by Jen Doyle
Oh, hell.
He couldn’t hold still. He was pumping into her mouth—fucking her mouth—and she only gripped harder. “I’m going to...” He made an attempt to push her away, clumsily thrusting his hand into her hair. “Lola.” But rather than release him, she tightened her hands on his hips and pulled him in further. A greedy moan sounded in the back of her throat, vibrating around him. His body began to tremble, and he could feel sweat breaking out at the effort to hold himself back. But it was too much. He couldn’t...
Fuck.
His entire being erupted. He could feel himself emptying into her, her throat still coaxing. He fell back against the bed, gasping for air as she kept working him with her hands and tongue. Entirely depleted, he only barely managed to haul her up. To kiss her the second she let him go.
The funny thing was, once he had the slightest taste of her, something primal surged up within him. It wasn’t so much a second wind as it was a hurricane—wild and untamed. He couldn’t get enough. His tongue swept her mouth over and over again. His hands were in her hair, that silky softness tickling his shoulders as he held her head to him. And with those gorgeous breasts of hers crushed to his chest, her legs draped over him, and the heat radiating from her own damp core, he could feel himself growing hard again, as impossible as that seemed.
He reached blindly for the condoms he’d—thank God—placed close by on the floor. Then he pushed her panties down, hoping she’d get the hint. Her eyes widened. “Already?”
Oh, shit. “Is that okay?”
“Yes.” She laughed, surging forward to give him another kiss before pulling away again and shimmying out of her underwear. He’d already torn the condom wrapper off by that point and was putting it on, wanting to waste zero time. She was clearly on the same wavelength because two seconds later she was hovering over him, her hands on his shoulders as she sank back and moaned.
It shouldn’t have been nearly as intense the second time around, not after what she’d just done. If anything, though, it felt more so. Feeling her take him into her body. Seeing the pleasure come over her face. Watching her reclaim the woman within.
He’d never felt so much during sex. He’d never wanted to. Everything about this was new, and he couldn’t decide whether to let her just take what she wanted, or to give into the urge to take control.
“You just planning on lying there?” She gave him a wicked grin. “Use your mouth on me, Jack. Don’t be gentle.”
Okay, then. And, fuck, that turned him on.
He unclasped her bra and pulled the straps down over her shoulders, sitting up so he could take her breast into his mouth, feel the bead of her nipple under his tongue. He loved the way her body responded to his touch. The slightest motion had her inner walls pulsing around him. And when she moaned his name and clutched him to her, taking control again as she rocked back and forth, she had him quaking again.
No way was he going first. Not after coming less than five minutes before. But, fuck, it was taking a serious amount of concentration not to.
Lying back again, he nudged her legs open wider and then grasped her hips, his hand just big enough for him to run his thumb up the crease of her thigh.
Her muscles convulsed around him as her whole body tensed and then released, the climax tearing through her in a visible wave. She fell forward, collapsing onto him, her breaths short, and a part of him just wanted to hold her there for as long as she’d let him. To do that for her over and over again.
But, God help him, there was a more insistent part of him, and it needed to be as deep inside her as was humanly possible. He rolled them over, pushing her knees up and out. He tried to hold back. Tried not to give in to the desire to hammer into her. Yet her hips kept meeting his even as she threw her head back, her body arching.
He needed to... Slow down.
Fuck. “Are you o—”
“Yes!” she yelled, her fingernails sinking into his hips. “Oh, God, don’t stop.”
So he didn’t. Not until every last ounce had been drained from his body for the second time that night. When he finally began to come down he could at least find solace in the fact that she’d come again, too.
“Jack?” she said a few minutes later, her voice muffled because he’d pretty much collapsed on top of her.
He started to roll to the side, but wasn’t at all unhappy she pulled him back. It felt so right to have her in a cocoon of him. “Yeah?”
She shifted a little—probably so she could breathe—but not enough to move out from under him. “Nothing. I just...” She turned her head away just as big, fat tears rolled down her cheek. She sniffled even as she tried to smile. Covering her face, she said, “I can’t believe I’m doing this again.”
It probably should bother him. Give him a complex at the very least. But all it did was make him want to hold her and kiss her and promise her he’d make it so that she’d never cry again. Since they were already in dangerous territory, however, he attempted to make her smile.
“Babe, I gotta be honest, the crazy, clingy is kind of working for me. As you may have noticed what with the two thousand tiny Christmas lights I strung up.” And, yes, it did make her smile. She turned her head further, though, and started to reach for her clothes as if she thought there was a chance of him letting her get away. He played the pity card instead. “Look...” He reached for her and pulled her back. “You know my days are numbered if Nate or Deke catches wind of the fact you fled from me in tears. Have a little mercy.”
She had to give him credit. He knew full well Nate and Deke would never be aware of anything that transpired here, so it wasn’t like that was a real concern. But he truly did seem to care—and being held in someone’s arms was something she hadn’t had enough of recently so she decided it wouldn’t be the worst thing to give in. Turning back to him, she let him pull her down again.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just been a little bit of an emotional day.”
“I remember.” He smoothed her hair away from her forehead.
Right. How could Lola have forgotten what Jules had said, that Jack had been on his feet and coming after her nearly as fast as Deke had.
He wiped away a tear with his thumb. “So talk to me.”
She stared up at him for a minute. He knew it had something to do with Dave—how could it not? Yet he seemed truly willing to listen to her talk about her husband. And that was... That was too much to think about. She lay her head back down on his chest, relaxing into him.
But, no. She couldn’t do it. She could not talk about the man she’d loved her entire life to the first man who had any chance of following him—which, in itself, nearly set her off crying again.
So instead, she rested her hands on his chest and then her chin on her hands. “Maybe you could distract me.”
He smiled. “Yeah?” he asked, raising himself up a little.
“Not like that.” He may have been in prime physical condition, but she needed some recovery time. Dave had been an amazing lover—strong and take-charge when she wanted him to be; gentle and tender when she wanted that instead. But she couldn’t remember ever feeling like that. She most definitely had never come multiple times in the span of an hour.
She was choosing to think about it as three years of pent-up need rather than her body responding that way to Jack and not Dave. The tears were already too close to the surface to navigate that terrain. “Tell me something about yourself. Something no one else knows.”
Well, hell. If she was going to have to bare her soul, he was, too.
He tensed for a moment underneath her. Then something in his expression changed. He looked away, and though he didn’t let go of her, he definitely loosened his hold. So she wasn’t by any means surprised he was building up to something. What she hadn’t expected was for him to say, “I don’t remember sleeping with
Courtney.”
Her hand stopped. Everything stopped. She lifted up her head to look at him. “What?”
His eyes flickered in her direction but then he removed his arm from around her entirely, bringing both his hands behind his head, and looked up at the ceiling. “I remember going there to talk. To tell her she knew as well as I did that she and Nate were a clusterfuck but he was too honorable to break it off, so it would have to be her.” His voice trailed off. He cleared his throat a couple of times. “I had a few drinks—way too many drinks. The next thing I remember is waking up in her bed, hoping to God that what I thought may have happened hadn’t, but knowing it probably had.”
Lola brought her head up sharply. “She roofied you?”
That pulled him out of his trance. “What? No.” He came up halfway before settling back down and laughing bitterly. “It’s even worse. I’m pretty sure whatever I did, I did willingly.” Jack looked up at the rafters for a few moments before turning back to her. “Nate is a great guy. Mostly. But once he’s on a course, it’s hard to shake him. 99% of the time he’s right, but when he goes wrong...”
Well, yes, Lola knew Nate well enough to know that was true.
“Courtney knew what he was like around all of you. She knew there was so much more to him and she wasn’t getting any of it. But she had no idea how to break through. She was lonely and sad and...” He shook his head. “She wasn’t right for Nate, but Nate wasn’t right for her, either.” Then he finally turned to Lola, his expression cold. “I told you. I’m not a good guy. I did exactly what everyone said I did.” He gave a grim laugh as he looked back up at the rafters. “And even though it was the shittiest thing in the world, I’m not sorry I did it.”
Lola stared at him for a minute. Little pieces started to come together. “That’s why you don’t drink, isn’t it?” He didn’t make a big deal of it, but drinking was her business and she’d never seen him with anything other than seltzer. He hadn’t had so much as a beer the night they’d all watched football at Nate’s.
He tensed a little as he glanced down at her.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered as another thought occurred to her. “You haven’t had sex since then, either, have you?”
Now he looked at her warily.
Her voice took on more conviction. “The other day at my house”—in her laundry room to be specific—“you said ‘awhile.’ You haven’t had sex since you were with Courtney.”
For a second it seemed as if he’d deny it, but then he nodded. “Not until this past Monday, at least.”
“Like penance,” she said, almost to herself.
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t try to make it into something it isn’t. This isn’t the kind of thing that can be fixed.”
She threw her leg over his waist and slapped him on the shoulder. Ignoring his “ouch!” she said, “That’s the point, Jack. This isn’t something that needs to be fixed. It’s called making a mistake and paying the price. You are not an awful human being. What you did—”
“Don’t mistake my actions for something good.” He grabbed her wrist and leaned in. “I fucked her just like I fucked you. There was nothing noble about it.”
Did he think that was going to dissuade her? That she’d buy into his attempt to pass off what they’d just done as cold and impersonal? Maybe two weeks ago she would have fallen for it; would have been easily persuaded that’s who he really was. But he’d taken care of her kids. He’d strung up a couple thousand Christmas lights, for Heaven’s sake. He knew as well as she did that this had already gone beyond what they’d both signed up for, whether they wanted it to or not. So, hell, no, he was not going to stop her by cursing and grabbing her wrist—not when she had a point to make. Using a pinch hold Dave had taught her, she took his pinky and yanked his hand away.
“Hey!” He pulled his hand back. From the look on his face, she couldn’t tell whether he was angry or amused. “That’s my pitching hand.”
Angry, then. “So be more careful with it!” She jabbed him in the chest. “Nate has you here, doesn’t he? He’s made the choice to let you back in. So maybe you need to get over yourself and move on!”
“Maybe this is exactly who I am and Nate is delusional!” he answered, grabbing her by both wrists this time.
“I can still bite.”
“Please do.”
Fine. Pushing against him, she toppled him over and nipped at his jaw. “It’s not who you are.” She bit his earlobe. “Maybe the help raised you right, Jack. Maybe they actually loved you and you loved them back. Go figure—you’re not a total iceman after all.” She bit his nipple, pleased this time to get a yelp. “Yes, Nate messed up by choosing Courtney, but he didn’t mess up with you.”
He tensed and then glared at her, his breath coming short. “Maybe you’re delusional, too,” he said, but with a lot less certainty.
“Possibly. But I don’t think I am.” She tugged his bottom lip between her teeth and arched her hips at the same time. “Now how about you get noble and fuck me again?”
She knew she’d gotten to him thanks to how hard he felt between her legs. The question was whether he was pissed off or turned on. Then he rolled them over and took her hard.
Okay, so both. Well, hot damn.
Chapter Nineteen
Jack still wasn’t entirely sure what had happened last night with Lola.
“Is your lip okay?” Nate asked the next morning when Jack came into the downstairs gym.
Shoot. He thought it wasn’t that noticeable. “Hellcat,” he muttered.
All the way across the room, Nate stopped reaching for a jump rope and turned. “Lola did that to you?”
Goddamn Nate and his freakish hearing. As he unzipped his sweatshirt, Jack felt a twinge where she’d pinched him. “Remind me never to cross her again.”
Nate laughed. “Pretty sure I warned you about that from the start.” He pulled the rope off the wall. “What do you say we try out the turf today?”
Nate had built an indoor baseball stadium in one of the Academy’s new field houses. He’d been talking to someone the other day about painting lines, so Jack figured it was close. There’d been that whole discussion yesterday, though, about baseball bats and Nate wanting to hurt him, so Jack had just figured he’d be waiting it out for a while. So unless Nate was in a murderous mood today—which didn’t seem to be the case—that meant...
Well, damn.
Trying to keep from reacting too visibly, Jack sat down on the bench and bent forward, ostensibly to rummage around for something in his bag, but mostly because he was afraid he might lose his shit.
The first time he’d ever thrown a ball he knew it was what he was meant to do. But it wasn’t until the first day of rookie camp, when he and Nate had been paired up and Nate called that first pitch, did he know what true magic was—that he was capable of it. And in all the years since, he’d never taken it for granted—the feel of the ball in his hand, the beauty of putting it over the plate, the power as he unleashed it and sent it forward. Which was good, because every last ounce of it had disappeared when Nate left for the Watchmen.
Jack had come here to get his job back. He’d hoped that maybe someday Nate would speak to him again. Maybe they’d even throw a few just for old time’s sake. But even as they’d been working out over these last few weeks, Jack hadn’t allowed himself to think about what he’d truly lost. No, what he’d brought to a sudden end. He’d screwed up far too badly.
As Lola had said, last night, it was the price he had to pay. He’d just expected to be paying it forever.
“You’re sure?” Jack asked, thinking he’d be able to keep his voice steady, but not entirely managing. “You’re okay with letting me onto your team?”
It took a few more seconds, but Nate nodded. “I’ll call Sam tonight.”
Ja
ck could barely breathe. It had been three hundred and ninety-three days since he’d held that magic in his hands, and for every single one of them he’d wondered how he’d get through to the next.
Well, every single one of them until he’d met Lola. Even though he knew he couldn’t truly have her, everything had seemed a little brighter after that. As she’d demonstrated last night, the woman had teeth—and he was a little concerned about how far they’d sunk into him.
Jack pulled his stuff together and went over to the treadmill to get warmed up. He put his earbuds in and started running. Sam said Nate’s approval was required, but he still needed to work his ass off to earn a place on the roster. Oddly, though, that wasn’t what was keeping his mind occupied at the moment. Everything else Lola had said was still in the forefront. Even after he’d gotten back to his hotel, he’d barely slept a wink, tossing and turning because of their conversation.
She’d been right—his parents hadn’t raised him. Not really. Yes, he had his father’s blood running through him, and his mother’s ice in his veins. He was the product of their union and they’d never let him forget it. But it was Raul who had handed him a baseball when he was six years old, playing catch that first day and signing him up for Little League the next season. Lydia who’d kept him at the table in the kitchen, knowing his parents would never venture that far to look for him. And Roderick who had put Jack in touch with the coach at Rice, fully aware he’d be shipped back to Galway as a result, but still telling Jack if it was his dream he should feckin’ get on with it, because once they saw him play, even his father wouldn’t be able to touch him.
They’d raised him. Nurtured him. Kept him protected. They’d paid for his airfare in that first year when his parents had cut him off and he couldn’t scrape up the money on his own. They were the first people he’d called on Draft Day, and with that first paycheck, he’d made sure every cent was paid back and they’d never want for anything again in their lives. They were all gone now. The only silver lining in the whole horrendous year was that they hadn’t lived to see the scandal break. He couldn’t bear the thought of their disappointment.