by Tara Wyatt
Her eyes landed on Dylan, who was in a heated conversation with…oh, holy shit. Dylan’s father. She approached slowly, cautiously, not sure if she wanted to intervene, but with the tension radiating off of Dylan, she felt the need to go to him.
“Maggie Jennings is the warmest, kindest person I’ve ever met. She’s sweet, and thoughtful, and smart, and hardworking. She doesn’t judge people. When I’m with her, I feel like the man I want to be, not the man everyone expects me to be. She’s beautiful and amazing and I’m so in love with her I can barely think straight, so either you get used to that, or this is the end of the line for us.”
Maggie’s mouth fell open, and she quickly moved away, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing server’s tray and chugging it down. Her brain went fuzzy as her skin tingled, shock cascading over her.
Dylan was in love with her. Dylan was in love with her. Dylan was in love with her.
“Holy shit,” she whispered, her heart racing in her chest.
The fact that he’d been telling off his father and seemingly defending her confirmed her suspicions that he’d broken up with her before because of his father’s intense dislike of anyone who wasn’t rich. She hadn’t been good enough for Dylan—she knew now that that was true. But it wasn’t true now, with the way Dylan had told his father that he’d choose Maggie over him.
“Holy shit,” she whispered again. She glanced over at Dylan, and her stomach exploded into a thousand butterflies, all flapping madly and stealing her breath. Something dissolved inside her, and she realized it was that tether to the heartbreak of the past. He’d hurt her before, but for the first time, she knew things could be different now. Her heart pounded in her ears as she moved toward him and laid a hand on his arm. He spun and then smiled at her. Her legs felt weak, so she leaned into him, looping her arm through his.
“Come on, let’s go play,” she said. Now that she knew how he felt about her, everything was different. Easier. Clearer.
He gestured at a blackjack table. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Best three out of five. I win, you go on a date with me. An actual date.”
“And if I win?” she asked, already knowing she’d say yes to a date with him. After hearing what he’d said, she’d say yes to just about anything. How could she not?
He pointed at the large table where guests could donate money directly to the charity. “I’ll donate one game’s salary.”
“How much is that?”
“About $50,000.”
“I dunno. Seems like a pretty lopsided bet.”
“You’re right. Better make it $60,000.”
Her heart banged against her ribs, and she couldn’t stop the wide smile from spreading across her face. God, this man. They sat down at the table to play.
Maggie lost on purpose, and Dylan donated the money anyway.
Dylan proved himself a man of his word, because almost exactly three hours later, Maggie found herself riding up the elevator in the posh Museum Tower to Dylan’s new apartment. Her fingers were laced through his; ever since she’d heard what he’d said back at the Sheraton, she hadn’t been able to stop touching him. Hadn’t been able to stop smiling. A part of her was curious what his dad had said to provoke Dylan’s admission, but it didn’t really matter. She didn’t give a fig what Caleb McCormick thought of her. He could go to hell for all she cared.
Dylan’s apartment was on the thirty-sixth floor, and she had to admit, she was curious to see it. The elevator doors opened, and he led her to the second door to the right. The lights came on automatically as he opened it, and she gasped. The place was massive, with an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows giving a breathtaking view of the twinkling downtown Dallas skyline.
She took a few steps forward, taking it all in. The kitchen lined the far back wall, with dark wood cabinets and sleek, modern appliances. A gigantic island with a breakfast bar separated it from the main living space, the large open area she was standing in. To the left sat a couple of gray sofas, a coffee table, and a rug, still rolled up and sealed in plastic. A large flat screen TV leaned against the wall, waiting to be installed. On the other end of the space was a big round table piled high with moving boxes. Boxes also littered the floor, some open, some still sealed, all with labels like “Kitchen—Plates,” and “Living Room—Misc.” Past the table, a set of double doors led to a wide, circular balcony.
“This place is amazing,” she said, her eyes roving back to the city skyline in front of her. “I think you could fit four of my apartments in here.”
He chuckled softly. “Come on, I’ll show you the rest.” He took her hand and led her down a hallway to her left, off of the living area. The first bedroom held a desk, a computer, a couch, and another TV, along with a few framed pictures standing against the wall. “I’m still getting settled,” he said. “I haven’t had much time to get organized.”
The second bedroom contained workout equipment—a treadmill, a rowing machine, a weight bench, and a rack of free weights—along with Dylan’s baseball memorabilia. Slowly, she perused the items, and one by one, Dylan told her the story behind each one. The case of baseballs containing his first major league hit, his first major league home run, his first major league grand slam, his 500th career hit. The jersey from his first game. His two gold glove awards. His all-star jersey from two years ago. As he spoke, she could see what it all meant to him. Baseball wasn’t just a job. It was his life. It was part of who he was.
“It must be incredible to look at all of this and see what you’ve accomplished so far,” she said.
“Yeah, but no one is indispensable. Everyone’s job is up for grabs. There’s always someone younger, faster, hungrier, shinier than you. It doesn’t matter how many awards you’ve won, how many balls you’ve hit. You have to show up and work your ass off, every damn day. The day I stop grinding is the day I’ll know it’s time to retire.”
“You have an amazing work ethic. Always have.”
He smiled at her, clearly pleased with her compliment. “Thanks, Mags.”
“You’re welcome, D.”
His smile grew, and he took her hand again and showed her the guest bathroom—gorgeous, of course, with marble tile and a glassed-in shower practically the size of her bedroom—and then he took her into the master bedroom. A king-sized bed sat against the far left wall, with a dark gray tufted linen headboard. Two matching nightstands stood on either side, and more boxes lined the foot of the bed. A leather armchair occupied a corner by the window. The bed was unmade, clothes were piled on the armchair, and the room smelled like Dylan, like the warmth of his skin. It was perfect.
“Maggie,” Dylan said from behind her, his voice raw, husky. The room was dark save for the sparkling lights of the skyline, and as she turned to face him, the lights caught the crystals on her dress. “Stay tonight.” He lifted a hand and traced his thumb over her cheekbone, her jaw, her lips. “Tell me you’ll stay.”
She parted her lips and licked the pad of his thumb, savoring the salt of his skin on her tongue. “It’s against the rules,” she said, testing, teasing.
His expression darkened into something that sent a thrill through her. “Fuck the rules. I want to be with you.” He dipped his head, brushing his nose against her cheek. “And I think you want to be with me.”
She let out a shaky breath and nodded. “I want there to be an us, Dylan.”
He kissed her, taking his time with her. Even though they’d had a lot of sex over the past several weeks, tonight felt different. It felt like the first time. The start of something; new, and exciting, and full of meaning.
She wound her arms around his neck, weaving her fingers into his hair as they kissed, a slow, sensuous melding of lips and tongues. He broke the kiss and trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, leaving a path of tingling fire in his wake. She reached for the button on the front of his pants, but he caught her wrist.
“No rush,
” he said, lifting his head from her neck. “We have all night.” He kissed her again, but she couldn’t stop herself from touching him, so she ran the palm of her hand over the firm ridge of his cock. They kissed for what felt like ages until Maggie thought she might explode. Finally, he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto the chair, then pulled his bow tie free and let it drop to the floor. With sure, confident fingers, he found the zipper on the back of her dress and slowly pulled it down. She shrugged out of it, letting the straps fall down her arms to reveal her bare breasts—the dress wasn’t bra-friendly—and then pushed it down over her hips. Carefully, she gathered it and laid it on the chair, then turned to face Dylan from her spot by the window.
“I know you wanted to see it on the floor, but I just couldn’t—”
“I don’t care. Fuck, look at you. God, Maggie, I want you so much.” He kissed her again and raised a hand to her breast, working her nipple with his fingers until it was a hard, aching peak. With agonizing slowness, his other hand slid down, cupping her over top of her lacy pink panties. Then, without breaking the kiss, he ran his hand down her ribs, over her hip, tracing her thigh, the curve of her ass as though he was trying to memorize her by touch alone. “So damn beautiful,” he whispered against her mouth, and Maggie felt something bright and euphoric wash over her. Dylan was here, telling her she was beautiful. He loved her and wanted to be with her. He regretted ever leaving her.
It felt like a dream come to life, one she didn’t want to wake up from.
One by one, she undid the buttons of his shirt, running her hands over the smooth planes of muscle hidden beneath. She traced her fingers over his chest and down his stomach, exploring the ridges of his athletic physique. Touching and savoring in a way she hadn’t let herself before because it had felt too intimate. He flung his shirt away and slipped a hand between her legs, teasing her with slow strokes.
“No one has ever made me feel as good as you,” she said, working herself against his hand. She pushed her panties down, kicking them away.
He smiled at her, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Good.” He led her to the bed, slipping out of his pants as they kissed, slow and deep. She hooked her fingers into his boxers and pushed them down over his hips, freeing his gorgeously thick cock.
“I want to make you feel good,” she said, pressing him back onto the bed and climbing on top of him. She kissed him, a little teasing nip, and then worked her way down his body, kissing and licking and nibbling, until she settled herself between his thighs. Taking him in her hand, she licked him from root to tip, then glanced up to gauge his reaction. His eyes were dark, full of lust and need, but also something else. Something soft and tender and amazing. Something that made her feel powerful and feminine and safe. She licked him again, and his head fell back.
“Oh, shit, Mags.” His voice was a rough plea that had fresh wetness gathering between her legs. She licked all around his head, kissing the beaded drop of precum gathered there, and then kept teasing him, licking him, pressing little kisses all along his shaft until his hips were shifting, eager for her mouth. She looked up and met his eyes as she took his cock into her mouth, holding him there for just a second before moving up and down, sucking him deep. He let out a low, masculine groan. “Yes, Maggie. Fuck, that’s good. Just like that. Shit, your mouth is so sweet. So good baby,” he said, tangling a hand in her hair. She worked him with her hand and her mouth, tasting his excitement, feeling him harden even more. His hand tightened in her hair and he pulled her away. “I don’t wanna come like that. Not tonight. I need to be inside you.”
Before she could respond, he’d flipped their positions, leaving her splayed on her back in front of him, her legs spread wide. A hungry smile spread across his face and he eased down between her legs. “Does sucking my cock make you wet, baby?”
She let out a sound that was half whimper, half moan. God, she loved that dirty mouth of his. “Mmmhmm.”
“Gonna eat this sweet pussy now. Gonna make you come for me.” His voice was low, rough, his gentleness giving way to his lust. There was no teasing, no waiting, just his tongue flicking over her clit before sucking it into his mouth. She moaned and let her eyes fall closed, losing herself in the hot, sweeping sensations of Dylan’s lips, his tongue working against her swollen flesh. He pushed her legs back, spreading her open, and then slid first one, and then two fingers inside her. He moaned as she clamped down on his fingers, heat and pleasure coiling within her.
“Fuck, you’re so good at this,” she breathed. Already, she could feel her orgasm building.
“Love making you feel good.” He looked up at her, meeting her eyes, and everything inside her tightened, except for her heart, which felt like it was expanding with each passing second. In that moment, she realized what she’d found with Dylan all those years ago that she’d never found with anyone else. Yes, he was hot as sin, and their sexual chemistry was off the charts, but it was more than that. He made her feel treasured, like she was something rare and special and amazing that he would keep and protect. God, she was in love with him. Still or again, it didn’t matter. She was in love with Dylan McCormick, and giving in to it, not fighting it, felt almost impossibly good.
Throbbing pleasure gathered in her core and then burst through her, and she came with a long, loud moan, her muscles rigid as wave after wave of her orgasm slammed into her. Her entire body trembled as she came, her orgasm pounding through her, long and intense. She shifted, and a sudden, sharp pang grabbed at her foot.
“Ow!”
His head jerked up, a frown on his face. “Ow?”
She managed to sit up and leaned forward, rubbing her foot. “You made me come so hard I gave myself a cramp.”
He chuckled and reached for her foot, working his strong fingers over her instep. “I’d apologize, but…”
She sighed as his fingers worked their magic, loosening the tight muscles. “Yeah, you definitely don’t have to apologize for that.”
A serious expression took over his face, and he shifted closer to her, taking her face in his hands. “But I am sorry, Maggie. For hurting you. I swear to you, I’ll never hurt you again.”
His words filled in the tiny cracks she hadn’t realized still lingered over her heart, making her feel whole and free for the first time in a long time. She laid a hand over his and kissed him, tasting herself on his lips. “I know. I believe you.” Relief flickered across his face, and then he kissed her again, easing her back on the bed. He started to reach for the nightstand drawer, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“I don’t want to use one. I want it to be just you and me, nothing between us.”
“Fuck, Mags, are you sure?” His eyes were bright, intense with need.
She nodded. “Fuck the rules, right?”
He came down on top of her, smiling and kissing her. “You’re amazing, you know that? You’re covered? I’m not ready to be a dad.”
She laughed. “I’m covered. You’re good?”
“All good.”
His eyes holding hers, he lined himself up with her entrance and slowly pushed in, inch by inch. They moaned in unison as he slid all the way home, bare inside her for the first time. He stilled, kissing her. “You’re incredible, Maggie.” He moved his hips, one slow thrust in and out. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”
An electric thrill zapped through her at his words. She’d belonged to Dylan once, and now, knowing he was in love with her, having his cock bare inside her, she couldn’t deny that she belonged to him again.
Twelve
“Adam Brown is up to bat for the Athletics, and he takes a giant swing at the first pitch, stroking it into center field. McCormick will go to the wall to make the catch… and he’s got it! With a leaping catch, he’s just stolen a sure home run from the A’s. He fires it to third and…Huffings is safe!” cries Wayne Hopkins.
“Boy, what a throw. McCormick’s just got an absolute cannon for an arm,” adds Ron Whittaker. “And you know, I
think the Longhorns might challenge that call at third base.”
“Well, I think they should because it was awful close. McCormick’s throw was right on the money.”
“It sure was. He’s looking more and more like the gold glove winning center fielder from a couple of seasons ago.”
“Let’s take another look at that catch. You see him tracking it, drifting right, and it’s a nice play by McCormick to both make the catch and then fire a strike over to third.”
“I don’t think Huffings was expecting McCormick to send a bullet his way, forcing him to scramble and retag.”
“And the Longhorns are going to challenge the call on the field.”
“Either way, fantastic play and good heads up baseball from Dylan McCormick right there.”
Dylan stood with his hands on his hips, hoping the call would go his way. As they all waited for the umpires to review the call, Hunter wandered over from his spot in center field.
“I think you got him,” he said, tipping his chin in the direction of third base. “Nice throw, man.”
“Thanks.” Dylan studied Hunter, who’d been quiet, more subdued since returning from his suspension a few weeks ago. Maybe he was trying to get his act together and shape up. He glanced over to the umpires, who were still wearing their headsets, reviewing the play. “Listen man, everything good with you?”
“Fuckin’ peachy,” Hunter said, his voice flat. Before Dylan could respond, the umpires took off their headsets and called Huffings out, ending the inning. Hunter clapped Dylan on the shoulder as he jogged past him, heading back to the dugout.
Dylan was due up to bat third in the inning, so he started pulling on his gear as he accepted high fives and ass slaps for the catch and throw he’d just made. He tugged on his batting gloves only to find a hole starting in the seam of one of them, so he ducked down the stairs and into the clubhouse to retrieve another pair from his locker. As he rummaged around, he could hear Abby’s voice from down the hall.