The Ace and The Assistant

by Kate, Jiffy

  It’s possessive and wanting.

  When I wrap my legs around his waist, he brings his hands up to my hair, gently pulling it as he tilts my head back and claims my neck like he did my lips.

  At some point, he walks us out of the kitchen and to the stairs that lead to his bedroom, but we don’t make it more than two steps before he stops and takes my dress off.

  Then my bra.

  Halfway up the stairs, he lays me down and begins to kiss his way from my neck to my panties, paying special attention to my boobs. I can’t think straight for the way his skin feels against mine and the delicious way his scruff leaves its mark down my body.

  This is stuff fantasies are made of.

  My fantasies.

  For a brief second, I think about pinching myself to make sure it’s real, but then decide against it as Ross’s teeth nip at the waist of my panties.

  If this is a fantasy or a dream, I don’t want to wake up.

  When I hear the rip of fabric and then the bite against my skin as Ross discards my panties, my eyes fly open and I glance down to see a look on Ross Davies’ face that I’ve never seen before.

  Need.

  Want.

  Like an animal on the prey.

  He’s the lion and I’m the gazelle, except I’m not unsuspecting or a silent bystander, I want this more than he’ll ever know.

  Holding my gaze, he lowers his mouth to my center and my eyes roll.

  Oh, God.

  I know this is not an appropriate time to bring God in to this, but Sweet Jesus…

  Okay, or Jesus.

  But this man is a gift from heaven and his tongue has been blessed by the angels. There’s no other logical explanation for how he’s making me feel right now.

  When his mouth sucks my clit as he plunges two fingers inside me, the room spins and my body burns with an impending orgasm. Usually, it takes me a good five minutes to come, but in less than two, Ross has me teetering on the edge.

  The heat travels up my torso and before I know it, my entire world explodes.

  When I finally open my eyes, a smirking Ross is hovering above me and my hands are still in his hair. “Did you like that?” he asks smugly and I groan as his jean-clad erection thrusts against me, making me want more.

  Since when am I so greedy?

  “You know I did,” I retort, leaning forward to kiss him. Tasting myself on him does something to me. I’ve had men go down on me before, but never with that much fervor. I want to return the favor, but Ross doesn’t give me the chance.

  When our kiss gets heated, he uses the rail to stand up on the step below me, and then he lifts me into his arms. Before we make it to the top, I have his jeans halfway down his muscular hips and I can feel the head of his erection at my entrance. Using my feet to push the denim further down his legs, I let out a loud, satisfied groan of approval when I feel him enter me.

  It’s only an inch or so, but it’s enough to let me know Ross is big everywhere, especially there.

  “Oh, God,” I say, panting as my arms wrap tighter around his shoulders and he angles me against the wall. “Yes.”

  Ross grunts his approval and kisses down my bare shoulder, giving me a minute to adjust to his girth before thrusting his hips and filling me completely.

  Kissing down his neck, I sink my teeth into that sexy-as-sin muscle between his neck and shoulder. “Ross,” I moan, holding onto him as he begins to pound into me.

  Never.

  Never in my twenty-three years have I ever felt like this, had sex like this… been completely and utterly owned like this. He’s taking what he wants and giving me everything all at once.

  “So good.” My words come out in a choppy pant. I’m usually not a talker during sex but I can’t help it, not with him. It’s so good, I have to tell him or I’ll combust. “Never,” I say, throwing my head back and meeting the wall behind me but not caring. Nothing could take away from the euphoria that’s racing through my body as another orgasm builds. “I’ve never felt like this.”

  “You like my cock,” Ross says and I’m a little caught off guard, not expecting the dirty talk.

  When I laugh, Ross groans as his hands tighten on my thighs.

  “You’re gonna kill me,” he says, moving his hips even faster and deeper, hitting a spot I didn’t even know was possible.

  “The feeling is mutual,” I tell him, meeting his eyes. With one hand on his scruff-covered cheek, I use my other hand to brush the hair out of his face.

  It’s an intimate, sweet moment in the middle of the hottest sex of my life and I can’t stop the soft smile. I want to say so many things, but I know I can’t. It would freak him out and as far as I know, this is just a one-night deal—good sex to blow off steam.

  “Come for me,” Ross demands. “I need you to come for me.”

  Slipping a hand between us, he finds my clit and I detonate.

  Chapter 5

  Ross

  Fuck.

  I don’t want to wake up but there’s a sudden chill in the air and I can’t seem to find any of my blankets. I keep my eyes closed as I feel around the bed, trying to grab anything to cover up with but come up empty handed.

  I must’ve had some wild dreams or something because I don’t normally kick the bedding off. I’m typically a very sound sleeper and barely change positions.

  Maybe it was all that wine I drank last night.

  At that thought, images begin to flash through my mind.

  Long, blonde hair.

  Rich, brown eyes.

  And silky, soft skin.

  So much skin.

  Touching me.

  Under me.

  Casey.

  When there’s a soft rustle in my otherwise quiet bedroom, my eyes pop open... just in time to see Casey and her bare ass tiptoe out of my room.

  Part of me wants to pretend I’m still asleep and let her go, because she’s obviously trying to escape undetected and probably trying to avoid an awkward conversation. And although we do need to have a conversation, it’s fucking early. And if she’s feeling anything like me, she’s still trying to wrap her head around what happened between us last night.

  But a bigger part of me wants to grab her and pull her back in bed and have my way with her.

  Again.

  The more I remember about last night, the more I want a repeat and now that I’m fully awake, I know I need to act fast before she leaves my house.

  Even if last night was a one and done kind of deal, I don’t want it to ruin the friendship we’ve developed over the past year. I’ll kick my own ass if that happens, because Casey’s been a lifeline I didn’t even know I needed. In just a week she’s helped me get my life back in order and feel good about leaving for Spring Training.

  And don’t even get me started on what last night did for me. Not only did I need a release, but I also needed to be reminded that I’m a man and I can still feel. The last year of my life has been such a fucking roller coaster and it’s been a long damn time since I’ve just lost myself in a woman, even my ex-wife.

  We stopped having sex a long time before we divorced.

  Rolling out of bed, I quickly rifle through the blankets on the floor until I find my boxer briefs and attempt to pull them on, not-so-gracefully, as I rush out of the room.

  I’m halfway down the stairs when I hear her car come to life and by the time I make it to the front door, she’s driving away.

  Shit.

  Slumping down, I sit on the bench in the foyer, staring at the front door. When I lean my head back and inhale deeply, I can smell her sweet scent lingering and a vision of last night’s activities flood my mind.

  Everything happened in such a frenzy.

  One minute we were playing around in my kitchen and the next Casey was kissing me.

  I can’t remember the last time I let loose like that and just did what felt right—from the water fight to taking Casey against the wall…

  What the fuck have you done, Davies?<
br />
  After I mentally berate myself for a few minutes, I eventually get up and go into the kitchen for coffee. I leave bright and early in the morning for Spring Training and I still need to pack. I also need to call my parents. They usually come and spend a few days at the beginning of each season and I need to make sure they’re still coming this year.

  Everyone has responded to my and Felicia’s divorce in their own way.

  My dad was very matter-of-fact about it.

  Well, Son, sometimes things just don’t work out. As long as you gave it your all, that’s all you can do, and now you just have to move on and figure out your Plan B.

  That’s my dad, always with the words of wisdom.

  My mom was sad about it.

  But not for the obvious reasons. She was just disappointed because she’s not any closer to getting grandchildren. She and Felicia butted heads quite a bit over the years, usually over trivial things, but they never bonded like I always hoped they would.

  Maybe that was my first sign and I just refused to pay attention.

  Things changed so fast after we got married. We went from young love and having our whole lives ahead of us to being married and then thrust into the world of professional baseball.

  I remember a talk we had before I proposed, where I specifically asked Felicia if the career I hoped to have was something she was willing to take on. I knew being the wife of a Major League baseball player wasn’t going to be an easy task and I needed to know she was onboard and in it for the long haul.

  Of course, she said yes—Anywhere you are is where I want to be.

  And now I wonder if all of that was a lie.

  Or did we just grow apart?

  Fall out of love?

  And that brings me back to the vicious cycle of thinking I’ve been in for the past six months. How does that happen? What did I do to cause it? Could I have prevented it? Did I not fight hard enough?

  The therapist I saw the first few months after the divorce told me no one plans a divorce and if we all saw it coming, we’d either never get married or fix our problems before they become too big to handle. She helped me take responsibility for my part, because it is a partnership and we’re both responsible, and also try to let go of the things out of my control.

  As much as it goes against what I believed for so long, I wasn’t responsible for Felicia’s happiness, she was. Sure, it was my job to do everything I could to make her feel loved and cherished and protected, but ultimately, her happiness was her responsibility.

  When my phone rings, it makes me jump, and I realize I’ve been standing at the kitchen sink with the water running for who knows how long. I never even put the coffee grounds in the filter.

  Swiping my thumb across the screen, I answer before it goes to voicemail. “You’ll never be able to convince me you don’t have a sixth sense,” I say, securing my phone between my ear and shoulder as I finish prepping the coffee pot.

  “You sound chipper this morning,” my mom says.

  I smirk, shaking my head as thoughts of Casey and the things we did still roll through my mind. “I leave for Spring Training in the morning,” I tell her, going the safe route. Not that she would judge me for what happened last night. She started encouraging me to get back out there a couple of months ago.

  One night on a FaceTime with her and my dad, who are way more tech-savvy than I am, they basically insinuated I needed to get laid to get my pitching game back on track.

  “How are you feeling about that?” she asks. “Do you need anything?”

  The worry begins to creep in and I feel bad. I know I’ve given them plenty to be concerned about lately and I hate it. “I’m good, Mom,” I assure her, glancing around and taking in the organized, clean house. Even after the dinner I made for Casey last night, it’s still tidy. Although there are a few dishes that need washing.

  We kind of got sidetracked.

  “Better than I’ve been in a while,” I tell her. “Are you and Dad still planning on coming before the home opener?”

  “We wouldn’t miss it.”

  At that, I smile. My parents have always been a constant source of support and I appreciate it now more than ever. I could tell my mom really wanted to hover after Felicia left, but she gave me my space and let me grieve and wallow and find my own way out. But I know she would’ve been here in a heartbeat if I had needed her.

  That’s both the upside and downside of being an only child, having your parents’ complete attention at all times.

  “Unless you need us to sit this one out,” she adds.

  “No, I want you here.”

  The coffee finishes brewing and I pull a mug from the cabinet and fill it all the way to the top, inhaling before taking a tentative sip.

  “The guest house should be back in working order by that time,” I tell her, walking over to pop my laptop open and check emails. The first thing I see is my flight itinerary and another email telling me a car will be by to pick me up in the morning at six thirty.

  Back to the grind.

  “Oh,” she says, surprise in her tone. “You decided to go ahead and get that finished?”

  This is her tiptoeing around a sore subject without coming right out and asking about it.

  “Yeah, I figured I should do that,” I say, scrolling through the rest of my emails and deleting the majority of them. After Casey helped me organize my physical inboxes, she helped me tackle my virtual ones too. “Who knows, maybe I’ll sell this place and buy something smaller?”

  There’s something about logging in and not seeing thousands of unopened emails that frees up space in my brain. It’s as if those thousands of emails were keeping me from being able to focus and now that they’re gone, I can use that space for other things, like Spring Training and the upcoming season.

  “It’s such a great house,” she says. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have any trouble selling.”

  “Especially once the guest house isn’t a construction zone. It’s kind of hard to put it on the market with it torn all to pieces.”

  The guest house remodel was one of Felicia’s projects she abandoned.

  And, I’m not proud of it, but I also took some anger and frustrations out on the walls at the end of the season when I felt like my life was spiraling out of control.

  “How are you going to take care of that when you’re gone?”

  Opening up a new email, I type in the beginning of Casey’s email address. I should call her, but maybe an email would be easier?

  “I hired someone to help out for a while,” I tell her, my fingers resting on the keyboard as I try to think about how to start. “She’s going to oversee the remodel and handle everything around here while I’m gone.”

  “She?” I hear the smile in her voice and can’t help the one that creeps up on my face.

  “Yes, she,” I tell her. “Casey Carradine, Charlotte’s sister.” I almost say little sister, but after last night, the last thing I want to use as a qualifier for Casey is little sister. She’s so much more than that.

  “Oh,” Mom says. “I thought she stayed pretty busy with helping Charlotte.”

  My parents have met Casey and Charlotte at a few games, so they’ve gotten to know them pretty well.

  “Charlotte was the one who volunteered her services.” As soon as the sentence is out of my mouth I want to shove it back in and choose new words, but I press on and hope my mom doesn’t catch on to the double entendre as visions of Casey in compromising positions flood my mind. “She’s great,” I continue, clearing my throat. “It took her less than a week to have this place in tip-top shape and she’s already been in touch with the contractors for the remodel.”

  I hear my dad in the background, asking who she’s talking to, and then wait as she catches him up to speed, finishing with the newest information of me hiring Casey.

  “I like her,” my dad says. “She’s a go-getter.”

  Yes, she is.

  After a few more minutes on the phone
with them making tentative plans for the home opener, I say my good-byes. Then, it’s just me, my half-full cup of coffee, and an open email to Casey.

  Subject: About last night…

  Subject: Sorry.

  Subject: Can I see you again tonight?

  Subject: Hello

  Casey,

  I was going to call but I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to do that, so I’m sending this lame-ass email.

  About last night… I should probably apologize, but I’m not sorry. I should probably also regret it, but I don’t. I was on my way downstairs to bring you back to bed when I heard your car start up. I hope you took time to put some clothes on because I don’t want the rest of the world to see that sweet ass.

  If this is too weird for you, we don’t have to talk about it again.

  If it’s not too weird, feel free to call me…or come back over tonight.

  I’m leaving the ball in your court...or field.

  Sorry, my jokes are as lame as these emails.

  If I don’t see you again before I leave in the morning, I want to say thank you for everything. Not just for the best sex I’ve had in a long time, possibly ever. But for stepping in and helping me work through my shit and taking care of everything while I’m gone. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.

  Feel free to email me or call me anytime for anything.

  Ross

  Chapter 6

  Casey

  Banging my head against the keyboard of my laptop, I take deep breaths.

  What did I do?

  Ross, that’s what. You literally did your friend AND BOSS, Ross Davies.

  It’s been a week and I still can’t stop thinking about it.

  Today, I’m going to try a new tactic where I only focus on the negative aspects of our night together, rather than acknowledging the fact it was the best sex of my life. I’ve learned, if I think about how Ross’s lips felt all over me—tender one moment, full of passion the next—I can’t stop craving him. When I remember how safe and warm I felt as he wrapped his huge arms around me, I shiver in response, like there’s an actual chill in the air. But worst of all, when I allow myself to go back to that night and think about how amazing Ross felt inside me, my body starts to physically ache for him.