Heartthrob

by Robin Bielman

  “That’s because you’re my client. It wouldn’t really be appropriate.”

  “What about on your Instagram? We’re friends, too, right?”

  She turns her head to look straight at me. Her expression is hard to interpret. There’s agreement in it, for sure, but there’s also some mistrust or hesitancy, I think. She blinks—slowly—and when we reconnect I get the feeling whatever is going on inside her head is complicated.

  “We are,” she finally says, but I swear I hear more in her tone. We are more than that.

  I park the car then hurry around to open her door. Her foot slips on the curb and I catch her, her nails taking purchase on the front of my shirt. For a beat we stay like that, the streetlight throwing shadows and casting a glow around us at the same time.

  I take her hand on the walk to her front door. She wraps her fingers in mine with easy acceptance. You’re right, Webster. We’re more than friends.

  “Thanks for today,” I say, hoping she’ll invite me in. I don’t want to say good night. Not unless it’s in her bed after I’ve touched every inch of her with my hands and mouth and we’re skin to skin and so exhausted we can’t keep our eyes open a minute longer.

  She puts the key in the lock, looks over her shoulder at me.

  And time freezes.

  We’ve shared this knowing look a dozen times, and every time is hotter than the last. It’s not a matter of if we slake our desire, but when, the constant thrum of sexual tension slowly building to a breaking point.

  I’ve reached my limit. Has she reached hers?

  “Just tonight,” she says softly, reading my mind.

  Thank fuck. “I’ll take it.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  #InScoringPosition

  Finn

  I follow Chloe inside the house and the second the door shuts behind us, I’m on her, my body calling for hers like it’s been starved for years. “Chloe,” I whisper against her ear as my hands roam everywhere at once.

  “Finn,” she murmurs back, her grabby hands all over me as well.

  Her smell overwhelms me as I kiss down her neck. I run my palms over her shoulders, sliding underneath her jacket and pushing it down her arms until it falls to the floor. I reach around to her ass, cup it, and bring her flush against me. I’m hard for her and I want her to feel it. To know that in a matter of seconds she turns me on like no one else.

  We grind against each other like a couple of teenagers, my fingers finding the hem of her dress, the smooth skin of her thighs. I’m a second away from pulling the cotton up and over her head when I somehow register I’m acting like an animal and the entryway of her house isn’t where I want her naked.

  I let out a breath and get myself under control enough to slow down and cradle her face. To count my favorite freckles, enjoy the parting of her full lips, absorb the dazzling shades of brown rimmed with soft, long lashes staring up at me with desire.

  And then she smiles. It’s crazy dizzying.

  “Nothing in my life feels as good as your smile,” I say, my heart beating louder than the words I’ve spoken. It’s the truth. I’ve kicked ass on the baseball field, received standing ovations, won awards, made my parents proud, but this girl trumps all that. “Well, except for maybe our first kiss.”

  Her chest rises and falls. She wraps her arms around my neck. “Imagine what more kisses will do to you, then.”

  “Let’s find out.”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  Reality to set in? This insane, disorienting attraction to fizzle out? Doesn’t happen.

  I crash my mouth against hers. The kiss is immediately all encompassing. Lips, tongue, feelings. I said I’d take one night, but the truth is I’ll fight for more. I’ll show her how good we are together again and again until she’s forgotten all about some silly curse.

  She kisses me back with equal vigor, up on her tiptoes, her round, mouthwatering tits pressed against my chest. I release her face and lift her up, her legs wrapping around my waist, without breaking the kiss. She moans into my mouth when I slow the glide of my tongue against hers so I stay the course as I walk us down the darkened hallway hoping to find her bedroom.

  “First door on your right,” she says, slightly out of breath. She rubs her nose against mine then pulls back to look at me. There’s enough light from the entryway to take in every gorgeous detail of her flushed face.

  Inside her room, a bedside lamp that was left on supplies enough incandescent light for me to see the bed and set her down on it. She kicks off her shoes, removes her socks, and scoots back. When she reaches the center, she pulls her dress up and over her head and tosses it to the side. Her barely there underwear is white with maroon polka dots and trim. Her bra is a simple black. I love that they don’t match. I look my fill, from her neck to her feet, finding a few more freckles, a small scar on her side, and curves I can’t wait to navigate.

  I am one hell of a lucky man.

  “Your turn,” she says, not at all shy about my perusal.

  I toe off my shoes, unbuckle my belt, and untuck my shirt. Her bottomless brown eyes stay on my hands as I work the buttons of my dress shirt. She licks her lips when the material falls away, squirms when I drop my slacks. My boxer briefs do little to hide how much I want her.

  “Your turn,” I say.

  She reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra, letting the straps slip slowly over her shoulders. She stops the progression to torture me, no doubt, before removing the lingerie entirely and flinging it across the room.

  I crawl up her body a split second later, supporting her back as I lay her flat while kissing lips that taste like peaches dipped in sugar. She runs her fingers through my hair before holding my head steady to deepen the kiss.

  As good as it is mouth to mouth, I kiss down her neck, spending a little extra time behind her ear when she shivers. Sighs of pleasure follow my trail to her breasts. I cup one while taking the other in my mouth, licking and sucking on her nipple until it’s hard. She arches her back, gathers the comforter in her hands.

  “Finn.” The breathless word is a straight shot to my dick. “That feels so good.”

  I move to the other breast, this time sliding a hand to between her legs, over the cotton, then underneath. She bucks her hips. I slip a finger inside her. “That does, too,” she hums. “Please don’t stop.”

  “Don’t plan to,” I say easing off her nipple so I can skim my lips lower, and lower still.

  The scent of her skin, clean, warm, and intoxicating lingers in my nose and if I had to walk a straight line right now I’d fail spectacularly.

  I do plan to make her come with my mouth, though. I kiss her hip then slide her underwear down her legs, tossing the small undergarment over my shoulder.

  She pushes up onto her elbows to see what I do next. Under heavy lids she watches me kiss the inside of her ankle, her calf, behind her knee. I move to the other leg and kiss the inside of her thigh. I stop a hair’s breadth away from her center. She spreads her legs, inviting me to feast.

  Best Thanksgiving ever.

  I bury my face and eat her out until she’s writhing and vibrating, and her first orgasm rolls into a second release that has her thrusting against my chin, her heels digging into the mattress, and moans of pleasure filling the room. I don’t let up until her body stills, her legs completely relaxing.

  “Holy shit, you’re good at that,” she says.

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “Unbelievably good,” she clarifies. “On a scale of one to ten—” she takes a second to consider her words “—a twenty-five.”

  Twenty-five is my jersey number.

  “I’m about to rock your world a third time.” I take off my boxer briefs at the same time I snag the one and only condom out of my wallet, kneel on the bed, and start to—

  “Slow your roll there, stud,” Chloe says, sitting up and covering my hand with hers. My dick jerks at the close proximity of her fingers. “It’s my turn to look at you.” />
  No problem. I raise my hands in surrender, giving her all access.

  “I knew you’d live up to my imagination.” She s-l-o-w-l-y rolls the condom down my shaft.

  “You’ve surpassed mine,” I admit.

  That earns me a modest smile to add to my assorted collection. I want to be the reason she smiles every single day. I push the possessive thought out of my head to concentrate on right here, right now.

  “Now lie down, Webster, arms over your head.”

  Chloe

  I’ve never liked being told what to do, but when Finn commands me to lie back down with my arms over my head, his giant, beautiful cock poised to come inside me, I don’t hesitate.

  Because I want nothing more than to be connected to him in the most intimate way possible. He’s already touched and kissed me everywhere, made me feel like this is a bed of clouds. A place where the two of us are a world away from everyone and everything. He’s plucked my heart out of despair so effortlessly, it doesn’t matter whether I wanted him to or not. I was—I am—helpless against his charm.

  He won’t be mine forever, but he’s mine right now.

  And let me tell you, he is ALL THE THINGS.

  His hard body covers my soft one as he laces one hand with mine. His other hand glides down my side, raising feel-good bumps on my skin.

  “I want to go slow, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to,” he says, gazing down into my eyes with affection and enthusiasm and I’m completely gone for him.

  “We have all night,” I say.

  “I don’t have any more condoms.”

  “I do.”

  If I still had my panties on, they would have just disintegrated from the sexy curve of Finn’s mouth. His fingers find my wet and ready entrance. He rubs and teases and then he slips inside me with one smooth thrust of his hips. For several glorious seconds we stay just like that. Perfectly still. Him deep inside me, stretching me. Filling me so completely, the sweet sensation is a kind of delicious pressure I’ve never felt before.

  It’s heaven.

  And then he moves, pushing in and pulling out, his hips rolling with expert precision. The energy surrounding us is both languid and hot as Hades. I don’t want Finn to ever stop. I want him this close to me always.

  The sound of our lovemaking fills the room and takes me to the edge over and over again. He kisses the side of my neck, my shoulder. Takes my nipple between his teeth, licks and sucks. My boobs have always been a big erogenous zone and the combo of Finn’s mouth and surging cock has me falling into my third orgasm. I very loudly let him know how high he’s taken me and then it’s his turn.

  “God, Chloe,” he mumbles before he thrusts once, twice, three times the charm, and groans through his own release. He stills inside me once again so we can hold on to our connection a little longer before he rolls off of me and onto his back.

  I lower my arms, exhausted in the best possible way.

  He gets up and walks toward the bathroom. His ass is round, firm, and I have the sudden urge to bite it. To mark it. Property of Chloe Conrad. I’ve stared at his backside in baseball pants numerous times, unable to look away, but seeing him in his birthday suit is insanely better. I roll onto my side so as not to miss a second of his departure. He disappears into the bathroom, I hear some rustling and the sink being turned on, and then I’m blessed with his return.

  Jesus, I can’t believe he’s real. Muscles, muscles and more muscles in collaboration with a face so handsome I have to glance away for a second to catch my breath.

  He joins me back on the bed, lying on his side so we’re looking at each other.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hi.”

  “You hungry?” I don’t know about him, but I’ve worked up an appetite.

  “I could eat.”

  “Don’t move.” I pick his shirt up off the floor and put it on, buttoning just two middle buttons before I hurry to the kitchen. The starched cotton falls to the middle of my thighs and smells like Finn, a mix of man and clean laundry. I grab a few plates out of the fridge. The stuffing needs to be warm so I microwave it for two minutes. Turkey is delish cold. So is apple pie. I tuck napkins and a couple of forks into my hand, and snag the dish towel hanging on the oven door.

  The main light is on in my room and Finn is sitting against my headboard wearing his underwear when I walk back in. I can’t believe he’s in my bed. I can’t believe what we just did. My cheeks heat at the thought. I don’t know why I’m feeling shy after the fact. Maybe because I’ve had a few minutes to think about it and I highly doubt I’m the kind of girl Finn normally hooks up with. His degree of cool and mine are on epically different levels.

  Not that he’s ever made me feel inadequate. Quite the opposite, actually.

  “Here we go,” I say, laying the dish towel and plates of food on the bed between us. I hand him a fork.

  “Looks like you brought my favorites,” he says. “Thank you.”

  “I may have noticed what you ate the most of.”

  He forks a piece of white meat turkey. “So, is this the house you grew up in?”

  I dig in to the apple pie. The next bite will be stuffing. The combo is better than chicken and waffles. “Yes. We moved here when I was three weeks old.”

  He looks around the room. “I’m going to take a stab and say blue is your favorite color.”

  “How observant of you,” I tease. My bedding, the walls, the few pieces of framed artwork, are all in shades of blue. “What’s your favorite?”

  “Brown.”

  “Like dirt brown or dark chocolate brown?”

  He dips his head and peers onto my eyes. “Somewhere in between.”

  Oh. I take a bite of stuffing, then apple pie, then stuffing. Keeping my mouth full seems wise at the moment. Otherwise, I might blurt out how much I like Finn and I’m trying really hard to do whatever we’re doing without feelings getting involved.

  Finn makes a face. “What are you doing?”

  “Eating.”

  “I can see that, but it looks like you’ve got a unique system going on.”

  “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

  “Okay.” He puts his fork down, looks at me expectantly.

  All right. I can feed him and keep my pulse from running out of control at the sexiness of it. I give him a piece of apple pie. While he chews, I scoop up a bite of stuffing. The cold pie and warm stuffing are best served one right after the other. Eat. Repeat.

  “Not bad,” Finn says when finished with four bites.

  “Want more?” I wave a forkful of pie in front of him.

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  I shrug and gobble it myself. We eat in pleasant silence, rarely taking our eyes off each other. “Have you ever been pants drunk?” I ask out of the blue.

  “Depends. What is it?”

  “It’s when you get drunk at home by yourself in your underwear.”

  “Are you implying you’d like to get pants drunk with me right now?”

  “I’m not in my underwear.”

  “No. You’re in my shirt.” He traces his finger along my collarbone and down to my cleavage. “And look sexy as hell. Is there a Women & Pie Instagram? Because I could take a picture of you right now and break the platform with the response.”

  “You do realize talk like that to a social media manager is like porn, right?”

  He laughs. “I’ve thought the same thing when you talk baseball.”

  “Really?”

  “Webster, your brain in combination with your body is a direct link to my dick.”

  “So, if I was to, say, tick off some of your stats, like your OBP was .460 this year, with seventy-nine RBIs and ten HBPs, you’d get excited by that?” I glance down at his lap. He’s sporting some major league wood. “Mmmm. Seems so.”

  Faster than I can say Silver Slugger Award, Finn has the food off the bed and me spread out beneath him. “Condom?”

  “In the drawer.” I lift my chin toward
my nightstand.

  Finn wastes no time. His magic fingers touch me until I’m squirming with need and then he covers himself and slides home. This round is less hurried and more controlled. He moves inside me like a slow song is playing in the background. We kiss, we rub noses, we suck and kiss each other’s necks. My hands wander over his shoulders, into his hair.

  “Wrap your legs around me,” he commands.

  I do and he rolls onto his back, taking me with him so I’m on top and riding him, setting a new tempo. Controlling our rhythm. A pulsing and throbbing that ends with us coming at the same time.

  “You’re incredible,” he says, looking up at me.

  “You, too.” I bend down to give him a kiss. It’s just a peck, but I hope it conveys how wonderful tonight has been.

  We crawl under the covers and talk more. About baseball, Finn’s family, Sammy, and my bridesmaid dress. He finally confesses to buying me a new one and tells me about his cousin, Meredith. She assured him it was exactly the same measurements and I’d never know the difference. I stick my tongue out at him and announce I’m paying him back. He says the only currency he’ll accept from me is kisses.

  “Can I ask you something?” Finn whispers after a few minutes of cozy silence.

  I’m tucked under his arm, my head on his chest. “Sure.”

  “Will you tell me about your dad’s illness?”

  My muscles tense, but only for a moment. It’s a fair question. And after the day and night we’ve had together, a question I find myself content to answer. Finn is on the quieter side, a lone wolf who loves his family. He’s stoic, funny, tough. He’s an incredible athlete and not an egomaniac. His career is his first love, as evidenced by his insane work ethic and accomplishments and the fact that as far as I can tell, he hasn’t had a serious girlfriend since making it to the majors. All this to say, I like him. A lot. And I trust him.

  Which leaves me vulnerable.

  Worried I’m setting myself up for heartache all over again. I can lie to myself all I want and say it won’t bother me if Finn meets the girl of his dreams and fits her into his baseball life, but the truth is it would.