With a Hitch

by RC Boldt

  An employee asks for my order, demanding my attention, but the entire time we order and wait for our drinks, I’m distracted.

  Just thinking of his hand swatting my ass last night while he was deep inside me ratchets up my heart rate. But that’s not the only thing that has me breathless.

  It’s what he said at the end.

  “…when we get home.”

  “This has to be the cutest photo.” A smile stretches across my face. “How old were you in this one?”

  Dax tosses a glance at the framed photo I’m admiring. A miniature version of him grins back at me proudly with one top tooth missing and that dimple more pronounced, making him even more adorable.

  “Just shy of my tenth birthday, I think. That’s when I was officially introduced to the game.” He steps up beside where I stand in the living room, gazing at the photo. A soft smile graces his lips as his eyes take on a faraway look, lost in the memory. “Fell in love the moment I caught the football.”

  Staring at him in a football uniform with shoulder pads that engulf him, I’m confronted with a strange mixture of emotions—a touch of melancholy with wistfulness as I bear witness to this walk down memory lane.

  My eyes trace over the features of young Dax in the photograph, and I can easily imagine a little boy the spitting image of him, wanting to follow in his father’s footsteps. A dimple that grows more pronounced when he’s up to no good, and an easy grin that’s boyishly adorable. Eyes that crinkle at the corners whenever he smiles—which is often—especially when he gets hugs and kisses from his mom and dad.

  My throat grows raw at the overwhelming longing to be included in that fantasy. As the little boy’s mother. As Dax’s wife.

  “All I wanted for Christmas that year was a brand-new pair of football cleats.” Dax’s admission draws me from my wandering thoughts. “But they were so expensive, so I knew it wasn’t possible.” He turns to look at me. “My parents struggled from paycheck to paycheck, and I knew it. Didn’t expect anything. So I figured I’d do what I could to save the money for them.”

  He shifts his attention back to the photo. “I did everything I could think of for a little extra money. Took out the trash for the neighbors, weeded for them, you name it.” Those lush lips quirk slightly. “Then on Christmas morning, I got the surprise of my life.”

  “A pair of cleats,” I murmur softly.

  He nods slowly. “They’d scrimped as much as they could to get me the one thing I’d wanted that year.”

  Without even thinking, I lace my fingers through his, our joined hands between us. “Must’ve been a pretty amazing Christmas morning.”

  “It sure was.” His eyes skim over my face. “What about you? Was there ever one gift you were dying to get for Christmas?”

  I avert my gaze and take in the other framed photos adorning his living room wall. Some are of him posed beside Becket from their college days, others with his teammates or his family, and a few of him and Violet. It takes a great deal of effort to deliver my answer in the most nonchalant way. It’s stupid, but a lingering sadness still plagues me even after all these years.

  “The one thing I wanted more than anything else was a pair of pink Chucks.” My heart twists at the memory, so vivid even now. “They had white stars on them, and I thought they were the coolest shoes ever.”

  I swallow hard. “My foster parents said if I completed a little ‘Christmas challenge,’ they’d likely be under the tree from Santa. So I did the things they said were part of the challenge. I washed the car, did all the laundry and dishes, mowed the lawn…” I trail off as flashes of those days flit through my mind.

  “How old were you?”

  “Ten.” My answer is robotic, and I realize my voice is devoid of emotion. Much as I’d learned, as I’d taught myself growing up, I compartmentalize emotions when it comes to painful memories. “It was the year I realized Santa didn’t exist.” With a deep breath, I glance at him with a derisive twist to my lips and shrug. “Never did get the Chucks, but my foster parents got a good laugh out of it.”

  “Jesus,” he breathes out and tugs me into his arms. “I’m sorry, Darce.”

  I stiffen in his embrace because the last thing I want is pity. “No biggie.” My laugh sounds forced to my own ears, and I cringe the moment it leaves my lips. “It’s in the past.”

  He runs a palm over my back soothingly and doesn’t speak. The longer we remain like this, with him holding me to him tightly, the more I allow myself to relax. To sink against him and close my eyes, relishing in the closeness and the security a simple hug from Dax provides.

  When he breaks the silence with a whisper, the tender quality of his words combats the sadness battering away at me.

  “You would’ve rocked the hell out of those pink Chucks, Duchess.”

  Cheek pressed firmly against his chest, I smile, eyes still closed, but don’t reply.

  “If I had known you back then, I would’ve spent every last cent of what I’d earned doing odd jobs to get them for you.” He murmurs this against the top of my head before pressing a light kiss to my hair. “Football cleats be damned.”

  A sound of anguish bubbles up from my throat. The staggering reality that I’m so far gone over this man is unmistakable. More terrifying is the undeniable fact that there’s no way I’ll escape this with my heart intact.

  I should grab my bags and sprint out of this house, catch a ride home, and spend the rest of the weekend rebuilding my defenses.

  Instead, I ease away to peer up at him. Those dark lashes framing eyes that will always remind me of the warmest honey, and the dimple I’ll miss seeing and kissing when it’s all said and done. Lips—especially that lush bottom one that begs to be nibbled—that I’m fiercely addicted to kissing. That I can vividly recall skimming over my body, wrapped around my nipples and clit.

  Instead of running from him, I decide that this is it. I will allow myself one last hurrah.

  One final indulgence this weekend with him.

  35

  Dax

  I didn’t think it was possible to hurt—to literally ache—for someone else’s grievances, but it is.

  I feel like an ass for talking about my childhood and Christmas gifts, but I could never have expected her response. I’d gathered that foster care hadn’t been the greatest experience for her, but fuck. The idea of a ten-year-old Darcy, so vulnerable and innocent, wishing for a pair of shoes and having her foster parents take advantage of it—of her—only to laugh at her in the end leaves me gutted.

  Words are only words, but hell… Even as a young kid, I know without a doubt if I had known Darcy back then when I’d been doing every damn job I could find to save up for cleats, I’d have used that money on her instead.

  “If I had known you back then, I would’ve spent every last cent of what I’d earned doing odd jobs to get them for you,” I murmur against the top of her head. With a light kiss to her hair, I whisper, “Football cleats be damned.”

  She makes a choked sound before reaching up to frame my face with her palms. Her thumbs graze along the scruff on my jaw. Rising to her toes, she fits her mouth to mine. Small, tender kisses pepper my lips, each corner of my mouth, and then she begins a slow path over my jaw to trail along the side of my neck. When she nips at my pulse, slightly grazing it with her teeth, I hit my limit.

  My hand flies to her nape, fingers threading in her silky hair, and I use the leverage to guide her mouth back to mine. My other arm bands around her as I tug her closer. My dick immediately hardens, straining against my boxers, begging to be set free. Her hands skim down my bare chest, fingertips tracing the indentations of my abdominals and inciting a fiery surge of lust to barrel through me.

  I suck in a ragged breath and walk backward to the nearest surface and sit, bringing her with me and settling her on my lap. She’s dressed in only the T-shirt I’d worn earlier that now drapes her curves along with a pair of panties, neither of these providing much of a barrier to me. Heat radiates fro
m her body, and my cock aches with the need to bury myself deep inside her.

  Eyes bright with amusement, she lets out a small laugh. “Look at you…” She dips her head to dust a soft kiss to my lips. “Trying to finally put the sex chair to use, huh?”

  I smirk. “Figured you’d want to see what the fuss was all about.”

  “And you think you can show me?” One brow arches in a teasing challenge.

  In response, I swing a leg over the chair, straddling the large seat, and guide her to mirror my pose. She does, albeit with a hint of curiosity in her expression. I lean back and allow my gaze to travel over her before returning to her face. Cheeks flushed, eyes blazing with an intensity and heat, she’s absolutely breathtaking.

  “If you want to test this chair out, you’ll need to get rid of those.” I circle my index finger to indicate her clothing.

  “Well, then.” Her hands grip the hem of the shirt. “Only if you do the same.” In one swift move, she tugs off the shirt and lets it drop to the floor, leaving her bare and so fucking beautiful.

  My eyes trace over her tattoos on either side of her ribs. Rise is inked on one side and Stars shine brightest in darkness on the other. I’d placed my mouth on them and traced my tongue over the letters earlier.

  When I’d asked about the etched words, sure there must be meaning behind them, she’d danced around the subject, so I’d let her change gears. I don’t want to push her. I’m sure she’ll tell me when she’s ready.

  I lift my gaze to where her nipples are hardening, silently begging for my mouth before my attention falls to her lace panties. “Still one more thing to get rid of.” My voice is raspy with need.

  Her gaze is challenging as she rids herself of the scrap of lace. “You’d better not plan for this to be one-sided.”

  I quickly stand, feet planted on either side the chair, and shove my shorts and boxers down and kick them off. But before I can sit down again, she catches me at a disadvantage.

  Her delicate hand fists the thick shaft of my cock. She shifts to rest her knees on the leather chair, bringing her mouth so close to the tip that her hot breath washes over me, and I can’t restrain a groan in response.

  One lick. That’s what she does first. One slow, methodical swipe of her tongue around the flared head of my cock drags a strangled groan from my lips. Her eyes flick up to lock with mine, and my fingers dive into her hair, silently begging her for more.

  Her pink tongue darts out to gather the drop of moisture in the slit at the tip. I hiss out a breath, leaning against the high back of the seat to steady myself. When she slides her mouth over my length, taking me as deep as she can, I clench my jaw against the urge to thrust hard. My hands fist in her hair, tightening their grip, and I risk rocking my hips the smallest fraction.

  Her hands move to my ass, holding me firmly, and she begins sliding her mouth up and down my cock with steady motions. She doesn’t break eye contact, continuing to hold my gaze and watch me.

  I desperately suck air through my parted lips, my breaths coming in fast, harsh pants as her steady rhythm gradually increases. I’m so goddamn hard, and I know I won’t last much longer. Not when she’s looking up at me like this.

  Watchful blue eyes hazy with arousal from having me in her mouth. Lips slick and shiny as they glide along my hard length. Shivers travel down my spine when she hollows out her cheeks. My knees are shaky, about to give out. My abdominals contract as her wicked mouth propels me closer to the edge.

  I clench my jaw and practically grind out the words. “Duchess… you need to stop if you don’t want—”

  The instant she sucks harder, reaching one hand to the underside of my sack and dragging a fingertip along the seam, putting the perfect amount of pressure on the underside of my balls, she makes me lose control.

  “Fuuuck.” I jerk, shooting my release in long, hot spurts. My hands fist tightly in her hair as I empty myself down her throat, and she takes every last drop.

  I tip my head back and close my eyes, willing my knees not to give out and embarrass me completely. Once she finally slides her mouth off me, I can’t restrain a small groan at the loss.

  “Holy shit,” I breathe out quietly, more to myself than her.

  “Mmm.” She presses a light kiss to my stomach, her warm breath sending another rash of shivers through me.

  I wrench my eyes open to peer down at her. “Once I get my second wind, you’d better watch out.”

  She smirks. “Promises, promises.”

  With a mixture of a sigh and a groan, I slowly lower myself to the seat. She leans back to study me with a satisfied expression. Without moving an inch, she quirks one edge of her mouth. “This chair is more… accommodating than I expected.”

  Still slightly dazed and languid, I watch her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Surprising, huh?”

  “It is.”

  My eyes trace a path down her naked body, acting like the slow caress I’d love for my hands to be trailing if I had the energy right now. Hell, I haven’t felt this relaxed in a long time.

  Fixating on that pretty pussy between her thighs, I flick my gaze up to hers.

  “Did it make you wet?” My voice is gravelly, slightly hoarse. “To have your mouth on me?”

  She presses her lips thin as though she’s unsure how forthcoming she wants to be. “Yes.” Her answer comes out in a wisp of breath.

  “Show me.”

  A visible shiver rolls through her. Her nipples tighten, practically begging for me, but I want to watch her. To see her. Leaning back against this chair, I have a perfect vantage point for it.

  Her long legs straddle the seat, mirroring my own. She leans against the chair back, nipples proud and begging for my mouth. Her hands move down her sleek body and hover over each side of her pussy, hesitating, eyes averted. A flicker of what I think is shyness passes over her expression.

  “Hey,” I say softly, waiting for her eyes to lift to mine. “If you’re not comfortable, don’t—”

  “No.” Her response is abrupt, sounding rushed. “I just… I’ve never done this before.” She winces at the confession.

  “Neither have I.” Stunned, I realize I’ve never felt comfortable enough with a woman for this. To be exposed and vulnerable while the other person watches you get yourself off… It’s a whole other level of intimacy.

  Her gaze is searching. I grasp my already hardening shaft and pump my cock slowly with long strokes. Her eyes track my movements.

  “Will you show me?” Her breasts rise and fall with her shallow breaths. After another slow stroke of my cock, I ask again, my voice barely above a whisper. “Will you, Duchess?”

  Lips parted, her eyes darken with arousal, and her voice comes out a touch breathless. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Hold yourself open for me.” My tone is guttural, my abs clenching tight in anticipation. I’m transfixed by the sight of her fingers spreading the glistening lips of her pussy for me.

  “Like this?”

  “Fuck, yes,” I breathe out. At the sight of her spread open, exposing that beautiful clit, my dick hardens even more within my grasp. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

  She shifts slightly, her middle finger moving to her clit. Slow, steady circles with that finger send blood rushing to my cock.

  “Do you…?” She hesitates, her finger slowing as a flush spreads across her cheeks. “When you… Do you use anything?”

  It takes a moment for her question to register—to understand what she’s not saying. “I’m normally in the shower, so I use body wash.”

  Her eyes flick down to where I still hold my dick, fist clenched around the thick shaft. She swallows hard, and her voice is small. “You could rub it against me and get it wet so you could…”

  I physically jerk in response. Jesus. She’s just offered to let me rub my dick against her pussy for fucking lube. To jack myself off.

  I heave out a heavy breath. “Would that turn you on?” I watch her carefully. “To see my har
d cock rubbing against your perfect white skin?”

  Her nipples tighten. “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll do it.”

  I shift forward, moving closer to her. Our knees bump, and she lifts one foot up to brace it against my chair back. I fist my cock, bringing the tip to her slick entrance, and barely bite back a groan. The urge to press farther and sink deep inside her wetness is fierce. I grit my teeth to restrain myself.

  I brace a hand against the seat back on one side of her head while I take another pass, dragging the thick head of my cock through her wetness. Her eyes track the movements, her finger working that sweet clit faster. With my hand, I spread her arousal along the length of my shaft before dragging the flared head over her folds again.

  “Will you do this with me?” Her husky voice is filled with desire.

  “You want me to touch myself?” I wait for her to meet my gaze. Once she does, I add, “You want to watch me jerk off, wet from your sweet pussy?”

  “God, yes,” she pants, back arching, eyes hazy with lust.

  She’s close. Goddamn, she’s so fucking beautiful. Blond hair falling around her shoulders, the ends teasing the top slopes of her breasts, lips parted, cheeks flushed.

  I drag my cock along her entrance, gathering more of her wetness on my skin. My grip glides along the shaft in even, thorough strokes. My attention volleys back and forth between her face and the finger working her clit. Her heavy-lidded gaze focuses on me, on the way my fingers grip my length.

  “I’m so close.” Her whispered words ricochet through me, sending another surge of arousal strumming through my veins. My strokes are faster now, unsteady, nearly matching her frenzied circles on her clit.

  “That’s it, Duchess.” I swallow hard, watching the movement of her finger while her other hand continues to hold her pussy lips. They’re glistening, and I’m torn by the desire to either dive face-first and lap up the sweet wetness or bury my cock deep inside her.