He reaches out tentatively and grazes his hand on the outer part of my right peak, causing goose bumps to break out over my skin. I whimper and close my eyes because his fingers whispering over my skin is already undoing me and he isn’t even really touching me.
Slowly, he bends forward, molding both hands over the tips of my breasts and tweaking my nipples, not gently, but not painfully either. The pressure is exactly what I need and I arch my back, sending them more firmly into his hands.
Then he starts licking and sucking my collarbone, which gets me even more turned on than I already am. I imagine him licking and sucking me where I ache and more wetness floods the lace boy shorts that I, thank God, am wearing.
His tongue begins to scale my neck and when it gets to the certain spot that shoots heat straight to my core, I let him know. “Yes, right there.” I groan as he fuses his lips to my skin.
He lifts his head, his blue eyes now molten, the color of an ocean in the eye of a storm. “You like when I kiss that spot, huh?”
Lowering his head to my nipples, he never breaks eye contact as he latches onto one. It’s erotic and embarrassing at the same time. I want to look away but am so mesmerized by what he’s doing and what that was doing to my already soaked panties, that I simply can’t.
Whenever Gregory and I had done anything, the lights were off. He hadn’t bothered to talk or look at me. If this is what everyone experienced during sex, which we were far from, I now got why they made such a hoot about it.
My skin is on fire as he kneads my nipples between his lips and teeth, working me up and then pulling away periodically to study me or place a scorching kiss on my lips. His hair is tousled from my fingers running through it and I can’t wait any longer to see what’s underneath those clothes.
I try to push him back and sexily undress him, but end up pawing his back awkwardly when he won’t take his mouth off my breasts. I let him continue his oral exploration while trying to pull off his shirt.
“God, you’re always trying to get me naked,” he jokes and pulls his T-shirt over his head.
I suck in a gasp and can’t help it when my hands immediately fly to his stomach, tracing and massaging the lines of his glorious abs.
“Ah … fuck.” Owen flinches as I continue touching him. I look up when he curses, fearing I’ve done something wrong and meet his eyes. “You have to stop.”
I bring my fingers quickly back to my lap as if I’ve been burned. I was doing it wrong. I could feel the shame creep into my cheeks.
“No, no, Minka. Not because it doesn’t feel good. Shit.” He looks apologetic and frantic, which brings some relief. I’m not the best at this, but I’m trying so hard to make this good for him. “I just … if you keep touching me like that, this is going to be over way too soon.”
I snort, finally understanding his discomfort.
“No, please, laugh at the guy who just admitted he was about to come in his shorts. Makes me feel so much more macho.”
I lean in, cupping his face and taking his lips with my own. For some reason, around Owen, I feel brave. Sure, he makes my stomach do flips and his drop-dead gorgeousness makes me dizzy, but I don’t feel like that young, inexperienced girl who had gotten in over her head. I want to take control, have the normal experiences all high school girls were supposed to have.
I pull him down with me as I lie back on the couch and he moves so that we are lying side by side, my breasts pushed against his magnificent pecs. His skin is hot against my front, making my nipples impossibly harder.
His mouth moves over my mine. His tongue controlling the kiss. My head is spinning and when he eases out and bites down on my lip, a guttural sound cuts the air. I didn’t even realize it had come from me until he was attacking my mouth, growling down my throat.
I feel his hand brand my hip, kneading and caressing the skin over the top of my bone. With every swipe, I feel my clit throb. I can feel how heavy and hot it is against the lace fabric every time I writhe against him.
As if hearing my silent pleas to move farther south, his hand slips under my waistband. I am so worked up; I don’t even care that we are back in the same place we were two weeks ago. I’m not questioning this; it feels too good. Let regretful and angry Minka surface later.
His fingertip brushes my clit and just that touch sends a lightning bolt up my spine. I choke out a cry of relief and then a long moan as he circles two fingers around the sensitive nub.
“You’re so fucking wet. Fuck …” I can hear him groan into my neck, where his head currently rests as he eases a finger inside me. Oh God, that feels good. Heavenly. It has been so long since someone other than myself has touched me there.
And Owen is amazing at it. He touches me reverently, like he’s worshipping every section of my skin. He knows exactly where to press, where to stroke, so that in minutes, I am so close to release I can feel the familiar tingling in my belly. I’m shaking like a leaf in his arms, my body so tense it’s resting on a peak that I am about to tumble over.
He begins to kiss me, his lips coating mine and sending my nerve endings sparking. “Come for me, Minka.” He breathes raggedly into my mouth. His words send me tumbling headfirst into the sensations. I tense for a split-second, all my focus zeroed in on his fingers pressing against my clit and then the orgasm hits me.
I gyrate against his fingers, my nipples brushing the light smattering of hair on his chest and bury my face in his neck. My orgasm reaches into every crevice of my body, melting into my skin and I stretch with it from my fingertips to my toes, trying to hold on to every last second of it.
My breathing slows and I bring my head up to look at Owen. He eyes are smoldering, switching back and forth from my own as if he were trying to watch the last of the orgasm drain out of me.
“That was … the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” He keeps up his search in my eyes while I grin like a moron. It was the best thing I’ve ever felt. And all I want to do is return the favor. Make him feel as good as I feel. And maybe, just maybe, prove to myself that I can do this. That I can make someone unravel.
Putting a sultry expression on my face or as sultry as I can muster, I place my hands back on his abs, feeling the ridges and his muscles contracting under my fingertips.
“You don’t … you don’t have to do that,” Owen says, doubt and hope mixed in his breathy declaration. I continue my exploration of his chest, while at the same time silencing him by sealing my lips over his.
I tease his lips, coaxing him and trying to mimic everything he’d just done to me. “I will do what I want.”
Anxiety, and something else, maybe power, swim in my veins as I slip my hand farther down, inching my fingers past the elastic band on his basketball shorts. I feel his stomach tighten and he steals the breath out of my mouth as he sharply inhales into our kiss.
I break away from his lips, too nervous and focused on concentrating on where to put my hand. I’m going in blind. Too embarrassed to look down and correct my movements when my hand connects with something hard and fleshy.
“Ahh,” Owen grunts as I realize I’ve brushed the tip of him.
I circle him with my hand and tug gently upward, feeling a bead of wetness drip onto my semi-closed fist.
“Fuck … Minka … hmm,” Owen’s talking in non-words now, reassuring my confidence and causing me to pick up my motions.
After I travel up and down his rigid cock a couple more times, I can feel his breathing get ragged as he buries his face in my neck, nibbling lightly at the skin there. I’m still not sure if I’m making him feel good, so I ask, “Is this … am I doing it right?”
He lifts his head, his brown locks falling into his eyes which now assess me with raw hunger. “This is the best fucking thing I’ve ever felt in my life, and all you’re doing is jacking me off. Yes, Minka, you’re doing it right. You’re doing it the best way it’s ever been done.”
I give him a small smile, even though, inside I’m beaming with pride. I begin my motio
ns again, picking up the pace when he growls at me to go faster. Before I know it, he’s making the sexiest noises that also happen to be waking up my exhausted libido. Owen is a drug, one I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get out of my system.
“Minka, Jesus … I’m going to come.” He lets out a low, husky sound as he pumps his hips to meet my hand when it moves down to the base of him.
I try to keep the same fast pace, holding my breath in my anxiousness to please him. His eyes lock onto mine in a scorching stare and I feel my cheeks color. I can’t look at him while I do this. I cast my eyes down and concentrate.
“Look at me. I want your eyes.” He grasps my chin and drags it up so that my eyes are inches from his, both of us locked onto the other. At the same time, I feel his breath stutter on my lips, his hips jutting wildly.
“Yeah … fuck, Minka.” He’s coming and I feel his wetness spread over my fist as he slows his pumping hips, his eyes still on mine but now glazed over in his satisfaction.
We lie like that, his legs tangled with mine, my hand down his pants covered in his cum, our faces floating mere centimeters away from each other, for a very long time. He’s breathing me in as he recovers and my mind is going a mile a minute. What does this mean? Why can’t I stay away from him? Why am I still so turned on? Can we please do it again?
Owen chuckles and presses his forehead against mine.
“Why … why are you laughing?” Fear grips me right in the gut for a few seconds. Until he responds with the cockiest answer I’ve ever heard.
“I need to bring you cheesesteaks more often. Like every day. Putting it in my calendar now.”
13
Owen
July moves in faster than expected and with it, responsibilities. June knew I was having too much fun and spending too much time with a certain beautiful girl, so it decided to end.
Clinics start back up this month, which means I’ll be on the road at least two long weekends out of the next four. Meaning less Minka time. Me and my dick are already mourning the loss.
Since the night I brought her dinner, something has shifted. She was now almost all that I thought about, the only person I ever want to be with. I’d spent nine out of the last twelve days with her and I was nowhere near bored or tired of hanging out. It’s a new sensation for me, one I’m not particularly sure I like since it leads to this horrible “missing-a-limb” feeling whenever I’m not near her.
We’ve texted while I’ve been gone for the past three days and I’m praising the heavens that I get to see her tonight. As corny as it sounds, I can’t wait to have her back in my arms. I shoot her a text, something I’ve been doing all hours of the day since I left for summer training at my college, Grover University in Virginia.
Owen: Certain parts of my anatomy can’t wait to get reacquainted with certain parts of your anatomy tonight ;)
When Minka doesn’t respond for a minute or two, I get desperate. This girl, she makes me act like a dog in heat.
Owen: And by that I mean my heart with your heart :)
Minka: Don’t try to save your ass now. You meant your penis, douche.
Mmm, there is my girl.
Owen: Oh yeah, that too. And babe, it’s a dick. Or a cock. Or even a boner. The word penis makes me think of this creepy old pediatrician I used to see …
Minka: While I’d love to keep discussing your Freudian issues, some of us don’t think about your “dick” nearly as much as you do.
Owen: Noted, she likes me for my superior intellect and not my smoking hot body. I guess that means she doesn’t want me to bury my face between her thighs tonight.
And I’m hard as a rock. We haven’t fucked yet. Or made love or whatever stupid words girls want to use.
I might be a jock, but it doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough not to notice Minka is definitely a virgin. We’d rounded all the other bases and that was just fine with me right now.
But, trust me when I tell you, sliding into third with her was better than any sex I’d ever had. The sounds she made as I lapped up her sweet juices, the blush that seemed to creep all the way down her body as she got close to exploding on my tongue. Damn. I could do that for the rest of my life. No sex required.
Minka: You’re so vulgar, Axel.
She has no idea. I could feel her blushing through the phone. Jesus, she’s cute. And sexy, and funny … and my hard-on throbs at her use of my last name.
“Why the fuck are you smiling like that?”
I look up just fast enough to dodge the batting helmet that Miles has thrown in my direction. Clint Bellows and Parker Avery jog down the dugout steps after him, hauling their sweaty asses onto the bench.
“You lazy fuck. Pitchers always get the long end of the stick. You don’t even have to run wind sprints,” Parker grumbles at me.
Dude’s always in a pissy mood. But he’s a great fucking outfielder. We put up with his attitude, usually ending up force-feeding him alcohol to tolerate him. Parker is like the Hulk, but reverse. Get him drunk and he’s the nicest guy on the planet. And also one of the best wingmen. He could snag any buddy of his a hot chick, no matter their looks. A ten on the hot-girl scale, that’s what Parker is best at serving up on a silver platter. Not that I need his services anymore.
“That’s right, sunshine. I just stand there and look pretty. Oh … and don’t forget, win you national championships.” I pat his cheek.
“Bro, gross. Why’re you sporting a semi?” Clint chokes on the Gatorade he just swigged.
“The real question is, why are you looking at my dick?” I wink at him and readjust myself. Damn baseball pants. You can’t hide anything in these bad boys.
“He’s probably daydreaming about the high school hottie he’s been smashing. Chicks got legs for days.” Miles whistles.
I zip a batting glove at his face, effectively slapping him between his eye and his cheek. “I told you not to talk about my girl like that, Farris.”
“Whoa-ho-ho, his girl? Fellas, did you hear that? Axel’s got himself a ball and chain. Not to mention an eighteen-year-old one.” Miles dances around the dugout, mocking me.
“No way man, you have a girlfriend?” Clint asks in disbelief.
“Not exactly, dickwads. But if you must know, yeah, I’m spending a lot of time with her.”
“Why does this sound like a goddamn romance novel?” Parker quips.
“She’s not like these groupie chicks you douchebags bring home. She’s smart, and seriously funny. And she could kick any of your scrawny asses. And yeah, she’s got some serious legs.” I give Miles a shit-eating grin.
“Yeah, whatever, man, I guess that’s great. I’m happy for you.” Parker stares out into the field stoically. I can never figure out what’s going on in that guy’s head.
“All right, weirdo. I don’t know why you guys so are worried about my business, you all had your asses handed to you in batting practice. I can hit better than that and I’m not even required to.” Being a pitcher means I get special perks, depending on how you look at it. No, I didn’t have to condition as hard or work on slugging one outta the park, but all the pressure rests on my shoulders. My performance determines whether we win or lose games.
“Dude, it’s July. Our first scrimmage isn’t until the last week of September. I’ll get back to over three hundred in no time.” Miles stands up, juggling a bat between his hands.
Farris is our best hitter; he’s so close to breaking the school record for home runs averaged and he’s only a sophomore.
“Well, just make sure you take us to finals next year and no one will be complaining,” Clint adds, strapping the mass of catcher’s equipment to his body. Clint is my catcher. He might not be the brightest in the classroom, but baseball is his real field of study. I swear the guy can read my mind and keep a hawk-eye on the field like no one I’ve ever seen.
“This is a team sport, idiot. Which means everyone has to play together to win. Anything less has your ass on the bench in May,” Avery all
but growls.
I know he’s still pissed about our regional championship loss, which took us out of contention for the World Series in June. Last year’s seniors seemed to be more into the hazing and drinking aspects of being a college athlete, while all four of us wanted one thing. A College World Series ring. And maybe an MLB contract on the side.
“This year is our year, gentleman. We will get there,” I promise, feeling confidence swell in my chest. This year will be different. I can feel it.
“Damn right, we will. Now hurry up and let’s go through this pitching drill. I got places to be.” Clint runs up the dugout steps and out onto home plate.
I slide my glove onto my hand, relishing the familiar feel of the old leather conforming around it.
“Yeah, we got places to be, people to bang.” Miles starts thrusting his hips into an invisible girl.
“Don’t let your girlfriend hear that.” I give him a stern look. While Olivia isn’t high on my list of favorite people or anywhere on it for that matter, I don’t approve of cheating. It’s the lowest move you could pull.
“Yeah well, she’d have to be around to actually hear. Or care.” Miles sobers as he says this last part.
“Dude, I’m sorry, if you wanna talk—” I start before Miles cut me off, shuttering his eyes and putting the joker mask back on.
“Don’t get all weepy on me, bro! Hurry your ass up so I can get to a kick-ass party and you can drive home to your high school hottie.” He runs out for a casual toss with Parker while I work with Clint on my knuckleball.
Someday, he’ll have to open up to me. I just hope it wasn’t too late.
“Caro! I didn’t know you’d be home so soon!” I hear my mother coo. Crap. I had been trying to go undetected, but that woman has ears like a bat. And it doesn’t help that the gaudy all-marble staircase screeches like the cement of a parking garage anytime you step foot on it.
Over the Fence Box Set Page 8