Sweet as Syn

27: GREYSON-Taste Yourself

"That bad?" Syn asks as I grimace after placing a forkful of Brooklyn's salad in my mouth.

He's the worst cook in the galaxy, but he was really excited about chipping in on pasta night this Friday before the game, so Cameron, Hunt and I are showing our support.

"You're lucky he knows you don't eat salad so you don't have to eat this shit right now," I mumble in her ear, only having to lean in a little since she's sitting on my lap on the patio lounge chair.

She giggles and wiggles her butt against my crotch. I almost choke on the sour tasting lettuce, and quickly curl my fingers into her hips to stop her movement.

"Unless you want my cock to rip through my sweatpants in front of my entire team, I suggest you stop your wiggling," I warn with a look of disapproval, which only seems to turn her playful smile into a wicked one, her pupils dilating and darkening her face.

One simple look, and everyone in the house disappears, leaving only me and Syn in our own world.

She leans closer until her lips brush my ear. "You better hurry up and take me upstairs, then," she murmurs, her throaty voice sending a chill up my arms.

Just seconds ago, we were having a heated debate with some of my teammates about whether we stand or sit when we wipe, laughing like idiots. How my dick could get hard and have my whole world focused in on this one girl after that, I have no idea. I guess that's just how things work when you date your best friend who happens to be hysterical and unbelievably sexy at the same time.

"Yup." I stand up and hold Syn between my legs, covering my bulge. "We're gonna go upstairs now. Night, boys."

I ignore the whistles of my team and the dirty look from Hunter, who looks less than thrilled about me leaving with Syn, and drag her inside and up the steps to my room. Before I could close the door, her lips were on mine and her hands were tugging at my sweatshirt.

With a chuckle, I help her out and pull the shirt over my head, loving the way her soft hands run over my abdomen and wrap around my neck, one hand digging possessively in my hair.

I know that she doesn't love PDA in front of the guys since she thinks it'll make them uncomfortable—which it wouldn't, since they fucking love her and are happy we're happy—so our pent-up sexual aggression comes on strong behind closed doors, and I can't get enough of it, of her.

After a couple minutes of body numbing kisses and touches, I unpin her lithe body from the wall.

"Let's level the playing field, shall we?" I rasp before ripping my sweatshirt that she's wearing over her head, chucking it across the room.

She looks up at me through her thick lashes, and slides her fingers across my v-lines that she loves so much, toying with the hem of my sweats. She gives no warning before hooking her fingers into them and slowly pulling them to the ground, leaving me in my boxer briefs and her in her grey sports bra and my sweatpants, which are so baggy on her, she had to tie a shoelace around her narrow hips to keep them up.

"Then level it," she whispers, and I take no time in ripping the shoelace, watching with a growing hard-on as the pants fall easily around her feet. My lord, she looks fuck-hot in her little boyshorts, her round ass busting out of them, her abs flexing as she watches me watch her.

I'm fully aware I'm expressing my primal urges on my face and in my bulging veins and strained muscles. But instead of shying away from my rugged exterior, she relishes in it, proving her trust in my restraint. I could pin her down and bury myself in her, could do anything I wanted to her, but she knows I'd rather die than hurt her, and that trust feels a helluvalot better than sex.