Page 45 of Forgotten Comeback (Parisi Family #5)
Chapter
Forty-Four
Gavin
Light streams through the window, and I stir, a huge grin on my face. I’m damn near exhausted, and I’ve never been happier about it. Taylor and I fucked so much last night, I’m amazed either of us has anything left in the tank.
Peeling my eyes open, I look down at Taylor, who’s wrapped in my arms with her back flush with my chest. Her red hair is all over the place, and I inhale deeply. Cinnamon mixed with the lingering smell of our sex? A dopamine hit straight to my bloodstream.
I pull her closer, nudging her with my growing erection. Turns out I do have something left in the tank.
“I’m exhausted. Keep that thing away from me,” she warns, her voice raw from screaming my name.
She rolls over on her stomach, and I crawl on top of her, kissing my way down her spine. “Perfect.” I hum. “Just lie there and take my dick like a good girl.”
“I’m not a good girl, and you damn well know it,” she protests, but I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Yeah, I do.” My teeth run down the curve of her ass cheek, loving the way her skin pebbles. Spreading her cheeks wide, my tongue laps at her pussy from behind. Mmm, she’s already dripping for me. “When’s my dick getting this asshole?” I murmur, running my tongue from hole to hole.
Her throaty moan goes straight to my cock. “I’m not into anal.”
“Because you’ve never had my dick in your ass.”
“So damn cocky.” She shoots me a look over her shoulder.
“I think that’s earned, with how soaked these sheets are. Had to sleep on the only sliver of a dry spot, one leg hanging off the damn bed.”
She chokes out a laugh. “Quit running your mouth and fuck me already.”
“If my girl insists. Face down and ass up.”
She shifts to her knees, and I grab her ass cheeks, giving them a rough squeeze. My handprint’s on her right cheek like a brand, and I fucking love it.
My fingers bruise into her hip as I move my dick back and forth between her pussy lips. With my free hand, I dip my index finger between her cheeks, circling her tight hole. I’m going to claim this ass soon, and she’s going to fucking see stars while I do it.
“Mmmm,” she moans.
“Fuuuck, you’re dripping all over my dick. Beg for it, man-eater.”
“Please, Gavin. I want you.” Her throaty voice makes my skin buzz with need. “To go fuck yourself.”
“You want another masturbation challenge? Aww, you’re still embarrassed from losing the first one,” I taunt her.
“Let’s go,” she says, craning her neck. “Assuming you can keep your hands off me.”
“Guess we’ll find out.” I scramble off her, and Taylor shifts to her knees. “Same rules?”
“Same rules,” she says with determination.
New to this relationship thing, I should probably let Taylor win.
Yeah, I probably should.
But I’m not.
“You gonna squirt across the room again, man-eater?” My hand wraps around my dick as I give it a tug.
“Ga-vin,” she moans my name, running her fingers through her pussy lips. “Be a good boy for me and come on my tits.”
Be a good boy for me.
Gavin
Thirteen-years-old
“You are telegraphing your punches.” My coach barks as I throw a wild jab, and my sparring partner clinches me. I’m sucking wind with my arms trapped beneath his, and then the fucker head butts me. The cut above my right eyebrow busts open, blood gushing down my face.
We’re broken up, and I return to my corner, our cutman holding a towel over the right side of my face. “He can’t do that,” I argue.
“Leave your face unguarded, and yes, he fucking can,” Coach informs me. “You got caught cold; that’s on you, Rocco.”
“He’s bleeding like a stuck pig,” the cutman comments, switching out towels.
“That’s all for today,” Coach calls loudly. He turns to me, disappointment in his voice. “You wanna be a professional boxer, don’t you, Rocco?
“Yes, Coach.”
“Then you’ve gotta learn that not everyone fights fair. You can be a better boxer, but if your opponent has nothing to lose, he’s going to wipe the mat with you. You’ve gotta be hungry for that win, you understand me?”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Prove to me you belong here.”
“I will, Coach.”
He ducks beneath the ropes, a group of pretty women waiting on him. I don’t get why he does that with such a beautiful wife at home, but it’s none of my business.
After the cutman gets the bleeding stemmed and bandaged, I’m helped out of my gloves, and I shower in the locker room before changing into my street clothes.
Stepping outside, I begin the five-mile walk back to the house. Mama won’t let my brothers use her vehicle, and I know better than to ask her to do me any favors.
A car pulls up beside me, the window rolling down. “Rocco, what are you doing?” Coach’s wife, Mrs. Silva, asks.
“Walking home.”
She tsks. “You don’t need to be walking these streets at night. Get in.”
“It’s alright, Mrs. Silva—”
“Get in, and I’ll feed you,” she offers.
My growling stomach decides for me as I slide into the passenger seat.
She drives me to her house, where I take a seat at the table as she works behind the stove. “I’m reheating you arroz de pato.”
“Smells good.” I don’t know what that is, but I’ll take it.
She presents me with a bowl, and I grab the spoon, blowing on it before taking a bite. “Delicious.”
“Thank you.” She beams. “Do you have someone taking care of you?”
Not exactly, but I answer, “I live with my mama and my older brothers.”
“You come here after training, and I’ll feed you.”
“And you’re sure Coach won’t mind?” I wonder.
“He’s too busy with his whores.” She begins crying.
“It’s alright, Mrs. Silva.” Not knowing what to do, I pat her hand.
“Forgive me. You finish your meal.” She busies herself cleaning up the kitchen while I eat, unsure why I can’t shake this weird feeling that I’m going to get in trouble for being here.
I finish the food, bringing my bowl to the sink. She takes it from me, her hand brushing mine.
“Such a good boy,” she coos.
Nobody’s ever told me that, and my ears heat.
“Um, I need to get going,” I say, stumbling over my words.
“Keep me company for a little bit longer,” she begs. “Please?”
“Okay, for a little bit,” I mumble.
She leads me to the couch, and I sit, with her sitting close to me. “Such a pretty boy you are, Rocco.”
“Um, thank you?”
“And those lips,” she says, eyeing mine. “Have you ever kissed a girl?”
I cast my eyes to the carpet, feeling weird. “No.”
She inches closer, and when I look up, she’s pressing her lips to mine.
“Mrs. Silva, what are you doing?” I pull back in a panic.
Her hand falls to my crotch, and my penis becomes hard under her touch.
“Shh, it’s alright,” she assures me, moving both her hands to my jeans and beginning to unbutton them. “I see the way you look at me. I feel the same way about you.”
“Coach—”
“Won’t have to know. Nobody has to know.” She pulls my penis out, wrapping her hands around it. “Be a good boy for me,” she begins moving her hand, “and I’ll teach you how good that can feel.”
Taylor
“Gavin, are you alright?” I ask, gently touching his arm.
He returns from whatever that disassociated place was, giving his head a little shake.
“Come sit with me, and let’s just talk.” I crawl under the covers, patting the spot beside me. He joins me, and I take his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Something triggered you. It’s okay, I just want to know what it was, so we can avoid it in the future,” I assure him.
“I need water,” he mumbles, refusing to make eye contact. “You need a drink?”
“Sure,” I say softly.
He hops out of bed, grabbing his boxer briefs and shorts from the floor. Pulling those on silently, he grabs his phone and stalks out.
My feet land on the floor, and I stretch my arms over my head. Owww. I’m sore, in the most delicious of ways. And what would have been a delicious morning, until it wasn’t. I frown, hating that Gavin wasn’t comfortable telling me whatever it was that triggered him.
Grabbing his shirt from the remaining collection of discarded clothes, I pull it over my head and inhale deeply. Gavin’s shirts always smell good, like him. A masculine, strong scene. Not cologne, all man.
After a much needed bathroom break, I join him in the kitchen.
Except the man’s not here.
“Gavin,” I call, a horrible sensation unfurling in the pit of my stomach.
A glance out the window confirms it: Gavin’s car is gone.
“Why am I crying like a fool? Because even though I knew he was going to ghost me, I still hate being right,” I tell Bonnie through my tears.