by Carly Keene
“Violet, shut up,” Adera pleads. Then she gets up from the table. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.”
“Do you fancy Sexy Neighbor yourself, Vi?” I ask.
Violet tilts her head on one side and thinks. “No. I don’t think so. He seems too nice for me. Right up Adera’s virgin alley, of course.” We try not to snicker, having watched poor shy Adera get into and out of relationships over the last three years without ever giving up her V-card.
Violet shoves my arm. “Go say hi. You’ve got nothing to lose.”
Right then, Danny Broadway looks over his shoulder and sees me.
CHAPTER FOUR
Danny
I’m hanging out at Magruder’s with Luis and a couple of the other guys, listening to the band. I might drink half a beer, if I feel like it. There are girls around, but somehow I’m not interested. I can’t get the curvy photographer off my mind.
“Luis?”
My best buddy on the team gives me a quizzical look. “You’re thinking about a girl?”
What the hell? “How did you know?”
He shrugs. “I been thinkin’ about a girl. I know what it’s like.”
“Huh. Tell me about this girl. Where’d you meet her?”
Luis is shy. He’s a nice-looking dude, well-spoken, a great catcher, but girls make him shy. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand romance, though.
Now, he looks away, hitching his big shoulders up around his ears. He mutters something.
“Did you say ‘laundry room’?” I ask, incredulous. He shrugs, and his olive cheeks go a shade darker. “Whose laundry room? At the ballpark?”
He shakes his head.
“Where, like the laundromat? Your apartment?”
He shrugs again. “Doesn’t matter. Anyway, I live near her, and she’s so pretty. I just, I don’t know.”
“Why wouldn’t you just ask her out?”
He mutters something again.
“Embarrassing?” I repeat. “Dude, what could be that embarrassing? Unless she caught you with your pants down or something.” I snicker. “In which case you could have just showed it off.”
His cheeks go darker.
“Never mind,” I say, seeing this conversation go off the tracks. “Never mind. Listen, did you see the photographer today?”
He nods, his face going back to its normal cheerful expression. “She was nice. She’s not that long out of art school. Wants to be a serious photographer, but in the meantime, studio portraits are paying the bills. I liked her.”
The news makes me blink. So she’s a trained artist. That takes devotion—much like baseball.
“What, you didn’t like her?” Luis grins suddenly. “Or you did?”
“I did,” I say, with dignity. “But she didn’t like me. Much,” I amend, remembering the kiss. I shiver, and have to give myself a squeeze through my pocket to calm down. “Or maybe she was kinda into me, but she didn’t like me. I don’t know.”
“Call her tomorrow,” Luis suggests. “Get to know her. Invite her to a game. Or on a picnic or something.”
“A picnic?” The little brain in my pants throws up visions of those curvy brown legs spread apart on a picnic basket, and the squeeze I gave myself a minute ago becomes totally worthless as my dick jumps.
“Something casual. Not dinner and a late movie, not Netflix-and-chill, not dancing. Something innocent. You look too much like a player.”
I sigh. “I am a player.”
“Well, quit.”
I think about it. Giving up lots of girls—who, I’m pretty sure, mostly like me for being a ball player, or maybe for the cash I might pull down if I ever make it to the majors—for feisty, gorgeous Marisha?
Hmm.
I bet she’s worth it.
“You’re smiling,” Luis says. He looks past my head. “Oh shit,” he mutters. “Fuck.”
“Somebody you don’t want to see?” I turn to look, too.
Oh shit is right—it’s Marisha. She’s with two other girls—one sweet-looking blonde with pink cheeks, and one girl with black hair in an elaborate bun. The blonde gets up, carrying her purse, and I turn back to Luis, quick. “I kissed her.”
“You what?”
“It—we argued—I was kind of an asshole and she was kind of a bitch, and then—oh shit. I don’t know, Luis, she just does shit to me. I want her bad.”
“You kissed her?”
“She kissed back. And then she shoved me out.”
“Go apologize,” Luis says, and then he looks back at the girls. His face changes.
“Aha,” I say. “It’s the blonde. The girl from the laundry room.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“What did you do?” I say, and punch him on the elbow.
“Not with your pitching hand!” he says, indignant.
“This is not Bull Durham and I’m not Nuke and you are for sure not Crash,” I say, annoyed. “Also, a little chuck on the shoulder never hurt anybody, whether they’re chuck-er or chuckee.”
“Go apologize,” Luis says. “Or I will.”
I look back, and this time Marisha is looking right at me. My stomach swoops, and my dick jumps again. Oh, fuck it. Okay. I’ll apologize again. I was not very gentlemanly.
On the other hand, I do not want to be gentlemanly with her. I don’t have time for that, not if I’m going to have everything with her.
I sit back, stunned at my own brain (the real one, not the little one). Everything? I imagine what everything means, and I think: lazy Saturday mornings in bed. Cooking bacon and eggs for her. Dancing. Kissing. Fucking. Maybe having babies. Maybe going to her gallery show and watching her sell her art photographs. I roll that all around in my head, and it all sounds good. Taking her to meet my parents?
I look at her again.
Yeah. All of that. The feisty look on her face, the softness of her round breasts, the spicy-sweet taste of her mouth—like cinnamon whiskey. Something in the back of my head says, This one, idiot. This one.
I pat Luis on the back and stand up. “Thanks.”
I walk right up to her. “Hey,” I say, “I forgot to get your phone number.”
Her chin comes up, all feisty again, and I smile. “You’re pretty full of yourself.”
“I just know,” I say. “I know it’s you and me, and I’m not giving up.”
She blinks. “Violet, this is Darrell Broadway. He plays baseball, or something.”
Violet has pale green eyes and is tall and curvy, and I bet she has guys drooling over her the time. I can’t imagine anyone less like a violet flower; she has tattoos and probably eats motorcycle gangs for breakfast. Next to Marisha, she’s not that interesting.
“Nice to meet you, Violet.”
Violet holds out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Darrell.”
I don’t even correct her. I look back at Marisha. “Want to dance?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Marisha
Hell, yeah, I want to dance. And I also want to run screaming from the room.
“Go,” Violet says to me, giving me a gentle push in the back.
Danny takes my arm, then escorts me from the restaurant area into the dance area, his hand warm on my lower back. “You look really nice,” he says.
“Same clothes I was wearing earlier,” I say as we turn to face each other.
“You were beautiful then too.”
Damn. This is another pair of panties that I’m going to soak through. Especially when his arms go around me and I can smell his skin, warm and musky under the spicy cologne he’s wearing. “I was kind of an asshole earlier,” he says in a conversational way. “I’m sorry about that. And I’m really glad I ran into you this evening.”
My nipples have gone to pebbles under my blouse, and I’m super-aware of my silky panties.
I should be thinking how this guy is going to screw me and then screw me over, just like Evan Yarnell did in high school. But I keep stopping on the screwing part and forgetting the over part, and I
already know I’m going to sleep with him.
“Tell me about your other friend,” he says, “the blonde one. I think my friend Luis likes her.”
“Adera? Sweetest girl in the world. I think she knows him.”
“Do you know what happened in the laundry room?”
“No,” I say, getting interested. “Do you?”
“No. I have never seen Luis blush like that, though.” He pulls back and smiles at me. “He was picking on me for being stupid with women, and then he pulls that shy shit.”
“You’re not shy,” I say drily.
“No,” he says, and then he says, “It’s mostly an act, though. Because Han Solo’s my hero. My not-baseball hero.”
Dammit, I am losing ground to stand on here. A Solo fan? I’m toast. “Who’s your baseball hero?”
“Curt Schilling. C’mon, pitching through a World Series game with blood pouring into his sock? That’s balls. Or Nolan Ryan, always loved him.” He shifts his hand on my back slightly, almost caressing me. “Who’s your photography hero?”
“Annie Leibovitz for sure. Elizabeth Messina. Richard Avedon. Oh, lots.” And then I drop my bomb. “But I’m a sci-fi movie nerd, and Han’s my guy. Always has been.”
He grins big. Doesn’t say anything.
“I’m not sleeping with you,” I say.
“I’ll wait until you’re ready,” he says.
“Bullshit. I heard all about you this afternoon, how you’re blowing batters away with your curveball. How the big leagues are gonna call you up any minute.” I shrug. “I know about the Baseball Annies.”
“Not interested. Too easy to get.”
“Oh, you like me because I’m difficult?”
He touches my cheek. “No. Because you’re worth it.”
My dad has always said loving my mother was worth it. I choke up a little. “You don’t know me.”
“I will, though.” He says it so confidently. “Say my name, Marisha.”
“Danny,” I say. I’ve been falling all afternoon, and now I fall even farther. I can’t resist. “Take me home, Danny.”
He doesn’t move right away. He stops dead in the middle of the dance floor and kisses me again, and it lasts forever, and by the time we come out of it, I’m shaking and wet and I can feel his cock hard against my belly. He looks into my eyes. “I’ll take you.”
He drives my car to my apartment, and the second he parks we’re kissing again, as close as we can get with the parking brake in the way. “Come upstairs,” I pant.
We kiss all the way up the stairs and into my place, and I don’t bother with the lights until we get to my bedroom, and then I turn on the hall light on the way to the bed: just enough light to see, not enough to make it clinical. Then his hands are in my hair, light sparking in those electric-blue eyes of his, and I want to make him as crazy as he’s been making me all day. I go straight for the belt buckle.
He kicks off his shoes, and puts his hands on my thighs, sliding them up under my skirt. “Marisha.”
“What?” I kiss his neck.
“Just you. That’s all.” He slides his hands around to cup my butt. “The minute I saw you, I wanted you. And it made me cranky, because nobody should look that fucking sexy at work.”
“This is not sexy,” I say, pointing at my skirt. “This is just girls’ night clothes.”
“It’s not the clothes,” he says. “It’s you. Just you. Damn.”
He kisses me, pulling my silky blouse off slowly and then touching my breasts through my bra. “So beautiful,” he whispers, and then kisses each breast through the material. My nipples are tiny, rock-hard, and when he takes each one in turn into his mouth, sucking it through my bra, I moan.
His shirt comes off. Socks. Jeans. My shoes. My skirt. I take off my bra, watching him catch his breath as my boobs bounce loose. “I need to touch you,” Danny says, voice rough. He rolls me to my back on the bed, and kisses and caresses my breasts before working his way down my belly. I suck it in. “Stop that,” he says, absently. “It’s you. I love it.”
Then he’s kissing my mound through my panties and whispering that I smell good, and tugging my underwear down. “Yours too,” I say, and reach for his boxers, only to gasp when I get a hand on his cock through the material.
He’s huge. Long, thick, everything I’d always dreamed about. I tug on the boxers and his cock pops out. I stretch up and kiss the head of it, where a bead of moisture is collecting. He makes a noise. “Stop, it’s your turn.”
Then his hands are gentle between my thighs, light on my bare pussy, spreading me open for his tongue. At the first lick, I moan and writhe, my hands going involuntarily to touch my nipples. He doesn’t stop. He gives me feathery licks at first, soft strokes along my pussy, and then when I get wetter, his touch gets firmer. “Don’t stop,” I gasp.
He doesn’t stop. He keeps going, in a rhythm that sets my blood on fire, and when my orgasm hits me, my hips jerk in a dance I can’t stop. He licks me through it, only stopping once my contractions cease.
“Fuck, Marisha, I want you so bad,” he says, electric blue eyes lit up with passion. “I want you so good.” He reaches for his pants, fumbling. “I bought condoms.”
“I’m on the pill,” I say, “but we should be sensible.”
He just nods, his beautiful mouth firm and set and his cock rock-hard.
“Let me suck you,” I say.
“Later,” he says, and rolls on the condom. “I need you now.”
“Yes, now.”
He’s stiff against my entrance, and then he’s inside me, making me cry out with pleasure. “You feel so good,” he growls. “Never been anybody . . . Not like you.”
I wrap my legs around him and we pump together. It’s slow at first. I feel so full, like he’s all the way up in my belly, and another orgasm starts to pulse in my pussy. I’m so wet, so aching. Danny’s holding me so close, and I can feel his heart beating. He takes one nipple into his mouth, rubbing the other, and my body is so alive.
“So beautiful,” he says again.
I reach down to where we’re joined together and play with his balls, making him groan and thrust faster. “You feel so good,” I echo to him. “I’ve been thinking about you all evening. About kissing you. About what it would be like to have you inside me.”
“Like this,” he says. “Like this.” He pulls back from me and holds my legs farther apart by my ankles. “I want to watch my cock in your pussy, you look so beautiful all spread out like this, fuck, Marisha, I knew we would be so good together.” He lets go of one ankle to flick his thumb gently over my clit, and my climax hits me fast and unexpected again, so hard that my vision goes dark for a second.
“That is so fucking lovely,” Danny says, panting between thrusts, “your pussy coming on me, so beautiful—oh fuck, I can’t. Can’t hold it.” Right then, I feel the gush of hot juices inside me, filling me with his cum. He collapses to one side of me, kissing my temple. “So good. I think I could die happy right now.”
“I couldn’t,” I say, reaching down again to touch myself and feel how wide he stretched me. Everything is messy and satisfied down there. I sigh. “I want to do that again.”
“Maybe next week,” Danny says into the pillow. I turn my head to look at him, the expanse of his strong back and his tight, muscular ass. I stroke one hand down the length of his back.
“What, you’re exhausted already?” I can hear the laughter in my voice. “You’re an athlete. Where’s your stamina?”
His back moves, and he’s laughing too. “You’re an energetic woman. Okay, fine, you win. We’ll do it again later.”
I haven’t had enough of him yet. I straddle his waist, then sit back on his buttocks, stroking his back in a light massage. “Mmm,” he says sleepily.”
I’m still aroused, despite my two orgasms. He feels good under me, and I wiggle a little, rocking my clit against his hard buttocks.
“Shit,” he says, still into the pillow. “You need more?�
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CHAPTER SIX
Danny
This girl could wear me out.
I’d be happy to go this way. The last girlfriend I had was three years ago, and it seemed like she didn’t want sex as much as I did. It’s been short-term stuff since then, nobody worthwhile—not like Marisha. Not like this caramel-skinned beauty, with her corkscrew hair and her lovely full breasts, her fierceness, her wide smile and the incredible heat of her tight, sweet pussy.
I feel her grinding against my ass, and I can’t help smiling. I need a minute, but she still wants me. “You need more?”
“I’m just keepin’ warm,” she says. “You relax.”
Even though I’ve just blown a massive wad, my dick is starting to swell under me again as her fingers caress my back in a gentle massage. It’s not very long before I roll back over, smiling up at my beautiful curvy girl.
“Already?” she says in surprise, looking at my stiffening dick.
“Not quite yet. But it won’t take long.” I put my hands on her generous hips and pull her to where she can glide along me, her sweet wet pussy lips on either side of my cock. “Especially if you do that.” I keep my hands on her hips, helping her move, watching her face.
“I suppose you think I never had a good fuck until you came along?” she teases, and my breath catches in my throat as she seems to get wetter.
“I think you never had anything like me,” I say, “and I sure never had anything as good as you before. Not even close.” I look down to where she’s still sliding her vulva back and forth on my cock, faster now. “This might be the sexiest thing I have ever seen.”
“Oh?” Her voice is higher now, and she’s breathing harder.
