Page 130 of Home to the Hollow

“Son of a bitch.”

I groan as she keeps wiggling and rubbing against me until the pants are finally off. Her head drops, the cascade of hair in her ponytail covering her face. Muttered curses escape the mass of hair, and I frown, trying to figure out what’s stopped all the fun. “Jolene? Sugarplum? What’s wrong?”

Her head lifts and she blows the strands out of her face. “So. Embarrassing.”

My hands slide up her back to her shoulder blades and I tilt my head curiously. “What’s embarrassing?”

“I’m dressed like a confused granny mummy!”

Laughter spills from my lips as I shake my head. “You’re dressed like a woman who knows how to ride like a pro. If I’d found a thong and a lacy wisp under here, I never could have taken you seriously with my horses again.”

The tension in the air metals away as she whispers, “Really? This isn’t like… a major turn off? My boobs are bound, and I have on lady boxers.”

“Women who dress for function and form are sexy as fuck, sugarplum. I’m a vet—I can’t deal with a lady who’d get grossed out if I came home covered in unmentionable gunk.”

Oh, there’s that gorgeous smile.

Her hand comes to her side and she tugs the clip open on the binding, allowing me to unwind the rest of it until I reach the sports bra. My fingers slip under the band and I pull it up and over her head, tossing it aside as well. Our hips bump, drawing a low, throaty moan from her as my eyes crawl over the beautiful artwork wrapping around her ribs, the glittering belly ring on her soft tummy, and the glittering nipple shields that make my mouth water.

Hot. Fucking. Damn.

“Sugarplum, I don’t think the first time is gonna last awfully long. You’re dolled up like a pin-up girl in a tattoo mag under here. It’s making my dick do backflips.” I give her a playful smirk, and she rolls her hips, the thin layers of cotton between us doing absolutely nothing to hide her wetness.

“What, country girls around here don’t have body piercings and tats?”

This time, she moves more deliberately, and her pussy slides over my dick teasingly. I pinch her ass and she snorts, scooting down my body before I can react. I try to get her to come back, back she’s damned and determined to do as she pleases. When she tugs my boxer down with herteeth, I give in and let her take control.

After all, that’s my thing and who am I to stop her?

When my cock springs free of the boxers, her perfectly pouty lips form an ‘o’ when she takes in the hardware. Her eyes run up the metal of my Jacob’s ladder to the intricate tattoos on my pelvis. She doesn’t know they’re part of my species marking, but she seems to enjoy the view regardless. Her head drops and she breathes deeply before licking the tip of my dick like a lollipop.

Sweet merciful Aed, I really might not last long.

I hear a husky chuckle and then she swallows me down in one quick move, her tongue flicking over the bars like a pro. It’s not her first rodeo with piercings, and I thank the heavens for it. Her head bobs as she experiments with different tempos, humming while I squirm under her helplessly. Jolene seems to be determined to learn what I like, and I gasp when she manages to take me so far down that I can feel the back of her throat. When I can’t take it anymore, I try to get her to lift up before I explode, but she refuses.

An orgasm hits me so hard that I actually shout, and she continues working her mouth over me, swallowing greedily. I’m completely unable to move for a moment—she might have actually killed me. But when she crawls back up my body and grins at me like a cat that ate the canary, I know I managed to survive.

“Holy Horned God, Jolene. Where in the hell did you—never mind, I don’t wanna know. Just… give me a few and we’re back, sugarplum.”

Her smirk is teasing. “A few?”

“Darlin’, I’m only twenty-two. I definitely meant a few.” Now that I’ve caught my breath, I reach up, grabbing her hips and flipping us so she’s underneath me.

Now it’s my turn to make her scream…

Week One

Iwatch the team as they filter in from their lunch break. Groups of boys who aren’t quite men yet joke and jab at one another, but their commitment to the team is obvious, as it never escalates. Coaching as an adult is like an odd trip down memory lane to the times when Benjy, Dylan, and the rest of the boys were the big men on campus—the state champions year after year.

We thought we knew who we were and what we were doing, but as I realized recently, we didn’t have a clue. I suppose that’s most teenage boys, but at the moment, you don’t have any context for just how small this part of your life really is. You can’t fathom what decisions made then could do to the future—not just your own, but that of everyone around you.

The Cotillion bullshit didn’t change a damn thing for any of us, but it’s clearly followed Jolene her entire life. I see the way her body tenses when it’s mentioned.

Shaking my head, I push away the thoughts of her moans and soft skin. I high-tailed it out of her house while she was out because I had no idea what to say to her when she came to. I know I can’t spill the secrets she isn’t ready for, and I can’t answer why we had that moment without explaining—otherwise, I’d have to fob it off as a ‘one night’ thing.

And that couldn’t be more inaccurate.

A rumbling sound makes me look up at the sky. In the summer, we have three-a-days in rain or sweltering heat, but I have to watch the skies for lightning. Unlike the whackos in the marching band, I pull my guys well before it gets too dangerous. Though, I gotta give that band director credit—he’s easily as dedicated as myself or the basketball coaches. His kids are filling the hallways of the school in similarly structured practices right alongside of us.

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