Page 6 of Falling Back to You

I was weak, but I had standards. Kissing, in my opinion, was far more intimate than bumping uglies. When you kissed, you were granting the receiver access to your soul. Kissing on the mouth was strictly forbidden.

Ozzie kicked off his boots, removed his jacket, and stripped naked from the waist down. His dick wobbled like it was tipsy. Fishing a condom from his jeans, he suited up. I shimmed out of my panties. After getting home and showering, I’d purposely picked a flowy dress Ozzie could easily pull up for quick fucking.

His overgrown hand wrapped around my neck, and he used it to guide me toward the fridge. Hooking my leg with his arm, I was lifted off the floor, and before I could catch my bearings he was sliding inside. Ozzie grunted out a breath as he slipped into place. “Who’s my beautiful girl?”

“I am.” Ozzie knew how to make me feel soft. As the middle child of two brothers, I’d always had to be tough. Some perceived me as what you might call a bitch. But that was only because I spoke the truth without the accompaniment of any sugar additive. I was good in my role at the nursery, and no one could tell me what to do.

Except Ozzie, when he was quite literally rearranging my guts.

With my back pressed against the fridge and my legs wrapped around his waist, I allowed him to lead. Ozzie’s face was buried in my chest. Since he couldn’t kiss my lips, he’d always pay close attention to my breasts, suckling and teasing until I begged for release. His tongue circled the surface of my tit before devouring it whole.

“Take it for me, I know you can.” Ozzie grabbed hold of my ass so he could control the intensity each time I moved up and down his shaft. He was fucking me with such vigor that the contents of the fridge were jiggling. Clutching the top of the fridge, I tried to center myself. My internal wiring was overheated, and it felt like my core was going to explode. Ozzie knew an orgasm was imminent, so he pulled out. When he backed away, I slowly melted onto the floor. “Stay with me, sweetheart. You’re not getting off that easy.”

“You really think you snapped with that, don’t you?”

Ozzie bent down, his hard dick inches from my face. Did I want to suck it? I did. But I managed to muster restraint. “You are literally dripping all over the kitchen floor. I’d say I’ve done a whole hell of a lot.” His thumb landed on my clit. The pressure from his touch had the desired effect. I ground my hips, working my clit against his stationary thumb. The internal battle that raged inside me… I wanted to come, but I hated it was him that was making it happen.

“Good, now a little faster,” he whispered, staring intently into my eyes. Everything about Ozzie was over the top. The way he talked with that slow Southern drawl. His walk, which was almost comical until you realized he was serious. It was more of a peacock strut. And his big-as-a-circus-tent personality was present in the way he fucked. It was like he was trying to drain me of all of my resources until there was nothing left.

And, like a dumb fuck, I handed over every moan, every leg quiver, and every cry of ecstasy. Right now, I was babbling on the floor when an orgasm overtook me. Ozzie’s smirk was one of satisfaction. He could no longer have a say over what I did. But he still knew ways to wield authority over me. Pulling my legs open, he slid back into my pulsating honey pot.

“S-stop looking at me like that,” I stammered.

“Like what?”

“You know.” Like a few well-timed dick strokes could mend my broken heart.

He hid his face in the crook of my neck, fucking me on the kitchen floor. There wasn’t a square foot on the first floor that wasn’t laced with a memory of him. I clawed at his arm to let him know I was close, and just like everything in our lives, we orgasmed in unison. A well-rehearsed routine. Pick up Maple, ignore one other for much of the week, drop off Maple, get to hunching on the travertine tile.

Ozzie pulled out and made his way to the half bath downstairs. When he returned, I was dressed and in full control of my faculties. “We’re never doing this again. I mean that on everything I hold dear.”

“Okay.” He winked.

2

Ozzie

I was hauling ass long before the arrival of the sun. Palmer Horse Ranch was tucked away on the outskirts of Hume, Tennessee. My family had been here since the town’s inception, alongside a handful of other prominent families. The Palmer name held weight and came with an expectation of greatness. Our horses had been featured in hundreds of movies and television shows. If there was a horse on screen, it was probably one of ours.

While I hated the early-morning wake-ups, I loved the solitude. Those first few hours before the sun crested the sky were peaceful. I’d always been a nature guy. My parents had to wrangle me like a steer to get me to come inside for dinner when I was a kid. The property was vast, and as a child there was a lot to get into. After my chores I would often take off in the direction of trouble.

In the stable, I greeted the horses. “Morning, Belle, you’re looking shiny.” I stroked the American Paint horse. “Dale, how’d you sleep?”

Grabbing the feed, I doled out equal portions to the dozen horses in the stable. There were several stables on property, but this one and the horses in it were mine to train and care for. Over the years, me and these animals had built an understanding: I needed them just as much as they needed me. The horses and their ability to perform were our livelihood. In turn, I made sure they were well looked after.

“What’s that, Goldie? How was my night?” I shrugged. “Same as any other Sunday night.” Normally my evenings were uneventful, with me heading home. Some nights I’d go to the bar, have a few drinks, and talk my shit. But every other Sunday, like last night, I got to see Dial. And recently, seeing Dial meant fucking Dial, and I was always down for that. After dropping Maple off and tucking her in for the night, Dial would grant me permission to tuck my dick in between her thick thighs.

Dial was my ex-girlfriend and the mother of my daughter. Since we’d split, we’d been focused on providing Maple with a stable family unit. Just because Mommy and Daddy weren’t together, that didn’t mean we wouldn’t be there for her collectively. But recently, Dial’s Ford-tough exterior was showing signs of wear.

Each Sunday, she’d let me linger, crack a not-so-funny joke, and eat her out. Licking my lips, I recalled the taste of her on my tongue. Our encounter last night would tide me over until the next time Dial was looking to have her sexual itch scratched. I was certain she had a tool or two in her bedroom bureau, but silicone was no replacement for the warmth of my dick or my hands kneading her sore muscles just right. My legs wobbled and I braced myself against one of the stalls when a flash of her writhing underneath me popped into my head.

When the euphoria wore off, she couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. The look in her eyes told me she thought I was a mistake. A stain on her otherwise pristine, no-fuckboy record. I’d made my share of missteps, but none so egregious that a woman would turn her nose up at the thought of being with me. But Dial and I had history, and she never missed an opportunity to throw the things I’d done—or maybe I should say the things I hadn’t done—right in my face.

I’d spent the last few years trying to make amends, but I think I was more of an annoyance. If it wasn’t for Maple, Dial and I would’ve probably had better odds at a clean break. But our split was messy, like a bullet that pierces your flesh and ricochets throughout your body, narrowly missing vital organs. We were both still healing from the damage, if you considered pretending not to care as healing instead of an ill-advised coping mechanism.

My quiet reflection was interrupted by my father. He never stopped by my stable, and most weeks we could go days without seeing one another. I knew what was expected of me and delivered every single time. The work required a self-starter who could not only manage the horses but people. Under me was a team of ten employees, all talented professionals who could wrangle horses and perform stunts. By default, as Ernest Palmer’s son, I was also second-in-command.

Dad was carrying a tumbler, no doubt filled with coffee. He didn’t immediately speak, so I didn’t either, going about my chores in and out of the stalls. My father’s presence changed the vibe of any space he occupied. I could be joking around with a barn assistant and in would walk Ernest, sucking the frivolity out the room.