Page 228 of Scoring the Player
“Wait. It’s pouring. She shouldn’t be out there.” He grabs my sweats and throws them on. “You go upstairs and clean up. I’ll let her in.”
“Cool.” I disarm the security system.
“Hey.” He walks over to me, drags off the condom, and strokes my dick. “This load is mine later.”
I wink at him. “I love you, but I’m definitely coming in the shower.”
He growls and drops to his knees. “You have one minute to come.” Grabbing the backs of my thighs, his tongue slides down the underside of my cock before he sucks me down. He presses down on my taint, and my stomach contracts. He tugs on my balls and then inches his fingers back toward my hole. He looks up at me, silently asking permission. I nod, and as soon as his finger rubs against my rim, I groan, the first wave hitting me.When he breaches me, I’m grunting into my fist and shooting down his throat.
He sucks me dry, kisses my dick, jumps to his feet, and smirks as he says, “Like I said,myload.”
I stand there, panting against a wall with my dick out.
How’d he do that? How does he make me come in, like, thirty seconds?
I scrape up the condom and wrapper—no time to clean up the batter—and drag myself up the stairs on rubbery legs.
Arnaz
I toss the paper towel after washing my hands and race to unlock the door, Simba on my heels.
“What are you doing out of bed?” I ask with concern when I open the door.
She quirks her eyebrow, then swipes a finger against my cheek and tastes it. “Hot!”
I laugh as she wordlessly hands me her bag and pushes past me. “Doctor said I need to walk.”
“From New Jersey?”
The sound of a car honking grabs my attention. Mom rolls down her window, waves, then drives off.
“There’s no way I’m having a Goth movie marathon without both of my besties,” she tells me.
“I wished you were here,” I confess. I help her out of her coat and then bend down to unlace her shoes.
When I try to sling my arm over her shoulders, she edges back from my batter-covered chest, and I laugh. “You, I’ll hug,” she says to Sim. “Except I can’t bend down.” She squats a bit to scratch his head, then leads the way into the living room. “Are you okay?” she asks me.
“Better than yesterday.” I blow out a breath. “My bad for not coming over like I said I would.”
“Honestly, it was like a funeral yesterday. Eerily quiet in the house.”
“Yeah?” I don’t know how to feel about that. “You okay?”
“Mmhm. What about you two?”
“He’s stuck with me now,” Salem answers from somewhere upstairs.
“Bestie!”
“Hey, you,” he says, “Be right down.”
“Come on.”
She pauses, staring at the mess of batter on the floor that clearly looks like a torso outline. “I’m so proud of you,” she says, making me laugh again.
I’m getting her set up on the couch with her feet up when Salem comes down, looking fresh in gray sweats and a thin black hoodie. He envelops her in a hug. “You hungry?” he asks her.
“For your cooking? Hell yes. I still think about your braised short ribs and mac ‘n’ cheese,” she replies.
