13. Suck my Balls
13
Tessa
It’s on like Donkey Kong, mother fucker.
As soon as I’ve scrubbed off a layer of skin along with all the goat shit, I hop out of the shower and pull on a robe. Throwing my hair up into a towel, I grab my phone and text the only person who can help me with my plan to get back at Riggs.
Me: 911. Call me.
I toss my phone onto the bed and move to my closet. After picking out a fresh pair of leggings and a clean tank top, I slide the damp robe off and get dressed. As soon as I get my pants pulled up, my phone rings. Diving onto the mattress, I grab it and answer the call.
“Hey.”
“What’s the emergency?” Roxy asks, not sounding even mildly panicked.
She knows I’d never send a text if it was an actual emergency.
“I need your help. Are you off tonight?” I ask.
“I am,” she says. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what do you need help with?”
“Riggs pranked me back, and I refuse to let it go unanswered. Can you bring over your special cookie cutters and that gel icing pen you have?”
“Oh…you have to tell me what he did,” she says, her voice laced with laughter.
“He filled my yard with goats.”
“He did what?”
“At least a dozen of them,” I explain. “And they all had on blankets that said ‘I love the goat.’ You know, the acronym for greatest of all time?”
“Meaning himself, I presume,” she says with a laugh. “That’s actually pretty clever.”
“Hey, who’s side are you on, anyway?” I grumble.
“Sorry,” she says, her humor negating the apology. “I’m on your side, of course. Always.”
“So, can you please come help me get him back?” I ask.
“Of course. I’ll be there in twenty.”
After we hang up, I head back into the bathroom to towel dry my hair. I pull it up into a messy bun, then swipe on some deodorant before heading out into the kitchen to wait for Roxy.
She works at a fancy restaurant in Branston as a waitress, but she has a very lucrative side hustle––making X-rated baked goods for bachelorette and birthday parties. Cock cookies are her specialty, and I need a special batch for my annoying ass neighbor.
Digging through my pantry, I find the flour, sugar, and baking powder. I pull the wet ingredients from the fridge, then dig around in several drawers until I find the wooden skewers I bought last time I wanted chicken kabobs. Pulling a stick free of the packaging, I press my finger tip to the pointed end and smile.
“Perfect,” I whisper, excitement building at the prospect of repaying Riggs for the fucking goats.
A knock sounds on my door, but before I can move to answer it, Roxy’s voice calls out for me.
“In the kitchen,” I call back.
“You weren’t kidding about the goats,” she yells, then I hear the door close. “Riggs went all out on that one.”
She shuffles in with a large bag, and my frown turns into a smile as I watch her pull each item out. A rolling pin. Tubes of icing in various colors. And finally, the cookie cutters. I grab a large one shaped like a cock with giant balls and hold it up.
“This one. It’s perfect,” I say, and Roxy returns my grin.
We spend the next couple of hours prepping, cutting, and baking two dozen dicks on wooden skewers. By the time we’ve finished, we’re both covered in flour and my sides hurt from laughing so much.
Shooting Roxy a devilish grin, I grab one of the cooled cookies and a tube of red gel icing. Very carefully, I write a message for Riggs. When I finish, I hold it up for Roxy to see.
“A dick for a dick,” she reads, then nods. “That’s good, but how about this?”
She takes a few moments to decorate her own cookie, then holds it up proudly.
“Suck my balls. Nice,” I say, admiring the little footballs she drew on the testicles of the cookie.
We spend the next hour coming up with different dick-centric sayings, and even though I was pissed when I came up with this idea, I can’t stop laughing when I imagine Riggs finding all these cookies in the morning.
By the time we finish, it’s pitch-black outside. We skip the dark outfits––honestly, I could give zero fucks if we get busted. I want Riggs to know it was me. I carry the tray piled high with cookies outside, and we head down the driveway and out into the street before veering toward his house.
Because my yard is still filled with goats, and I know firsthand that it’s hazardous to try to maneuver through them.
Careful not to break the cookies, we push the skewers into the ground, lining them all up in nice even rows with the writing facing the house. In addition to “a dick for a dick” and “suck my balls,” we have “go fuck yourself,” “shove it up your ass,” “lick my dick,” and “cocksucker” written on the cookies in various colors.
Am I aware that this is extremely juvenile and petty? Sure. Do I give a shit at this point? Hell, no. Riggs brought this on himself.
As we hurry back to my house, I refuse to acknowledge the fact that he apparently finished feeding the goats and gave them water so I wouldn’t have to do it. Acknowledging that would mean acknowledging that Riggs did something nice for me. But he’s the one who brought these goats here, so he should be the one to take care of them, right?
Besides, I refuse to accept any kindness from him. Ever. Not after what he did…
Twelve years ago…
I feel like I’m floating on air. I’ve never been as happy as I am right now.
Riggs just kissed me at my locker before hurrying off to his next class, and my heart is still pounding from the feel of his lips on mine. No matter how many times we kiss, I always feel the same. Elated. Treasured. A little bit tipsy.
He’s given me three orgasms now, each one roaring through me harder than the last. And I finally got to touch his cock, and feeling it throb in my hand while he moans his pleasure has been the most powerful feeling of my life.
And I want more.
I’ve decided to tell him this weekend that I want to go all the way. I want him to be my first.
My blood hums just thinking about it. I know I should be nervous. Maybe even a little scared. But I’m not. Riggs has taken such good care of me, always gentle and giving, making sure everything feels amazing. I know he’s the perfect guy to have sex with… No. To make love to me.
Because that’s what it will be. Making love. I’ve fallen head over heels for him.
Not only has he been amazing with the physical aspect of our relationship, but he’s a genuinely great person. Kind, funny, and always considerate of my feelings, he’s shown me what it means to be truly cared for. We always have fun together, too. Whether we’re out in Branston or at home, watching television, he makes me laugh like no one else ever has. He’s affectionate even when we’re not making out, and…
Shit, I could go on and on.
The bottom line is I’m in love with him. And even though we haven’t voiced the words, I’m pretty sure he loves me, too. I can feel it when he holds my hand. When he kisses the corner of my mouth. When he sneaks up behind me and picks me up, making me squeal as he spins me around and around until I’m dizzy and deliriously happy.
I know I’m only seventeen, but I’m sure of this. Riggs Malone is the one.
As I float around the corner to head to class, my wide smile drops when I hear someone say my name with a deep, ugly laugh. My feet stutter to a stop as I see a group of Riggs’ teammates huddled up in the hallway in front of my classroom…