I used to be a spitter, but Zion made me want to swallow every drop.
“By Ursa, I cede the win,” he declared, voice shaky. “You’re even better with your mouth than I am.”
Flatterer.But I sat back, weirdly elated, even though my body was clenching with unmet need. I wondered if this was how ithad felt for him a week ago. And a little bit of the guilt lifted because I could see how one could be perfectly satisfied with completely satisfying someone else.
Not that Zion was going to leave it there.
As soon as he recovered, that silver tongue of his went to work. First convincing me to lie back.
“I must vie to win back my crown,” he insisted, rolling the “r” on crown.
Then he dramatically buried his face between my legs to do just that. With his tongueandhis fingers this time.
At first, I laughed at his theatrics… then I gasped… then I moaned and moaned.
We never got around to naming an official winner.
But later that morning, Zion made yet another bid for the title, putting me on my side and pulling me into his chest to rub my mound while he claimed me with his long length. My imagination called it right—it did go extra deep. And when he added his mouth to the mix, sucking on my earlobe in a way that made my spine tingle, I came in a burst of fireworks.
Zion followed, groaning into the erogenous zone he’d found as he spilled inside of me.
I’d been complaining about my age all summer, but thank goodness I wasn’t any younger. I would definitely be pregnant after that.
“You win,” Zion said on a happy exhale.
Before I could ask him how he figured that when I was the one he’d turned into a puddle, a knock sounded on the door.
“Go away, interloper!” Zion called out. “Sunday is my day!”
“She has to eat,” Ravik called back on the other side of the door. “We talked about this, and you didn’t follow protocol, so you’ve ceded your exclusivity rights.”
“Wait, what?” I asked, throwing a quizzical look at Zion over my shoulder.
“Rahtid! Cho, look at yuh spoutin’ this foolishness.” For the first time since I’d met him, Zion’s Jamaican accent came bleeding through. It was total animosity, directed at the guy he was calling the best first maul anyone could ask for just a few weeks ago. “Like the two a yuh weren’t outside that door, waiting for me to miss that dumdum countdown clock.”
“Twoof you?” I asked.
As if in answer, Boone growled. “Rules are rules, man.”
“And you broke them,” Ravik added.
Before Boone pointed out, “And we should probably begin training sooner than later anyway.”
Now I was really confused.
“Training?” I asked Zion.
32/
training
BELL
“Lunch first!” Ravik responded to my question about training through the door. “And, Z, you have to make it.”
“I tell yuh, this was a fix on your second maul!” Grumbling, Zion kissed the back of my head before pulling out, getting redressed in his uncharacteristic tee and joggers, then yanking open the bedroom door.
Ravik stood on the other side with his arms folded. He wasn’t wearing a hair tie, and his silver-laced ink-black hair had gotten way longer, I noticed. It was nearly brushing his shoulders. He would have looked cool if not for his “the buck stops here” stance.
