Ain't Happenin' (The Ballsy Boy Series Book 2)

by Shandi Boyes

  The knowledge has me expanding my sexual palette for the second time tonight.

  “Then, once you’ve done that, perhaps you can come in my mouth.”

  My womb spasms when the crown of his cock smacks into my uterus. “I’m going to come all over you, amore mio. In your pussy, your mouth, and your ass before shifting my focus to every inch of your skin.”

  I circle my hips as he fucks me faster, allowing almost every glorious inch of his cock inside me. “Then what are you waiting for? Let’s get the party started.”

  When his body jerks, finally relenting to the tension teeming between us, a third climax crashes over me without warning. I groan into the sticky, humid air as my head thrusts back in delight, exploding with a bang.

  The vitalizing zap coating my skin with sweat lasts for several glorious minutes, only slowing when Lorenzo murmurs against my heated skin, “I think our theory has been proven, amore mio. Your pussy is mine for the next four months.” The possessiveness in his tone should sound a warning alarm in my head, but I’m too spent to hear it.

  With my body shutting down, and Lorenzo’s cock still twitching in my tight, wet heat, I rest my flushed face in the crook of his neck. It would be a warm, safe place to recover from three blinding orgasms if the headlights of a police cruiser weren’t bouncing off his sweat-gleamed skin.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lorenzo

  “You never do anything in halves, do you?”

  I stop glancing at my knuckle-busted hands, wondering how my night went from wonderful to shit to wonderful again to glance up at the person accosting me. Jonah is standing on the other side of the four by four cell I’m detained in. His smirk is playful, but the narrowing of his eyes exposes he’s not impressed he was dragged out of bed at one o’clock in the morning to bail me out of jail.

  “Was she worth it?” he asks while moving away from the caged door, so the sheriff standing behind him can insert a key into the old-time lock.

  While standing from the bench my ass stopped feeling over an hour ago, I shoot Jonah a wry look, warning him not to push me. I haven’t seen nor been given an update on Skylar since our arrest, so now is not the time to test my patience.

  After swinging open the creaky door, the sheriff with a rounded stomach locks his dark eyes with mine. “Your bail has been paid. You’re free to go.”

  “And the woman I was with? Is she out on bail?”

  When he shakes his head, my angry eyes shoot to Jonah.

  He holds his hands out in front of himself. “I wasn’t sure how much you were willing to fork over for a one-night stand. You’re too cheap to pay the bill when we eat out, so how was I to know you wanted me to foot her bail?”

  “One, you don’t get rich by giving it away. Two, Skylar isn’t a one-night stand, and if I hear you say otherwise again, we’ll have more than words.”

  Ignoring the sheriff’s hand moving to hover over his baton, I sidestep him. Although I can’t see Skylar, I can sense her presence, so I know she’s here somewhere.

  I find her three jail cells later sleeping on a soiled mattress. My first thought shouldn’t be to bang my chest, but what can I say, I’m a male. I love that our impromptu romp exhausted her enough not even a pee-scented cubicle has stopped her getting some shut-eye.

  When I click my fingers at Jonah, he yanks my checkbook out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “How much is her bail?” I ask the sheriff with my pen at the ready to sign any amount he says so Skylar can leave this hell hole with me.

  The nib of my pen skids across the embossed paper when he advises me Skylar’s bail was set at one hundred thousand dollars. “Why so high? I beat a man, yet my bail was only ten thousand.”

  The sheriff’s mustache wiggles when his curl into an amused grin. “She has a record.”

  “For what… murder?”

  Although I’m technically asking a question, I write the amount requested onto the check, tear it out, then hand it to the sheriff. My night with Skylar was so perfect, I’d hand over every dollar I have if it guarantees it will happen again.

  After staring down at the check, the middle-aged sheriff gives me a peculiar stare. “How do I know it won’t bounce?”

  I glare at him, stunned. Does he not know who I am? Call me conceited, but one hundred thousand dollars will barely create a ripple in my weekly spending limit.

  I’m about to tell the sheriff I’m the greatest sportsman he’s ever had the honor of meeting, but Jonah thrusting his cell phone into his face stops me. I don’t know if he has it open on one of the many articles about the record-breaking deal I signed to enhance the love of football on this side of the continent or my bank account. He has access to both.

  The sheriff’s pupils dilate to the size of saucers as they shift from Jonah’s phone to me. “You’re Lorenzo Ricci?”

  I hit him with a cocky wink. “In this flesh.”

  I stop straightening my jacket like a pompous prick when the sheriff grunts, “I thought you’d be taller.”

  “And I thought I just handed you a check,” I grind out through clenched teeth.

  His smug grin tells me I responded how he had hoped. “All right. Calm down, short stuff. No need to get your panties in a twist. I’ll get this processed right away.”

  “Before you do that, open her cell.” He attempts a rebuttal, but my glare alters his train of thought. It’s for the best. I was seconds from adding more bruises to my knuckles.

  Can you blame me? It’s four in the morning. My patience is thinly stretched.

  Steel keys rattling against one another jingle into my ears when the sheriff jabs one into the lock. While the cog slides the latch out of place, I shrug off my jacket. It’s not as cold here as Milan gets in winter, but the air does have a chill to it.

  “Amore mio,” I whisper, crouching down to Skylar’s level. “It’s time to go.”

  My endeavor to wake her in a calm, controlled manner flies out the window when a gust of warm air blows into the holding chambers. Danny sidesteps Jonah like his focus is on nothing but getting the ball into the back of the net. “I got here as soon as I could. It’s catastrophic out there. Even being cold enough to freeze my testicles hasn’t hindered the media from showing up.”

  He shakes Skylar, startling her enough, she squeaks. When her eyes slowly flutter open, they drift between Danny, Jonah, and me. “Holy cupcakes, am I still dreaming?”

  Jonah and Danny smile, pleased by her praise. I’m five seconds from giving them a lobotomy.

  The chances of someone being maimed doubles when I notice a smear of dried blood on Skylar’s hand. “Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?”

  I spin around to face the sheriff, the redness on my face hot enough to singe my last nerve. “Why is she bleeding? Se scopro che le hai fatto del male—”

  My scorn is cut-off by Skylar saying, “I don’t know what blah, blah, fatto del male, means, but no one hurt me. I’m perfectly fine.” The grimace she pulls when rising from her bed doesn’t help her campaign. She’s clearly in pain.

  “You do not look fine, amore mio. You’re bleeding.” I peer at Danny and Jonah, wordlessly requesting for them to back me up. Their expressions are a cross between sympathetic and indulged.

  I discover why when Skylar whispers, “I’m not bleeding because I’m injured. It had just been a while.”

  I stare at her, truly lost.

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” she murmurs on a groan. “Do I need to spell out everything for you?” When I nod, her eyes roll skyward. “It’s been a while. ‘It’ being S-E-X.”

  “Oh.”

  Whatever you do, Lorenzo, do not smirk like a smug prick.

  “Sorry.”

  You smirked like a smug prick, you coglione.

  Sneering at my smile, Skylar paces toward the open jail-cell door. “Can we please go?”

  “Of course.” I jog to catch up with her before draping my jacket over her shoulders. She looks like she wants to shrug out of it, but
the admired eye of the men in my half of the holding cell changes her mind. They’re looking at Skylar like they haven’t feasted in years, and she’s a freshly made lasagna.

  After signing out our belongings, including both our cell phones, I usher Skylar to Jonah’s car. Mine was impounded as evidence, not just for the ridiculous charge of indecent exposure, but for the assault of Joshua and his two friends. They’re lucky they are still breathing. If it weren’t for Skylar reminding me tonight was my one and only chance to woo her, I’d still be pounding their brains into the pavement.

  I bundle Skylar into the back of Jonah’s car, then climb in after her, thankfully missing the sports journalists Elvis is entertaining across the street, so we can slip out the back entrance of the sheriff’s office unnoticed.

  I peer at Danny in shock when he slides into the front passenger seat not long after Jonah slips behind the wheel. Does he not have his own ride? And why does he look so eager?

  His mind-reading skills are proven effective when he murmurs, “Figured since you two had already done the deed, it would be safer in here than with Willow and E.”

  Skylar’s chest rises and falls in quick concession. “Willow and E are here?”

  Danny screws up his nose. “Duh. How else do you think I got here at four in the morning when news of your arrest started circulating?”

  “My arrest?”

  Skylar stops clutching her chest when Danny says, “Not yours. His.” He nudges his head during my last word.

  “Phew, but still, you could have hired an Uber. You didn’t have to drag Willow and E into this.”

  Skylar’s embarrassment is all but forgotten when Elvis pulls his leased ride next to Jonah’s. Since it’s late, the roads are empty, meaning we have plenty of time to take in Willow’s response to Elvis’s head hanging out the window. Her cheeks are redder than Skylar’s, and her fists are set to maim.

  After Elvis rockets past us, I shift my eyes to Skylar. “Why was his nose plugged?”

  With the tenseness of our arrest still hanging thickly in the air, her giggle is a beautiful thing to hear. “It’s a story I’m not willing to share without permission.” When Danny pivots in his seat, Skylar shoots him a warning look.

  “What?” he responds, acting innocent. It’s an act he could pull off if he wasn’t grinning like a loon. “I was just giving you this.” He tosses a pink labeled bottle toward Skylar. “Willow said it’s soothing as well as preventing. Whatever that means.”

  A scratch impinges my throat when I take in the label. A lady is cradling her extended stomach, and the oil is recommended as the best perineal stretching oil on the market by the American Association of Birth Centers.

  “Oh. My. God.” I figure Skylar’s shock resonates from her friend gifting her oil to stretch her vagina in preparation for childbirth, but I’m proven wrong when she garbles, “We forgot to use protection.”

  Jonah’s eyes zoom to the rearview mirror as Danny gasps. I’m too stunned to form a response. I’ve never been so reckless to forget protection before. Usually, a condom is on before anything is on.

  The scorn in Jonah’s eyes diminishes when Skylar points out an all-night pharmacy half a block up. “Pull in there. The sooner I take the morning-after pill, the more effective it will be.” As Jonah pulls to the curb, Skylar locks her eyes with Danny. “Come with me.”

  “Me! Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to look like a tramp entering a pharmacy by myself at four in the morning.” Skylar’s reply takes a good minute to be articulated since she sucks in big breaths between each word.

  She stops glaring at Danny when I say, “I’ll escort you, amore mio.”

  “No, it’s okay,” murmurs Skylar at the same time Jonah says, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?” I ask, bouncing my eyes between Skylar and Jonah. “I’m the one who stupidly forgot to don a condom, so it’s the least I can do.”

  “Because despite the early hour, news of your arrest is circling, which means the press is hounding. If they’re not already knocking on every door in the district searching for you, they soon will be. Furthermore, the media you saw outside the sheriff’s office is only a small handful of the ones set to arrive here within the hour. You’ve already been charged with battery and indecent exposure in a public place. The last thing we need is anyone witnessing you buying the morning-after pill.”

  Jonah’s reply makes sense. He’s paid to make sure I put my best foot forward at all times. But what is Skylar’s excuse?

  When I slant my head and lock my eyes with hers, her throat works hard to swallow. I stare at her for several long heart-thrashing seconds, hoping she will open up.

  She does, just not in the way I was hoping. “I need a few minutes to gather my head.”

  After a final glare at Danny, warning he either follows her or loses the ability to walk, Skylar throws open the rear driver’s side door and curls onto the footpath.

  Danny joins her two seconds later.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Skylar

  “Have you ever had a cock you know will ruin you within a second of seeing it?”

  Danny squashes his ear against my phone when Willow laughs. “Up until a few months ago, I would have said no.”

  “And now?” Danny asks, somewhat desperately.

  Willow’s sigh makes my heart happy. “I’m reasonably sure I’ve been ruined for more than one lifetime.” She tells Elvis to stop being a wanker before diverting her focus back to our conversation. “Does that mean what I think it does? Are you going to utilize the perineal oil Danny gave you?”

  Yes, yes, I am.

  “No. This call is about you not keeping your promise. You were supposed to keep me away from Lorenzo, not thrust me onto his crotch. Now you’ve gone and ruined everything.”

  Willow scoffs. “Me? I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, you did. You raved time and time again about your Adonis cock accessory that I had no choice but to go find one of my own.” She laughs like I’m joking. I’m not. I’m one hundred percent serious. “Lorenzo’s cock… oh. Then when his talents are added into the mix along with his ridiculously handsome face… double oh.”

  “That good?”

  My thighs squeeze together while recalling how mouthwateringly wicked he is. “Better than good. He was—”

  I’m interrupted by the pharmacist calling my name.

  “Don’t stop,” Danny mutters, horrified. “I need details. Juicy, hot details.”

  “Hold on a minute?”

  I wait for Willow to murmur in agreement before sashaying to the counter. My steps are way too springy for my aching muscles, and they groan with every step I take. I thought my impromptu car romp with Lorenzo would last five minutes, tops. I had no clue it would go for almost an hour. I haven’t had one college hookup last longer than thirty minutes, and that included foreplay.

  I’m pulled from my dirty thoughts by the pharmacist requesting the ridiculously high fifty-eight dollars for one tablet since I didn’t have a prescription from a family planning clinic.

  After mouthing, “Thank you,” I pop the tiny pill onto my tongue, swallow it with the excessive saliva I always seem to have when Lorenzo is around, then shift my focus back to Willow.

  “What was that?” I’m panicked she overheard the pharmacist’s instructions on ensuring I take the Plan B, One Step pill within seventy-two hours of unprotected sex, but discover I’m way off the mark when she says, “Was that your flaps clapping?”

  “No!” I cup my hand around my phone to ensure the old biddy glaring at me from behind the counter doesn’t hear me whisper, “For one, flaps is a horrible word, and two, they don’t clap.”

  I’m reasonably sure the pharmacist’s due-for-retirement assistant didn’t hear my comment. However, I’m just as confident Danny has supersonic hearing. “Flaps don’t clap, but I don’t care what you say, vagina’s sure do growl.”

  After poking my tongue o
ut at him, I follow a chortling Danny outside. Willow highlights every step I take with whip-cracking noises. “If her flaps are clapping, you know her man ain’t slacking, oh yeah. If her flaps are clapping, you know her man ain’t slacking, oh yeah.” She makes a noise like she’s at the hoedown before repeating the chorus of her freshly penned song.

  “Hey, Willow?”

  After laughing long enough, I’ve joined Lorenzo in the back seat of his car and fastened my seat belt, Willow replies, “Yeah?”

  “Do you want me to ask Lorenzo to give E some pointers?” I wait for her to stew over my comment long enough the bottom of the pan will be singed before singing, “‘Cause if your flaps aren’t clapping, we know your man is slacking, oh yeah.” My lyrics have the same hillbilly flare she used.

  Her laughter roars down the line a mere second before Elvis’s big baritone voice gobbles it up. “I think it’s time for some Hulk smashing.”

  I gag when Willow’s giggles shift to a moan, then I say, “On that disturbing note, I’m out.”

  She may say goodbye, or she may moan something I refuse to repeat.

  I will never tell.

  Twenty minutes later, we pull into a one-star motel on the outskirts of town. As confusion twists my stomach, I stray my eyes to Lorenzo. Tonight’s festivities starting with me showing Lorenzo the fun you can have without spending a lot of money, but this is beyond the joke.

  Upon spotting my scrunched brows, Lorenzo explains, “This is the only motel with a twenty-four-hour check-in.”

  “Okay… then why don’t we just drive the forty miles to the cabin?”

  “I’m sorry, amore mio, we can’t. The cabin is swarming with the press.”

  I follow his slide out of the car before asking, “Because you beat up a star cornerback?”

  Lorenzo laughs. It isn’t an amused chuckle. “No, because a star football player was arrested for beating a coglione.”