Put this girl on the radio, with her throaty panting. The way she cries out makes me crazy, my cock desperate to enter her, to feel her completely. But I don’t, because listening to her unfold by my fingers and my tongue is the sexiest thing in the world.
When she comes in my mouth, it’s like heaven has rained down over me. I don’t stop licking her until she shivers and begs for relief. Except I don’t let up. I replace my tongue with my fingers as I move back up her body, kissing all of the curves and dips along the way.
“I want to be inside you,” I whisper in her ear. Her hips press against my hand as I toy with her swollen clit. “I want you to ride me like the sexy cowgirl you are.”
“Going to buck me off?” She’s throaty and sultry. She grabs my cock and squeezes gently. “Like a big bronco?”
“Only if you want me to.”
She has no response as I suck on her ear lobe, only to push me down and climb over top of me, her curves silhouetted in the moonlight. Her damp pussy slides against my cock as she adjusts herself and I force in thoughts of Coach Wyatt in a towel into my mind so I don’t immediately come in this gorgeous girl the moment I enter her.
She deserves more than that. I want more than that.
She groans as I slide into her, almost as in pain. I freeze, holding tight to her. Slowly, her hips move up and down, side to side. I can feel her easing on me, trying to get used to my size. Little by little, she moves faster, getting into the rhythm stroke by stroke, until I am hanging onto her hips, thrusting deep inside her as she fondles herself and cries out.
Being inside of her is a religious experience. She’s tight, so tight, and warm. Every thrust brings a chorus of gasps and moans in my ear. It’s the best sex of my life. Except it didn’t feel like sex. It felt like music, like the perfect country song. A full George album starts and ends before we collapse together. I pull the blanket over us and we fall asleep beneath the winking stars.
In the morning, she’s gone. I feel the emptiness before I see it, and I will myself back to sleep, but it doesn’t matter. Her absence is known. I get dressed, fold up the blanket, and blare Dierks Bentley on the way home. I couldn’t stop her from leaving, but I still have the taste of her on my tongue.
1
Five Years Later
“Heads up!”
I duck as a bar of soap goes flying across the stalls. It’s nowhere near me, but after being pummeled in the head with a bar of Ivory more than once, you learn to start ducking. Every time. The soap hits the wall of the stall and lands on the floor.
“That’s why you’re only a reliever,” I holler, shutting off the water and grabbing my towel before Knickers can retaliate. He’s done it before. “Can’t aim for shit.”
“Ooohhh!” I hear Kemp on the other side of me, beating against the wall. “Sick burn!”
“You’re an idiot, Fife,” Knickers yells.
Those two have been at each other’s throats for a week now, because Knickers thinks Kemp stole his girl. Considering Kemp never keeps a girl, I’m not entirely sure what the issue is, but I’ve become increasingly jaded over the years.
“Victory tastes so goddamn sweet.” Kemp follows me back to the locker room to change. “It’s even better when we’re at home and all the ladies want to congratulate us at the bars later.”
We high-five, even though we both know he’ll be the one getting all the ladies and I’ll be the one picking up his leftovers and apologizing on behalf of the Kansas City Royals. Some of those leftovers may have contributed to my overall jadedness.
A few of us pile into Carlos’ Land Rover, which I always tell him is a ridiculous buy because who the hell needs to go off-roading in Kansas City? Also, who the hell would take this car off-roading? That’s what trucks are for. Kemp grabs the front seat and immediately changes the radio station to a club channel.
I never get the country music I’m hoping for in the car, even as I’ve shed the role as resident Rookie. Then again, I also never offer to drive, because I don’t want these guys to screw up my car. Carlos has been playing longer than I have and his contract is much bigger. While we’re both sending money back home, he’s still rolling in a lot more dough.
“This bigass car and you still can’t afford satellite radio?” Kemp snickers and we all laugh, giving him shit, enjoying the night.
Winning a game will do that to you.
I wouldn’t exactly say I’m cheap--my truck was probably worth as much as this Land Rover, but I’m not going to pay to fix it when these drunk assholes start puking. Matter of fact, I’m probably going to Uber home because drunk Octivio is annoying. He speaks rapid-fire Portuguese and I can’t understand a thing he says. Somehow, I always get stuck with him by the end of the night.
By the time we get to Club Classic, the lines are long, the boys are thirsty, and Kemp has already found at least six girls he wants to sleep with before the night is over. Octivio and I make bets on how many he actually comes away with. He says one, but I say three. Kemper is my best friend, one of the first friends I ever made when I joined the Storm Chasers back in Omaha, and I know him well.
He’ll probably have two girls in the bathroom before the first round of drinks gets here.
We’re waved through security, the flash of a million different camera phones going off as we walk through the crowds. We pause here and there to sign autographs and pose for pictures, but George arranged a private room upstairs that we’re all dying to get to.
“Travel day tomorrow.” Kemp brings me two shots of Patron to match his own. “That means we can get fucked until the cows come home.”
We shoot the drinks and I savor the sting washing down my throat. It reminds me of home. As much as the big, lavish parties are exciting, there will always be part of me that misses the quiet, star-filled nights of Omaha.
“Get the fuck out of your head, dude.” Kemp smacks me on the chest with the back of his hand. “We won tonight! You went halfway through the cycle with a double and a homer! Why aren’t you perked up?”
I shrug and take a beer from Everett as he edges around us. “Just tired.”
“Forget that, man. We’re getting hammered and you’re getting laid.”
We’ve had this conversation one hundred times before and I really don’t feel like having it again. “I’m good, man. You better go score some action. Octivio and I have a bet.”
This distracts him. “What did you say?”
“Three.”
Kemp’s face splits into a wicked grin and I can see why all the girls love him. “You have faith in me. I like it.”
“Hell yeah, bro. I know you.” We do our ritual handshake and Kemp disappears into the crowd, looking for girls. I sit back with Doug and survey the crowd around us.
“Not much for parties either, tonight?” Doug raises his glass at me. He’s been nursing drinks for the last few weeks, but he still always comes out with us.
“Nah. I know we have a day off tomorrow, but I’m exhausted. Only here because Kemp made me.”
“It’s fun to celebrate.” Doug sips his drink and shakes his head. “I just wish I had the stamina you young guys have.”
“Doug, you’re only like 30. Shut up.”
“I’m thirty-five, man. That’s old. My time is ending. I’m just trying to soak as much of it up as I can while I’m still here.”
We clink glasses and settle into our booth to watch the chaos unfold around us. It doesn’t last long, though, because Carlos hauls me up for another round of shots, and then Kemp hunts me down with a bottle of Fireball.
“You know I hate that shit!” I yell in his ear over the music.
“Shut up and drink!” He yells back.
Two more shots and my mind has gone blessedly blank. I don’t care about anything anymore but the swell of the beat and the pretty girls smiling at me. I could be like Kemp, I think. Love them and leave them and never hurt anymore.
“Hey, I need to introduce you to someone!” Kemp grabs my arm and
pulls.
“Is it your latest conquest? Because you owe me if Octivio wins this bet.”
“Even better than that.”
We head back to our private room. There’s a lot more girls in here than before. Some of the guys are surrounded by three or four of them. I remember when that was me, and I don’t miss it. Sort of.
“Jamesy, this is Shelbie Saint.” He winks at me.
I turn and find myself face-to-face with a total blonde bombshell. She’s the definition of gorgeous. Bright green eyes, plump red lips, legs for miles, and breasts that a guy could get lost in. My pants tighten a bit just looking at her.
“Hi, I’m Jamie. Only this dipshit calls me Jamesy.” I smile, thankful for the alcoholic armor I’ve built up over the last hour. “You look familiar. Where do I know you from?”
Shelbie gives me a wink. “Channel 5. I do the sports trivia on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
I snap my fingers. “That’s it! I love your trivia. We try to catch it before games.”
“That’s so sweet.” She flashes a grin and puts a hand on my arm. “Mind if we get a drink?”
On a regular night, I’d pass. I do quick mental math to add up how many shots I’ve had and turn to catch Kemp’s eye. He starts humping a pole because he’s an ass. Shelbie has both hands on me now and I find myself less concerned with how many drinks I’ve had and more concerned with this tight red dress in my face.
“What’s your poison?”
“Cosmo.” She flutters her eyelashes at me and blows a kiss my way.
My pants tighten two-fold. Okay, so I usually pass, I do. I’m tired of this game--but a little flirting, maybe a little kissing, it wouldn’t be so terrible. Right? I grab a cosmo for her and a paloma for me, all the while staring at her from across the bar. She’s checking her phone and chewing on her lips and making it look so, so good.
Maybe I can suspend the rules for one night.
Kemp winks at me before slipping into the bathroom with a blonde. One down, two to go.
“So, tell me about yourself, Jamesy.” Shelbie teases with a wink. She takes a dainty sip of her drink and presses a finger against my chest. “What do you like to do besides field balls at shortstop?”
It has been a long, long time since someone has been this forward with me. I take a swallow of my drink and try to channel my inner Kemp. He swears I have one in me.
“Well, I was raised on a ranch in Venezuela. I like quiet, open spaces and country music and playing with my dog, Chiki. Baseball life gets chaotic sometimes. What about you, Miss Saint?”
“Oh, you know, girly things. Pedicures, manicures, shopping. I’m on my feet a lot for work, so pampering is my favorite. Tell me more about Venezuela. It sounds exotic.” The way she says “exotic” sounds so naughty that it makes me cough.
“Well, I spent most of my time there tied up on the ranch. We have horses and roosters, things like that. It was fun to get my hands dirty and help around the farm. I bet you’d look real cute in a pair of work boots, riding a horse.” I could picture it, her blond hair streaming and bountiful breasts bouncing as she rode. I’m suddenly very interested in whether or not someone can have sex on a horse.
“Oh, ew.” She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “No thanks--not my style. Watching a bunch of boys run around in tight pants is much more my speed.” She winks again.
“I think you’re thinking of football.”
Another wink. “Maybe.”
We limp through another five minutes of conversation that goes literally nowhere before I escape for more drinks. I don’t have nearly enough alcohol in my system to endure this. She’s unbelievably gorgeous. The old me would haul her into the bathroom and have my way with her in a heartbeat. But that old me isn’t around anymore, and I think she’s only talking to me because Kemp put her up to it. Or maybe because she’s a uniform chaser.
“So, how long have you—" I barely get the words out of my mouth before her lips are one mine. In that moment, I’m totally lost and something else inside me takes over. Something that’s hungry and desperate.
“Sorry,” she breathes against my lips, pulling away. “You are just so sexy, like a Venezuelan god or something, and I couldn’t help myself.”
Her cheeks are pink and my dick is rock hard. “I, um, no that’s, um, I didn’t…wow. Sorry, I just didn’t expect that.”
She takes another sip of her drink and eye fucks me. Out of my periphery, I spy Kemp and Carlos, who are rooting me on across the bar.
You know what? Fuck it.
“Do you want to go somewhere a little more…private?” I lean forward to murmur in her ear.
Shelbie’s smile is brilliant. “Come with me.” She grabs my hand and leads me across the room to a hallway near the back. There’s a line of people, but we pass them all. At the very back of the hallway, someone comes out of the bathroom and she pulls me through.
I hear someone yell, “Hey!” but ignore them, because the second the door is closed, she is on me again. Her mouth is so warm and inviting, and she works her tongue like no one else I’ve kissed before. Fueled by tequila and Fireball, I grab her by her tight--beautifully tight--ass and press her against the wall. Her long nails dig into my back as I kiss her neck and jawline. Our bodies are moving faster than our lips and we accidentally bump heads, laughing.
Shelbie stares straight into my eyes and peels off the straps of her red dress. Her perfect, naked breasts spring to life before me and I immediately go weak in the knees. She runs her hands across her smooth skin and rubs her nipples.
The whole time, I’m staring like an idiot with my mouth open. She laughs shyly and beckons me with a finger curl. My abuelito’s words run through my head. She tastes like cranberry and vodka, and I remind myself that since she’s been drinking, I might want to slow things down and refuse to sleep with her. She pulls my face towards her chest, and I hastily think that, at the very least, I can still put my mouth on those sweet tits and still have a damn good time.
I pick her up and press her up against the wall so her breasts are eye level. She moans with delight as I take one nipple in my mouth and palm the other. She smells amazing, soft and sweet with a little danger behind it. Shelbie’s hands are in my hair and she pulls each time I nibble on her tender flesh.
It hits me hard how much I’ve missed being with a woman like this. How much I’ve missed caressing a naked body, taking a breast in my mouth, feeling another person writhing beneath me as I make their toes curl. My dick strains against my pants and I thrust up against her legs, groaning against the pressure.
“You feel huge,” she gasps as I bite down on her again. “I’d like to see.”
She shimmies out of my grip and lightly lands on the floor. My hands are immediately in her hair, pressing her to me as I kiss her. Soon, everything I can see or taste is distinctly Shelbie. Images of me plowing into her fill my eyes and I’m almost ready to break my vow.
Her hands graze my jean-sheathed cock and I bite down on her lips out of sheer pleasure.
“I was right,” she whispers in my ear. “You are huge.”
My resolve slowly comes crashing down as she grabs me and strokes hard through my pants. I suck on her neck and pull at her hair while my free hand never leaves her tits, tits that are bare and exposed just for me. Shelbie fumbles for my zipper and slips her hands down my pants.
Picture the thing that makes you the hottest, the wettest, and multiply it by 100. That’s how it felt when her soft, smooth hands grazed across my very hard cock. My hands drop to the short hem of her dress and skim the sides of her thighs. She’s not wearing any panties. I could take her right here, right now, in this sexy dress.
“Do you have a condom?” She breathes in my ear.
That’s when everything comes slamming to a halt. The answer, as always these days, is no. I stopped carrying them because I stopped having sex with girls I just met. Chill runs down my veins and I press my hands into the wall.
“No. I’
m--I’m sorry, Shelbie. I don’t. I’m sorry. I don’t sleep with someone on the first date. I don’t hook up in bathrooms. You’re just so…sinful in this dress and I couldn’t help myself. But I should.” Ashamed, I zip up my pants and can’t look at her. “I’m sorry, I should— “
“Are you saying this is a date?” The danger in her voice makes me look at her. Her lips are curled in a smile and her eyes scream pure sex.
“I, um, no?”
“Could it be?” she whispers, running her hands across her breasts once more, completely mesmerizing me. “Let’s say we had a date in the bar, right? You bought me a drink, we chatted, date. And then, I took you on a second date to this very classy bathroom.”
Shelbie Saint is trouble. Beautiful trouble. Before she can continue, I press my mouth to hers and she swallows whatever else she was going to say. I carry her to the sink and she spreads her legs. I drop to my knees and roll up her dress, exposing her bare pussy.
“You won’t fuck me with your dick, but you’ll fuck me with your mouth?” She cocks an eyebrow. The words sound so deliciously filthy out of her pretty red lips. “Can I keep you?”
I lick her once, slowly, tasting her and feeling her body tense under me. And then I kiss her, hard. She moans and pulls my mouth back up to hers, greedily sucking her own taste off my tongue. It’s incredibly hot. I repeat this move a few times, savoring the taste of her and the feel of her in my mouth. Her lipstick is smeared across my face, my cock aches, and I can’t keep my hands off her breasts.
It’s the hottest make out session I’ve ever had.
Eventually, I stop licking her and slip two fingers instead of her. She rests her head against my shoulder and moans loudly. Someone outside bangs on the door and yells at us to hurry up. Shelbie grabs my head and forces me to look at her.
Long Ball: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 2