Page 11 of Scored

Kissing her, I tasted my own saltiness before spinning her toward the wet tile. This was a dance we’d rehearsed since finding one another again. Our steps were choreographed by a combination of muscle memory and carnal knowledge. We each were tuned in to what the other wanted and desired.

I’d been right about her arousal. Her tight pussy gave little resistance as we became one.

The way Vee responded, the goose bumps upon her flesh, and the hardening of her nipples were glorious to watch. Even from over her shoulder, I saw the way her breasts grew heavy and her areolas darkened.

My injury was forgotten as my grip of her hip tightened as I continued to take her, positioning her in a way I could dive deep, thrust after thrust.

With her wet hair hanging down, Vee pushed back, her fingers blanching on the tile. Her words turned to gasps and faded to whimpers. Her lustful noises were fuel to my desire.

The way her pussy clamped down on me, strangling me as she came apart was the magical finale. I let out a guttural roar as I also came, until I collapsed over her back. My left arm hung to my side as I laid my chin upon her shoulder. “I love you.”

My heart pounded against her skin as she craned her neck, peering back at me. “I should have known.”

“That I love you?”

“That a dislocated shoulder wouldn’t keep you from playing and it sure didn’t stop you from what you just did to me.”

“Me?” My laugh reverberated through the steamy stall.

Disconnecting our bodies, Vee spun, reaching for my torso. Pushing up on her tiptoes, she brought her lips to mine. “I couldn’t have come that hard by myself.”

I stared into her bright green eyes, and a smile curled my lips. “You started it.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Time wasn’t our ally. I had to be at Maker’s Mark by one. If time was on my side, I would happily bring Vee another round or two of memorable orgasms. Instead, she got to help me with the cooling wrap, put on a Coopers t-shirt, and place the sling.

Wearing sweats, I went to the kitchen. It may be almost noon, but my stomach was thinking about breakfast. Maybe it was brunch. Cooking one-handed wasn’t too difficult. My arm was safely back in the sling. No residual effects from our earlier shower.

After putting our muffins in the oven and with Vee in the bathroom finishing her hair and makeup, I remembered a question that was of utter importance two days ago. It was the question I asked Clark. I scrolled my messages, finding the ones we exchanged Saturday morning.

“TELL ME YOU TOLD VEE WHAT I SAID.”

My reply.

“SHE KNOWS.”

Clark’s reply.

“WATCH OVER HER. THEY DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT THE ASSISTANT. THE PILLBOX WAS VEE’S.”

My question.

“ARE YOU SAYING SOMEONE TRIED TO FRAME HER? HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?”

More accurately, my still-unanswered question.

I sent a reply.

“WE NEED TO TALK.”

Three dots bubbled and stopped. They bubbled again and disappeared.

“I hope you’re contacting Lisa,” Vee said, entering the kitchen.

My smile returned as I scanned her from her shiny hair to her pointed-toe boots. She was gorgeous, wearing blue jeans that flared and a black turtleneck sweater that hugged her figure perfectly.

I darkened my phone and shook my head. “I called Mom on Sunday night before the team took off from Houston.”