Coming back here was a fucking mistake.
What the fuck was I thinking?
My dad really does see me as a monster. He practically accused me of harassing Taylor. For Christ’s sake, I was only talking to her, but my dad being my dad, he sees the worst in everything I do. No matter what, he’ll always see the bad and never the good.
He and Sherry are on their honeymoon for the next two weeks and I know I could stay here, in my childhood home, but I want to get away and be somewhere I don’t have people looking at me like I’m a leper.
Last night I stayed at the motel outside of town, but since dad isn’t here tonight, there’s no better place for me to stay than home.
The way Taylor acted towards me was fucking ridiculous. I didn’t coerce her or make her do anything against her will. I didn’t eat her pussy by force. I heard no complaints. I only heard moans and pleasure.
I don’t deserve this treatment. Not one little bit. I’m not a fucking animal. What with everything happening to my so-called football career, I don’t need this crap.
I pace around like a caged lion—trapped by my old life.
Earlier, I’d called my buddy Kayden to see if he had any luck tracking down the doctor, but he said he hadn’t. Neither had the PI.
Next year, it looks like Kayden will be quarterback one. He’ll be the one guiding and leading my team.
I clench my fists, ready to punch something—anything. I can’t stay here—I can’t. There are too many memories. I need time away from everything and everyone. Part of me foolishly hoped people would at least act like they were happy to see me—even if they weren’t.
The only time Taylor wanted me to be here was when I was between her legs, and now she’s acting like I’m a fucking rapist. At the wedding reception, she couldn’t wait to get away from me. What I know for a fact is that last night, I gave her the orgasm of her fucking life.
While pacing, I glimpse a photo on the sitting room wall. One of us smiling with mom. It was taken at the cabin the year before she died. I remember that summer. It was one of our best family vacations.
Dad and I actually got along for a change. There were no arguments over football. There was only sunshine, sailing, fishing, grilling, and lots of laughter. I reach out and run my fingertips over the photo.
Maybe I’m looking at that summer through rose-colored glasses. Mom had always been the referee between dad and me. The one who kept him in his place. He was forever saying that she was the brains.
After she died, there was no one to make him see when he was being a dumb ass. When he was controlling and overbearing. Or when he expected more from me than I could give.
We still have that old cabin. I don’t think it’s used much these days, but it would be the perfect place to hide out while I get my head together and figure out what I’m going to do to get my career back on track.
If I don’t get the Norandrolone out of my system and get my shoulder in working order, there’s no way I’ll play football again, and that’s not an option.
Sometime tomorrow, I’ll drive up to the cabin. A few weeks of fishing and no bullshit is exactly what I need.
For now, I go to my old room. Posters of Peyton, Eli, and Tom still cover the walls. It doesn’t matter that they were enemies on the field. All that matters is and was their drive and athleticism. Dust covers my old trophies and medals. Photos of me and my old teammates still line the dresser.
I grab a sheet from the linen closet and throw it on top of the bed. Time to get some shut-eye and forget about the world for a while.
I flop onto the mattress and scroll through Instagram. I can’t see any photos posted by Taylor, I think she blocked me, but my sister has posted what seems like a hundred photos of the wedding.
In every photo, Taylor looks as sexy as fuck and my dick lurches to life. In one candid photo, she’s standing sideways laughing at something someone said–Chelsea cropped whoever it was out of the photo.
One of the thin straps on her dress is half way down her arm. As for the back of the dress—wearing something like that should be illegal, only because it almost killed me when I saw her. Spaghetti thin straps crisscrossed her bare back right down to the top of her ass.
“Easy, boy,” I say, but my cock has a mind of its own. Memories of last night—I can’t believe it was only last night—jump through my mind.
The memory of the way she draped her legs over my shoulders is so real, I can feel their weight. The way she screamed when she came. The way her body shook and shuddered.
I know she had a good time, and I know she’s probably embarrassed by what took place. If she were here now, would she act embarrassed, or would she do it all over again?
What would it be like to have her pussy wrapped around my dick? To have her move up and down as she moans my name?
My hand reaches down, and I unzip my pants. My cock is more than ready and practically jumps into my hand.
I curl my fingers around my hard-on and groan. My dick won’t give me any peace until I give it some relief.
The image of Taylor’s face when she climaxed is at the forefront of my mind. How her body arched from the rock. How she pushed me away, begging and pleading for no more.
If it were to happen again, I would ignore her, and I would keep going until she came again and again and again. Keep her coming and keep her screaming my name.
My balls draw up threatening to empty already. If she was with me, I would yank her hair while she sucked me dry as she took everything I had to give her. She would slurp and moan and suck. Saliva would drip from her lips just like the juices would drip between her legs.
I would have her finger herself as she blew me. She’d pleasure herself while she pleasured me. Like the way I jerked off last night when I licked her pussy and sucked her clit.
The base of my back tingles and my balls tighten. There’s no way I can hold back. There’s no way I can stop from exploding.
I shove up the bottom off my shirt and watch my cum shoot all over my hand and my stomach. Her name slips from my lips.
I need to get her out of my mind, out of my thoughts. I need to disappear so I can sort my fucking head out.
This isn’t good.
Not good at all.