by MJ Compton
When he clamped her jaw as he deepened the kiss, she let her entire body relax against his. The collapse wasn’t conscious, but resting against Tag’s broad chest was so right. His tongue, sweeping her mouth, was the definition of right. She’d thought she was better than a fan girl. She thought she was above being a jock’s plaything. Tag’s mouth on hers proved both assumptions to be lies.
Skye wasn’t passive. If this thing between them was going to happen, she wanted to be more than a recipient. He wasn’t the only one who could…touch.
The scruff on his unshaven face bristled against her fingers but softened under her palm. His skin was warm. Much warmer than hers.
She knew she shouldn’t be kissing him. He was her customer. Catering did not include sexual favors. This was Tag Gentry, the ballplayer who used the past tense of his own name when referring to the women with whom he’d had sex. He’d been asking for her kisses since April but couldn’t be bothered to use her chosen name.
So what did that make her, sitting on his lap, returning his kiss, reveling in how perfectly her breast fit in the palm of his strong catcher’s hand? Except he had brushed ever so slightly against the secret girl she’d once been by allowing her to take care of him and was excavating the debris around the woman she longed to become, independent and strong.
He slid his hand under her T-shirt and into her bra and pinched her nipple. Rubbed his erection harder against her bottom. He rested his forehead against hers.
“We need to figure out how to do this.” His whisper was harsh.
Not that she hadn’t wondered once or twice how sex in a wheelchair would work. Easier when he was the one confined, that was for sure.
“Call Franz,” she said. Her own voice wasn’t much steadier than his.
“I’m not sharing. At least, not tonight.”
Her laugh was shaky too. “Me either. But call him. Then call me when you’re ready.”
“I’m already ready.”
She reached between them. Cupped his penis and squeezed ever so gently. Tag’s breath hitched. “I noticed.”
She didn’t want to embarrass him by spelling out everything, but he was a guy with no blood left in his brain. “Call me when you’re in bed,” she repeated.
“Phone sex isn’t going to cut it for me.”
“Me either.” She traced his bottom lip with her forefinger until his tongue snaked out and captured it. He gently sucked it into his mouth. The throbbing between her legs syncopated with the suction. He teased her with the acrobatics of his tongue, igniting her imagination of what that tongue could do to other parts of her body.
She had to leave him now or embarrass herself and possibly Franz, who could come to check on Tag at any moment.
“Call me.” Her legs shook as she fled to the foyer, where she’d stashed her overnight bag in the coat closet.
She’d never been around when Hans, Franz, or even Bluto helped Tag from recliner to wheelchair to bed to whatever they did with him. Nor did she want to witness the process now. So she took her bag into the kitchen to wait.
Tag was intensely masculine and very physical. Being so dependent on others had to infuriate him, no matter how temporary the situation was.
“Hey, Red!” Tag called out a few minutes later. “Where are you? Let us show you to your room.
So she rejoined Franz and Tag in the living room and then trailed the wheelchair as Tag rolled down a hallway she’d never noticed. Franz opened one of the doors.
“My room,” Tag said. “You’re across the hall from Franz, who’s next door.”
“I didn’t know night nurses slept,” was all she could think of to say.
“I watch infomercials on TV,” Franz muttered.
“Don’t worry about it,” Tag said at the same time. “The way you snore, you’ll keep us all up all night.”
* * * *
Tag didn’t engage in his usual banter with Franz as the nurse helped him get ready for bed. Nor did he try to explain away the half-mast boner he sported. Franz was a professional. He knew better than to comment on anything he saw in a client’s home. Maybe someday, Tag would get used to needing help with everything, including the bathroom, but he didn’t think it would happen in this lifetime.
In a blink, Tag flashed forward to the future. After baseball. After youth. After mobility. This, he thought as Franz steadied him so he could do his business, was a glimpse into the future.
He hated it. He would rather be dead than useless or helpless.
He told Franz he was going to sleep in the raw that night, something Franz tried to discourage.
“What if there’s a fire? We won’t have time to try to pull your shorts on over your cast before we need to evacuate.”
“I’ll drape a sheet over my lap.”
After Franz left him, Tag reconsidered calling Red. He wasn’t in the mood. Thinking about the future, facing the possibilities, was depressing as hell. What if this injury really had destroyed his career? What would he do if he couldn’t play baseball? Oh, he knew there were thousands of answers out there. The most obvious were coaching or broadcasting. But the world was filled with former players, whereas the number of coaching, scouting, and broadcasting jobs were finite. And pathetic. Washed-up athletes unable to let go.
He was going to die of boredom. He could see his obit now: Tucker Alexander Gentry, Columbia Gems catcher who sacrificed his leg so his team could win the World Series, passed away of boredom because he could no longer do anything. Beyond baseball, he was worthless.
Oh, he had money. That’s wasn’t his concern. But not being able to do. That scared the piss out of him. Sometimes, since his injury, he couldn’t sleep at night for wondering.
But tonight he wasn’t going to wallow. Tonight, he was going to get laid.
He picked up his phone and began scrolling through his contacts. Maybe sleeping with the help wasn’t such a good idea, but at least he’d feel alive. Better than the alternative. Besides, Red had become so much more than merely the woman who cooked for him. He liked her. She made him laugh. She didn’t let him feel too sorry for himself, and she respected his priorities. She had honor.
Tag didn’t usually think of women in terms of honor, but Red was the embodiment of honor. That was the biggest reason he was so furious about all her hard work on the Halloween party being for Drake Dixon, who was worse than dishonor. Dixon used women like Red Schuyler and then tossed them in a gutter like so much garbage.
Tag hated to think of Red being abused and abased like that. Especially since she didn’t see it coming.
He swiped her name in his contacts.
“Hey there.” Her voice was low. Sultry.
“Having second thoughts?” he asked. He had been. He wanted to be honest with Red.
“A few. You?”
“Some. I mean, you know that if we follow through, it’s just a hookup.”
“I know.”
“I like you and all, but I’m not a settling-down kind of guy.” He didn’t mention Terra. He barely gave his alleged significant other a thought.
Red cleared her throat. “I was thinking more along the lines of friends with benefits.”
“Yeah. Friends.” He liked that. He wanted to be friends with Red. Pals. Sit around and watch baseball together. Get naked with her. “Why don’t you come on over, and let’s see what we can figure out. Knock twice. Then let yourself in.”
SKYE SLIPPED OFF her sleep shirt and pulled on her robe. She swallowed hard as she wrapped her fingers around the doorknob. Going to Tag’s room was wrong on so many levels. First of all, it wasn’t very professional. She’d avoided the temptation of flirting with baseball players all season. Secondly, she had to keep feeding him until he was able to get out and about. If things were dreadfully dreadful between them, that could prove to be a problem.
And now that she’d gotten to know him better, that little crush had grown to full-size. Her heart wanted more than friendship. Maybe the sex would be awful. That w
ould be good, because it might cure her of her obsession with Tag.
Who went to a man’s bed praying for bad sex?
Celeste Schuyler.
She had to get him out of her system. Their professional relationship was temporary. Okay, maybe she’d see him if the Gems renewed her contract for the following season. Maybe. From what she’d learned about his kind of injury, he might be out all of next season. So whatever happened tonight wouldn’t matter in the long run.
Skye rapped on the door and then turned the knob.
Tag was in his bed, which looked as big as a baseball diamond. One lamp on the far side cast an oval of muted light which leeched the color from the carpet, the bedding, and the walls.
Heat swelled from her toes, oozing upward in defiance of gravity, until her cheeks burned.
“Come over here, Red.” Tag patted the mattress.
She crossed the room, her feet unaware of the acrobatics in her stomach.
“Whatcha got on under that robe?” His eyes gleamed silver instead of their usual gray.
Skye pulled out the strip of condoms she’d tucked in her robe pocket and tossed them on the bed. Just so they would be on the same page.
Tag nodded. “I guess we’re not playing games.”
“No games. I thought we’d already determined that.”
“Then take off the robe, and get into bed.”
The faux satin fabric shimmered in the dim light as Skye let the robe slip from her shoulders. The fabric flowed down her body like liquid until it puddled around her ankles. Faking a confidence utterly foreign to her, she raised one leg to kneel on the mattress.
Tag grasped her arms and pulled her next to him. “You’re going to have to do most of the work here,” he said. He tossed aside the sheet.
Skye’s breath caught in her chest. He was beautiful. Worthy of a statue in his honor. She already knew he had broad shoulders and defined biceps, but his bare chest was a revelation. Muscled, but not overly so. A wedge of dark, silky-looking hair hid his nipples, then drew a trail down the prerequisite six-pack to his navel. But his innie belly button isn’t what captured her attention.
Tag was big but not huge. She wouldn’t have to worry about accommodating him. Sex was so much nicer when it didn’t hurt.
Except she didn’t want sex to be nice. Not with Tag. Because nice would be her undoing.
He reached for her breast. “I wondered what color your nipples were. Pretty. And you’re a natural redhead.”
She didn’t know about pretty, but she knew they were as tight as radish roses before an ice-water bath.
“Come closer.” His voice was husky. “I want to suck on you.”
When his hot mouth closed over the tip of her breast, she flinched and then relaxed. He switched nipples but kept the other one company with surprisingly clever fingers.
She ached. She felt as if the past week had been foreplay. She stretched her palms over his pecs. His skin was hot. His chest hair was soft under her fingers. His heartbeat was steady and strong. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. She wanted to imprint this moment on her memory for all time. He smelled of soap with a hint of perspiration—not dirty sweat but manly perspiration, which was a lot more honest than manly colognes.
She was going to have to take charge of what was going to happen. Tag’s cast meant he was on his back and not mobile enough to initiate any change of…venue. For the first time in her life, she wished she was more experienced at this sort of thing. Seduction wasn’t anywhere on her résumé. Not that she was a prude, a virgin, or anything like that. She just wasn’t…adept with her sexuality. It was time to take matters into her own hands. Or at least Tag. Into her hands, that was.
Using her forefinger, she traced the path of his body hair down his chest and abdomen. When she got to his navel, the tip of his erection nudged the underside of her hand. A drop of wetness smeared onto her skin. His breath whistled sharply as she closed her palm around him. His penis was even hotter than his chest, and she wondered if it would leave scald marks on her flesh.
Her nipple slipped from Tag’s mouth. His eyes were closed. “Red.”
She tightened her grip and pumped once. “Skye.”
“Red Skye tonight.”
That would have to do.
Condom. But Tag had anticipated her thought and took care of sheathing his penis. Which was good. She would have fumbled and made a muck of it.
She swung her leg over his belly.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
She’d been ready for days but wasn’t about to puff up his ego any more than it was already inflated. His reconnaissance discovered exactly how ready she was. A couple of his fingers explored further and deepened her need to take him inside her body.
Skye reached between their bodies. She grasped Tag’s erection and held it steady as she positioned herself to sink onto him. He changed the focus of his fingers, concentrating on her clit instead of her vagina. The whimper clinging to her throat would stay there.
The man knew what he was doing.
His gasp as she began to lower herself onto him drowned out any other sound she might have made. She wanted to take him slowly, but her need for him roared to life and refused to budge.
Tag grasped her hips, as if he were trying to steady and direct the rhythm. But with one leg in a cast, his puny effort was easy to override. And ride over. She was in control. For once in her life, she was actually calling the shots, and she reveled in the sensation.
“Slow down,” Tag groaned. His eyes remained shut, but his mouth was open with his heavy breathing. His nose was slightly wrinkled, as if he didn’t know whether to smile or weep with pleasure.
She’d never seen that particular expression on anyone’s face. Something else for her to remember.
“I’m not going to last.”
“Then you’d better help me catch up, Mr. Catcher Man.”
He opened his eyes, which now resembled tarnished silver. “That sounds like a challenge.”
His gaze never flickered from hers as he removed one hand from her hip to burrow through her labia until he located her clit “Like this?”
Oh yeah. She nodded. Her eyelids drifted toward her cheeks. She thought she would anticipate her climax, but when orgasm came—when she came—it startled her. She sank onto Tag as far as she could. Her thighs, already stressed from the unaccustomed exercise, quivered from the intensity jolting through her. Her breathing wavered too.
If she’d had the energy, she would have climbed off him and curled against him to sleep. Instead, she collapsed against his chest. Her eyelids collapsed too.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Tag said, as he roused her. “It’s my turn.”
TAG WISHED HE could roll her over, crawl on top of her, and pound into her. And that, he promised himself, would be one of the first things he did when the cursed cast came off. In the meantime, he had to make do. All his control had gone into holding back until Red came.
Her climax was an experience to behold. Glorious was the word that came to mind. Her back arched, her breasts thrusting out. Her bright pink nipples were hard and tight—as tight as her pussy around his cock. Her eyes were closed. Red curls cascaded down her slender back. She was a vision. Her parted lips—those so soft lips—made him think of other things. Like blowjobs. Maybe later.
First he needed to finish fucking her.
He tried to curl upward to pull one of those nipples into his mouth, but without being able to brace his right leg, the task was impossible. So he did the only thing he could figure out to do and grabbed her ass. Got a firm grip on the soft globes. Red was pliant now. Flexible. Not fighting with him for control.
He lifted her. Brought her down. Repeated the sequence. Quickly. Found his rhythm. No finesse. No style. Just fucking to get off. It didn’t take long. He’d been horny for Red for days. His orgasm seemed to last for hours, nearly blowing off the top of his skull.
When he finally released her hips, she collapsed to his s
ide.
“Was that beneficial?” she asked.
October 31
Halloween
The day started out so badly, Skye figured things could only get better.
She’d meant to crawl out of Tag’s bed and sleep in the guest room to which she’d been shown. Instead, she fell asleep next to Tag, her head pillowed by his chest.
He was warm, and since the air-conditioning had been set to meat locker, she snuggled close. And stayed there until Tag woke her.
“You have to go back to your room before Franz comes in to help me to the bathroom.” His voice was a low rumble against her ear. “And don’t forget to take the used condom with you.”
Right. He certainly couldn’t dispose of it.
But was he protecting her reputation or his?
She would have been fine, except she ran into Franz in the hall. Oops. Not that he would say anything. Aloud. But looks spoke, and Skye didn’t like what she heard.
The hot shower, bliss after days of cold ones, was about the only thing that went right. She still had the asparagus fingers and mummy meatballs to prepare, but she needed to do those at Dixon’s apartment. Everything else was ready for transport. If she’d been at her own place, loading her van would be easy. Tag’s twentieth-story penthouse made the trip from the refrigerators to the van a lot longer.
Tag. After his rough, early morning dismissal of her, he wasn’t to be found. She tried to convince herself it was morning as usual at his place: the changing of the nursing staff, Bluto’s arrival for Pain and Torture, and Hans assisting Tag with his shower and other personal needs. The atmosphere only felt different because of her second thoughts. Her guilt. Her worry that sex hadn’t been at all mediocre for her despite being out of her comfort zone.
She knew Tag wasn’t in top form—top anything. And she wasn’t a top performer by choice. And the sex had still been better than okay. Maybe better than good. Maybe good enough that she wanted more, and that was dangerous.