Pitching to Win (Over the Fence #1)

by Carrie Aarons

“You’re so fucking wet. Fuck…” I can hear him groan into my neck, where his head currently rests as he eases a finger inside me. Oh god, that feels good. Heavenly. It had been so long since someone other than myself had touched me there.

  And Owen was amazing at it. He touches me reverently, like he’s worshipping every section of my skin. He knows exactly where to press, where to stroke, so that in minutes, I am so close to release I can feel the familiar tingling in my belly. I’m shaking like a leaf in his arms, my body so tense, it was resting on a peak that I was about to tumble over.

  He begins to kiss me, his lips coating mine and sending my nerve endings sparking. “Come for me, Minka.” He breathes raggedly into my mouth. His words send me tumbling head first into the sensations. I tense for split-second, all of my focus zeroed in on his fingers pressing against my clit, and then the orgasm hits me.

  I gyrate against his fingers, my nipples brushing the light smattering of hair on his chest, and bury my face in his neck. My orgasm reaches into every crevice of my body, melting into my skin, and I stretch with it from my fingertips to my toes, trying to hold on to every last second of it.

  My breathing slows and I bring my head up to look at Owen. He eyes are smoldering, switching back and forth from my own as if he was trying to watch the last of the orgasm drain out of me.

  “That was…...the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” He kept up his search in my eyes while I grinned like a moron. It was the best thing I’d ever felt. And all I wanted to do was return the favor. Make him feel as good as I felt. And maybe, just maybe, prove to myself that I could do this. I could make someone unravel.

  Putting a sultry expression on my face, or as sultry as I could muster, I place my hands back on his abs, feeling the ridges and his muscles contracting under my fingertips.

  “You don’t….you don’t have to do this.” Owen says, doubt and hope mixed in his breathy declaration. I continue my exploration of his chest, while at the same time silencing him by sealing my lips over his.

  I tease his lips, coaxing him and trying to mimic everything he’d just done to me. “I do what I want.”

  Anxiety, and something else, maybe power, swim in my veins as I slip my hand further down, inching my fingers past the elastic band on his basketball shorts. I feel his stomach tighten, and he steals the breath out of my mouth as he sharply inhales into our kiss.

  I break away from his lips, too nervous and focused on concentrating on where to put my hand. I was going blind, too embarrassed to look down and correct my movements, when my hand connected with something hard and fleshy.

  “Ahhhh,” Owen grunts as I realizes I’ve brushed the tip of him.

  I circle him with my hand and tugged gently upwards, feeling a bead of wetness drip onto my semi-closed fist.

  “Fuck…..Minka...hmmm,” Owen’s talking in non-words now, reassuring my confidence and causing me to pick up my motions.

  After I travel up and down his rigid cock a couple more times, I can feel his breathing get ragged as he buries his face in my neck, nibbling lightly at the skin there. I still wasn’t sure if I was making him feel good, so I said so. “Is this…am I doing it right?”

  He lifts his head, his brown locks falling into his eyes, which now assessed me with raw hunger. “This is the best fucking thing I’ve ever felt in my life, and all you’re doing is jacking me off. Yes, you’re doing it right. You’re doing it the best way it's ever been done.”

  I give him a small smile even though, inside, I’m beaming with pride. I begin my motions again, picking up the pace when he growls at me to go faster. Before I know it, he’s making the sexiest noises, that also happen to be waking up my exhausted libido. He’s a drug, Owen, one I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get out of my system.

  “Minka, Jesus…..I’m going to come.” He lets out a low, husky sound as he pumps his hips to meet my hand when it moves down to the base of him.

  I try to keep the same fast pace, holding my breath in my anxiousness to please him. His eyes lock onto mine in a scorching stare, and I feel my cheeks color. I can’t look at him while I do this. I cast my eyes down and concentrate.

  “Look at me. I want your eyes.” He grasps my chin and drags it up so that my eyes are inches from his, both of us locked onto the other. At the same time, I feel his breath stutter on my lips, his hips jutting wildly.

  “Yeah…..fuck, Minka.” He’s coming, and I feel his wetness spread over my fist as he slows his pumping hips, his eyes still on mine but now glazed over in his satisfaction.

  We lay like that, his legs tangled with mine, my hand down his pants covered in his come, our faces floating mere centimeters away from each other, for a very long time. He’s breathing me in as he recovers, and my mind is going a mile a minute. What does this mean? Why can’t I stay away from him? Why am I still so turned on? Can we please do it again?

  Owen chuckles and presses his forehead against mine.

  “Why...why are you laughing?” Fears grips me right in the gut for a few seconds. Until he responds with the cockiest answer I’ve ever heard.

  “I need to bring you cheesesteaks more often. Like everyday. Putting it in my calendar now.”

  13

  Owen

  July moves in faster than expected, and with it, responsibilities. June knew I was having too much fun, and spending too much time with a certain beautiful girl, so it decided to end.

  Clinics start back up this month, which means I’ll be on the road at least two long weekends out of the next four. Meaning less Minka time. Me, and my dick, are already mourning the loss.

  Since the night I brought her dinner, something has shifted. She was now almost all that I thought about, the only person I ever wanted to be with. I’d spent nine and a half of the last 12 days with her, and I was nowhere near bored or tired of hanging out. It was a new sensation for me, one I’m not particularly sure I like since it leads to this horrible “missing-a-limb” feeling whenever I’m not near her.

  We’ve texted while I’ve been gone for the past three days, and I’m praising the heavens that I get to see her tonight. As corny as it sounds, I can’t wait to have her back in my arms. I shoot her a text, something I’ve been doing all hours of the day since I left for summer training at my college, Grover University.

  Owen: Certain parts of my anatomy can’t wait to get reacquainted with certain parts of your anatomy tonight ;)

  When Minka doesn’t respond for a minute or two, I get desperate. This girl, she makes me act like a dog in heat.

  Owen: And by that I mean my heart with your heart :)

  Minka: Don’t try to save ass now. You meant your penis, douche.

  Mmm, there is my girl.

  Owen: Oh yeah, that too. And babe, it’s a dick. Or a cock. Or even a boner. The word penis makes me think of this creepy old pediatrician I used to see….

  Minka: While I’d love to keep discussing your freudian issues, some of us don’t think about your “dick” nearly as much as you do.

  Owen: Noted, she likes me for my superior intellect and not my smoking hot body. I guess that means she doesn’t want me to bury my face between her thighs tonight.

  And I’m hard as a rock. We haven’t fucked yet. Or made love, or whatever stupid words girls wanted to use.

  I might be a jock, but it didn’t mean I was stupid enough not to notice Minka was definitely a virgin. We’d rounded all of the other bases, and that was just fine with me right now.

  But, trust me when I tell you, sliding into third with her was better than any sex I’d ever had. The sounds she made as I lapped up her sweet juices, the blush that seemed to creep all the way down her body as she got close to exploding on my tongue. Damn. I could do that for the rest of my life. No sex required.

  Minka: You’re so vulgar, Axel.

  She had no idea. I could feel her blushing through the phone. Jesus, she’s cute. And sexy, and funny…and my hard on throbbed at her use of my last name.

  “Why the fuck
are you smiling like that?”

  I look up just fast enough to dodge the batting helmet that Miles has thrown in my direction. Clint Bellows and Parker Avery jog down the dugout steps after him, hauling their sweaty asses onto the bench.

  “You lazy fuck. Pitchers always get the long end of the stick. You don’t even have to run wind sprints.” Avery grumbled at me.

  Dude was always in a pissy mood. But he was a great fucking outfielder. We put up with his attitude, usually ending up force feeding him alcohol to tolerate him. Parker was like the Hulk, but reverse. Get him drunk and he was the nicest guy on the planet. And also one of the best wingmen. He could snag any guy, no matter their looks, a 10 on the hot-girl scale. Not that I needed his services anymore.

  “That’s right sunshine. I just stand up there and look pretty. Oh...and don’t forget, win you national championships.” I pat his cheek.

  “Bro, gross. Why’re you sporting a semi?” Clint chokes on the Gatorade he’d just swigged.

  “The real question is, why are you looking at my dick?” I wink at him and readjusted myself. Damn baseball pants, you can’t hide anything in these bad boys.

  “He’s probably daydreaming about the high school hottie he’s been smashing. Chicks got legs for days,” Miles whistles.

  I zip a batting glove at his face, effectively slapping him between his eye and his cheek. “I told you not to talk about my girl like that, Farris.”

  “Woah-ho-ho, his girl, fellas. Did you hear that? Axel’s got himself a ball and chain. Not to mention an 18-year-old one.” Miles dances around the dugout, mocking me.

  “No way man, you have a girlfriend?” Clint asks in disbelief.

  “Not exactly, dickwads. But if you must know, yeah, I’m spending a lot of time with her.”

  “Why does this sound like a goddamn romance novel?” Avery quips.

  “She’s not like these groupie chicks you douchebags bring home. She’s smart, and seriously funny. And she could kick any of your scrawny asses. And yeah, she’s got some serious legs,” I give Miles a shit-eating grin.

  “Yeah whatever man, I guess thats great. I’m happy for you.” Parker stares out into the field stoically. I can never figure out what’s going on in that guy’s head.

  “Alright, weirdo. I don’t know why you guys so are worried about my business, you all had your asses handed to you in batting practice. I can hit better than that, and I’m not even required to.” Being a pitcher means I get special perks, depending on how you look at it. No, I didn’t have to condition as hard, or work on slugging one outta the park, but all of the pressure rested on my shoulders. My performance determined whether we won or lost games.

  “Dude it’s July. Our first scrimmage isn’t until the last week of September. I’ll get back to over three hundred in no time,” Miles stands up, juggling a bat between his hands.

  Farris is our best hitter; he’s so close to breaking the school record for home runs averaged and he’s only a sophomore.

  “Well, just make sure you take us to finals next year and no one will be complaining,” Clint adds, strapping the mass of catcher's equipment to his body. Clint is my catcher, and while he can definitely be accused of skipping his schoolwork, baseball is his field of study. I swear the guy can read my mind and keep a hawk-eye on the field like no one I’ve ever seen.

  “This is a team sport, idiot. Which means everyone has to play together to win. Anything less has your ass on the bench in May.” Avery all but growls.

  I know he’s still pissed about our regional championship loss, which took us out of contention for the World Series in June. Last year’s seniors seemed to be more into the hazing and drinking aspects of being a college athlete, while all four of us wanted one thing. A College World Series ring. And maybe an MLB contract on the side.

  “This year is our year, gentleman. We will get there,” I promise, feeling confidence swell in my chest. This year would be different, I could feel it.

  “Damn right we will. Now hurry up and let’s go through this pitching drill. I got places to be,” Clint heads up the dugout steps and out onto home plate.

  I slide my glove onto my head, relishing the familiar feel of the old leather conforming around it.

  “Yeah we got places to be, people to bang.” Miles starts thrusting his hips into an invisible girl.

  “Don’t let your girlfriend hear that,” I give him a stern look. While Olivia wasn’t high on my list of favorite people, or anywhere on it for that matter, I didn’t approve of cheating. It was the lowest move you could pull.

  “Yeah well, she’d have to be around to actually hear. Or care.” Miles sobers as he says this last part.

  “Dude, I’m sorry, if you wanna talk—” I start before Miles cut me off, shuttering his eyes and putting the joker mask back on.

  “Don’t get all weepy on me bro! Hurry your ass up so I can get to a kickass party, and you can drive home to your high school hottie.” He runs out for a casual toss with Avery while I work with Clint on my knuckleball.

  Someday, he’d have to open up to me. I just hoped it wasn’t too late.

  * * *

  “Caro! I didn’t know you’d be home so soon!” I hear my mother screech. Crap. I had been trying to go undetected, but that woman had ears like a bat. And it didn’t help that the gaudy all-marble staircase screeched like the cement of a parking garage anytime you stepped foot on it.

  If I keep walking now, she will only keep screaming my nickname, caro, or my dear in Portuguese, up the stairs. So, head hanging, I trudge into the library where she’s perched with a magazine in one hand, green juice in the other. My mom may have retired from the modeling world years ago, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t constantly dieting and staying up to date with her fashion.

  “Yeah, I’m just dropping my stuff and grabbing a quick shower before I head out,” I start to inch my way out of the room. I’m wasting precious time, time that I could be using to taste every inch of Minka’s skin. It had been three days, and my need for her had me strung so tight, I can actually feel the kinks in my back at not being able to hold her.

  “Excuse me!” She looks up from her magazine and points to her cheek. “I don’t see you all summer, and you can’t even give your poor, lonely mama a kiss when you get home.”

  I bend to kiss her cheek, smelling her signature sandalwood perfume. The entire house smells of it. The scent embodies my mother, sophisticated and beautiful, with an underlying hint of wildness and freedom. While she isn’t the most conventional mother, she loves me with a fierceness that I thank God for. Who knows how I would have turned out if only my father had been around.

  “Raq, have you seen my blue striped…Owen, I didn’t realize you were home from clinics. Sit, tell me how it went.” Speak of Satan himself. My dad was ruthless in his pursuit of getting me signed to a professional team. Criticizing any part of my game was a regular occurrence for him.

  “I actually really don’t have time, I have to be somewhere…” I shuffle my feet, trying to escape this situation as fast as I can.

  “You don’t have time for this? What could possibly be more important than your entire future? You really are lazy, kid, you know that?” His voice raises three octaves by the second, and a flush starts to creep onto his cheeks. I want to punch the living shit out of him.

  My entire life, I had been told by this man, who was supposed to encourage and support me, that I was a lazy, no good sack of shit. Maybe not in those words, but he laid it on thick.

  No, he hadn’t ever reached the level of physically abusive parent, but when you’re told your entire life that you’re not good enough, it starts to sink in. I don’t think my father had ever given me one high five, one “way to go, pal.”

  I can feel my blood pressure rising as I ball my hands into fists, physically restraining myself from acting on my earlier impulse to strike him.

  “Are you done with pretending you give a shit how my clinic went, or did you need to berate me for a
nother fucking hour? Sorry we can’t all be you, Carl,” I practically shout in his face. I need to get it together. Focus on getting to Minka.

  “You ungrateful little…” My father starts.

  “Enough. Silêncio!” Mama shouts, her head swiveling between both of us. “Carl, enough of this, please. He works so hard, let him be young. He has time for all of that, his future, if the majors is what he wants.” She soothes my father in her lilted Portugeuse accent.

  “And you…” she points her finger at me, “If you ever curse under my roof again I’ll wash your mouth out with soap. I raised you better. Don’t be so quick to yell at your father either, he only wants the best for you.”

  I love her, but she just doesn’t understand sometimes. “He sure has a great way of showing it.” I seethe as I walk from the room. Fuck the shower, I need Minka. No matter what I look or smell like. Breezing through the front door, I try to lift my mood as I head for her.

  14

  Minka

  I’d started to get cagey when he was 15 minutes late. By the time half an hour rolls around, I’m downright paranoid, chewing on my ring finger like it won’t bleed if I bite my cuticle for the thousandth time.

  30 minutes. That’s how long I’d been waiting for Owen. No call, no text. He was standing me up and I knew it. I’m so dumb. I’d let this happen again.

  I stare at the clock. 7:31….okay, make that 7:32 p.m. Fuck this. I should go scrub my makeup off and pull my ratty old sweatpants on. Mint chip ice cream was just as good as Owen Axel. That ignorant jock.

  Just as I’m sweeping my long hair, which I’d actually taken the time to curl into long loose tendrils, up into a ponytail, a soft knock comes on the front door.

  It can’t be him. Who would show up this late into what was supposed to be a date? Moving towards the door, I peer through the peephole. Hercules himself stands on the other side, looking mussed up, but I can’t make out his outfit in the shadows of the front porch. But as usual, he looks lickable no matter what clothes adorn his body.