Written in the Scars(66)

His greens are filled with unbridled lust and I smile, flicking my tongue against his tip. I find the spot just behind his balls and press two fingertips against it with unrelenting pressure. His entire body shivers, his eyes flutter closed as a hiss escapes his throat.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” I ask, massaging that spot with the pads of my fingers.

I take him into my mouth again and roll the tip around like a sucker. The suction pops as I release it. “You should feel how wet I am. My pussy is begging for you.”

I’m pulled to my feet instantly and am led across the kitchen to the table.

“Your pussy will never have to beg for long,” he says, standing behind me.

Leaning over the table and grabbing the other side, I glance at him over my shoulder. His cock in his hand, his chest now bare, he looks at me like he’s about to devour me.

I shake my ass side to side and grin. “What are you waiting for?”

“Just enjoying the sight,” he says.

The tip of his cock swirls around my opening before I feel it part me. He enters me slowly, yet with enough force that it’s blissfully uncomfortable. Once he’s all the way in, he pauses, running his fingers down my spine. Then he begins to move and I lose all contact with reality.



I peek under the foil. The cheese is the perfect golden color and the spaghetti sauce is bubbling beneath. Sticking the pan of garlic knots on the rack below, I close the oven.

Wiping my hands off, I toss the towel on the table as I pull open the kitchen door. The sky is a beautiful shade of orange and blue as the sun begins its descent below the horizon.

It’s a peaceful evening, a great ending to a pretty good day. After the fight and amazing makeup between Ty and myself, today was a little touch-and-go to start. As the day wore on, I realized being mad at Ty for something Pettis said wasn’t worth it. I have to trust him and I do. I’m trusting my gut.

My lungs pull in the crisp air as I walk down the sidewalk and to the sound of a hammer in front.

Rounding the corner, I see Ty nailing up a loose board on the garage. Wearing a pair of jeans with a hole in the knee, a long-sleeved white thermal shirt, and his Arrows cap, he looks edible.

He glances up at me. “What are you looking at?” he laughs.

“Just wondering if the sexy man working on my garage wants to go in for dinner?”

“Does he get you for dessert?”

“That could be arranged.”

He stands and puts his tools back in the bag and disappears to the side. As he puts his stuff away, I spy a basketball lying beneath the hoop. I pick it up and take a couple of shots, missing both.

I hear his laugh before I see him. “It’s hard to imagine you’re the wife of a basketball coach with a jump shot like that.”

“My husband doesn’t teach me how to shoot,” I pout.

“What a dick he must be,” Ty smirks. Extending his hands to the front, I toss him the ball. He shoots from where he’s standing, barely jumping or trying, and the ball swishes through the net. “That turns you on, doesn’t it?”

Rolling my eyes, I shoot again. And miss.

“That turns me on,” he says, retrieving my shot. “That’s why I haven’t taught you to shoot. I just like watching your boobs bounce like that when you miss.”

“You’re an asshole,” I tease, catching the ball.

He follows the ball and presses a kiss to my lips. “Play me a game.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

Tilting my head to the side, I sigh. “And how’s that?”

“If you win,” he says, “I’ll do dishes for a week. And if I win . . . I’ll eat your pussy every night for a week.”

Laughing, I shoot him a look. “That doesn’t seem like you win either way.”

“How do you figure? If I do dishes, you’ll be happy and that makes me happy. If I’m eating your pussy—and let’s face it, that’s gonna be the end result of this—we’re both happy.”

“Silly boy,” I say.

Throwing the ball towards the net, I’m shocked that it goes through. Ty rebounds and takes my place, easily swishing the ball through the net.

I shoot again and miss. He shoots and drains it from the edge of the driveway.

“Damn it,” I say, putting my feet where his were. “There’s no way I’ll make that.”

“Nope, there isn’t,” he laughs. “I’m all about watching your body. So, you know, go ahead and shoot.”

I do and it doesn’t come close.

“That’s an H,” he says, draining another one from the other side.

Before I can shoot, Jiggs’ truck rumbles down the road and into the driveway. I flinch as his headlights shine in my eyes until he flips them off.