The Casanova Experience: A Friends to Lovers Romance (Ballers Book 2)

by Mickey Miller

  I unlatched her legs from my shoulders and set her down on the grass. Her knees were weak, and I had to hold her to keep her standing. She wrapped her arms around me and leaned on my chest as her body continued to convulse. I stroked her hair and smiled.

  "I didn't even know that was possible," she said.

  "Me going down on you without your feet touching the grass?" I smirked and used my forearm to wipe her juices that were still left on my face.

  She laughed. "No. The fact that I…you know. On your face."

  She smiled from the eyes and ran a finger down my shirt. My clothedness was in stark contrast to her nakedness. She looked up at the moon and let out a laugh that turned to a sigh.

  "You are by far, the most ridiculous man I've ever met."

  "Well thanks. And if my hard cock is any indication, we aren't done fucking in this church courtyard." That put a smile on her face, and I instantly smiled back. "You do think too much. I have a new motto for you. For us." I let my mouth graze on her ear and spoke in a deliberately quiet, grizzly voice. "Less thinking, more fucking."

  "Oh God, Chandler. You are going to make me come again right now. Just standing here.”

  “You’ve been a good girl during all this, so I think I’ll allow that.”

  “Shut up, Chandler, it’s your turn now.”

  She squatted down, yanked my pants down to my ankles, and looked back up at me with this twisted as fuck look. It was then that I knew Amy had equal parts devil and angel in her.

  And it was also right then and there that I knew I loved her.

  I wanted this dirty sweet girl in my life for the rest of time. My brain was onto problem solving a whole new conundrum that I’d never thought of before, when suddenly I felt her on my cock swallowed up by her mouth, and any coherent thought that I’d had totally dissipated.

  I had to grab hold of the old brick wall for balance as she took me inside so deep. Her hands were wrapped around my legs.

  After I have no idea how long—could have been 30 seconds or five minutes—before she let herself off my cock and gasped for air.

  “How am I doing?” She breathed throatily, and flashed her eyes at me.

  “I think…I’ve reached…maximum hardness level,” I said, barely getting the words out.

  “Mmm. Level of difficulty reached? Maximum.” She giggled as she used her wrist to wipe away some of the precum that was dribbling from her lips.

  I grabbed a fistful of her hair and brought her to her feet. I kicked off my pants but kept my shoes on. My shirt came off, too.

  “Turn around, baby.”

  She put her hands on the wall and faced her gorgeous ass at me, all mine for the taking. Her boots helped to even out our height differences at least slightly.

  She turned her head and watched me smiling, I grabbed her hips, then pushed my hard cock into her pussy bit by bit. She reached an arm up to caress my hair without looking, and I helped guide her onto my scalp. Her wetness allowed me to slide in this time with relative ease.

  My cock felt golden as it was swallowed up by Amy’s pussy. As if I weren’t emboldened enough, before I started, Amy turned her head to me and spoke a few words.

  “Do whatever you want with me, Chandler. I’m yours. This pussy is yours.”

  I damn near came in her just from hearing those words. Luckily, I didn’t, and soon I was pounding away at her from behind.

  Her body noted every movement of mine, however small it was. My hips slammed into the flesh of her ass, producing a slap every time we contacted. I ran my hands over ever part of her body I could. I gripped her hair and pulled her head back, wanting to smell her, touch every square inch of her skin, and likewise overcome every square inch of her with my presence.

  To this day, I have no idea how long we lasted for in this position. I remember we changed and I fucked her in the grass in missionary. Reverse cowgirl. Amy’s choice—I knew she loved that one.

  Like the circle of life, though, after an hour, we were back in the position we started in and our bodies were covered in sweat. In my head, I replayed her saying the hottest words anyone had ever said to me.

  Do whatever you want with me, Chandler. I’m yours. This pussy is yours.

  They were the hottest words not just because they were hot words but because it was Amy saying them.

  We took a moment to catch our breaths, lying on the grass and looking up at the sky but I wasn’t quite done with her. I reached around once more to caress her clit, and she cried out, louder this time again. She moaned just a little, and that sent me over the edge.

  “I’m coming,” I growled.

  “Inside me,” she yelled.

  I came so hard, I was straight up woozy afterwards. I rested inside her, leaned on her as we both panted, exhausted.

  I wrapped up Amy from behind. Her body was so easy to wrap up, fit so naturally into me that way. She leaned back into me.

  “I fucking love…”

  I stopped myself short. Love you? Was this really the time for that?

  I don’t know. I’d never said the L word to anyone. Was a church courtyard after an hour-long fuck really the time to say something so serious and life altering?

  “I love you, too, Chandler,” she said, before looking up at me with panic in her eyes. “What I mean is, I love you like an amigovio.”

  My heart was beating like crazy. At a loss for words, I glanced back up to the sky. Being here, naked, with the person I’d connected with most in the world, ever. Period.

  The moon was three quarters full, and the stars were talking to me, I swear. I even saw the sun to our left in the courtyard, and the message was clear. Time to say the fucking words.

  Wait a second, the sun?

  I glanced back to where I had seen the sun, but it was actually an older man in a priestly looking robe with a flashlight.

  “¿Hola? ¿Ustedes que hacen aqui?!”

  Amy saw the guy too, and frantically grabbed her clothes, and tried to fit back into her skirt. However, I’d ripped her shirt and she had to put it on backwards to cover her chest. Her face was beet red with embarrassment as she tied the loose ends at her lower back and nape to keep the back closed. I threw on my pants and shirt, then went over to the man and said hello.

  “Perdon, estamos perdidos. ¿Dónde está la salida?”

  He flashed his light at the exit gate with a disapproving frown, shaking his head. When he saw Amy though, he perked up. “Dios mio,” he gasped, his eyes got a little wide.

  “Si,” I answered him. “Es mi diocita.”

  The man nodded, as though he suddenly understood. He said a few other things but went to open the gate. He gestured for us toward it, and to leave. I didn’t waste any time and took Amy’s hand and got us the hell out of there. I heard a loud ‘clank’ behind us. Thankfully, at whatever hour of the night it was, the streets were mostly empty.

  Amy leaned into my side. “What did you say to him?”

  “I told him what you were to me,” I said to her.

  “You told him I was your amigovia?” she said, sounding puzzled. “To a priest?”

  “No. I told him something else. Something I just decided.”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “That you are my goddess,” I answered.

  She smiled.

  We held hands and walked home through the old fashioned gothic streets of Barcelona.

  Twenty-Four

  Amy

  After the night in the churchyard, the floodgates for us came loose, literally and figuratively, over the next several days. We settled into a rather domestic routine. The sex was, obviously, amazing. But that wasn’t the whole of it. Every hour that he wasn’t training, or at a game or practice we spent together laughing, eating, walking Jess, and yes, screwing. And while having sex in a gothic church courtyard had fulfilled a lifelong fantasy of mine, I was pretty damn happy having sex in a plain old bed. I loved the way it creaked when Chandler slammed his hips into my ass, my hips,
my legs.

  Considering how I’d left, my friends and family had been worried, and probably wondering if I’d jumped off a cliff yet. My dad, now Jake and Andrea, were the only ones that seemed to get that I was handling myself just fine and asked if I was having fun and not how I was ‘feeling’. Even though he wasn’t my boyfriend, to have Chandler at my back felt damn good. They were also reminders of what I didn’t have at home, and what I had right here. I didn’t like thinking about the end of this vacation so I tried not to.

  I still wasn’t taking any of my meds but Chandler didn’t baby me, which made me appreciate him more. He did, however, watch me every once in awhile, making sure I was actually doing okay. I think he was finally starting to realize that he was my medicine.

  Now that the secret about my depression was out, it was like a weight had been lifted off me. Chandler and I even joked about the pills and their effects. We were sitting at the kitchen counter eating breakfast one morning, when he said, “Really. You’ve never tried Ambien sex?”

  “Um, no.” I stabbed my eggs with a fork. “Never heard of doing that.”

  “So, you take an Ambien—”

  “Which makes you pass out like right away!” I interjected.

  “Yes. But. If you manage not to fall asleep, apparently, it’s like the craziest sex ever.” He shrugged his shoulders. “That’s what people say, anyway.”

  I shook my head. Only Chandler could turn my lifelong demon into a joke and have me be okay with it. “You act like you’re some inexperienced type of guy sometimes, you know that? Like you haven’t slept with a ton of girls. You’re a damn Casanova.”

  He gave me a funny look. “Casanova?” he asked, frowning.

  I grinned. “Becca told me that was your nickname during college.”

  He made a face then schooled his face. “Am I?” he asked, almost innocently.

  “C’mon,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Everywhere we go, girls materialize out of nowhere, and I can see them almost literally getting turned on as they talk to you.”

  He laughed out loud. “You must be better at seeing this than me. Maybe I don’t have as many experiences as you think?”

  I sipped my coffee and thought about it. “I mean, I only have a small sample size, but I think it’s true.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe it runs in your blood.” It was a joke but Chandler choked on his eggs and had to clear his throat with scalding hot coffee. “What did I say?” I asked, puzzled, and hitting him on the back as he coughed for a few more minutes.

  “Nothing, it’s just…” He looked away for a second then grabbed his empty plate to set in the sink. “What do you remember about what I told you about my biological father?”

  I sat on my seat for a few seconds before I spoke, refraining from telling him that every memory of mine he was in was as clear as day to me. “Well, your mom thought he was an asshole and you’d never met him…but that was really it.”

  He nodded, slowly. “Well, I guess if I am a Casanova, it might actually run in my blood.”

  I shook my head. “What?” I asked, bemused. “I was joking, Chandler.”

  He topped off our coffees and sat back down next to me but stared down into his mug. “Mom and I got into an argument about…him…one time. She was dating Bob and I was being difficult about it.” He glanced over at me then away again, then stalled, taking a couple sips of coffee. “It’s funny,” he said, at last.

  “What?” I asked, softly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  “She’d never said one good thing about him,” he said, “other then that she got me out of the deal.” He paused, and seemed lost in thought for a while. “I’d forgotten that…” He shook his head. “Not that it makes up for everything but…it’s something I hadn’t had before.”

  Again, he fell eerily silent. I squeezed his shoulder. “Go on,” I encouraged.

  He cleared his throat. “Anyway. I asked her why she hated his guts so much because she’d really never told me. She always said he was worthless, that we were better off without him. But growing up without a dad, I wanted to know what he was like. I thought that my mom made him out as evil when he really wasn’t.” He laughed, but it was joyless. “During our argument, she told me the usual byline, and I lashed out. I said something horrible to her, which I won’t repeat because I never meant it.” He sighed, shaking his head. “She never held it against me either. But she told me, in that calm, reserved way of hers, that I was nothing like him, which I thought was weird, the way she’d phrased it.”

  Again, he stopped, and I could tell he was living that moment again. Moments, good and bad, but the past was powerful, and sometimes brutally painful. I didn’t know what to do or say, or if I should hug him or give him space. So I just sat there with my hand on his shoulder, waiting. I wasn’t going to push.

  He seemed to draw himself out of his head and looked over at me, but his gaze was somewhere else, inward, looking back at his life. He blinked, and the focus was back and on me. He smiled, ever so slightly, which always had a way of making me return it. “What?” I asked, gently.

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  That simple sentence warmed me up, all over. “Me too,” I whispered hoarsely, getting all emotional.

  He blinked again, and looked off but not lost inside himself like before. “Anyway… Apparently, my dad is quite the Casanova himself,” he said, his voice even, but not indifferent. “She told me that he’s got kids all over. Just leaves ’em like they’re nothing. Like I was nothing. And that’s when I realized what my mom was trying to keep me safe from all these years. Feeling unwanted. She’d tried her best herself, and…maybe she married Bob, in some ways, to give me the good, kind, decent father she’d always wanted for me.”

  Holy shit. I gulped, blown away by his self-realization. I did hug him then and he let me. “I’m so sorry, Chandler,” I whispered, eyes stinging. “Your mom’s right, he is worthless.”

  “Yeah, well, life happens,” he said, with a short laugh. “And it’s twisted that I still ended up like him.”

  I pulled back, glaring. “No.”

  He eyed me back then smiled a little, putting an arm around my waist. “Okay, maybe not. I hope not,” he said, grimly.

  “You’re not,” I said firmly.

  Finally, a laugh, a nice one. “Okay, I can live with that.”

  “You’ve never wanted to meet him?” I ventured, carefully.

  He shrugged. “I go back and forth. All I have are my mom’s thoughts and memories about him, and she’s not exactly fair but I know she hasn’t lied to me about the parts that matter,” he said, brows furrowing. “I don’t know. I guess a part of me has always wanted to know about him on my own terms, so that I could finally put that part of me, and my past, aside.”

  “Closure,” I said. “He’s been a ghost your whole life but he’s had the greatest impact on you and your mom. Makes sense.”

  “Maybe,” he acknowledged. “But the other part of me is scared of meeting him, too.” He shook his head. Then his phone rang, interrupting what was possibly the most serious and longest conversation about Chandler ever. He glanced at his phone on the kitchen counter. “Shit, that’s probably Tony. I’m supposed to pick him up.” He checked the clock on the stove. “And I gotta go soon or we’ll both be late.” He gave me a quick peck on the lips, slid off his seat and headed toward his bedroom.

  He had a special workout with the team this morning, and rushed out with another quick grin, then was gone. I’d gone to several of his practices and two games in the past week, one that had been in Germany. He was amazing, and I’d been shocked to find how popular he was, not just in Spain but in Europe, in general. The fandom wasn’t as crazy as it was in the US but Chandler was a clear favorite, getting a lot of attention from the media that had been at the game, to fans chanting his name and wanting his autograph and selfies after their big win. With the stats he’d been putting up while I’d been here, I still couldn’t be
lieve he didn’t try out for the NBA. But he was so touchy on that subject and I hadn’t wanted to go on about that since I kept bringing up his biological father.

  For the next few hours it was just me and the dog. Funny how this vacation was turning me into something of a homebody.

  Jess and I cuddled on the couch, watching TV for a little while. It was nice to brush up on my Spanish but my mind was on other things. I replayed our conversation a millions times and in different ways, trying to put myself in his shoes. Maybe Chandler’s mom had a point about his dad being an asshole, but what if he’d cleaned up his act since then? Didn’t we all deserve a second chance? What if, like Chandler, he was afraid of what he’d find by resolving his past?

  I grabbed my laptop from my luggage and sat back down on the couch, upsetting Jess before she settled back down. I popped open my laptop, as my idea started to develop.

  For the rest of the afternoon, finding Chandler’s dad consumed my entire being.

  I knew his mom’s name was Stefana Spiros, but I didn’t know his dad’s surname. Chandler grew up in rural area of Indiana but again, I didn’t know much beyond that. I did a Google search for her name, and low and behold, I found her wedding announcement to Bob, who looked goofy happy, from an Indianapolis online newspaper. It was a stark contrast to Stefana, who looked to be in her early 30s, but with a mild-mannered smile. The announcement was pretty basic but it had some information. Like a bio for each. Bob was a local boy, as was his extended family. Stefana had no family mentioned, other then Chandler, who was listed as ‘from a previous relationship’, and her occupation. Really scant. I guess Chandler had no real family outside him and his mom, and now Bob and his half-brother.

  Then, I waded through—of all things—her high school newspaper database, which had made a recent effort to archive all of their old newspapers online. She was a local girl and I stared at Chandler’s mom for a second. Wow, she was a hottie back in the day with her tan skin and thick brown hair.

  I came across a picture of Stefana and her date at prom her senior year, then stared at for the next five minutes. I didn’t think it’d be that easy but when I looked at the guy, it was unmistakable. Stefana had dark brown eyes while her date had blue-green eyes. Some of the facial features were also familiar as was his height. The guy was definitely older, whereas she looked to be about eighteen. And boy, the man even looked like trouble.