Page 31 of Scoring Chance
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 forpunaniand 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.
