Catie
Blane was back and texted on Wednesday morning. He wanted to go out that evening, but I had plans with Sarina. I couldn’t cancel on her; her help was worth everything to me right now.
I went to my classes—statistics and Italian—and was heading home to my apartment when my phone beeped. Hoofing it to and from campus every day was apparently slimming; my jeans were loose and I had to keep stopping to tug them up. I ignored the phone and decided to wait to pull it out when I made it to Starbucks.
As I stepped into the store, with the scent of coffee tickling my nose and a sugar cookie calling to me, I felt myself being lifted in the air.
“Knew I’d find you here.”
His stubble tickled my cheek as he lowered me, and I turned to see Blane with a decent five o’clock shadow.
I threw my hands up in the air. “A girl needs her afternoon coffee . . . and cookie.”
He tugged on my hair. “You avoiding me? I texted you to see if you were coming here.”
I shook my head. “Never. I just didn’t want to answer my phone. It’s cold out.”
“Come on. I’ll get you a coffee, and stomach another hot chocolate.” He put his arm around me and escorted me to the counter.
“What’s with the wannabe beard?” I asked when we’d made ourselves comfortable on the couches in the corner.
“We’re winning on the road, undefeated this season, so I can’t shave.”
“A sweatband, a dirty one, and a beard. Any more superstitions I should know about?”
“Not for now, but you know our time together was sort of spectacular. I’m thinking it brought me luck on the road.” He winked.
“I will take that under advisement.”
“Hey, don’t forget my parents are coming up this weekend. They’re both coming to the home game on Saturday afternoon against Pitt. I got them tickets in separate sections, but maybe you could have breakfast with my mom on Sunday?”
I breathed a little faster at what he was asking, trying not to hyperventilate as I twirled my hair around my finger. The only thing missing from my ’80s Valley Girl persona was some gum smacking.
“Are you sure?”
He leaned closer and growled, “Cate, stop it. Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Great, let’s go. Between you and Ashton, I’m spending way too much time in these girlie coffee houses.” He squeezed my leg and tilted my chin up. “I’m driving you home. I have some kisses to give you.”
My phone beeped again, and I ignored it one more time because I was still thrilling to Blane’s words.
“Do you ever go to class?” I asked in the truck.
“I only have six credits, two classes, so not often. One’s a gym elective—weight lifting, which Coach signs off on—and the other is civics something or other.”
“Do you get to graduate with less credits than the rest of us?”
He barked out a laugh. “I wish! No, I’ve taken classes every summer because Coach makes us stay and work during his camp. It’s quick and easy money, and it allows him to keep tabs on us.”
“Oh.”
“And you?”
“After being tossed out of women’s studies, I’m down to being eligible for six credits too. Everything else needed prerequisites, and I was stripped of those last term. Plus, my major is undecided now. I’m like every other coed, living the dream and getting a bachelor of arts.”
“Hey, if those women don’t want you, their loss.”
I shrugged. “I was thinking of transferring, somewhere closer to home. I don’t know where, really. Somewhere better suited for me. I guess I’ll see after this trimester, but I’m definitely going to be a few credits behind.”
“You should do what you want, but don’t run or hide, Cate.” His voice was low and supportive. He didn’t take pity on me; in fact, he seemed to actually get it.
“I’m not running, just finding a better place,” I lied.
After he parked in front of my building, Blane, the perfect gentleman, ran around the car to open the door for me.
What the hell were they saying when they called him a womanizer?
Together, we raced up the stairs and out of the cold. When I fumbled trying to open the door, Blane wrapped his fingers around mine and helped twist the key.
“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”
When I nodded, kind of liking the way he always asked me now, he pushed me up against the door and our mouths came together. He tasted like warm chocolate and mint, and my tongue wanted more. Blane held my weight up against the door, one hand behind my neck, the other on my ass as we tasted each other thoroughly.
When he released my lips, I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I teased with a smile on my face.
Blane picked me up and carried me to the bed in the middle of my studio apartment and set us down together. Cuddled together, we began kissing again. His hand slipped behind my waistband and kneaded my butt, pulling me closer against his hardness.
“I want to get naked,” he whispered in my ear. “It’s all I thought about when I was gone, your body, your touch.” He wove our free fingers together. “And your nipples.” He leaned down, pulled my shirt away, and sucked on the top of my breast.
I nodded, and he lifted my shirt off and unhooked my bra. He splayed a hand over my boob, squeezing and plucking my nipple until it was hard and I was needy below.
His hand slid down my torso, lower and lower until he was way down south.
“Didn’t I tell you I was a Southern boy?” His eyes practically twinkled, and the golden flecks that surrounded his pupils looked almost like fireworks.
I didn’t have a chance to answer; he was already on his way down. He tapped my belly and I lifted my butt, allowing him to slip off my pants and boots, and then he knelt between my legs, gripping my love handles.
“Like these,” he said, leaning over to kiss my hip and nibble the skin over my hipbone. I had lost control over that region, and my hips lifted and asked for more.
He gave it good, running his tongue along the crease where my thigh met my groin, inching closer to my heat. I should have been shy, but I wasn’t. Good thing was after prepping for movies with Sarina, I was groomed there—
Ugh. I didn’t want to think about that now. This was Blane, and that was something else.
His tongue found my clit and circled it lightly, teasing and tormenting me. As I threw my head back into the pillow, gasping and squirming, he picked up speed and slid his finger inside me. I ground down on his finger and sighed out a whimper. He didn’t let up and continued to finger-fuck me, flicking my clit until I went off like a sparkler. Soft moans made their way up my throat and out my mouth, sounds I’d never really made before.
“This is happening a lot, with me naked and you fully dressed,” I managed to say as he crawled back up my body.
“Do you want to do something about that? Anything but the sweatband.”
I bit my lip to contain my laughter and ran my hands up his broad back, wondering why I deserved such sweet. Dolce, as my dad would say in Italian. I’d always been his sweet bellisimo.
And Blane was mine.
A shudder ran through me; we wouldn’t always have sweet. But I had it now, and I intended to take every last bite.
With his shirt off and my hand trembling on its way to his jeans, he abruptly sat up and tugged the sweatband off.
“Fuck it,” he said, and stood quickly to divest himself of his pants.
After falling back onto the bed in his boxers, he pulled me against him and kissed me hard. Our lips grazed each other softly, back and forth, before he nipped my lower lip and I opened up. As we tasted each other again, he rubbed his length against my stomach.
“Touch me,” he murmured.
With trembling fingers, I found the waistband of his boxers and dipped inside. My hand barely wrapped around his girth, and I fisted him up and down like I watched him do the other night.
Blane leaned his forehead into mine and br
eathed out, “Oh God, yes.” He shoved his pelvis back and forth, making his penis ride my palm, and I slid my thumb over his slit, using the pre-cum to wet his shaft.
“Feels so good,” he choked out, panting.
When I tightened my grip and pace, he quickened his hips before bringing his hand down to still mine.
“I don’t want to blow,” he said, and took a few deep breaths. “I want to be inside you, but I don’t want to rush you.” His eyes were earnest as he gazed down at me, his desire darkening them to a deep green.
“I want that.”
He ran his fingers over my landing strip and slipped back inside, coaxing the wetness out, and I allowed my fingers to graze his length. We played with each other for a few more beats until Blane removed his hand and reached down to his jeans on the floor. He pulled a condom from the pocket and stopped.
“You good?” he asked, his voice soft and polite.
Blane’s insistence on asking first before proceeding filled me with a sense of power. And freedom.
“Yes.”
He rolled the condom on and climbed over me, taking care not to crush me. Held up on one elbow, he reached down with his free hand and lined himself up with me. Circling me a few times, he teased me while covering himself in my wetness before pressing in. Slowly, he found his way deep inside me, filling me with an intense satisfaction. Together, we felt sweet.
He took his time, pumping slowly until I was clawing at his back and sweat had collected on his brow. I should have been afraid, there was over six feet of steel anchored over me, but instead I felt safe and secure. At least, at that very moment I did.
For the span of a few heartbeats, I allowed my mind to wander and think of the what if’s. What if he found out? What if he found someone else? What if this was all because of some plan to get back at Sonny?
I pushed all the worries to the back of my mind because the now felt too good. Blane Steele was inside me, riding me with fervor.
Oh. My. God.
And that’s exactly what I screamed when he swiveled his hips. So he did it again, harder, and in the other direction.
I came on a scream and Blane slid out, flipped me over, and grabbed me by the waist, pulling me up on all fours. With my knees and elbows sinking into the bed, he dived back in on one push and brought his hands to my hips. Gripping me firmly as his pelvis pumped against me, he brought himself to climax.
When we slumped down on the bed a ragged mess, Blane whispered in my ear, “Well, you worked off that cookie, sweetie.”
I couldn’t stop a big burble of laughter from rolling out of me. I’d just thought he was sweet, and he called me sweetie. An unfamiliar girlie part of my brain took over my thought process. I was all destiny, sweetness, and bliss.
Blane patted my butt, drawing me out of my Barbie-doll state, and went to dispose of the condom. I brought the blanket over my body when it dawned on me.
I just had some afternoon delight with Blane Steele.
Was he going to run out on me now? Did he still want me to go to breakfast with his mom? There was no such thing as destiny, so I didn’t think breakfast was still on the table.
Moments before, I was consumed with what if’s; now I was flooded with sheer what the hell’s?
Blane came back to bed and curled up with me under the covers, our legs tangled and his hand running up my arm in soothing strokes.
“You sure you can’t cancel your plans for tonight? I may even be able to find a funnel cake.”
“I can’t. I have to do this. It’s the only way I can justify being thrown out of my program.”
“But you can’t tell me what?” His hand stilled on my forearm.
“Not yet.”
“This isn’t a fling,” he said as his fingers picked up their stroking again.
“Either way, I can’t say. Not now. Hopefully, soon.”
I really needed to get my shit together. After a few more sessions with the women, I’d be able to bang out a first draft of what I wanted to write. It was my short foray into the industry I wanted to keep under wraps. I needed to ask Frank to pull the movies, but he’d already paid me and I’d spent the money. Would he do it?
Speaking of money, I needed some. Maybe Sonny would give me a quick shift or two, not as an intern, but he was bound to need help.
Ugh. Then I’d be back to kissing his ass.
“Earth to Cate,” Blane said, tugging at one of my curls. “Was that good for you?”
I nodded into his chest, afraid to express my desires and wants, and then I remembered the power of choice.
“Really good. Want to do it again,” I murmured against his skin, my finger tracing the tattoo by his pec.
It said my name. Wow.
“We can,” he said, running his hand down my thigh and back up again.
“We can?”
He pressed his erection into my side. And we did.
Blane insisted on taking me to an early dinner at the diner before I went on my secret assignment, as he’d begun to refer to it. The diner was an institution on Hafton’s campus, a greasy spoon specializing in breakfast and fried food, and they were always crowded. Pictures of all the winning sports teams lined the walls, and there was a special section devoted to Hafton alumni who went pro.
We sat right under Tiberius Jones’s photo. He stood tall and proud in his Brooklyn Nets uniform, but wearing a Hafton hat. He’d inscribed the photo along the bottom.
To the gang at the diner, where I took my lady on our first date. The ball was in my court.
Tiberius Jones, Hafton Ball Proud
Blane’s legs were stretched out under the table, mingling with my shorter ones.
“Hungry?” I asked as he studied the menu.
“Um, yeah. I worked up an appetite, Miss Oh-My-God.”
I kicked his shin. “Shhh. Shit, everyone is going to hear you,” I said through clenched teeth but with a smile. We really had worked up quite an appetite.
“Hi, Blane,” the waitress said, leaning over the table so her boobs practically spilled out of her uniform.
“Hey, Cassie,” he said without looking up.
“Who’s this?” She pointed her pen at me. “Study partner? Tutor for Mr. Heading-to-the-NBA?”
“A friend,” I said cheerfully. No need to go and give anything a label.
“More than a friend,” Blane shot back.
She frowned. “Oh, is that why you haven’t been in for weeks?”
“I didn’t know you were keeping track,” he said, still not looking up.
“Does Sonny know? I saw him last week, and all he does is run off at the mouth over you two and your antics.” She flipped her hair to the side, revealing a Hafton H tattoo on her neck.
“Sonny isn’t part of this.” Blane didn’t get a chance to finish because the bells over the door chimed and a loud, “Steele!” echoed through the diner.
“Yo, Mo,” Blane called back, finally lifting his head out of the menu.
“I’ll be back,” Cassie said in defeat, and left. Not without shaking her ass, which Blane didn’t notice because he was too busy staring down Mo, who had said, “Slide over,” to me.
Mo rolled his eyes. “I’m practically hitched, Steele. Cool your dick. Sorry ’bout the language, missy.”
“No problem. I use the word dick frequently,” I said, unruffled. Swearing I could do.
“I love this one. She’s a fucking firecracker.” Mo tossed his arm around me and pulled me close. “You eating?” he asked Blane.
“That’s why we’re here.”
“Good, me too. Saw your truck out front.”
“Y’all always barge in on people’s dates?” Blane eyed Mo, his green eyes narrowed and laser focused on his teammate.
“This ain’t no date. The fuck, the diner?”
“He took me to Geno’s the other night,” I said.
“Did you now?” Mo asked Blane with a raised eyebrow.
“Look, it says right here that this is a date p
lace.” I pointed at the picture of Tiberius.
“Yeah, when you’re Tiberius Jones and you got yourself hooked up with some slice of crazy.” Mo jerked his chin toward the picture. “Nah, just kidding. Tingly’s cool, but she was fucked up six ways to Sunday by her parents.”
“How do you know?” I shifted in my seat so I could focus on Mo.
“My bro was roommates with Ty. Witnessed the whole crazy love affair. Now Trey works for the Nets, and Ty plays for them. Jamel too.”
“Really?” I said. “I’m a Knicks fan.”
“No shit? Your woman’s a ball fan, Steele?”
“She is,” Blane admitted. “Been sneaking in to watch us play.”
“No way,” Mo said. “I’m gonna get you some tickets.”
Cassie and her boobs stopped at our table to interrupt. “You guys decide?”
Mo went first. “Protein breakfast with sausage, eggs over easy, and full stack of hotcakes, no whipped cream. And a large milk.”
“Breakfast for dinner. Sounds good. Give me the same,” Blane said without even glancing at Cassie.
“Um, can I have the pecan roll hotcakes?” I bit my lip, waiting for a reaction. It wasn’t exactly what women ate on dates. At least, I assumed they didn’t.
“Can I get a bite?” Mo asked me, nudging my shoulder with his.
I nodded.
“You want a drink?” Cassie asked, giving me the evil eye.
“Coffee.”
She turned and sashayed desperately as she walked away.
“So, what’s up?” Mo looked at Blane and then me.
“What do you mean?” Blane’s eyes remained evil slits.
“What’s the deal-i-o with you two? On or off?”
“On.” Blane’s face finally relaxed as a smile formed.
I swallowed down my excitement—and regret—and raised my eyebrows.
“Definitely on,” Blane repeated.
It was news to me. Not unwelcome, mind you, but it definitely deepened my regret about my actions over the last few weeks.
I didn’t have long to dwell on it because Mo slapped my shoulder and said, “Well, thank you. He’s been in a better mood. He wasn’t good with all that . . . stuff . . . backed up.”
“Maurice,” Blane growled.
Dolce (Love at Center Court #2) Page 20