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Kennedy gasps and clutches her heart, thoroughly swept away by Colin’s romantic words, and our foursome talks a bit longer about Colin’s comment and our great news in general. Eventually, however, Colin wraps up the call.
“Gotta go, guys,” he says. “There’s something I want to do, before Amy and I call our parents.” We hang up the call, and Colin grins mischievously at me. “Let’s go find Fish and Caleb. I’d love their help with something.”
We find the duo downstairs in Caleb’s living room, looking like they’re having a jovial conversation.
“Hey, guys,” Colin says, as we enter the room. “I wanna make it Instagram official with Amy, and I’d love to have you both in the shot.”
I inhale sharply in surprise, not only because Colin is willing to announce our relationship to the whole world—but because he wants to do it in such a shocking way. Since C-Bomb and Dax had their falling out several years ago, the members of Red Card Riot and 22 Goats haven’t been photographed together. And now, Colin is planning to post a photo of two members of 22 Goats with Red Card Riot’s iconic drummer . . . and lil ol’ me?
To my surprise, Caleb leaps up energetically, as does Fish, with both men saying they’d love to help out. Without hesitation, all three men huddle around me, with Colin sliding his arm around my shoulders, and Colin snaps the momentous shot. When he shows it to me, it’s after he’s already posted it to his Instagram account—and the caption he typed underneath the photo makes me feel physically dizzy:
Two Goats, a Red Card Rioter, and the love of my life who makes me swoon.
“Well, that’s not gonna fly under anyone’s radar,” C-Bomb says dryly. “In about ten seconds flat, that post is gonna break the internet.”
“That’s the idea,” Colin says. He addresses me. “You want my ex to see that post? If so, I’ll have to unblock her on Instagram.”
I can’t help snickering. “Hell yeah. I’m probably a petty bitch, but I want every woman you’ve ever dated, had sex with, or merely kissed—every groupie who’s ever dreamed of sleeping with you, every girl I saw sneaking through your side gate as a teenager, every boy who didn’t ask me to a dance in high school, and every girl who made fun of my hair growing up—to see that photo and wish they were me.”
All three men guffaw at my surprisingly diabolical response, as I break into peals of gleeful laughter along with them.
“Done,” Colin says. He grins broadly. “Now that I’ve posted it, I think we’d better call our parents, pronto. Otherwise, in a matter of minutes, someone else is going to steal our thunder and tell them the good news first.”
Thirty-Three
Colin
When Amy and I reach my moonlit bedroom—or, rather, from this day forward, our moonlit bedroom—I stow her suitcase inside the doorway and immediately begin kissing her ravenously while peeling off her clothes. I’ve had a hard-on since leaving Caleb’s house, a primal ache coursing through me like a mania to consummate the lyrics of my song—to express the same sentiments and promises contained in my lyrics, only this time with my body. If Fish hadn’t been giving Amy and me a lift home, if I’d been driving, I would have found some dark, secluded place to park, so I could have fucked my woman a full half-hour ago.
When Amy’s naked before me, I rip my own clothes off, tossing each article of clothing this way and that as I guide her to the bed. When we’re both naked, I lay Amy down onto her back and begin worshipping every inch of her, every soft curve, murmuring words of adoration as I do.
As our mutual excitement soars, Amy begins making delicious sounds of pleasure that send pre-cum seeping from my tip. Breathing hard, I spread her thighs wide and dive head-first into her sweet pussy like a starving man. I flicker my tongue over her hard, swollen clit while sliding my fingers inside her and stroking her, methodically.
It doesn’t take long. In record speed, Amy yelps, grips the comforter underneath her, and comes like a freight train against my fingers and tongue.
That first one under my belt, I lie on my back, pull Amy’s quivering frame on top of me, grip her hips, and guide her onto my cock. I want to see her face as I make love to her. I want to see her green eyes flash when I tell her I love her while fucking her.
Why did I think romantic love had to be hard and painful to be real? Was it from watching my parents as a kid? Was that idea reinforced after watching my sister, Chiara, go through her painful divorce?
Well, now I see. True love can be easy and natural and right, like it’s written in the stars. Like it’s always been with Amy.
