the front of his body pressed up against Syn’s back, cocooning her lithe body to his with his hands clamped on her hips. The other guy, the one with the mohawk, has his fingers shoved in Syn’s short locks.

He tilts her head to the side and dips his head, pressing his mouth on my girl’s neck. Goes lower until his face is buried in the curve of her neck. I see red. Clench my fist against my thigh. A soft caress down my arm yanks me out of my burning need to punch mohawk dude’s face to the back of his skull.

Mohawk? Jesus H. Christ, who the fuck sports a mohawk these days?

“Hi, sexy, want to dance?”

Hell no, but if I don’t distract my brain and my dick soon, I will be causing serious damage pummeling the two dudes who are on Syn like white on rice, earning me a spot in the doghouse for messing with Syn’s plans.

“Sure thing.” I take the beautiful brunette’s hand and let her lead me onto the crowded dance floor.

Lucky me, she stops next to Syn. With her arms draped over mohawk dude’s broad shoulders, Syn locks her eyes on mine. She mouths the words, “Dance with me,” and I am lost to the heat in her slate gray–blue eyes.

Imagining Syn in my arms, I curve my arm around my dance partner’s waist. There is no need to know her name. Only that it’s Syn I am seeing in my head as I pull the girl closer. Our bottom halves touch. I grind my dick into her stomach, her crop top and tight-as-fuck pants leaving little to the imagination.

A warm mouth presses into my neck. Her moan reverberates on my skin. I drop my hand from her waist and cup her tight round ass. I squeeze. She trembles. I palm and caress her flesh. Her hand comes up, and her fingers weave in my hair. She brings me down to her the same time she tips her head up for a kiss.

Sorry, babe, you are not my girl. Done with touching a girl who’s not Syn, I tell the girl I’m with, “Thanks for the dance, beautiful.”

Sparing Syn one last look, sweeping my gaze from her head to her toes and back to her eyes again, I leave the dance floor with my temper in check for a change and take a spot at the bar with an unobstructed view of Syn.

What she is doing with those douchebags is a show. That’s all. She is there to bait them into letting her into their lives. To show her the tat of the butterfly and the snake. She is doing this favor for Midnight. She is offering up her body to those mother-effers so that a girl can have justice and a scum of the earth can answer for his crime.

But all of the above doesn’t take away my doubt. Syn looks good with those two, with their neck tats, colorful sleeves, face piercings, and the rough and mean edge to them. Fuck sakes, if anyone were to pair Syn with a dude, it would be one of those two or both, but never with what Sydney’s stepbrother called a “pretty boy.”

Pretty boy my ass. I will fuck up any guy who lays claim to Syn, tatted, rough, and mean edge to them or not.

Throughout the night, more girls come up to me, asking for my number or a dance. I politely decline. I am not here for them. I’m here to keep my girl safe even if what she’s doing with the mohawk dude strays from the very definition of safe.

Syn and the douchebags move the action off the dance floor and grab seats along the periphery inside a booth. Syn slides in first, followed by Mohawk. His friend takes a spot across from them. The friend must have said something funny. Syn laughs, and stretching her arm across the table, she meets the friend halfway and sets her small hand in his big one.

I narrow my eyes. Suspicion burns through me. Does she know these guys on a personal level? I down my beer and wave the bartender over. I put in an order for a mojito, a drink that will cool my temper. The beer isn’t cutting it. I guzzle the mojito and then ask for another. The bartender doesn’t blink. Just brings me another and another. I see double. Grind my teeth when Syn throws her head back and laughs. She is leaning so far into Mohawk’s body, she might as well have climbed onto his lap.

Fuck, why’s she gotta get so close? I yank out my cell phone, ready to text her what the hell is she doing getting comfortable with the dirtbags, but the dudes rise from their seats.

Numbers are exchanged from the way they’re tapping on the screens of their cells. I miss seeing what happens next. Mohawk’s body is in the way, but I can use my imagination just fine. His hand goes up. His head goes down. He’s putting his mouth on my girl’s.

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