Letting Jaxxon control what we did sexually, knowing that his number one goal was for me to experience pleasure, was a relief. It was an opportunity for me to turn off my brain and let him lead. It probably should’ve freaked me out, but it actually did the opposite for me. I found peace in the surrender.
Jaxxon turned me around, and my back met the coolness of the glass. His lips were on mine. I opened my mouth and accepted his tongue. We kissed and kissed and kissed. Soon, I felt him start to wrap a hand in my ponytail, then fingers strummed my clit, causing moisture to pool at my center and my jaw to fall open. My breath caught in my throat.
“You’re so wet, Baby. You always get so wet for me. You’re perfection.”
My left thigh went over his right forearm. Instinctively, I went up on my tiptoes and bent my knees. I felt the head of his dick at my opening.
He slid inside.
“Ahh.” I moaned contentedly, throwing my head back against the wall and sinking down onto his dick.
“Shit.” He adjusted me against the wall and drove into me. My head bobbed, since he was roughly pulling my ponytail on every stroke. I didn’t care. I was sensitive to my hair being tugged.
“Don’t stop,” I told him. My head fell forward, and I bit into his skin, presuming it was his shoulder.
“Fuck!” he mumbled. “You feel so fucking good.”
He shifted me slightly, hitting a different spot deep inside me. I whimpered my appreciation of his applaudable skill set. My mouth sought his. He gave it to me, kissing me deeply and slamming into me with absolutely no mercy. My legs shook, and I whined behind the kisses
“You’re so fucking pretty, taking my dick like this.” He pumped me deeply, working the ponytail holder from my hair so that my tresses fell freely against my shoulders. His hands dug into them, caressing my scalp.
My body tensed as I felt the telltale signs of my impending orgasm. I called his name. “Big!”
Jaxxon went into overdrive, pummeling me over and over until his release filled me with a familiar warmth.
“I love you,” I told him as he removed the handkerchief from my eyes, and I came face-to-face with him.
“I love you, too.”
Training Camp was approaching quickly,and I was nowhere near ready mentally. The thought of being away from Skyy for two weeks sent me into a messed-up head space every time I thought about it. It didn’t help that she had my bags laid out on the guest bed, dropping things into them anytime she found something from the checklist she’d created.
I pulled her out of the guest bedroom by the hand.
She giggled. “Stop, Jay. Pretending that training camp isn’t a week away isn’t gonna stop it from coming.”
“I know. But every time I see you dropping something into my suitcase, it feels like you can’t wait for me to go.”
Her brown eyes widened with shock. “Are you even serious right now? You don’t know that I’m dying on the inside aboutyou leaving me? You don’t see how I’m strategically packing your bag so I can fit in there?”
That made me smirk, and I pulled her into a hug.
“I’m not trying to get rid of you, boo. Concentrating on making sure that you’ll have everything you need is a coping mechanism.”
“Damn.” I kissed her lips. That hadn’t dawned on me. “I’m not gon’ hold you. If I wasn’t new to this team and needed to know these guys and see how they do things, I would blow this shit off. I don’t even know how effective I’m gonna be, not really even wanting to be there.”
“You’re gonna kill it, because Jaxxon McKissick always kills it.”
I kissed her lips again.
“We need to start getting ready for Travis and Kelcie’s get-together,” she told me before walking away from me, with her ass jiggling in the biker shorts she wore.
“You’re not wearing those!” I called after her.
Every year, my closest homey, Travis Woodson, threw a “season kick-off” get-together. There was always food, music, fellowship, and most importantly to Travis, prayer. After we spent hours hanging out and enjoying the atmosphere, Travis would gather everybody together and pray over and with us. The prayer was for a good, safe, and healthy season. He prayed against distraction, scandal, and injury. He prayed for protection of both our bodies and our minds, clarity, and our personal integrity. Even when I played for Portland, I flew in for the event, if my schedule allowed, because I felt like Travis’s prayer laid the foundation for each new season. Granted, his wasn’t a large affair, maybe twenty people. I wasn’t concerned about who showed up, or who didn’t—I always tried to have my face in the place because it was important to me.
When I met Travis on the campus of Tubman A. & M. University all those years ago, it only took a few moments for me to realize that he was more than just a student athlete. He was an anointed man of God. Travis loved the Lord. He was so adamant about praising and being a worshiper that a lot of dudes on the team steered clear of him. A lot of them asked me how I could stand to fuck with him as my roommate. A lot of them didn’t know that I was a preacher’s kid, and I appreciated the shit out of Travis. When we were at T.A.M.U., that dude was not only my homeboy, he was my spiritual covering.
I grew up with a father who loved God’s word, preached it every Sunday, and practiced it every day. That wasn’t my ministry. I had the tendency to put God on the shelf and pull Him off when I needed Him. My father made sure that I knew that wasn’t how it worked. When I got out of my father’s house, I was ready to wild out. I wanted the full college experience—pussy, weed, freedom, liquor—everything I’d been denied growing up with a preacher for a father.
