With a Hitch

by RC Boldt

  “You like that?” Another light swat. Another moan from her. Wetness seeps from her, coating me, and I speed up my thrusts. I swat her ass again before soothing the skin with a caress.

  Before I can think twice, I wet my thumb with my mouth and guide it into the crease of her ass. Eyes hazy with lust, I barely graze the pad of my thumb over her puckered entrance and grind out the words. “Anyone ever touch you here before, Duchess?”

  “No.” Her response comes out in a choked half moan, half groan.

  The thrill of being the first man to touch her here overwhelms me. I slow my thrusts even amid her protests. My thumb presses against her rear entrance, and she bucks, her pussy tightening on me in a grip that has me gasping for breath.

  “So sensitive,” I whisper raggedly. “So fucking perfect.” I glide my thumb down to where we’re joined, gathering moisture there, before bringing it back to her puckered entrance. I slip in the tiniest fraction.

  She tightens, practically strangling my cock. “Dax.” There’s a questioning lilt to her voice as though she’s asking me what’s happening. Unsure. Nervous.

  “I’ve got you, Duchess.” I press my thumb inside a fraction more while I thrust. “I’ve got you.”

  Two more thrusts combined with my thumb pressing insistently are all it takes for her to fly over the edge. She clenches around me, inner muscles spasming, body bucking wildly. Her keening cry spurs me on, and I drive hard, deep, before I lose myself, spilling my release into the condom.

  Our heavy breaths are the only sound as I slump over her, bracing myself on my forearms so I don’t crush her with my weight. Eyes still closed, I plant small kisses along the sleek curve of her back, and neither of us says a word. I rest my forehead against her skin before easing away.

  The instant I slide out, her whimpered sound of protest combines with my groan. Neither of us wants to break the connection, but I need to toss the condom.

  I clean up in the bathroom, wash my hands, and return to the bedroom with a warm, damp washcloth. A faint huff escapes me at the sight of Darcy still sprawled on her stomach like I left her. Limbs spread out carelessly like a starfish.

  “I know this is the worst angle, but I’m too wrecked to care.” The pillow muffles her words. She turns her head to face me, eyes still closed, and sighs. “You should have a warning label.”

  Goddamn, she’s cute. I rest a knee on the bed, and with one hand on her thigh, I carefully bring the warm cloth between her legs. At the first touch of the fabric, her entire body visibly tenses, and blue eyes flare open in surprise.

  “Just getting you cleaned up,” I murmur. I gently slide the damp cloth over her, and she relaxes a bit.

  Once I finish, I drape the washcloth over a rung on the rack in the bathroom to dry a bit before I toss it in the hamper. I grab a fresh pair of boxers from my dresser and tug them on before snagging a cotton undershirt for her. When I turn around for the bed, though, I’m greeted with a sight that punches me in the gut.

  Darcy’s rushing to put on her underwear, her dress already scooped up from the floor and lying on the end of the bed.

  It seems someone’s intent on rushing out on me.

  Too bad she’s in for a surprise. Because I don’t plan to let her leave my bed tonight.

  If I have my way, she’ll stay.

  Always.

  34

  Darcy

  I’m scrambling to dress in a rush. My panties are twisted, protesting angrily as I attempt to slide them up my legs. It’s like they’re pissed at me and screaming, No! We want to stay with Dax!

  Yeah, well, I can’t say I blame them. But that’s not what this is. I tried to make it clear in the truck. This isn’t supposed to be anything serious.

  “I hope you know I accept it as a challenge to change your mind.” His words from earlier taunt me, but I’m sure it was just a show of male ego.

  Heavy footfalls approach me from behind, and of course, it coincides with the exact moment I start to lose my balance, and the panties win the stubborn contest. I flail, and the instant I brace for my ass to hit the floor in a cringe-worthy display, a strong arm snakes around my waist. He tugs me closer, arm tightening, bringing my back against his front.

  Twisted to hell and back just beneath my knees, my panties still hang on my legs. I squeeze my eyes shut in embarrassment and go still.

  “Dangerous when you try to leave me, huh?” His gravelly voice sounds like pure sex in my ear. When I don’t answer, he releases a sigh. “You were planning to just hightail it out of here?” If I didn’t know better, I’d swear a hint of hurt laces his tone.

  “I was just…” I falter, trying to compose myself better and give an answer that sounds valid. One where I don’t give voice to every thought flitting through my mind right now.

  I’m scared of what you make me feel.

  I’m not your type, right? So, this was a bogus one-time deal.

  I wish I were your type. Because you’re amazing.

  Your arms make me feel safe. If I could, I’d stay in them forever.

  I wish I didn’t have to leave, but it’s too dangerous to stay.

  I think I’m falling in love with you.

  Instead, I skirt around the truth. “I was just getting out of your hair. I know your schedule’s busy during the season.”

  How I manage to say this calmly is a miracle. He falls silent, and when his arm slackens, I assume he’ll let me dress and be on my way. Gentleman that he is, he’ll see me to the door, make sure I get inside my ride safely, and then wave goodbye. Yes, that’s exactly what he’ll d—

  He drops his arm, and I feel him shift, dropping to his haunches. Firm fingers drag my panties back down my legs, urging me to step out of them. I expect him to untangle them.

  Instead, he tosses them aside and straightens, shifting to face me without a word. His other hand grips a plain white cotton T-shirt that he pulls down over my head. I’m so dazed and caught off guard that I limply allow him to guide my arms through the holes. His eyes remain averted, glued to the task, and he carefully smooths the fabric down over me.

  Finally, he raises his gaze to mine, and I stare back in confusion. My lips part to question him, but he places his index finger over them. His eyes skim over my features with a fierce intensity.

  “Please.” One word, uttered in a hoarse, almost vulnerable tone pierces my heart. When he adds, “Please stay,” it happens.

  I tumble down the rabbit hole of Dax Kendrick and his endearing expression, his pleading tone. He gives me the impression it would physically cause him pain if I left right now. But let’s be honest. He probably wants to have another go at it so—

  “Nothing else needs to happen.”

  I jerk in surprise. Hell, maybe he can read my mind. His eyes bore into mine, beseeching.

  “I’d just really like to”—he ducks his head suddenly and runs a hand over the scruff along his jaw before meeting my eyes—“fall asleep with you.” He swallows hard, like this night has thrown him off-kilter too, and tacks on softly, “In my arms.”

  Palms splayed flat against the hard wall of his chest, I shove at him halfheartedly with a disgruntled sound. “You’re such a jerk.” My words don’t contain any malice.

  What I can hear, though, is affection intermingled with fear.

  His brow crinkles, a mix of amusement and confusion lining his features. “Because I want to snuggle with you?”

  I let my forehead drop softly to his shoulder. I’m officially screwed. I thought, only moments ago, I was falling in love with him. Now, I’ve officially crossed that line from thinking it to actually doing it.

  I’ve done the unthinkable. I’ve fallen for a client.

  I’m in love with Dax Kendrick.

  Robotically, I allow him to guide me back over to his bed and under the covers. He slides in beside me, gathering me against his side. He tugs the covers up over us and takes my palm, settling it over the center of his warm, broad chest. His large hand covers it, nearl
y engulfing mine. His other arm wraps around me, callused fingers resting at my hip.

  “There.” His sigh of contentment flutters over me. Sleep tugs at my eyelids as my body slumps in relaxation in a Pavlovian-like response to the warmth his body radiates. The hand at my hip skims over the T-shirt in a soothing caress. “Much better.”

  “Night, Dax,” I murmur sleepily, eyes closed now.

  He dusts a featherlight kiss to my forehead. “Night, Duchess.”

  “I’m sure you have better things to do.” I sound like a broken record this morning. But I’m trying to give him an out.

  He tosses a knowing glance my way as we head to the exit of the gym, post Zumba class.

  Yes, he dragged me to the gym at the six o’clock hour on a Saturday morning. Guess that’s a clear sign I’m delusionally in love. I did put up a bit of a fuss when he drove me home to grab some workout clothes first and tried to convince him—to no avail, of course—that coffee and pastries would be better than going to the gym.

  Now that we’re both freshly showered, he’s taking me to get coffee, as promised. Because that kale smoothie doesn’t cut it.

  His hand settles at the base of my spine in a gesture I’ve come to love as we approach the double doors. It’s possessive but not in an obnoxious manner. Protective. Affectionate. Like he needs to maintain contact, like he needs to touch me. As soon as we push through the blacked-out gym doors, we’re greeted by a small group of reporters.

  “Hey, Dax! Are you two dating?”

  “She’s your matchmaker. Is this a conflict of interest?”

  “What’s our Duchess of Dating doing this morning?”

  “Dax, how’re you feeling about the game against the Texans next week?”

  “Dax, are you single? Has she found you a match?”

  Holy shit. How does he deal with this? I’m overwhelmed by every question volleyed at us.

  He doesn’t slow, continuing to guide me to his truck, and our sunglasses shield our eyes, thankfully. “I feel good about the game. The Texans always bring a challenge, and I know we’ll need our A game on Sunday.” I now realize his smile is a bit strained, but his tone is calm and collected, as though he’s chatting with them about the weather.

  He presses the key fob to unlock the truck and opens the passenger door for me. With a supportive grip on my upper arm, he helps me up, getting me seated.

  “What do you think about the award ceremony for Sportsperson of the Year? Think you’re a shoo-in because of the hurricane relief fund?”

  The hand on my arm tenses before he releases it. I hurriedly fasten my seat belt, and he closes the door, turning around to address the question. I don’t have to strain to hear his response from within the vehicle, his voice crisp and clear.

  “It’s an honor to be a nominee for any award—sports-related or otherwise. I didn’t start the relief fund for an award; I started it because the city of Gainesville needed help, and I was in the position to do so.” He shrugs casually, but the rigidness of his posture attests to how uncomfortable he is right now. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going and enjoy what’s left of my bye week.”

  A few more questions are tossed out—some about me—but he merely circles the hood and tosses them a little wave. A moment later, he slides into the driver’s seat with a sigh. Once we pull out of the parking lot, I slide him a hesitant look.

  “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize they’d be curious about me.” I mean, really. I’m quite boring. Sure, I match people looking for love, but aside from that, I’m as ho-hum as it gets.

  “Nothing to be sorry for.” His clipped answer makes me feel worse because he seems irritated.

  “Look, maybe we shouldn’t stop for coffee.”

  “Darcy.” There’s a hint of warning in his tone. He pulls to a stop at the traffic light and turns to me. I wish his eyes weren’t hidden beneath those glasses. “I’m not changing my routine just because reporters are nosy.”

  “I know,” I counter softly. “But I don’t want to make things more difficult for you.”

  “What about you?” He tips his head, gesturing in the direction of the gym. “They were all over you, too.”

  I shrug. “It’s an easy thing to explain if need be. We’re…” I swallow hard before finishing with, “friends.” Bile instantly rises in the back of my throat.

  The light turns green, and he returns his attention to the road. There’s a slight tic in his jaw.

  “Right.”

  The drive to the coffee shop passes in a blur out my window. I’m so caught up in my own thoughts, and judging by the silence from the man beside me, he is, too. Pulling the truck into the lot, he parks and unfastens his seat belt but makes no move to turn off the ignition.

  Cloaked in silence, I’m grateful for the dark-tinted windows preventing any prying eyes. Hesitantly, I unfasten my seat belt and part my lips to try to soothe the uncomfortable tension hanging between us.

  The second the seat belt retracts from my body, he grabs me, tugging me onto his lap. A strong, callused hand palms the side of my face while his other slides my sunglasses up to rest atop my head. He stares at me, eyes still masked. With a slow, tentative reach, I do the same to his sunglasses.

  A loud exhale of breath rushes past my lips when his scorching-hot gaze settles on me in full force. Hand still cupping my face, he grazes the corner of my mouth with the pad of his thumb.

  “Do any of your other friends do this?” He dips his head and captures my bottom lip between his teeth, toying with it gently. At my gasp, he takes advantage and fits his mouth to mine, tongue entering fiercely, darting against my own.

  I clutch at him, my fingers fisting his well-worn, insanely soft cotton shirt. His other hand cups the back of my head, angling my head to deepen the kiss. A moan bubbles up my throat, partially swallowed by his mouth before he tears it away. His stare is intimidating, fierce, hot, and commanding.

  “Do they, Duchess?” Voice gravelly like the lowest grit of sandpaper, he grinds out the words.

  Do they? Do they what?

  I lower my head and press my lips to the rapidly beating pulse point at the base of his throat and make a disgruntled sound. “When you kiss me like that, I can’t remember my own name, let alone answer a question.”

  A hint of uncertainty laces his tone. “I’d better be the only friend who does this.”

  “You are,” I whisper against his skin. Then I press a light kiss to the scruff along his jaw. “The only one.”

  A grunt of affirmation is all I receive in response. The hand at the back of my head slides down my spine in a caress before he cinches it around my waist, tugging me closer. Like he needs to hold me.

  The crazy thing is, I don’t mind. I snuggle closer and tuck my palms behind his back, the firm wall of muscle comforting beneath my touch. With my cheek against his shoulder, I let my eyes fall closed. His body relaxes a fraction, as though my embrace soothes him.

  After a few moments of relaxed silence, the only sound within the confines of the vehicle is the air-conditioning blowing from the vents. “Guess we’d better get you your coffee fix.”

  I sigh against his throat and press a final kiss to it. “Guess so.”

  I disentangle myself, then scoot back over to my seat and attempt to check my image in the visor mirror. Walking into the coffee shop with Dax while looking like I’ve just been manhandled—whether or not it’s true and deliciously so, at that—I need to play it safe. For the sake of my business and reputation, at the very least.

  “You look gorgeous, as always.”

  I snap my head to peer at him. His head rests against the back of the seat, eyes watching me tenderly. Before I can say anything, he straightens in his seat and turns off the ignition. With a quick flick of his fingers, he slides his sunglasses into place and then glances at me. “Ready to roll?”

  I flip the visor back up, lower my glasses over my eyes, and nod. “Ready.”

  Moments later, we approach t
he coffee shop, and when we’re less than five feet from the door, a couple who look to be in their fifties stops Dax. The husband is the first to speak.

  “Thank you for everything you’ve done down in Gainesville.” He holds out his hand, reverence in his gaze as though he’s about to shake hands with the President. “You’re exactly the kind of guy young kids these days should look up to.”

  Dax shakes the man’s hand briefly as a subtle flush spreads across his cheeks. How this man can get flushed and feel unsettled by attention after being in the spotlight for so long amazes me.

  “I didn’t do anything, sir. Just tried to set the tone, and it worked out. Humans helping humans. We all need a reminder that we’re in this together.”

  “Well,” the man’s wife says, “know that you are an angel to those in need. My daughter lives down there, and she would’ve been homeless for God knows how long if your foundation hadn’t stepped in to help.”

  Tears glisten in the woman’s eyes as she reaches for Dax’s hand and gives it a quick squeeze. “I can’t thank you enough.” Her voice cracks with emotion. “Because of you, she got a roof over her head and got back on her feet far faster than anyone could have expected.”

  He reaches for the hand she just retracted and holds it between both of his enormous ones. “It was my pleasure to help, ma’am. I’m glad to hear your daughter is okay.”

  “Thank you again,” the man repeats. He ushers his wife away with a final nod to Dax.

  We walk up to the coffee shop entrance. He opens the door and places a hand on my lower back to guide me inside. I turn to him with a smirk.

  “Maybe I should be the one holding doors, Mr. Hero,” I tease.

  The edges of his lips curl up just a hint. “Get inside, Sassypants.” I laugh, and we step inside. His mouth lowers to my ear, his voice barely audible and deliciously husky. “Don’t get too mouthy, Duchess, or I’ll have to put my hands on that ass again when we get home.”