“Sorry again.”
“Don’t be.” I look up from the bed where I’m perusing my iPad and stare at Easton. He’s fresh from the shower, jogging pants slung way too low on his hips—like it-should-be-illegal low—and his hair is still dripping wet.
Definitely don’t be sorry if this is the view I get as a consolation prize.
“I’m the one who should apologize. I know this has been hard on you—all of it—but until I listened to the three of you talking tonight, I don’t think I realized exactly how hard.” I scrunch up my face because I know that sounds stupid. “I mean, of course I realized it, but after listening to Derek describe his injuries and recovery I kept thinking about you and how you must feel going through this for a second time in less than a year. It must be maddening.”
“That’s putting it lightly,” he says and twists his lips in thought. “This time is different though. I don’t feel as isolated as I did the first go-round.”
“Why’s that?” I’d think it would be the exact opposite. The season’s moved on. Teams have moved on. The postseason is here.
And he’s basically missed all of it.
“Of course, I feel left behind. It’s like I was with the cool kids and then all of a sudden I’m on the outside looking in on a life I used to have.”
“You’ll be back next season, though.”
He shrugs. “Hopefully. But like I said, it’s different this time.”
“How’s that?”
“I have you.” The words alone make my heart skip a beat, but the matter-of-fact way he says it causes me to melt in a way I never imagined possible.
I stare at him, our eyes hold, and I stutter over how to respond properly to a comment like that and not sound like an idiot, because that’s how I feel right now. He’s told me he loves me—and nothing can take away what those words mean to me—and yet for some reason these three mean more to me.
Maybe it’s the setting, maybe the moment, but regardless I don’t think I’ve ever loved him more than I do right now.
“Thank you,” I finally say, touched beyond words.
“No need to thank me when it’s true.” That cocksure smile is back. “Tell me what else you learned tonight.”
“How much you truly love the game.”
He narrows his brow and chuckles. “I thought you had that part figured out by now.”
“I do . . . but tonight. I don’t know, listening to you talk . . . I could hear it in your voice. In your laugh. Your love for all things baseball was more than obvious.”
“We talk baseball all the time.” He shrugs.
“True, but not like that.” I shake my head and look out the window for a beat before looking back to him. “Your voice tonight, the passion for the game in it . . . you had the same zeal that night in the press box before everything else happened.”
“Hmm.” He walks a few steps and stops in front of me, hands on his hips, and eyes alive. “I can’t remember the last time my dad stopped in just to talk. There was no criticism. No second-guessing. And then Derek. There’s so much to learn from his experience. So much I can learn from him.”
I smile. “Leave it to you to take a simple conversation and turn it into a chance to make you a better player.”
“The minute you get content, is the minute you lose your edge.”
“Does that pertain to all things, Mr. Wylder?” My tone is suggestive, my smile coy. He watches my finger as it trails up my inner thigh.
His tongue licks out to wet his bottom lip. “Are you telling me I’m losing my edge, Kitty?”
“Mmm.” I glance down to where his dick is hardening against the loose fabric of his pants before scraping my eyes up his mouth-watering physique. The view never gets old. When I meet the amusement in his eyes, it takes everything I have to play the seductress when my patience is all but nonexistent. “I’m not sure. I might need you to demonstrate your skill set so I can judge for myself.”
“I’ve got a damn good skill set.”
“That remains to be seen, Mr. Wylder.”
His chuckle rolls over my skin and makes me think of how his tongue feels when it does the exact same thing. He takes another step forward and without warning drops his pants to the floor. His dick springs to life and the sight of it—and the knowledge of what it can do to me—causes chills to chase over my skin.
“Show me your tits, Kitty.” His voice is an aphrodisiac.
I purposely make a show of biting my bottom lip as I reach for the hem of his shirt I’m wearing and pull it over my head. His groan is all I need to hear to know he appreciates that I’m braless and my panties are nothing more than strings holding a scrap of lace in place.
“That right there should be illegal,” he says.
“Me?” I ask, feigning innocence as I spread my legs wider. “Or my panties?”
“All of it,” he murmurs as he steps between them and runs a finger ever so softly over the heat of my sex.
My gasp is audible, the feel of his touch addictive as I look back at him. “Are you looking to get arrested then?”
“Any man worth his salt wouldn’t hesitate getting arrested if it meant he got to taste you.”
“Should I take that as a warning, then?” I moan as he slips a finger under my panties and slides it up and down my slit before pushing into me.
“You can take it any way you want so long as you understand when I say by any man, I mean me.” He adds another finger and works both of them into me, moves them, and then slides them back out. He takes my arousal and rubs it over the length of his cock before stroking the full, hard length of it himself. “Only me.”
God, he is sexy. His head is back, his bicep bulging as he pumps his hand over his shaft, and he groans in pleasure.
“Hey, Easton. You need to fuck me to show me your skill set. Not your hand.”
And as quickly as I say it, he grabs my ankles, yanks me toward him, and then does some tricky move where he has me flipped over onto my stomach on the edge of the bed before I can even squeal in surprise. It’s only when the palm of his hand lands firmly on my ass that I make a sound. And this time it’s a yelp as the pleasure-versus-pain thrill races through my blood and ignites every part of me from within.
His hand fists in my hair as the stubble on his chin scrapes over my shoulder. “You want to be fucked?”
“God, yes.” My answer is a breathless plea. This dominant side of him so very different than I’m used to. It’s so goddamn hot.
He rubs the head of his cock up and down my seam, and I press into him to let him know how bad I want it. And oh, how I want it. His laughter is deep and rumbles through the room before it turns into tested restraint as he slowly presses his way into me.
“That okay?” he murmurs, heat on my ear, once he’s seated root to tip inside of me.
“Mm-hmm.”
That chuckle again. “Good, because that’s the last time I’m going to ask. I’m not in the mood for soft and slow tonight, Scout. I want you. Plain and simple. And I’m going to take you. You got that?”
I grind my ass against him in response and knowingly ignite the fuse to his control.
And when he moves, there is nothing gentle about it. He sets a bruising pace I can’t keep up with even if I wanted to. I’m so lost in the bliss of his cock and what it does to me that it takes everything I have to keep my legs from turning to jelly. Thank God, I have the bed beneath me or I’d collapse.
He drives me to my climax and instead of milking it out of me—slowing down so I can ride the soft waves of it—he keeps going, keeps thrusting, so before I know it I’m already primed for another one.
I slide my fingers between my legs and rub my clit to help bring me there. I know he’s close too. He moves his hand from my hair to my shoulder to hold me in place so he can slam into me from behind.
He wages an all-out assault on my senses.
The sound of his groan. The slap of our skin connecting. My whimpers of pleasure. It feels so good it borders on painful.
The feel of his cock. Its head as it slides over every spot I need within me. The possessive grip of his hand.
The scent of his shampoo. The smell of sex. It surrounds me. Consumes me.
My name is on repeat with his every stroke. Each time it sounds more strained, more like his control is about to snap.
And when it does, I’m ready for it. For him. He bucks his hips and his fingers mark my skin from their grip.
“Jesus Christ,” he says as he leans forward and lays his chest atop my back, his chin on my shoulder, his mouth by my ear. “Scout . . . you . . . damn . . .” he pants and presses a kiss to the nape of my neck.
“Mmm.” I revel in the heat of his body and the feel of his skin on mine.
“See? Even with only one good arm, I haven’t lost my edge,” he says with a chuckle once he catches his breath.
“A skill set like that has to be illegal,” I tease.
“Well, if we’re going to jail, we might as well break the law again and again so we get our fill worth.”
“Does that mean next time we get to use handcuffs?”
“I like the way you think, Kitty.” I yelp as he straightens up and smacks my ass. “Teamwork at its finest.”