Hardball: (A Kinky Sexy Dirty Standalone)

by CD Reiss

  “My body says yes,” I said, “but I want you to listen to my voice.”

  He drew his lips along the edge of my ear, and I leaned into him.

  “Stop,” I whispered, hoping he’d ignore me.

  “Stop what?” He slipped his hand under my dress.

  “Messing with me.”

  “I’m not.” His finger curled under the edge of my underwear.

  I was wet, soaked, and he was a quarter second to feeling it.

  “I want you. I want to watch you come.” His face was so close to me I heard him swallow. “I miss you.”

  Just those three words said softly, with his fingers between my legs, opening my heart and body to him, and the lump that had been wedged in my throat all night nearly choked me.

  I turned to face him. He removed his hand from my underwear. I put my hands on his chest, keeping a barrier between us. “Dash—”

  “No.” He pressed two fingers to my lips. “Let’s do this fast before I take your clothes off. I made a mistake. A big mistake. When you drove away, you took my destiny with you. I felt like my future was pulled out of me.”

  I leaned back on the sink and crossed my arms.

  He took his fingers from my lips. “I know what you’re thinking, and there are no other women. None. There’s only you and the ways I’ve failed you. You don’t have to give me a second chance. I know that. But I want you to. I’m going to beg you if I have to.”

  I’d thought the tinfoil over my heart would crumble, but it didn’t. In the flame of his words, it was blown open, charred black, and turned to flakes of ash.

  “You can’t do this again,” I said. “I’m fine without you. I want you, but I won’t be hurt repeatedly while you figure yourself out.”

  “I’ve figured it out. It’s you. You’re the end of all the figuring.”

  “That all you got?”

  “‘The very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service.’”

  Shakespeare. He was full of shit. He had to be. But my mouth and my tongue found his, colliding in a crush of need. My arms uncrossed and went around him, embracing the fresh-cut grass scent, the attention of his lips, the fire that dropped down the base of my spine and settled between my legs in an explosion of desire that was close to painful.

  Dash hitched my knee over his hip and pushed his erection against me, and my pussy remembered what my brain had tried to forget. I gasped and groaned, eyelids fluttering, body shifting into him, his breath on my face a reminder of how close he was.

  I was going to say something about the people outside. How they could come in any minute. It was getting late, and someone could walk in and see me putting my legs around him so I could feel the length of that gorgeous cock against me.

  But I didn’t have time. Not a second. He got a hand under my ass and picked me up. I wrapped my legs tighter around him.

  “Which way?” he asked.

  Which way?

  Down, of course. Inside. Hard.

  I heard a chair scrape outside and the rhythm of voices.

  “Down the hall.” I pointed. “Through the den. Door to the right.”

  By the time I said “den,” he was already carrying me through it. He threw me on the bed. Tape and wads of wrapping paper and ribbons bounced with me as he shut the door.

  Was I breathing? Yes, I was. So hard and fast I couldn’t even feel it.

  He stood over me, pants tight in the front where his dick was hard, and yanked his belt open.

  I asked myself if I trusted him. If I let him in and he hurt me again, the wounds would be in a different place. He’d open me where the hope lived—the hope that he’d come back, that we’d have a second chance, that what we had was meaningful and real. I couldn’t imagine the pain of it.

  I sat up. He pushed me down. Kept his hand just above my sternum, leaning against it as he got his hand under my skirt. He hooked his finger around the crotch of my underwear and yanked them down and off. He was so dominant. So in charge. Every worry dropped off me and my defenses went with them, replaced by a vibrating desire. He folded his lips inside his teeth when I groaned.

  “I don’t have anything.” I pointed at my dresser as if that meant anything. “No condoms.”

  He pulled me up, turned me onto my stomach, and pulled my hips toward him.

  “I’m taking care of it.” With that, he put two fingers in my soaking pussy and pressed against the place where pleasure lived.

  I swallowed a scream.

  “No, no, sweetapple,” he whispered. “There’s a full house.”

  “Sorry, I’m just… it’s so good.”

  His fingers left me, and I was disappointed for half a second, exhaling, getting myself together to have the quietest orgasm in history. Closing my eyes. Steeling myself.

  Fabric against my lips. Pushing. Lace. The smell of my pussy.

  I opened my mouth to complain, and what the heck?

  He was shoving my underwear into my mouth. Holy what? I turned around to tell him this was my good underwear. The La Perla’s. Hundred fifty dollars. I didn’t want to eat a hundred fifty dollars’ worth of lace. French panties didn’t come halfway around the world to get ruined by my teeth.

  Too late. Looked as if that was exactly why they’d made the trip.

  He had the birthday ribbon around my head in the split second, and he was knotting it, securing the underwear in my mouth.

  Didn’t he say something about being an Eagle Scout? Because the knot went in quick, and his fingers were back in my pussy, which found ten new reasons to be wet.

  He leaned against me, the skin of his dick and the fluttering touch of his shirt on my ass. “Today. Now. You’re mine, you beautiful thing. No one else is going to have you.”

  I made some vowel sound against the lace that was thirty percent complaint and seventy percent give-it-to-me.

  He only heard the seventy percent, sliding his dick in as though he owned the joint and setting my pussy on fire. I was close before he entered me. Once he was buried inside, I went someplace else. A place with no words, only colors.

  Heaviness on my back, between my shoulder blades, and I fell under it. He pushed me against the bed. I lost myself in his thrusts. Unable to speak or move, I was only made of vibrations. I didn’t think the promise of pleasure could expand further until I felt pressure against a place that had never been touched, and I squeaked.

  “Hush,” he said, pressing a wet finger against my ass.

  I had to obey. I wanted to. His thrusts shifted to a painfully slow pace. Every inch of his finger in my ass, every inch of his dick inside my pussy.

  Gradually and deliberately, he filled me. I hadn’t known it would be good. I’d had no idea. It was too much. I couldn’t hold it. I was on the left side of an orgasm, pushing against the membrane to the other side, but he wouldn’t let it break.

  Outside. Dishes. Laughter. The other side of the door. People.

  “Where’s Vivian?” someone called from the hallway.

  I was pushed closer to the edge, almost caught with my underpants in my mouth and a finger in my ass. Fear buzzed and amplified the pleasure.

  “I’m going to fuck you hard,” he whispered, pressing me down. “Don’t make a sound.”

  Pain shot through my ass and transformed into something else when he stuck two fingers in. Not pleasure necessarily. A presence. Another anchor.

  I came with a sob. I felt my ass pulse against his fingers. My body tightened like a guitar string and broke. I cried. Just cried into my hundred fifty dollar panties. My ass was released, and he was above me, lips at my ear, breathing staccato as I felt a warm liquid on my lower back.

  We breathed together.

  Well, he breathed. I was still sobbing.

  “Vivian? Are you in there?”

  It was Aunt Bette. Dash fumbled with the ribbon, biting back a laugh. It wasn’t funny, but it was, and I couldn’t help but laugh myself.r />
  “Vivian, are you all right?”

  My underwear expanded, and Dash plucked it out, his lips on my cheek.

  “I’m fine,” I said from under him then whispered, “You owe me a hundred fifty dollars, mister.”

  “I owe you a cleanup back here too. Jesus, did someone jizz on you or something?”

  I wished I had the underwear back because I had to cover my mouth I was laughing so hard.

  “Are you coming?” Aunt Bette said from the other side of the door.

  “No, I—”

  Already came. I stopped myself mid-sentence before I blurted it out. As if he could read my mind, Dash bit back his own laughter.

  I swallowed mine long enough to answer. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  I pushed up, but he wouldn’t let me go. “I want to make you come again. And again. And again. You’re magic, you know that?”

  “I’m about to be a family spectacle.”

  “Please tell me I can get to a sink without going through the hall.”

  I pointed at the bathroom door.

  “Don’t move,” he said.

  He kissed a butt cheek and went to the bathroom. The water ran, and I let my body sink into the mattress. I didn’t know how stressed I’d been until the tension went out of me.

  The sink ran, and he came back buttoned up, carrying a white washcloth. He straddled me, and I felt the warm roughness of the cloth on my back.

  “I have to be back by Monday, early,” he said.

  “I have to clean up tomorrow.”

  “I can get a staff of people in here to make this place sterile while I fuck you dirty.”

  He got off me and patted my back, indicating he’s gotten me clean.

  “That’s a great offer, but…”

  But what?

  But I had plans.

  But it’s weird.

  But a part of me is just flat uncomfortable with it.

  Which part? I searched the hallways and doorways of myself, looking for the words to describe my unease. Feminism, adulthood, personal responsibility—all were perfectly fine with him getting people to clean up the party.

  “And then,” he said, putting his nose to mine, eye to eye, filling my vision in a way I had been convinced would never happen again until he’d shown up in my driveway with roses. “And then we have to talk about when you’re going to start traveling with me.”

  There. The unease was there, and it exploded like a land mine.

  There was a knock at the door again.

  “Peanut?” It was dad.

  I pushed Dash off me.

  “Give me a minute.” I opened my drawer and rummaged around for new underwear. I hopped into a plain cotton pair.

  Dash was standing in his suit, watching me, looking at me in a way that only hinted at his delicious depravity. I checked the mirror, straightening myself until I didn’t look as if a man had just had his fingers where the sun didn’t shine. He was visible in the mirror, hands in his pockets.

  He wanted me to travel with him. What did that even mean?

  Another knock.

  “Dad! I said one minute!” I snapped.

  “Is Mr. Wallace in there?” It was Jacob.

  He and I looked at each other. I guessed there was no denying it. Jacob continued without pause while our gazes were locked.

  “I want to say good-bye, and my mom said not to bother you, but I am anyway.”

  Dash didn’t look away. “I’m here.”

  I opened the door. The room probably stank of sex. I could only hope Jacob wouldn’t recognize it or notice the crumpled panties on the bed.

  Dash went to the door and patted Jacob on the back, said something encouraging, and headed out. I caught myself in the mirror one last time before I went to be a good hostess.

  Travel with him.

  I didn’t look just-fucked as much as I looked terrified.

  thirty-seven

  Dash

  “Think about it,” I said in her driveway.

  She wasn’t coming home with me. She wanted to be with her father on his birthday. I understood it, but I hadn’t expected it, and I felt as if she was unspooling my rope from the mooring.

  “I will.” She looked at her shoes.

  I didn’t believe her. At least, she wasn’t going to think about it the way I needed her to think about it. She was going to talk herself out of it. I could tell. She wasn’t giving me the openings to convince her.

  “I’ll put you in great hotels. There’s one in Chicago with an indoor pool under a retractable glass roof.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “You’ll have great seats. Skybox for every game.”

  “Okay.”

  I couldn’t see what she was thinking. She was hiding. I took her chin in my hand and pointed her face toward me. If I could make her understand how important it was, she would stop looking away. She would say yes, and we could make plans right now instead of doing this weird dance of denial.

  “I need you,” I said, crouching to get at eye level.

  She was a shitty actress. I could see the confusion all over her, and I understood it. I’d just dumped her a few weeks earlier. Broken her heart. And there I was, inviting her to travel with me and be mine in front of everyone. Of course she doubted my commitment.

  I kissed her. She tasted of rosewater.

  “I’ll call you in the morning,” I said.

  “I’m glad you came,” she said, hugging me.

  We kissed a few more times, and I let her go back into the house, but I knew what I had to do. I had to make sure she believed I wouldn’t drop her again. That my commitment was real.

  She wouldn’t be impressed by the luxuries that came with travel. I should have known better than that. It wasn’t too late. I could sell her on fun, on sex. I only needed to earn her trust again.

  I couldn’t sleep. I juggled three balls, then four and I fell into the comfortable pattern of my disorganized nature.

  I’d tried to teach her to juggle but everything fell she gave up and sucked me while I tried to keep them all in the air squealed when the balls fell on her concerns were real even though I didn’t know what they were going to have to go back with or without her, but I’d fuck her all week so I’d be on base four times out of ten this season if I was right, she was the thing that was going to have to drop the others only Diane would be hard she was sensitive no fear like it was going too fast I had to make Vivian comfortable maybe she was afraid of planes or didn’t want to leave her father all right for Youder to go free agent if I had her by my side I could play and forget this slump and go into the season strong.

  It all made sense to me.

  I was deep in the rhythm when I was distracted by the double ding of my phone. I dropped everything.

  thirty-eight

  Vivian

  Dad had taken painkillers and retired to bed with Sylvia. There were two bedrooms between his and mine, but I sequestered myself in my room and took a long shower. I made sure Sylvia didn’t see me when she tiptoed out. But once all was quiet, I sat in front of the television with my wet hair and let the blue light of the TV flicker in the dark room. I didn’t even know what I was watching. A little sports. A little news. I Love Lucy came on, and it was as funny as ever, but I just smiled at their twin beds.

  As if a hot potato like Ricky Ricardo was keeping a separate bed with that firecracker of a wife. She was always trying to interpose herself into her husband’s business. Half the comedy was about how enamored she was of show business and how she didn’t understand the work or preparation the job took.

  I didn’t have that problem.

  Working for the LAUSD wasn’t a sane person’s dream. But it was my job. Sure, I could leave, and there would be twenty librarians to take my place. That wasn’t the point.

  Was it?

  I liked my workmates. I loved the children. Hell, I had the whole next week off for spring
break.

  And I loved Dash Wallace. His return had been as much relief as I’d ever felt over anything in my life. I didn’t see why I’d have to choose between them, but if I traveled with a baseball player over the course of an eight- or nine-month season, my job would be kaput.

  I took my phone off the coffee table and flipped through a bunch of stuff I didn’t care about, then I did the one thing I couldn’t get off my mind.

  Are you up?

  It took too long for him to answer. I assumed he was asleep when the phone buzzed in my hands.

  I was just thinking about you.

  I can’t travel with you

  I was thinking how you looked gagged and held down

  It’s not that it’s my job or anything, but it is

  There’s something so fucking explosive about containing you and then making sure you can’t contain yourself. It’s like a nuclear bomb going off on my cock

  I need to have a life of my own

  (…)

  (…)

  Was he thinking about an answer? Was he considering what I was saying? Or was he gone? Was my seriousness so unwelcome? How could I not be serious? There were 162 games. About half would be away games. Of the fifteen National League teams, eight crossed two time zones and required travel days.

  I wasn’t a calculus teacher, but the math for me being home and having any kind of consistent life was out the window.

  He didn’t answer. I paced a little, considered texting him again, but I had to assume he needed space. I had to trust he wouldn’t just disappear. All those things were true, but I was still human and, yes, insecure. I was getting more and more anxious as the minutes passed, and when a text came in, I jumped.

  I suggest you fall asleep in your ice skating dress

  Why?

  Good night, sweetapple. Opening day tomorrow. I need to sleep