Sweet as Syn

17: SYN-Don't Wreck Me

"Orgasms."

Brooklyn's butter-soft lips squish to my face, but not just once. The dude attacks me with wet kisses.

"Endless orgasms. You can cash them in any time. You have a special seat reserved on my face," he kindly offers, being the gentleman he is, before snatching the breakfast I got for him out of my grasp.

I was too angsty to sleep, so Greyson offered his Chevy to drive around and clear my head. I ended up taking advantage of my meal plan and picked up breakfast for the boys. Apparently, that earned me a seat on Brooklyn's face.

Oh, and a full-blown division-one tackle by Cameron. "Uhhhgsynniemygirllll," he mumbles incoherently, putting what feels like all two hundred and fifty pounds of him on me. "So hungover I would have died, Syn. Died if it weren't for you."

There's a scary high possibility the gentle giant fell asleep on my shoulder, and my shaky muscles are grateful when Hunter tears his weight off me and plants him onto a patio chair. He takes the rest of the breakfast boxes from my hand and touches a pointer under my chin, peering down like he's about to devour my face. And then he tones down the intensity with a smirk when he peeks in the box and finds his favorite—a steak, hash brown and cheese omelet.

"I'll offer more than my mouth for this," he drawls, taking me outside by my upper arm to the table.

I quietly watch as three of America's most desired football prospects, all disheveled and hungover, scarf down their food and discuss all the sexual things they'd do to me as thanks for breakfast. I'm aware of my role as little tomboy bestie, but they make it painfully difficult not to blush.

"Shut up, Bernardeau. Syn is a classy girl. She doesn't want you to make her come on your nasty-ass shower floor," Cameron, who has revived himself, informs Brooklyn. Then he gives me a look. "Do you?"

Jesus, no one has even touched me down there, let alone given me orgasms while on the shower floor. Not that I'd be opposed to it.

"Don't choke on your food or anything, but I've never had an orgasm." I regret my lack of filter around them the second they halt mid-chew, gaping at me. "I mean, I've given myself plenty, but yeah. Not from anyone else."

They're speechless, frozen, like I just told them I'm... a Russian spy, I guess.

But it's Brooklyn who looks appalled. So much so, he starts to shake like he's having sympathy sexual withdrawal. "You mean like no one's ever been able to get you off, or that no one's ever tried..."

"Ease up, there, Brookie." I regard him with a look while shoving a forkful of chocolate chip pancakes in my mouth. "I'm only eighteen, it's not like I'm a forty-year-old virgin."

As if I wasn't already squirming like a little piglet in a lion's den, talking about my non-existent sexual status with these sex god legends, the energy in the air shifts.

The chill of the outdoors does fuck all to cool the flush in my blood, the spike of my nerves, the awareness in my untouched parts.

Spicy, spine-straightening, dominant energy sucks up all the oxygen. Cam gives off a loving big brother vibe, Brooklyn gives of a heart-jumping sexual vibe, Hunter gives off a deep, dark, intense vibe, but Greyson... Rough, dominant, fiercely protective, one hundred percent alpha.

And then I feel his heat at my back as his hands brace themselves on the arms of my chair.

"I can't leave you cavemen alone with Syn for five minutes before you bring up her pussy," Greyson tsks, and I feel myself pinken everywhere. And then I feel his breath on my ear as he bends so only I could hear him. "For the record, for someone who's never been touched, you sure as hell seemed to know exactly what you wanted last night," he rasps, his deep, low morning voice prickling my nipples to attention.