Endless Bonds

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I thought a morning shower would help, but I can't get her out of my head.

Cher's been running circles in my mind all night and morning long. Oddly enough, I feel energized despite my lack of sleep.

I've kept replaying her words against my better judgement. I used to have dreams about you. I'd wake up all hot and bothered.

I wish I could go back in time and fix those lost years.

At least we have now.

Because I can't go eight minutes without thinking about her, I'm fucked.

I'm fucked and I'm hard as steel.

I can't believe last night she'd lazily grinded herself against me like I was her favorite sex toy; I can't believe she listened to me when I held her captive over my lap, telling her to touch herself to the thought of me.

Great. I hit my head against the wet tiled wall. Now I'm stuck wondering if she's got toys. Does she prefer to sneak her fingers between her thighs or is she fucking naughty, blatantly opening her thighs and giving her no doubt small pussy a dildo?

Something tells me the latter.

Her taste, it's branded on my tongue. I'm never forgetting the way she shakily brought her fingers to my mouth, letting me suck off all her cum.

My girl has got a bit of a bad streak and I'm here for it. Fuck, the thought of Cheryl touching herself at fifteen because of me...

So. Fucking. Hot.

My mind continues to spin because I know Cher's grown up. But a part of me can't help but remember the shy girl I grew up with; the one who's cheeks would redden at my mere dirty jokes.

Shit. That same girl whispered to me in the hottest voice I've ever heard 'I want to cum, Trent'.

The jeans I wore last night are still on my bedroom floor, the damp arousal she'd left on the crotch now a dry stain.

I've been standing under the water stream for fifteen minutes now. Nothing is helping me.

I try to think of anything that'll tame my horniness – old people smell, Jared's ugly-ass laugh when something is too funny, or even that demon from last night's horror movie.

Nothing works.

Fuck my life. The horror movie only serves to further remind me of Cher.

Accepting defeat, I grab my dick in my hand, pumping the thickness from root to tip. Groaning fucking hard from every slide up and down.

My mind's envisioning Cher on top of me.

Except this time, I've stripped away every ounce of clothing barrier that's separating us.

I've shoved her face down, ass up. My tongue's in her pussy, licking furiously and my hands are all over her tits and ass. She's riding it, trying to come. I'm teasing her. When she's close, I pull away. She's so small, my little spinner. There are so many ways I can fuck her. I can bend and twist her tiny body in anyway I please. Something tells me she'd let me. She'd probably come harder that way.

I'm so close, my hand a fucking blur as I jerk myself off.

I'd fuck her on all fours for the first few thrusts. Then I'd flip her around until she's squatting over me, bouncing her tight body over my dick, her expression twisting in helpless need and lust. I'd let her work for it, all while tangling my hands in her hair. If she behaves, I'd play with her clit. And when she's close to coming, I'd pull out and...

My lower body jerks with a tug and I close my eyes, remembering her words. I want to cum, Trent.

I cum so fucking hard in my shower, not giving a shit if anyone hears my expletive shout.

Wyatt knocks on the door once my vision returns from my blinding orgasm. "Did something break in there?"

* * *

"You're in a cheery mood," Jared notices when we finally reach MacGregor's.

It's a Thursday night and Jared and I decided to grab some drinks – of course, non-alcoholic for me.

It's not Danny's Grill; the crowd is much older. MacGregor's got an old saloon vibe, complete with a wooden structure and worn-out leather furniture.

When we arrive at the bar and place our orders, the bartender doesn't charge us. This is courtesy of Donovan Shaw, who's Jared's ex-sister-in-law's new beau. Also, his dead brother's best friend...

He recognizes us and, because he owns half the place, gives us a chin tip and raises his glass in greeting.

When Don spots his associates, he saunters away to a back office, full three-piece suit intact.

"Does it ever bother you?" I ask Jared when we're given our drinks. I'm nursing a Malibu and Sprite – but minus the Malibu, so only the Sprite – because it reminds me of a certain petite girl who drives me wild.

"What?" he asks, already downing half his Jack and Coke.

"That Heidi ended up with Donovan..."

Jared smirks a little, but it's sad. He runs his hand over his buzz, like he does when he's unsure of his response. "No. Honestly, I grew up worshiping Jayden and Don. He's a great guy, but I always knew there was tension between him and Heidi. I think Jayden did, too."

I nod, understanding what he means. He still hasn't answered my question. Sensing that he needs to go on, I remain quiet.

"However, Don's always been solid and honorable. He never made a move on her when she was with my brother, choosing to bow out respectfully. I know if there was a man Heidi was truly destined to be with, if not for my brother, then definitely Donovan Shaw. After what they've been through, they deserve each other."

"That makes sense."

He shrugs. "Plus, Kyle loves Donovan. So how can I ever be bothered that he became the father my nephew needed? Shit. I know deep down that my brother would have wanted for Heidi and his son to be taken care of. I mean, who better than his own best friend?"

That also made sense. I'd seen Jared's nephew on several occasion and it was obvious that to him, Donovan was his father. I'd also seen how he adored Donovan the same way Jared grew up admiring Jayden.

Conversation took a turn into something deep. Needing to lift the mood, I blurted out, "How would you feel if you died one day and I made a move on your babymama?"

Jared laughs out loud, attracting attention to us. "Fuck outta here, Trent. You're solid, but you ain't that honorable. I'd rather have Oliver make a move on my babymama, rhetorically speaking."

I'm grinning on the outside, but his words struck a chord. You ain't that honorable.

Suddenly, I think back to last night and remember that Cheryl told me about the other guy. Yet, I still made a move on her.

Would an honorable man have done that?

* * *

It's been three nights since the lobby incident. Cher hasn't contacted me.

I haven't texted her either, for fear of pressuring her. I'm waiting, however, for her to render me with her decision.

A decision that entails her choosing us.

Hopefully.

I've been staring at my phone, lying down in bed. My chest twists with the thought of how much I miss her.

The need to talk to her is so palpable that I nearly break my own promise – I don't want to be the first one to text her. I don't want my words to influence her or, God forbid, have her running in the opposite direction.

That kiss – those kisses, I should say- meant something. Fuck, I feel like I'm turning into a chick. I've never been dealt this type of dilemma and I'm here breaking apart every moment that we've shared to a molecular level.

I start typing up a message.

Instead of pursuing, I delete it.

She needs to come to me. I gave her an opening and laid myself bare. Hell, I even gave her a teaser of what it could be like between us, her cum stain on my jeans a vivid proof.

I miss her.

Like a lovesick fool, I start going through old pictures of us on social media. I want to kick myself. Shit, I would never hear the end of it if the guys caught me like this.

I pause on a particular picture of us from four years ago. Quentin and I photo-bombed a selfie of Cher.

So young. So beautiful. Still so fucking beautiful. Hermosa.

Before I can start writing her haikus, I lock my phone and chuck it away, focusing on the dark ceiling of my bedroom. It doesn't stop the treacherous thoughts from creeping in.

Fuck. Make a move. Come on, baby. I'm waiting.

I've concluded that I don't have the patience of a saint because, three minutes later, I text Tara and invite her to my next football game in hopes that she'll drag Cher and it'll nudge her in the right direction.

Waiting fucking sucks.

But at least I'm trying to do the honorable thing by giving her time and space to make her decision.

* * *

Five days since I last saw Cher.

I've got my last midterm today and I need to ace it – a random elective that Calvin roped Wyatt and I into taking. The dickhead decided to drop it three weeks in and didn't tell Wyatt and I until the deadline.

My grades in that class can be better. However, it's not a subject I'm interested in. Moreover, I need to focus on my core classes and football.

Wyatt walks beside me as we leave the auditorium after that shitshow of an exam. A whistling breath leaves him. "Fuck. How did that go for you?"

"If I get a B minus, I'm going to count my blessings."

"I'm still treating myself this weekend whether I pass or not."

"Oh yeah?"

"Hell yeah. My sister is going to be in town for our game and she's dragging me to a new terasse that just opened up on Sunday. I can't wait to drown my weight in sangria."

"Dude," I snicker. I forget Wyatt likes girly slash fruity alcoholic beverages. He's been the rear end of plenty jokes. "Maybe save the celebrating for after we win."

"We will win."

I sure as fuck hope.

* * *

We fucking win.

After a two-game losing streak, this was needed. Beyond sweaty and feeling like I'll collapse from the soreness in my muscles, I jog over to Calvin, who just delivered the game-winning touchdown.

He's doing a weird comical dance to celebrate the occasion. Wyatt and I jump him, clapping his back and hollering obscenities as the rest of the team joins us, roaring at our victory.

I look over my shoulder – the people in the bleachers have gone haywire, yelling at the top of their lungs.

This is one of the best parts of the game for me – the contagious joy that's spread amongst everyone after a home-win.

But the best, best fucking part?

Seeing Cheryl Anderson there.

* * *

"Hi," I murmur to Cher and Tara who are standing outside the locker rooms after the game.

Thankfully, I'm freshly showered and changed. Most of the guys have left, but Coach Harvey needed a few words with me, so I lingered around, despite my exhaustion and sore muscles – I took a minor hit earlier in the first period.

"Amazing game, Sweetie," Tara says as she passes by me, squeezing my bicep with her claw like fingernails. "But you're not the one I want to celebrate with tonight."

Because she has no shame, she skirts past me to the guys locker room – most likely to find Calvin and probably make-out. Or have sex.

I mean, a rumour circulated around that Tara and Calvin fucked in the locker room showers but I tried to ignore that tidbit. Quite frankly, hearing about someone who's like your sister getting it on is a turn off.

I don't need to hear about Tara Simmons sexcapades with my teammate.

Not good. Thinking of sex when Cher and I are left alone is not a good idea. Especially since she hasn't spoken to me in the last few days and I have no idea where her head is.

"H-How have you been?" I stare into her impossibly gorgeous face, transfixed by the light blush creeping her tanned skin. Then I add. "You came."

Her eyes twinkle a little, but her gaze remains watchful. Cautious. "There's an inappropriate joke there somewhere, eh Reynolds?"

I chuckle, then sober up quickly. I don't want to pressure her, but...I find myself walking towards her until she's backed up against the wall and we're inches away.

She's forced to crane her neck back to look at me with those impressive eyes. "I've missed you," I whisper to her, fighting the urge to close my eyes and lean my forehead against hers after the long day I've just had.

She smiles lightly and place her palm against my heart. That touch nearly sears me. After not seeing her for days, this is torture. "I've missed you, too."

"What's talking you so long, baby?"

Her fingers barely graze my jaw. "I'm sorry, Trent. I've been lost in my head for a few days. Just needing to deal with things on my own."

I nod my head. I understand. Doesn't change the fact that I've been needing her so bad and going out of my mind thinking about her.

My eight minutes have been reduced to five minutes. That's how long I can go without thinking about her. Pathetic. She's got me by the balls, and she hasn't even touched them yet.

Her scent evades me – a sweet raspberry hint and another thing I can't pinpoint.

Right now, I feel high on the win and something that's utterly Cheryl Anderson.

I drop my gear bag to the ground and bracket her tiny body with my arms until I've plastered her to me. My chest expands with an inhale, as if I'm finally taking my first breath of relief after excruciating days of not being with her.

What's wrong with me?

Cher rubs her chin against my chest in an endearing manner so she can tip her head back and better look at me. "Trent?" her voice is adorable and small as she blinks up at me.

"Just a minute. I need to hold you, sweetheart. I need to feel you. I've missed you so fucking much, baby."

With an anguished sound, she throws her arms around me and holds me close.

This. This is all I need.

Her warmth, her scent and her body wrap around me like a protective cocoon.

"You missed me, sweetheart?"

She nods frantically against my neck.

"How much?"

"So much, Trent." Her voice is getting all breathy – I know what that means.

Maybe I'm about to be a bastard with my next words but I'm tired of waiting and need to give her a push in the right direction.

I never claimed to be perfect.

"You know what I've missed the most – your taste," I rasp in her ear, kissing her earlobe. "Can't forget it, Cher. I want more."

Her moan is muffled against my skin, but I feel the sound all the way down to my toes. "The last few days have been torture; I can't deny this anymore, Trent," she replies, wetting her bottom lip and nearly causing me to groan out loud. "And I...I want to taste you, too."

My vision swims a little. "Are you fucking with me right now?"

Her gaze is hazy, clouded with want for me. She shakes her head, her expression pleading and desperate. "No. I want you in my mouth, Trent. I want to remember your taste, too."

I press my forehead to the wall next to her head, inhaling deep breaths.

If she wants my dick in her mouth, she's going to get my dick in her mouth.

Thinking my momentary silence is a no, she slips her fingers over my cheeks until she's pulled my mouth closer to hers. I hover, swallowing her exhale with my eyes closed.

"Please, Trent. Let me have this, please?" she begs, nearly panting. "Don't you want to fuck my mouth, baby?"

That's it. She's done it.

With a grunt, I jerk us away from the wall and usher us down the hallway to Coach Harvey's office. He left ten minutes ago, and I know from past experience that he never locks it.

I push us inside and lock the door.

I keep the lights off to give us privacy. I also know that the partial darkness makes this all the hotter.

Cher notices and, even in the dark, I can see the feline-like smirk taking over her mouth. "I think, baby, that we're going to put on a little show in the dark."

She parrots my own words back at me and the way she's murmurs them, so soft and confident, nearly undoes me.

With two steps, I lunge for her, grabbing her around the waist and boosting her on to Coach's desk. The little minx opens her thighs so wide that her tiny skirt rides up, and I can make out the silhouette of another itty-bitty thong.

She's breathing just as heavily as I am.

With just a twist of my fingers, I can tug the flimsy material to the side and crook my fingers to the spot that I know will make her hips buck wildly and her mouth scream my name, loud enough to stop Jesus from performing miracles upstairs.

But I don't. She wants me in her mouth and that's exactly what she's going to get.

My lips cover hers. I kiss her fiercely, pushing my tongue into her and taste spearmint and a hint of popcorn.

She clutches my broad shoulders and sucks on my tongue. It drives me crazy. I nip her mouth before raising my hands to her breasts. And, feeling no bra, I start to rub her nipples over the material of her blouse the way I know she likes it.

No, loves it.

She's moaning now and I shush against her mouth. Can't risk anyone hearing us. "Quiet, Hermosa. Unless you want an audience."

"I just want you," she practically whines against my mouth.

"Yeah?" My hands delve under her top to cup her bare breasts. Fuck, they fit my palms perfectly.

"Yes." She's panting with her mouth wide open when I pinch her nipples, her head thrown back in abandonment. "I'm going to suck it so good. I'm going to let you fuck my mouth so good, Trent."

A growl rips free of my throat and I find myself turning her around to face the desk just so I can deliver a few blows to her ass. She moans even louder, my dirty fucking girl. "You want to talk like a bad girl, baby? You're going to back it up like one, too. Get on your fucking knees. You've got a minute to fill that mouth with cock."

Cher drops to her knees, whimpering.

With fumbling hands, she reaches for my belt.

* * *

Guess we're celebrating tonight, too, is my first thought when Cher pulls out my semi-hard dick.

I moan at the first touch of her slender fingers against my hot skin.

The outline of Cher's mouth is visible from the small light entering through the partially closed blinds. I rub my thumb over it, smearing her lip-gloss all over. Cher bites the pad of my finger and gives me a naughty look.

Please, sweetheart. Put it in your mouth. Suck it real good.

It doesn't take long for her to lick the slit and catch the first drop of pre-cum. "Mmm," she murmurs in wonderment. "So good."