Make Me Yours (Top Shelf Romance Book 4)

by Devney Perry

  A wail of “No, please no,” floats out of a room across the hallway and every part of my body twists in despair. I know what that helplessness feels like.

  “I shouldn’t have called you in such a state of panic. But the ambulance came and I was afraid that it was—”

  “Don’t ever apologize for calling me, Sally.” I pull her into me and we cling to each other in the middle of the hallway, trying to find comfort in one another even when we know the man we both love is losing his fight.

  Day by day.

  Hour by hour.

  Bit by bit.

  And when we release each other, both with eyes filled with tears, I turn to find we’re where we need to be, room 412. Fear, hope, desperation, guilt—all four run a tyrannical rant inside me as I prepare myself to see him. To apologize in person for the angry words I said to him last week.

  When I gather the courage, I enter the room with Sally’s hand on my shoulder in support, and my heart lodged in my throat. My dad’s lying in the bed, leads are attached all over his chest and he looks like he’s hooked up to an army of machines. His face is pale and eyes are closed. I notice how scraggly his hair looks—longer, unkempt—and I’m immediately brought back to when I was younger and he would wear his hair longer as was the style.

  When he was healthy. Invincible.

  Not wanting to disturb him, I walk forward and sit in the chair beside him as Sally steps out and gives me some privacy. I lay my hand over his, study the still slightly blue nail beds, and revel in the fact his skin is still warm, not cold like the last time I held Ford’s hand. I stare at him then, memorize the new lines etched in his face and wonder if this is how it will end for him. In a hospital with unfamiliar surroundings. Or will it be at home in his sleep overlooking the field he loves full of the memories we made together?

  The tears come at the thought. Of the sadness wrapped in bittersweet.

  His hand moves beneath mine, and I whip my eyes up to meet his weary ones.

  “Hi.”

  He nods his head ever so slightly and closes his eyes for a very slow blink before opening them and looking back at me. “No crying,” he demands in a quiet rasp.

  Unbelievable. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “You’re going to have to leave if you cry.”

  I chuckle, astounded when I shouldn’t be. He’ll never change, even when he’s like this. “You’re in no state to tell me what to do so you need to just lie there and rest, while I sit here and worry. Or cry. That’s how it’s going to be, Dad, whether you like it or not. Got it?”

  He stares at me for a moment, eyes hardened steel, but he doesn’t have enough strength to keep them that way for long. They begin to soften as the disease saps his strength and causes him to relent.

  He nods softly and closes his eyes. “Thank you for coming, Scouty-girl.”

  And with those words, I know we’re okay. He’s forgiven me for the things I said to him.

  I squeeze his hand gently. “I’ll always be here, Dad. Get some rest.”

  Scout

  “You okay? I haven’t been able to reach you all day.” I want to sink into the sound of his voice and pretend it’s his arms wrapping around me. And knowing he’s there has the tears that have been burning all day threaten to return.

  “Yeah.” It’s all I can manage to nod my head without giving away how much I need him right now.

  His brown eyes narrow and fill with concern across the FaceTime connection. “Scout?”

  “Just a rough day all around.” I muster a smile and clear my throat. “My dad was taken to the hospital so I spent the better part of the day there just sitting with him and watching him while he slept . . .” I go on to explain everything.

  “I’m sorry I can’t be there with you.” His smile is soft and sincere and I miss everything about those lips. “But he’s going to be okay? I mean . . . for now.”

  “Yeah. He’ll get to go home in a day or two. Once his lungs clear a little . . . but the doctor says it will most likely happen again. And then again. Each time it will be worse until . . .”

  He just nods to let me know he understands. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It’s just been a day.”

  He stares at me across the silence of the connection, looking as tired as I feel but unknowingly giving me everything I need right now. Him. Only him. That’s all I seem to need these days.

  “Oh my God,” I say with a shake of my head as I snap out of my funk. “You hit another homerun tonight. You’re on such an incredible roll.”

  “Shh,” he says quickly like a little kid, eyes flashing a warning that makes me laugh more than I should.

  I hold my hands up in surrender. “My apologies. How could I forget baseball superstitions? If you talk about it, you jinx it.”

  “Something like that.” His grin is infectious.

  I miss the feel of it against my lips.

  I miss the chafe of his stubble against my skin.

  I miss him.

  “You watched the game?”

  “Of course. I’ve watched every game. This one I watched with my dad though. Against nurse’s orders, I climbed in beside him in his bed, and we watched it. He critiqued everything about you, you know.”

  “Of course he did.” He laughs. “How did I fare on the Dalton barometer?”

  “He thinks you look good. The rotation of your arm. The strength in your throws. Everything. I mean, how can he not when you threw out Jenkins trying to steal—”

  “Come visit me this weekend.” The way he says it stops all train of thought.

  “But I thought the plan was—”

  “Plans change. And I miss you.” Be still, my beating heart. “I’ll be in New York. The Aces have a two-day break and their next stop is New York, so you’ll just come early. Spend the weekend with me. I need to see you.”

  My heart soars and my reply is automatic.

  “Yes.”

  His chuckle is sleep-drugged. “Better bring those brownie points with you.”

  I laugh for what feels like the first time all day. “You’ve earned so many, Wylder, you might need to start calling me Betty Crocker.”

  Better yet, Betty Cocker.

  Easton

  Damn.

  Is it fucking pathetic that the minute she walks into the lobby of the hotel every part of me stirs to life? My heart. My dick. My fucking breath.

  The skirt and cowboy boots she’s wearing only encourage every fantasy I’ve ever had of her. The ones that have been on repeat in my spank bank since I left home.

  It’s been ten long days. Ones filled with the high of returning to this game in peak form and the lows of sleeping in an empty bed every night.

  Looking around, she adjusts her carry-on bag on her shoulder. A man walks by and turns his head to get a second look.

  Move along, prick. She’s mine.

  I pick up my phone and type: Hey Betty Crocker, turn to your right. I’m in the back booth.

  She smiles when the text hits her cell before making her way toward the swanky bar. It takes a second for her eyes to adjust to the darkened atmosphere but the moment she spots me, her lips curl up in that shy smile of hers before heading my direction.

  I watch her hips sway. The shape of her legs. The bounce of her tits. And every part of me demands I get up and waste no time taking advantage of all those and more, but hell if I don’t want to savor her too.

  “Is this seat taken?” she asks, eyes devouring me despite the coy smile on her lips.

  So that’s how she wants to play this? Bring it, Kitty.

  “It depends. Is it?” My eyes run up and down the length of her body and my dick hardens at the knowledge of just how addictive everything is underneath.

  She angles her head to the side and stares at me for a beat. Grey eyes telling me so much more than her lips are saying. “That depends on what you have in mind.”

  My laugh is rich but strained. “Oh, I’ve got a lot of things in m
ind, sweetheart, but I’m a man of action. I prefer to do things instead of simply talk about them.”

  “And what type of things do you . . . like to do?” Her voice is breathless. Her nipples hardened against the fabric of her shirt.

  “Why don’t you take a seat and find out?”

  She looks at where I pat on the seat beside me and then back to me. “My daddy taught me to never talk to strangers.”

  I chuckle as I lift my brandy to my lips, eyes locked on hers over the rim of the glass. “And mine always told me how important it was to make new friends.”

  She breaks character for a moment—smile widening, head shaking—before she holds out her hand and carries on the charade. “Kitty. Nice to meet you.”

  “Easton. Believe me, Kitty, the pleasure is all mine.”

  She slides into the booth next to me and we stare at each other for a few seconds, eyes saying what our bodies are begging for.

  “Hi,” she finally says.

  “Hi.”

  “What brings you to town?”

  “I play baseball.”

  “Like big bats and balls, type of baseball?” She feigns innocence and fuck if she’s not adorable.

  “Something like that.” I chew the side of my cheek enjoying this game.

  “Do you always drink before you have a game?” She nods to my tumbler.

  “Only when I’m celebrating.”

  “And what exactly are you celebrating, Easton?”

  I swear to God, the breathless tone to her voice is like fingernails scratching ever so slightly over my balls. It’s so damn sexy. “We’ll get to that in a moment,” I murmur propping my elbow on the back of the booth. I run my finger over my bottom lip. I need something to occupy my hands since all they want to do is touch her. “What about you? What brings you to town?”

  “I’m a baker.”

  My laugh is loud but she keeps character. “What is it you bake, Kitty?”

  “Brownies.”

  “Brownies?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Did you know I happen to love brownies?” I say as I give in to the temptation and touch her. My hand to her thigh, and hell if touching her doesn’t make me want to speed this game up despite the promise to myself to take it slow.

  “You do? What is it exactly that you love about them?” I stare at her lips as she speaks and imagine them wrapped around my cock. The red lipstick leaving its ring as a mark.

  “I like the batter,” I say and glance around the restaurant to make sure we’re out of sight range, because I can’t hold back anymore. She’s here, beside me, playing this coy little vixen and damn if I’m not going to act on it.

  What man wouldn’t?

  “The batter?” She shifts a little, much like she does in the cab of my truck with her knee bent on the seat and her body angled my way.

  And of course I look down. Have to. Tanned, toned thighs greet me. My mouth waters. My dick hardens. My control tested.

  “Mm-hmm,” I murmur as I place my hand right where I want to run my tongue—up the inside of her thigh—and slide it up, her skirt bunching with it as I go.

  Her body tenses, and I love that she wants me as badly as I want her. Skype sex is fun. Getting off watching her get off is hot. But it’s not the same. It’s not this. The touch. The scent. The reaction. Not in the least.

  “I like to dip my finger in it.” Fuck. Me. My fingertips rub ever so softly over the seam of her pussy and all I feel is the heat of her skin. She’s not wearing any panties. Her breath catches. Her fingers tighten on the tablecloth. Her legs part a little wider. “Then work it around the edges of the bowl so it’s covered in the batter.” I slide my finger between her lips and groan when I find her wet. Her mouth parts. Her thighs tighten as I dip my finger into her. “And then I like to put it in my mouth. Suck it all off.” I run my finger up again so it hits her clit. Her hands fist now. Her hips lift ever so slightly so her thighs hit the underside of the table and beg for more as I do exactly what I said. Pull my hand away and put my finger in my mouth.

  Fucking hell.

  Her taste. It’s enough to drive a sane man crazy. Add to that the look on her face—pure sex—and I know our charade is over.

  I lean forward and press my lips to hers. A teasing taunt of a kiss that gives me a hint of what I’ve been missing and reaffirms that I need the rest. Right now.

  “I do believe I want more of that batter, pretty Kitty,” I murmur against her lips.

  “Being as you’re a man of action, I suggest you take what you want.”

  “Not here,” I say, loving how her eyelashes flash open. “This place is too respectable for the things I plan on doing to you.”

  “Oh.”

  “You asked what I was celebrating, now it’s time for me to show you.”

  I throw some bills on the table, grab her carry-on from the seat, and with her hand in mine, attempt to walk as inconspicuously as possible with a hard-on the size of Texas.

  We step into an elevator and the minute the doors close, I’m on her. Lips and tongue and hands and body. We’re a mass of want and need and desire and greed. Pressed up against the wall, it’s like I can’t get close enough to her. My hand is under her skirt. My tongue is between her lips. Her hand is cupping my cock.

  The elevator slows at my floor. The car dings. We shock apart as if we’re about to get caught. Luckily when the doors open there is no one there. With her hand in mine, we make our way to my room. We don’t speak. Routine movements seem difficult when I’m high on the goddamn taste of her.

  I think in actions. One at a time.

  One foot in front of the other.

  Key card. Green light.

  Door handle. Twist it.

  And the minute the door clicks behind us, we continue what we started. We’re a frenzy of clothes coming off and lips trying to meet in between.

  We’re a litany of broken phrases. My God. I’ve missed you. Hurry. I can’t wait any longer. That feels good. Oh God. Now. Right now.

  Fuck this slow shit.

  I’m taking no prisoners.

  My fingers are in her pussy. Her nails are digging into my shoulders.

  Her orgasm is my end game.

  My tongue sliding over her. Teasing her clit. Working her hub of nerves. Then sliding into her. The taste of her my own fix.

  The scratch marks on my back the only trophy I need.

  My dick sliding between her tits. Then her lips wrapped around it. Sucking it. Working it. Her nails teasing my balls.

  A free-for-all.

  Pushing her thighs back. Burying my dick into her. Working her over until her muscles tense. Her pussy pulses. Her moan fills the room.

  A race to the finish.

  The rush of pleasure. The surge from my balls to my dick. My vision goes spotted. My head grows dizzy.

  Her name on my lips.

  And then when we recover, we’ll start all over again. Maybe then I can go slow. Maybe then I won’t feel so out of control. Maybe then I’ll get my fill of her.

  Then again, maybe not.

  It’s Scout, after all.

  Scout

  “We’re having all kinds of firsts today,” I tease as we walk, hand in hand, through the bowels of Yankee stadium.

  “We are.” He laughs. “Hotel sex for one.”

  I swat at him. “That’s not what I meant, you pervert.”

  “It’s true though.”

  “It is, but I was referring more to this.” I squeeze his hand and stop in my tracks forcing him to do the same, our hands extended between us. “Me getting to see you off before a game and wish you good luck.”

  His smile is shy and inviting, and I wonder if there will ever come a time when he looks at me like this and butterflies don’t tickle every single part of me. He tugs on my hand and pulls me so I land against him. “That is a very good first,” he says, brushing a lock of hair off my forehead and tucking it behind my ear. But it’s the way he looks at me—like he can see i
nto my soul—that unnerves me and invigorates me in ways I never knew possible. “I can think of another first.”

  “What’s that?”

  He leans down and kisses me. A brief touch of tongues. A quick loss of breath from the punch of emotion he packs into that tender kiss. When he leans back and I lower from my tiptoes his smile is into megawatt territory. “I get to kiss you. In public. Without worrying about who’s going to see or what contract clause we’re going to violate—”

  “Rule breaker,” I tease, but realizing he’s right, I kiss him this time.

  “Only when it comes to you.” We stare at each other for a beat with giddy smiles on our faces that look ridiculous but can’t be helped. “You gonna be okay?” he asks, referring to sitting in the stands by myself to watch the game.

  “Who me?” I laugh putting my hands out to my sides. “Stadiums are my second home.”

  “My bad. How could I forget?”

  I take a few steps back, teeth sunk in my bottom lip as we stare at each other before he nods and turns to head down the hall to the locker room.

  “Hey, Hot Shot.” He turns. Looks at me. “Have a game, will ya?”

  That grin returns full force. “Always.”

  The chords fade from the national anthem and somehow, across the crowd, Easton finds me in the seat he was able to get me just to the visitor’s side of home plate. The closest you can possibly get to me without being on the field, he’d said. And when I’d laughed, his response was that You’re mine for only forty-eight hours, and I’m not going to waste a single minute of it being apart from you. For a man who doesn’t read romance novels, he sure knows how to make me feel swoony.

  Our eyes meet, he tips his hat and nods, a slight smile on his lips before jogging off the field to the dugout.

  “He’s a different person with you, you know.”

  Startled, I turn to my left to find Finn sitting there. My back is up immediately, my displeasure and lack of trust in him front and center at the mere sight of him. “No one asked you.”

  He chuckles and it scrapes over every nerve I have. “I can tell you’re thrilled I’m here.”