Second Thoughts: A Hot Baseball Romance

by Mindy Klasky

  Okay. Not really crying. She wasn’t sobbing. There weren’t even tears running down her cheeks. But her eyes shimmered in the porch light, shiny as glass, and her lower lip trembled.

  “Hey,” he said. “It’s just the cover. The pages are fine.”

  She laughed, but the tears did spill over.

  He didn’t consciously decide to move. His hand just tossed the book onto the porch swing, easy and gentle. His feet just shifted, the way they did when he was moving into position at the bag, when his body knew where it needed to be before his mind was even aware that a ball was on its way. His arms rose without his telling them to; his fingers spread by reflex.

  And then he was holding Jamie.

  Every inch of her was familiar. His hands knew exactly where to find the soft-firm planes of her back. His hips knew the precise angle to settle the long lines of her legs against his. His neck knew exactly how to bend to find her mouth, to match her lips to his. He could tell she moved with the same instinct—she was relaxed and easy, comfortable and at home.

  But he knew the specific instant that her conscious mind took over. She stiffened and turned to iron in his arms.

  “Jamie,” he whispered against her lips.

  And then he cheated. His fingertips found the sweet hollow below her right ear, the soft spot along her jaw where her pulse beat as fast as a cornered mouse. He stroked the sensitive flesh once, twice, a third time, knowing he had the power to drive her wild, knowing how to make her melt.

  And melt she did.

  He grinned at the familiar sigh, at the tiny cry that blended into a moan. He let his lips take over where his fingers had been, let his tongue taste her, thrum with her excitement. He closed his teeth over her flesh, the tiniest nip, and he immediately soothed her surprise with the pressure of his lips.

  She rolled her head back, clearly trusting that his hand would be there. His fingers spread through her hair, holding her, supporting her. Her motion exposed the long line of her throat, which he traced with a playful mix of lips and tongue and teeth.

  A car drove by on the street behind them, its lights panning across the porch before it disappeared into the night. His lips curved into a grin beside her ear as he whispered, “Do you want to go inside?”

  ~~~

  She shouldn’t.

  She was fully aware of what would happen the instant the door was closed behind them. Hell, she’d planned for it to happen—making arrangements with Ashley to keep Olivia for the night, dressing in her club clothes. She’d just thought she’d be bringing home RoadWarrior.

  Not Nick.

  But her hands were on his waist; they’d settled there automatically as soon as the car drove by, as soon as he stopped whatever wicked thing he’d been doing to her throat. She’d tucked her fingers inside the waist of his khakis; she knew the feel of his muscles there, the jut of his hip bones that framed the taut V to his crotch.

  He was waiting. He was giving her the choice.

  She should send him away. That was the safe thing. That was the reasonable thing to do to a man who was invading her relationship with her daughter, who had left her high and dry at graduation solely because that had been the easiest thing for him to do.

  But dammit, she didn’t want to let him go.

  She twined her fingers between his and pulled him inside the house.

  She wasn’t sure which of them closed the door. She couldn’t say who led the way to the couch. It was impossible to determine who reached first for whom.

  None of that mattered as Jamie leaned back on the thick cushions. Nick’s weight on her chest was familiar, it felt right in a way that no other man had felt in the seven years since she’d last held him. His legs scissored between hers; he knew the perfect angle for his knee against her clit—through his khakis, through her leather—so that the embers deep inside her flickered to open flame.

  He tugged her shirt from her pants with the urgency of a starving man. His palms seared her sides; each of her ribs ignited at his touch. His tongue flicked against her navel, and she laughed at the spear of white heat that pierced straight to her core.

  It felt amazing to have Nick on top of her. He knew her body better than any man ever had.

  “God,” he breathed, staring at her lace excuse for a bra. The garment had been flimsy enough to begin with. It was downright obscene now that her nipples stood at full attention. He wasted no time smoothing his fingers over her left breast, stroking her flesh, peaking her dusky nipple with one flick of his thumb, another, another. She arched her back against the jolts of pure sensation, and he laughed as if she’d invited him to a party where he was the guest of honor. He slipped her bra up, over her breast, and she gasped as he caught her nipple hard between his finger and his thumb.

  He leaned down to kiss her, matching the thrust of his tongue to the tweaking of her breast. She twisted her mouth beneath him, panting against the jagged edge of sensation, but his laugh made her lips hum.

  She laughed, too. She laughed because he knew exactly when to release the tender bud, precisely when she couldn’t stand another second of the pressure. He knew when the blood surged away, and how to bring it rushing back. He knew that the pace he set was building another pulse deep in her body, each sweet tug pushing her closer to the molten heat set deep in her memory.

  And then he changed his game.

  He pulled away from her mouth, leaving her lips bruised and tingling. He flicked his tongue against her right breast, tasted her through the lace. She gasped at the new approach, at the chill that rippled through her when he blew hot breath across her wet skin.

  She scarcely fought down her shudder when he closed his mouth, suckling through the fabric. She felt the soft scratch of the lace, and she arched her back as his tongue embossed her flesh. His mouth worked magic spells, summoning an ache, a pressure she’d nearly forgotten in all the years they’d been apart. Her nipples were harder than they’d ever been before; her breasts were heavier, filled with longing that throbbed in time with the heat between her thighs.

  She slipped her hands down Nick’s arms, whispering his name as she tightened her fingers against his banded muscles. He looked up at her, his mouth still hot, his tongue still hard. His eyes sparked in the dim light, laughing at her helpless moan. He was like a mischievous boy, a naughty daredevil, tempting her to follow him down well-known paths to pleasure.

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head. This was ridiculous. It was absurd to be doing this again, to be slipping back into their old roles, into the well-known fun and games.

  But damn, it felt good.

  Laughing at herself, at him, at the throbbing heat that made her feel like some passionate goddess, she pushed herself into a sitting position. Nick rocked back onto his heels, eyeing her as if she’d told him to stop.

  No, she wasn’t telling him that. Instead, she settled one hand against his crisp broadcloth shirt. It was ridiculous that he was still fully dressed, when she was spilling out of her bra, with her silk tee pushed up to her throat.

  With two quick twists of her wrists, she had his shirt pulled loose from his pants. She fiddled with the top button, reveling in the almost forgotten rasp of starched cotton, but she lost her patience with the rest and tore the shirt over his head. He laughed as he twisted free, as they worked together to toss the shirt over the back of the couch.

  She ripped off her own shirt, adding it to the debris. The motion forced her bra back into place, and the lace was excruciating against her over-stimulated flesh. She compensated by kneeling on the couch, by steadying her palms against his broad chest.

  She knew every inch of him. She knew the sprinkle of ginger hair, lighter than the curls on his head, closer to gold. She knew the scattering of freckles across his creamy skin, the invitation to play a scorching game of Connect The Dots. She knew the clean scent of him, the trace of mint behind soap.

  She rubbed her cheek against his chest, closing her eyes at the long-missed sensation, at the prickl
e of his hair, at the heat that radiated toward her with every pulse of his heart. Yes, she knew him. But he was different, too.

  He’d put on muscle in the past seven years. His chest was broader, even more firm than she remembered. She traced the lines of his pecs, first with her fingertips, then with her lips. The muscles fanned out toward sturdier shoulders, toward more developed biceps.

  Her lips found another difference. Scars. Two incisions, healed into silver lines, one on the front of his right shoulder, the other on the back.

  He shrugged. “I’m damaged goods. Labrum tear, my second year.”

  She nodded, suspecting that the small scars were nothing compared to the pain that had generated them. She leaned forward and kissed the first one, slowly, carefully.

  Nick laughed and pulled back. He flexed his arm like a cartoon Popeye, making his muscles pop. “I’m not made of glass.”

  Still, her fingers were tentative as she traced the shape of the second scar. Somehow, it seemed important. Like it was a symbol of everything that had happened in the years they’d been apart, all the bad things they hadn’t been able to share, to help each other face.

  Nick roared as he swept his arm around her. She was so startled she shrieked, and then his lips were sealed against hers, drinking in her surprised laughter, swallowing her joy. Automatically, she adjusted to the rest of him, the broader back, the trimmer waist.

  Never breaking the kiss, she worked his buckle with expert fingers, slipping his belt free with a single, urgent tug. She undid the button on his pants, worked the zipper, shoved the khaki fabric over his hips like she had hundreds of times before.

  He still wore boxers—soft silk now, which did nothing to hide his erection. She slipped her hand inside his fly, grabbing him firmly.

  He couldn’t hold her lips then. Not when she found the slick of moisture at his tip. Not when she traced around him with the sharp edge of a fingernail. Not when her fingers slipped through the tangles of hair that she knew were coppery red, the tangles of hair she couldn’t yet see as she cupped his sweet weight in her palm.

  “Jamie.” His voice was husky, breathed against the corner of her mouth. She covered his lips with her free hand and slipped him through the silk opening of his shorts. She bent low and guided him into her mouth.

  His breath came fast as she took him deep. She’d forgotten how hard he was, how it felt to tilt her head back to manage his length. She’d forgotten the thrill of closing her lips over the base of him, of teasing with her tongue as she slowly, delicately worked her way back to the firm ridge of flesh near his tip.

  She repeated her stroke, tightening her lips to heighten the sensation for him, for her. Impossibly, he grew harder. His hips shifted. He wanted her, needed her. She set her finger against the large vein at his base, knowing how to slow him down, how to make the pure sensation last longer for both of them.

  His fingers closed over hers, and he panted her name again. “Jamie,” he said. “I want to be inside you.”

  Her body wanted him. The tingling in her lips ignited fires throughout her body. The feel of his hair beneath her fingertips was like a Fourth of July sparkler; every inch of her flesh was awake, aware, in a way it hadn’t been in years.

  She could smell him—soap and mint now covering a distinctly masculine musk. Mixed beneath that was the faint scent of her leather pants, the animal whisper awakened by her own heat. She was slick with readiness; her lace panties teased her with every gasping breath she took.

  He wanted to be inside her, and her body cried out to make that happen. Her body, yes, but not her mind. Not her mind, which had arranged for her daughter—their daughter—to be gone. Not her mind, which had selected her wardrobe, had dressed her for the hunt. Not her mind—which had completely, utterly forgotten one crucial step.

  Protection.

  She pulled away from Nick, letting him slip from the embarrassed grin on her lips.

  She’d never bought condoms in her life. She and Nick had both been virgins, and she’d visited Student Health Services for birth control pills before they’d ever made love. In the years since graduation, she’d relied on her rare partners to take care of drugstore runs. After all, she’d had a young daughter at home; she’d never brought a man back to her place.

  She’d thought she’d been ready for her TrueLove date that night, but she’d deluded herself even before she sat alone at that bar. Something had held her back, something had kept her from getting the one thing any responsible woman would need. It was like she’d known RoadWarrior was never going to show up.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t have…” She trailed off, embarrassed.

  But this was Nick she was talking to. She never needed to be embarrassed with Nick. She rocked back enough to look at him as she said, “You don’t have anything with you?”

  He shook his head.

  She shrugged and gestured at his mostly-naked body, at her exposed bra. “I don’t think either of us is making a run to the drugstore.”

  He shook his head again.

  “That means—”

  He finished the sentence for her. “—we’ll just have to find other ways to satisfy ourselves.”

  “To satisfy each other,” she corrected. The throbbing flesh against her palm let her know he didn’t mind the restatement.

  “But not here,” he said. “In a real bed.”

  She nodded and let him go. In record time, he shucked his shoes and socks, finally shed the pants that had pooled around his ankles, along with the boxers she hadn’t bothered to strip off him.

  She laughed and led the way upstairs.

  ~~~

  Christ, Nick thought, watching Jamie’s hips sway in front of him on the stairs. The steel chains of her belt whispered of dark rooms and dirty games. The sound of the leather as her thighs touched kept his cock almost as hard as her lips had, down there on the couch.

  What the hell had he been thinking, insisting on a bedroom? He should just grab her from behind, pull her up against him right here. They’d never done it on stairs before. He could slip his arm behind her head, cushion her as he lay beside her, as his fingers found her warm, wet heat…

  He was in her bedroom before he had a chance to act on the fantasy.

  If someone had blindfolded him and released him here, he would have known he was in Jamie’s room. The tailored navy bedspread said Jamie. The trio of black-and-white photos, shots of origami that hinted at plants, at animals, at bodies, all said Jamie. The stack of books on the nightstand, more than any sane person would try to read in a lifetime—they all said Jamie.

  She turned to face him. “Home sweet home,” she said.

  “There’s just one thing. You are wearing way too many clothes.”

  Her slow smile restoked the fire in his belly. “You mean this?” she asked. Her fingers settled on her belt buckle, and he nodded. She took her time unfastening the thing, slipping it free inch by tantalizing inch. As the steel cascaded between her fingers, she watched him steadily. She had to know the belt made her look like some horny boy’s vision of a dominatrix. Some horny man’s vision, too. She raised the steel to her shoulders, slithered it past her bra before she let it writhe down her body and coil on the floor.

  “That’s a good beginning,” he said roughly. He reached for her pants, for the black leather that cupped her ass as closely as his own palms itched to do.

  “Ah, ah, ah!” she said, arching her eyebrows and slapping him on the backs of his hands. She wriggled a step away and stared directly at him, a tiny smile pulling at the corners of her well-kissed lips.

  The pants zipped on the side. That’s how they clung so tightly, how they looked like they were painted on her. He caught his breath as she undid the fastening, slipping it free tooth by metal tooth. She peeled back the leather slowly, revealing a curl of lace even skimpier than her excuse for a bra.

  She probably could have gotten out of those pants without twisting like that. But he wouldn’t ha
ve enjoyed the view anywhere near as much. There was something primal and exciting about the dark leather, about the way it clung to her like a second skin. The scent teased him, animal and hot, and he groaned as she finally stepped free from its grasp.

  “There,” she said brightly. “That’s enough.”

  “Never,” he growled. He reached for her bra, for the panties that teased with their barely-there lace. She danced away a few steps, until the backs of her knees were up against the bed. She seemed startled to find her retreat cut off, and he pounced while he had the advantage.

  She laughed as he slipped his hands beneath her bra, as he palmed her nipples back to peaks. He needed to feel them in his mouth, first the left, then the right. He couldn’t help from grazing his teeth against them, even when she shrieked and pressed harder against him.

  He reached behind her and worked the single clasp with a twist of his fingers. She gasped as he pulled the scrap off her shoulders, and then she shuddered as he buried his face between her finally-freed breasts. His fingers tightened on her back, pulling her closer. Her skin felt different than he recalled, but then he remembered his beard. He pressed closer then, soaking up the new sensation, adding it to the thousands of memories labeled Jamie deep inside his brain.

  She was panting now, pressing hard against him. He reached down and slipped his fingers into her absurd excuse for panties. God, she was wet. He arched his fingers and pressed his wrist against her clit. Her thighs clamped shut around his hand, and she whined deep in her throat.

  His cock throbbed, demanding full satisfaction. His senses were flooded with memories of her heat around him, of her coming and pushing him over his own edge, of the animal sounds she made deep in her throat as his hot flood made her come a second time, even harder than the first.

  He eased his hand free from the vise of her thighs, distracting her with a hard kiss before he slipped off her soaked panties and guided her back to the bed. Kneeling beside her, he traced his slick fingers over her body. He painted his need against the hollow of her throat, then kissed her hard and licked away the secret message. He anointed her proud nipples, toying with each before he ate it clean.