“You never did tell me what you’re majoring in.”
“I’m working toward a bachelor of science degree in order to get into veterinarian school.”
“Impressive.”
She nods slightly, and I imagine the pink tinge to her cheeks. “We’ll see. I have to get in first.”
“You will.” My knee nudges hers. “Besides being a natural around dogs, you’re pretty damn smart, partner.”
Appreciation coats her eyes. I saw it earlier when I made reference to her intellect. It’s almost as if no one has told her she’s smart. Surely, she realizes her potential.
“Thanks, but I have to work at it.”
That line reminds me of when we first met in lab. She kept making references of having to pass the class. The girl’s confident in every aspect of her life except her intelligence? That makes no sense. “Most people do, Pole Girl.”
The slight glaze to her eyes makes me swallow hard. All I want to do is wrap myself around her and protect her from the asshole who broke her self-esteem. My mouth parts, the question of who hurt her on the tip of my tongue, but I’m left wordless as her gaze dips to my lips. Sudden images of claiming her flash in my brain as I watch her tongue run across her bottom lip. I don’t move, afraid to sever this moment. A beat passes before she takes a stuttering breath and shifts her focus back to the scant number of stars.
“So, what do you like to do in Philly?” I ask, trying to get a semblance of calm over this rush of hormones wracking my body.
“Dance!” she says without hesitation.
“Oh yeah? Think you have moves?”
She flashes her dark brown eyes my way, and the look she has sears into my soul. That half-chub I’ve been sporting ever since being with her, springs to life.
“Yo, we come out of the womb booty dancing. Hip-hop’s in our blood.”
The visual of her out on the dance floor shaking her very fine ass floods my body with warmth. Holy shit, that’s something I want to see. Very badly.
“We’ll have to go sometime. I think I need proof.”
The corners of her eyes crinkle. “Is that your backwards way of asking me on a date?”
“Maybe so.” I lean toward her, our mouths barely touching.
“Well, when you get your big boy panties on and ask me like a grown-up, I’ll consider it.”
God, this girl. I haven’t asked a girl out on a date for three years, and the first time I do, she shoots me down? Although, she’s right—I didn’t technically ask—but I don’t want to mess this up by rushing things.
“How about I kiss you instead.” I drop my gaze to her mouth as she parts her lips. My heartbeat speeds up, afraid of words I don’t want to hear. When she doesn’t protest, our hands part and I bridge the gap, but it’s her that initiates the kiss. Her soft and tantalizing lips are everything I’ve remembered from the first kiss I stole from her. But unlike the last time, there’s demand behind her movements. She cups her hands along my jawline and sucks my tongue into her mouth as if it’s an unspoken plea for more. I let her take charge fascinated by the sense of urgency contradicting those protective walls she keeps trying to build. But face it, those attempts to shield herself are fruitless. She can deny all she wants, but something other than hormones draws us to each other. An intellectually based challenge maybe?
I quit analyzing and enjoy the taste of her. My hand weaves through her hair until it cradles the back of her head.
“You taste so good,” I groan out and then take over the pace as our tongues continue their exploration of each other. She moans inside my mouth, and it vibrates straight to my dick. My appreciation for the darkness grows tenfold as my hardness strains against my zipper.
This need to touch her, to have skin upon skin contact, is too hard to fight. I drop my hand to her calf, back behind her knee, and up her thigh. It’s a heady sensation of calloused hands and smooth skin. My body buzzes with heat, but all advancement stops when my fingertips skim along the hem of her dress. I want to go farther. To feel firsthand how wet she is for me. To see her face when I bring her over the edge. But I don’t. I’m not screwing whatever this is between us up.
I concede control of the kiss, the tempo, and pace as she explores my mouth. I teasingly stroke my fingers along her thigh, never going higher than the length of her dress. But it’s pretty damn short so the advantage goes to me. I’m not complaining. Especially when she molds her tight body against my torso as much as the seats allow. Why the fuck did I take her here of all places? Any place else would’ve been a better choice. Hell, the fucking beach with sand riding up your ass would’ve been better than these hard, plastic seats.
All complaints about location drop when she runs her hands along the outline of my throbbing cock. Layers of cotton, separating her flesh from mine, makes no difference, and I blame my lack of action these last few months for the blinding assault coursing through my veins. Her palming my cock, fully clothed or not, feels incredibly good. I give a slight squeeze to her thigh, the tips of my fingers inching past the danger zone. I remain strong and don’t advance farther.
She lets out another moan that’s equal parts need and frustration. She pulls away from the kiss with a feral look to her stare, her hand still rubbing against the outline of my dick. She’s sexy-hot with her hair slightly askew, flushed face, and chest rising and falling with each pant. Her voice breathy, she asks, “What are you doing to me?”
“I think the bigger question is ‘what are you doing to me?’” As if on cue, my dick pulsates beneath her palm.
Her eyes darken as she licks her lips and then asks the one question I never thought would fall from her lips. “Do you have protection?”
Hell, yes. “In my wallet.”
“Good.” Her hands fly to my zipper in a fury, I lift my hips as she works the shorts down. She practically rips my boxer briefs off while I loop my fingers around her underwear and tug them down. My dick springs forward, much to her delight, if the way she licks her lips and eyes me is any indication.
I scoot to where I’m almost hanging off the edge of the seat. It’s uncomfortable as fuck, and I question again my judgment for coming here. But then she moves to straddle my legs, and being comfy is the farthest from my mind. She hikes her dress past her hips. I almost shoot my load from the sight of her bare pussy. Fuck me, she’s a beautiful sight.
“I need you,” she whispers.
So much for keeping this slow. But damn, she’s too tempting. So much so, she’s throwing off my game. Usually, I get the girl off first, sort of like a courtesy, but Cara’s taking charge of this entire encounter.
Her gaze bores into mine as I roll on the condom. The intensity in her eyes is both questionable and demanding. As much as I want this, I want to make sure we’re on the same page. That I haven’t unknowingly pressured her.
“Are you sure this is what you want? I’m willing to take it slow.”
She nods as she lines the tip of my cock to her entrance. “For the love of God, quit talking. Are you always this chatty?”
This girl. I chuckle, but it cuts off when she sinks onto me. I’m lost to the warmth embracing my cock buried deep inside her. She starts moving nice and slow. Each downward plunge matched by my upward thrust. It’s invigorating knowing Cara is mounting me. Thank fuck for my regular beating-off sessions. Otherwise, I would have embarrassed myself long before now. She feels that good, that tight.
Holy shit, I’ll never think of this stadium the same again.
“You feel so good,” I say. She answers back with a muffled moan. I grip her hips but let her control the pace. It takes everything I have not to take over, but it’s worth seeing the empowerment on her face. She’s sexy as fuck, holding onto my shoulders and riding my cock.
“Do you like this?” My hands slip to her bare ass as I continue to drive inside her.
“Shut up. You know you have a big cock.”
That I do, but it’s nice to know she agrees. “You look like you’re en
joying it.”
“Every. Last. Inch.”
We continue this pace, consumed by the feel of each other. The game of cat-and-mouse coming to an end. The paper walls crumbling around her as I pump harder, faster. Moans and heavy breathing fill the stadium as the moonlight beams illuminate her beautiful features.
“Cara,” I say, her name a warning. I’m almost there. I slip a finger over her sensitized nub and rub. Her core clenches my cock, and it doesn’t take long before she comes unglued. She milks every inch of my erection with my name on her lips. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed, and my own climax slams through me hard.
“Holy shit,” I say. Lust-filled brown eyes stare back at me. I give her a smirk. “That was incredible, Pole Girl.”
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Don’t be shy, now,” I say.
“I’m not. It’s just, I…”
Apparently, I screw people senseless. I let out a small chuckle and let her off the hook. “Here, let’s get cleaned up.”
Once we get dressed, I tie a knot at the end and place the spent condom in my pocket, knowing I can’t leave it in the stadium. Then, I pull her back down on top of my lap. Her body is a little rigid, which won’t do. I want my girl as comfortable as possible. She may have said no regrets, but I want to make sure.
“Relax, Pole Girl.”
She tries. She leans her body back and rests her head against my shoulder. Wrapping my arms around her, I kiss the top of her shoulder. “I told you so.”
She scrunches her eyebrows. “About what?”
“You’d be begging for me to come inside you.”
She smacks my side half-heartedly. “You’re such an arrogant ass.”
“Mmhmm, but I’m an arrogant ass that’s encapsulated by you. I’ve wanted you from the first time I saw you.”
“And now that you had me, do you still?”
“Without a doubt. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.” The conviction in my voice should smash any doubts plaguing her. She’s obviously been burned before. But no way are we done exploring what we have together, not by a long shot.
“Why do you want me?”
“You don’t lie,” I say without pause. After my ex-girlfriend spent half of the year lying to me, I vowed to never trust anyone again. Cara’s not like that. “Plus, you challenge me. There’s something between us that doesn’t exist with others.” I shrug. “And I just like you.”
Seemingly satisfied with my answer she relaxes into my hold. And that’s how we remain, sitting behind home plate in an empty ball field, snuggled under the scant blanket of stars. I’m in total bliss. The best girl is in my arms, and I’m never letting go.
That’s a guarantee.
Chapter Twenty-Three
CARA
Cessna’s New Mascot, a Dog?
Rumor has it, a stray dog has been dubbed the unofficial mascot for Cessna University’s baseball program.
If you see this little furry creature running around campus, he’ll answer to the name of Miller, but watch out. He’ll be sure to give you lots of licks and puppy dog kisses.
Be on the lookout for the canine wildcat!
Till next rumor.
Mel G.
Rumor Has It, CU’s newest gossip column.
This man is impossible. Once again, I find myself sitting in Alan’s office on a late Tuesday afternoon. Today’s article about Miller wasn’t enough to appease his appetite for slamming the baseball team, particularly Braxton. With the way Alan’s scrutinizing me over next week’s article, I’m rethinking my decision to be here alone. Staying anonymous is proving to be a chore.
“This isn’t what I asked for.” Alan motions toward the monitor screen.
“What you want is slanderous material, and I won’t write it.”
“You’re hardly in the position to argue. I want something people will devour. I gave you a lead with his slacking performance. What happened to that article?”
I didn’t write it. I had sex with him instead. Mind-blowing sex, I might add. “I didn’t think nosing around during baseball practices this time of year would be a good idea.”
“Perhaps, you’re right. You can dig deeper. You can find out what secrets he’s hiding. Has he done anything to jeopardize his NCAA standing?”
My jaw falls slack. All the skirting around any topic involving Braxton will never work. He wants legit actual dirt. “Why do you want to bring down Braxton? I don’t understand.”
He clamps his jaw shut and takes a few calming breaths. “We’ve discussed this already. The department is funded by the school, but the additional funding from advertising is crucial. When our numbers are up, it makes the advertisers happy.”
“No, what you want is gossip or dirt to intentionally destroy a guy’s career.”
“You have one wild imagination.” He chuckles. Fucking chuckles as if I’m stupid enough to not see he’s gaslighting me. “I simply mean for you to be clever enough to boost ratings.”
“Is that so? Then depend on other newspaper sections because I’m not writing anything else about the baseball team or Braxton.” I really thought writing about Miller would be enough to whet his appetite. Evidently, he’s famished and wants a five-course meal.
“It’d be in your best interests to remember grades are highly dependent on performances and abilities to get along with instructors.” The evil glint to his stare sends chills down my spine. My cell buzzes a text, a much welcome break from the tension. I glance at the screen in my lap and can’t help but smile at the delicious abs staring at me.
Braxton: Where are you?
My fingers itch to reply, but I don’t dare. There’s no way I can tell him I’m with Alan. Shame spirals through me. One of the things he likes about me is my truthfulness. What a joke. If he ever finds out I’ve been lying to him this entire time, it will be the end of whatever we have. No, I’ll respond when I’m walking back to the dorm. But one thing’s for certain; seeing Braxton’s name—and that body—reaffirms my decision. I won’t write anything slanderous again.
How could I after riding him like a cowgirl in heat Saturday night? I still don’t know what came over me. I blame the combination of being at the empty baseball field and witnessing his vulnerable side. Deep appreciation settled in his stare when he studied the outfield. But I also saw indecision swirling behind those eyes. Regardless of what he decides to do if and when he gets drafted, that boy loves baseball. He had the same hungry look as my brother.
But there’s more. Braxton said there’s something between us, and I have to agree. Whether I want to admit it or not, I like being with him. I vowed to never cave to another baseball player, but that’s exactly what I did. Not only did I fall hard, I fell back into my old habit of having sex before a relationship. But I’m not worried. This time is different. He said I’m stuck with him. He may not have meant forever, but it’s still comforting.
“I’m done writing gossip columns. You’re going to have to reassign me or accept the articles I submit.”
Alan drops his fist on the table and yells, “You will give me what I’m asking for or—”
“You know what? I can’t take this anymore. I’m dropping the class.” The chair scoots from underneath as I push onto my feet. I squeeze my phone tighter to try to stop my hands from shaking. My heart races from the possibility of kissing my dream of becoming a veterinarian goodbye. But what else can I do? My dream isn’t worth hurting someone I care about. If I had to write about my brother, I’d quit in a heartbeat. Braxton isn’t any different. As much as I tried fighting my feelings toward him, I care. A lot.
“I’d hate for anything to get leaked.”
Alan’s words stop me in my tracks. I shoot him a glare. “Are you seriously threatening me?”
He doesn’t answer and gives a nonchalant shrug. “Drop the class if you want. Makes no difference to me.”
I turn on my heels without saying another word and march straight to the admiss
ions office. I ignore the tears welling in my eyes, threatening to spill over. Subtracting myself from the equation is the right thing to do. My only choice. I feel good about the direction Braxton and I are heading. We’ve been texting. Our banter in class hasn’t stopped. Even though he hasn’t officially asked me out on a date, I know he will. We’re at a good place.
As each step closes the distance to admissions, I can’t help but think doing the right thing sure feels like my dream is slipping away.
Chapter-Twenty-Four
Braxton
Another shitty practice in the books. Go me. More than a little agitated with myself, I hit the showers. Placing my hands against the wall, I lean forward and let the hot water knead my taut muscles. I’ve got to get out of this funk I’m in. I don’t understand why this baseball year is hitting me so hard. Well, I know why—I don’t know what I want to do at the end of the season—but I’m a competitive motherfucker so nothing about my performance makes sense.
I would blame today’s crappy hitting on the tightness in my back, but I’m not going there. No way. I’ll gladly trade a tight back for the reward that came with getting it. But the next time Cara and I screw, it won’t be in a stadium.
It has been three days since she rode my dick, and that’s one sight I’ll always treasure. And now, I’m remembering how she felt which makes my dick twitch. That is not good when showering with a group of men.
“Smith, are you stiff?”
What the hell?
My head snaps to the left where Garret stands under the spray, and I automatically shield my dick with the washcloth. I manage to choke out, “What?”
“Your back. You seemed a little stiff when you swung the bat.”
For the love of all that’s holy, I’m glad he’s talking about my back. “Yeah, my muscles tightened up over the weekend.”
Totally worth it.
SWINGING STRIKE: Cessna U Wildcats Book One Page 17
