by Alexis Anne
“Are you wet for me?” He pressed my breasts together and sucked both nipples into his mouth at once.
I moaned instead of answering.
“Are you wet for me, June?” he asked again, a dark, devilish glint in his eyes as he lavished my left nipple with even more attention, making it impossible for me to do anything but whimper.
He rolled me around his teeth and tongue, teasing me right to the brink of orgasm, then released me, staring down at the mess he’d made of me with complete satisfaction.
“Do you want more?” He didn’t move. Not one single muscle in his body twitched. He was holding out on me, forcing my orgasm to settle back into the horizon.
My skin began to cool and my mind cleared.
A little. Enough to form words again.
“Yes. I want more.”
“Of this?” He arched an eyebrow and bit my right nipple gently between his teeth.
“No.”
He flicked my tip with his tongue and I arched back, my vision going black. He flicked me again and again and again until I was shaking with need.
“Not that?”
“No!” I cried. I’d taught him well, that much was for sure. He could play my body with the most beautiful expertise. It would hurt if it weren’t so good.
“Hmmm . . . ” He moved his hand down between us and pressed against my clit. “More of this?”
I whimpered. My body pulsed around him hard. I was so close . . . so very, very close.
He dipped his head down and scraped his stubble along my cheek, marking me as he kissed me. Then he whispered. “Are you wet for me?”
“I am so wet for you.”
He slowly, oh so slowly pulled out to the tip. That’s when I finally saw it—the exact same ecstasy on his face I knew was on mine. And as he plunged back inside me with one slow, even stroke, I saw the tortured pleasure of his eyes rolling back in his head.
“So wet,” he moaned.
I couldn’t take it any more. “Fuck me, Roman. I need to feel you.”
He groaned, rearing back and slamming into my heat. “Like this?”
“Yes!” I cried out. “Again.”
We abandoned all our control. It was his body moving hard against mine as I rose up to meet him over and over, the pressure building until it consumed us both from head to toe.
“Yes! I want to feel you come, June. I want to feel it,” he begged.
“I want to feel you, too.”
“Oh you will. Trust me you will.”
He kissed me hard and thrust deep. My body opened for him, stretching to accommodate his size. It was a very physical reminder that my body seemed made to fit his perfectly. I wrapped around him, my tricky leg resting high on top of his hipbone as he moved.
My nipples tingled as his chest glided over mine. Up and down, over and over. Every muscle in my body went taut and that beautiful, amazing sizzle of heat began to grow deep inside me.
“Harder,” I begged.
“I’m so close,” he grunted, his muscles straining as he fought back his own climax.
I arched up to meet him, seeking that sweet spot where his body perfectly pressed into my clit—the perfect storm of pleasure—his cock pounding me, stretching me to my limit, as my nipples slicked against his skin and my clit pressed against his warm body.
“Oh God!” I yelled out. I saw stars and my skin flushed hot. “Roman . . . yes . . . this!”
His fluid strokes began to falter and he gritted out my name. “June. My June.”
I came hard at first, my core pulsing tight around his cock. “Roman!” I cried out, so overwhelmed I needed to let everything go at once, including his name.
His hips jerked and I felt the answering pulse of his climax. As our bodies writhed together, my orgasm softened into this amazingly soft wave and I molded around him, holding him as his body relaxed into the pleasure.
“That was amazing.” He pulled back to look me in the eyes before his kissed me. They were bright with excitement and hope.
He was so damn hopeful about the future that it hurt.
I ignored it. “I might even say that was our best.”
“I don’t know, we’re always pretty good. What about that night in Miami?”
Oh . . . now he had a point there. “Miami might have been better. I’m not sure though . . . maybe we should do it again just to be sure.”
He kissed be hard and fast. “You’re going to be the death of me. Give a guy a second to breathe, huh?”
“I might even give you ten whole seconds. Just enough to change condoms.”
“Like a pit stop? I’m not a racecar, June.”
Maybe if we kept having sex we’d never have to stop and think about all the other things we needed to think about.
“Go get cleaned up.”
But he didn’t move. Instead, he kissed me. His lips pressed carefully against mine as if he knew how delicate my emotional state was. “I miss you.”
My heart cracked. “I miss you, too.”
“Stay the night.”
I nodded. I didn’t want to leave.
“We’ll figure out tomorrow and the next day when the time comes,” he said. “For now, just say with me.”
Could he tell I was on the verge of bolting? I wanted to be with him but I also wanted to run as fast as I could. Run until my lungs gave out and my knees buckled. Maybe then, when I was exhausted I could finally figure out how to be with Roman St. James for more than a night.
“I’ll stay.”
He nuzzled my cheek. “Good. I’ll be right back.”
I folded myself into a white cocoon of sheets while he was gone. I could fall in love with Roman, but my entire life outside of our relationship would be a mess. I could walk away from him and keep my relationship with my family, but I’d be miserable knowing I was giving up on my shot at love.
Maybe there was another man out there who I could fall in love with, but no one would ever love me the way Roman did.
It was too special to throw away.
“Are you going to share the bed or am I sleeping on the couch?”
I unraveled myself and he jumped in beside me, pulling me onto his wide chest. “Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”
“How do you know I’m worried?”
He chuckled and my head bobbed right along with him. “Because you’re wrapped up like a burrito.”
I grunted. “It’s really hard to not think about tomorrow.”
“I know, but you said you wanted now.” He brushed my hair with long strokes, soothing me.
“Yeah,” I replied as sleep started to set in. Being safe in Roman’s arms after he completely satisfied me was a surprisingly good combination. “I’m a big fat liar.”
And then I drifted off into oblivion.
15
Five Years Ago
“I t’s four thousand degrees outside,” Wes groaned. He was sprawled long ways along the dugout bench in a filthy uniform.
“It’s not that bad,” Roman chuckled as he leaned forward, his fingers holding him up as he braced them on top of the dugout.
“You’re not wearing padding and a mask.”
“You got that right, buddy. That’s why I don’t play catcher.”
Wes groaned again. Dramatically. Seriously, the guy could be an actor with the personality he had. “Why do we still have another game to play? Why?”
“Are you dying or are you just a wuss?” Roman tossed a ball at Wes’s stomach.
He winced as if he’d been brutally beaten. “Watch the goods, man! Not cool. Not cool at all.”
“I hit you exactly where I wanted to. Your goods were perfectly safe.”
“Good, because I have a very hot date with Stephanie tonight. You coming with us?”
I was carefully hiding in the shadows while I waited out the intermission between games but I was close enough to hear and see everything. I was surprised when Roman glanced my way. “Nope. I’m going to be exhausted after this. I�
�m going to bed.”
“Boring! Where’s your sense of adventure? We’re only young and popular once.”
Roman shook his head. “I’m pretty sure you took my sense of adventure.”
“I make better use of it anyway. Hey, I thought you liked Lisa.”
“No, you liked Lisa.”
Wes frowned. “I did? How did I wind up with Stephanie?”
He reminded me of Jack Sparrow when he talked about women. There was a bit of adorable confusion mixed up with his love of the opposite gender. He made it seem endearing when, really, it should be revolting. Wes was a strange man.
“You wound up with Stephanie when you made me go out with all of you. I wasn’t interested in Stephanie, or Lisa, or Megan, or any of their other friends for that matter. By the end of the night everyone was done with you except Stephanie who, for some reason, thinks you’re hilarious.”
“Oh yeah,” he grinned. “She also gives great head.”
Roman sighed.
“What? You need to get laid.” Wes sat up. “It’s been forever. This all makes sense now.”
Forever? That got my attention.
“What makes sense?” Roman was trying to look bored but he also kept shooting glances my way.
“You’ve been an uptight pain in my ass. I thought it was King George but this makes so much more sense. That’s it. You’re going out with me tonight. We’re getting you laid so I can have my friend back.”
Roman looked as horrified as I felt.
Which I really shouldn’t, since Roman wasn’t mine and we were never going to date . . . but still.
“I am not going out with you. We have three more games in the next ten days. I’m exhausted.”
“A BJ then. Nice, easy, quick. We’ll get you back into bed in no time, old man.”
“Wes, I can take care of myself. I do not need you to get me women.”
Sanchez, the pitcher, walked up behind Wes. “Oh no. Is Wes trying to hook you up again?”
“Yes!” They both said in unison.
It was kind of funny to watch this from the shadows.
“Give it up, man. He’s not interested and you suck at it.” Sanchez clapped Wes on the shoulder.
“Who turns down sex? It’s not right . . . ” Wes grumbled.
Sanchez and Roman traded a shrug. Sanchez had a very sweet girlfriend who he was totally devoted to. Pretty much the exact opposite of Wes. “Not everyone likes a new flavor every other night. Some of us find a flavor we enjoy and only want that flavor.”
Wes scowled at them both. “That’s disgusting. Never compare women to ice cream.”
Everyone burst into laughter because Wes was ridiculous. He was offended by the flavor analogy but completely oblivious to his own problems. Then his eyes went round.
“Wait . . . are you saying Roman has already found a flavor he likes?” His jaw dropped open as he stared at Roman with new eyes. “Oh my God, you have! Who is she?”
“I don’t have a flavor. Or a woman. Or a girlfriend.” His cheeks turned red as he bumbled his way through his words.
Sanchez’s eyebrows shot up. He didn’t believe Roman but he didn’t say a word.
“You’re lying to me!” Wes said even more dramatically than before.
Roman glanced at me again. “I’m not lying. I don’t have a secret woman stashed in the corner. I am very much single and plan on staying that way while I get through this season.”
He was talking to me. The eye contact, the softer words . . . he was answering Wes’s question, but he was saying it to me.
I lost my breath.
Holy hell. What did this mean?
“Get your asses in the locker room and change!” Coach Ramirez yelled at the threesome. “It’s like wrangling fucking kittens. It’s not that hard. Game one is over. Game two is in thirty minutes. Fresh uniforms. Now!”
All three of them jumped and ran while I sat back and enjoyed the silence.
The second game was brutal. Everyone was exhausted and the unseasonable warmth took its toll on everyone including Wes, who rolled his ankle rounding third. “Can you move it?” I asked as I dropped to my knees beside him. Opposite me was the team athletic trainer, Jason Woodhull. He gave me room to make the assessment on my own, supervising the process.
“Yes,” Wes hissed. “My stupid weak ankles. I swear it’s the only part of me that didn’t grow during that stupid growth spurt.”
He winced as I palpated the ankle—not a great sign.
“Thoughts, JD?” Woodhull asked.
“Moderate to severe sprain. We should get him off the field and run some tests.”
“No!” Wes groaned, covering his face.
“Sorry, buddy. She’s right.”
We helped him hop to the cart standing by on the sideline. The crowd clapping seemed to fade into the background as more important matters took center stage. I followed Wes to the clinic and watched as Woodhull consulted with the doctor.
“How long do you think I’ll be out for?” Wes asked me.
I shrugged. “Depends on the severity of the sprain.”
“You gotta give me something. I have to be healthy for Super Regionals.”
I patted his shoulder. “You’ll be in fighting form long before then.”
“Really? Do you think I can still make my date tonight?”
I shook my head. “I think you’ll be in bed.”
“Damn. Okay. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Then he furrowed his brow and stared at me. “What’s your name?”
“Everyone calls me JD.”
“Hmm . . . you don’t look like a JD.”
I shrugged because I had no answer for that. Using my initials was what kept my identity under wraps, but it was most definitely still my name.
“Maybe Roman will take my date for me. No, he’s apparently ‘seeing someone.’ Damn. Another woman down the drain.”
I laughed. “How will missing one date do that?”
He shrugged. “Women never want to date me after I get hurt.”
“I take it this has happened before?”
“A few times. Apparently my charm wears off when I’m hurt.”
“It might be the whining.”
His eyes rounded with shock. “I am not whining!”
“You are totally whining. Have you ever heard of man-flu?”
“No.” He eyeballed me suspiciously.
“It’s when a man who should be totally capable of taking care of himself and dealing with a little pain devolves into a miserable, helpless baby at the first sign of illness or injury.”
“I do not have man-flu,” he whimpered.
“You kind of do and it’s a complete turn-off for women.”
He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “Is there a cure?”
“Sadly, the only known cure is growing up.”
Woodull returned with the doctor but before they could say anything Wes leaned toward me and whispered, “Never grow up. It’s a trap.”
I was still chuckling thirty minutes later when a very dirty and sweaty Roman St. James strode into the clinic. “How is he?”
“They say I’m gonna live!” Wes called from across the room.
Roman rolled his eyes and cocked his head toward me.
“He has a sprain,” I explained. “Nothing is broken or torn. He’ll be fine.”
“Thanks for the translation. Wes is terrible with details,” he said before moving to talk to Wes for a few minutes, mostly assuring him that he’d bring him ice cream all weekend long. Then suddenly he was back at my side. “Can we talk? In private?”
Sure. We could totally talk in private. There would be nothing weird or obvious about that. “This way.” I was losing it.
He followed me into the back office without saying a word. He still didn’t say anything when I closed the door. Instead he shifted uncomfortably on his feet.
I tried to break the ice. “Who won?”
His h
ead shot up. “What?”
“The game? We missed the end. Who won?” We’d been up by a run when we left.
“Oh. We did. Don’t tell Wes. He likes to think we can’t win without him.”
“I won’t say a word.” More silence. I was beginning to think Roman had forgotten how to speak when he suddenly took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry if I said anything that upset you. You know . . . in the dugout the other day?”
Upset me? Did he have any idea how many women would beg to trade places with me? Having a handsome man confess he wanted to kiss me again and again? Yeah, real upsetting . . .
Well, except for the not ever doing anything about it part.
That kind of sucked.
“We would be a terrible idea, Roman. You were absolutely right about that.”
He looked down at the orange clay on his hands. “Yeah. That. Except, maybe it’s not that terrible.”
Not that terrible? My heart skipped a beat. “Which part? Where we have to sneak around in secret? Or the part where our families find out and the world implodes?”
“The part where you and I are amazing. That part might be kind of not terrible.” He looked up and caught my gaze, his eyes locking and softening all at once. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”
And I hadn’t stopped thinking about him.
He was either lying through his teeth or a thousand times more courageous than I was to stand there and admit something so vulnerable, and I didn’t think for a second that he was lying. “What do you think about?”
“Your lips mostly.”
Not half as much as I thought about his eyes. “And have you thought about what happens after we kiss?”
“Not really.”
And there was the problem. “You really should. It’s a big damn deal, the after.”
“What happens then? If I think about it and I’m okay with the after?”
The hair on my arm pricked up. This conversation wasn’t going the way I expected. I was supposed to remind him about the stakes and he was supposed to back away. Instead he was advancing. “Then I suppose you’ll need to convince me that the after won’t be that bad.”
“That’s all?” There was a glint in his eyes. I’d laid out a challenge. I should have known better than to propose something like that to a ballplayer.