He groans before his mouth falls to mine. I open to him, and his tongue dives down, tangling, pulling every last ounce of self-control I have left. I clamp my legs around his waist and thrust my hips into his cock when he slides up and down, creating the most beautifully exquisite friction I’ve ever felt.
One stroke.
Two.
Oh fuck, every nerve ending is on fire as my throbbing clit spasms along his length.
“Fuck, oh my God, yes, Knox, yes,” I yell, my orgasm hitting me so damn hard that my mouth falls open, but no words escape me.
It goes on forever, sending wave after wave of pleasure up my spine.
“Christ,” Knox groans and then stills as wet, hot spurts hit my stomach. His orgasm is sexy, the way his voice rumbles deep in his chest and his body shakes above mine. So freaking sexy. Chest filled with air, he expels it and then collapses on top of me. The weight of his body comforting, like a heated blanket on a cold, wintery day.
My hand travels up and down his back as his lips press gently into my neck. He takes in a deep breath and sighs.
“Fuck, babe, I don’t want you to leave.”
“I know.” His head lifts, and he pushes a stray lock of hair behind my ear. I hate that we won’t see each other for a month. “What happens if you run into an old fling in Texas?” I hate how insecure I sound right now, but I can’t help it. I’m close to tears. I don’t want to leave him. I don’t want to lose him.
“Clearly I’m going to fuck her.” His joking smile does nothing to ease my worry. “Come on.” He squeezes my side. “You know I’m kidding.”
“I hate to be that girl, but I don’t find that crap funny. You know what happened with—”
“Shit, Em, I didn’t mean it like that.” Immediately his face softens with understanding. “I’m sorry.” He leans down and runs his lips over mine before pressing his palm above my heart. “This right here, this belongs to me.” He takes my hand and presses it above his heart. “And this, this right here belongs to you. There is nothing you need to worry about, okay?”
I know he’s right. He’s done nothing but show me true commitment. Through our make-out phase. He’s been patient, willing to wait, even now when he showed incredible restraint. Respect. He wants to know me, not just my body, and I truly love that about him.
“Okay.” Tears start to well in my eyes. This is so stupid. I was never supposed to get involved with someone right after Neil, but somehow, Knox Gentry wiggled his way into my world, and I can’t seem to shake him . . . not that I want to. The darkness that clouded my heart after Neil and I broke up has gone, and my soul is beginning to feel again.
Knox is everything I’ve hoped for in a man. He makes me laugh, he challenges me, keeps me on my toes, and . . . he cares about me. In the last few months, he’s shown me the type of man he is: genuine.
“Hey, don’t get upset.” One tear falls down my cheek and I blink rapidly to hold back the others.
“I’m sorry.” I wipe my eyes, chastising myself for showing emotion like this. “This is stupid, I don’t know why I’m getting so upset.”
“Because you like me . . . a lot, and you’re going to miss me.” When I don’t answer him, he says, “You don’t have to say it, Em. I can see it. I can feel it. And guess what, I’m going to miss you so fucking bad too.”
With both hands, I cup his cheeks and bring his mouth to mine where I seal our lips together, wanting to capture as much of him as possible before I leave.
One month without Knox.
One month without his smile, his laugh, his teasing.
One month without his caring caresses and insane surprises.
One month without his hands, his mouth, his cock.
One month without . . . us.
I’m not sure how I’m going to make it.
I just hope after one month apart he still wants to be with me, because even though I wasn’t looking for this, he’s stolen my heart. And I don’t want him to let go.
Maybe ever.
Chapter Twenty-Three
KNOX
“Tell me all about her,” my mom says, taking a seat across from me, tea in hand and a plate of toffee from Grandma Sue between us.
“Where do I start?” I ask, looking at the ceiling of our humble ranch on our three acres of property. It’s small compared to most properties in our ranching town, but we’ve lived here for nearly twenty years, have two horses and some chickens, doesn’t take a huge amount of maintenance, so it works for our family.
“Do you have a picture?” Ever since I got back home, my mom has been grilling me to talk about Emory, but I keep putting her off, wanting to get some much-needed sleep from the grueling semester. When I woke up this morning, I told her I’d tell her everything she wants to know after I worked out, took some swings in the cages, and did some chores around the house.
Once I was out of the shower and dressed, she was waiting outside my bedroom, tin of toffee in hand, and a giddy look on her face. All she said was, “It’s time.”
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and hold up the screen to her. A few weeks ago, I changed my lock screen and wallpaper to a picture of Emory smiling at me. Her honey-colored hair falls past her shoulders in waves, she’s wearing one of those sexy skirts of hers, and her thick lips are painted in pink. Sometimes, I just stare at it because that’s how infatuated I am.
Gushing, my mom says, “Oh Knox, she’s beautiful. How cute are you for having her on your phone?” She studies the picture a little harder. “Are those her real lips?”
“Yes.” I hold back the sigh. They’re very much real; if only I knew how they felt around my cock.
“Well, she’s stunning, but does her personality match her looks?”
“Easily,” I answer, taking the phone back. “She’s really sweet, timid at times, and I don’t think she realizes how beautiful she really is. And fuck, Mom, she’s funny. Loves giving me shit.”
“Now that’s my kind of girl.” She sips from her tea. “Are you in love?”
I shrug, truly unsure. “I’m obsessed, not sure about love. I’ve never been in love before, so I don’t really know. But, I will tell you this, I fucking miss her hard right now.”
There’s a twinkle in my mom’s eye, and I think she knows something I don’t—something I might be a little afraid to admit at this point in our relationship—so I let her have her suspicions.
“Did you get her a Christmas present?”
“Yeah.” I pick up a piece of toffee and pop it in my mouth, letting the flavors melt on my tongue before chewing. Grandma Sue knows her way around a toffee recipe. “Got her a little heart necklace, just something to let her know I’m always with her.”
My mom clasps her hands to her heart. “Oh, that’s so sweet. I raised such a lovely boy.”
“Yeah, you did some things right,” I tease.
“Some things? I did a lot of things right with you boys. All so sensitive and polite, I couldn’t be prouder.” Her lips hover the edge of her mug before she says, “Now, are you using protection?”
I roll my eyes, knowing that was coming. “Don’t worry, Mom, we haven’t had sex.” Dry-humping, yes. Dry-humping with no clothes, yes, but actual sex . . . that’s a big fat nope.
And I’m surprisingly not mad about it.
Do I want to get inside her? Truly connect with my girl? Hell, yeah, but I almost like this crazy foreplay we have going on, the buildup is intense, and I know the minute we finally snap, it’s going to be explosive.
Stunned, my mom sits across from me, mouth agape. I don’t hide shit from my mom, so she knows I’ve had sex, multiple times, with multiple women. I don’t go into detail, because I’m not a sick fuck like that, but she knows, and I don’t try to hide it. It’s what I love about my mom, she really is a best friend.
“You haven’t had sex with her?”
“Nope.” I pop another piece of toffee in my mouth. “I mean, we’ve done some things, but sex, not yet.”
“That’s . . . wow, I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”
“Are you calling me a manwhore, Mom?”
“No.” She chuckles. “I’m just surprised, given your track record with women. You must really care about her.”
“I do. A lot.” I sit back in my chair, slouching against the Windsor back. “She was hurt badly by her ex of six years. She was really skittish at first, really wanted nothing to do with me, but I knew she was special. I took things slow and we’ve gradually been building a foundation . . . a friendship.”
“Oh, be still my heart, I don’t think I can take this. My baby is all grown up and finding the perfect girl.”
“Yeah, she is pretty perfect, that’s for damn sure.”
“Do I get to meet her this spring?”
“I hope so. I haven’t given her my schedule yet, but our first exhibition game is shortly after we get back from break. I’m kind of hoping she goes. She hasn’t seen me play yet.”
Brentwood is the only college baseball team with an indoor/outdoor stadium thanks to the heavy tuition and dedicated sponsors—aka, professional baseball players—making our fields the destination during the early semester months. We host many exhibitions before we head south for outdoor tournaments right before our season begins. It also makes training year around easy since we’re not hindered by the weather. It’s what takes our teams to the next level and why we’re a force to be reckoned with.
“Well, isn’t she in for a treat then? You’re so wonderful to watch play.”
“Thanks, Mom.” And I know she means that. She’s been my number-one fan for as long as I can remember, my brothers second to her. Their support is one of the reasons I’ve been able to succeed in my sport.
She pats the table. “You know what, I need to start bedazzling a hat for her. We can’t have her looking foolish with nothing to support the team with.”
Because a bedazzled hat isn’t foolish . . .
But I would never say that. My mom loves her hats. She takes them very seriously and I would never ruin that for her.
“I think that’s a great idea, Mom. She’ll love it.”
“Oh dear, I really like this girl already and I haven’t met her. I can tell, Knox, we’re going to be wonderful friends.”
I sure as hell hope so. The girl who owns my heart will own my mom’s too. It’s inevitable. I’ve watched her welcome two sisters into our family through her genuine and heartfelt kindness, and I want that for my girl too. It’s what my mom deserves. It’s what my girl will deserve too.
* * *
“Merry Christmas, baby,” I say while leaning back against my headboard and holding my phone out in front of me.
Emory’s smiling face takes up the screen, a Santa hat on her head, and bright red lipstick on those delicious lips.
“Merry Christmas, Knox.” I think she’s in her bedroom, but I can’t really tell because she seems to be sitting in a chair.
“Get anything good?”
She runs her fingers along her necklace I gave her and then says, “Some clothes and gift cards. I also got this picture frame with a really hot, shirtless guy in it.”
I wiggle my eyebrows. “Dottie slipped the present under the tree for me.”
“Yeah, and opening it in front of my parents, grandparents, and Uncle Zeke was really enjoyable, especially when Uncle Zeke asked why there was a naked guy on the front.”
“Oh shit.” I laugh. “I didn’t think about that. I wasn’t naked.”
“Well, the glove covering your junk isn’t necessarily clothing either.”
“You would be surprised how long it took me to take that picture.”
“Dottie took a picture of it and uses it as her lock screen on her phone.”
Of course. I drop my head back and laugh. “I wouldn’t expect anything else from her. But you like it?”
“I stare at it way too much, but you could have done something about your pasty white legs.”
“I thought about self-tanner but nixed that idea. I wanted you to see me au naturel.”
“Slightly blinding but still sexy.”
“Damn right it’s sexy. I told my mom about the photo and she chastised me for a second before she started laughing. When I showed it to her, she shielded her eyes but then took a look. She appreciated the glove . . . cupping my balls.”
She shakes her head in humor. “There is something seriously wrong with you, but thank you, it’s my favorite present I got today. Did you get the little package from me? It’s nothing like what you gave me, but it’s something.”
“I did. I love the cookies, fucking good. I was kind of hoping you were going to slip a pair of panties in there for me, something I could hold on to when I fall asleep at night.”
“I would never do that.”
“Not even a little thong?”
“No.”
“Come on.” I smile at her. “Loosen up, babe.”
“There is no way in hell I will ever send you panties in the mail. What if the package gets lost, then some creep is going to have my underwear hanging on his wall where he stares at it every night while gripping his crooked penis. No, thank you.”
“There are so many things wrong with that sentence, too many to ask about, but I do need to know one thing.”
“What’s that?” Her smile is so damn contagious.
“The panties, how are they hung up on the wall? Duct tape? Push pins? Nail?”
She doesn’t answer right away, just blinks a few times. Finally she asks, “What is wrong with you?”
“I’m going to take that as duct tape.”
* * *
Knox: BAAAAAAAAABE!!!!!!
Emory: Let me guess, you got my package?
Knox: Panties!! I’m wearing them right now.
Emory: Stop it. No, you’re not.
Knox: Nah, I couldn’t get them past my quad-zillas.
Emory: You’re obnoxious. Your thighs aren’t that big.
Knox: You haven’t seen me in two weeks. They’re massive, babe.
Emory: They’re probably still the pasty chicken thighs I know very well.
Knox: Hey, watch yourself. They’re not chicken thighs. They’re beefy man legs.
Emory: Sure . . .
Knox: Keep doubting me, when I see you next, I’m going to choke hold you with them.
Emory: How romantic.
Knox: Want to know what romantic is?
Knox: [Picture]
Emory: What the hell is wrong with you? Why did you hang my panties up with duct tape?
Knox: Seemed like the thing to do. At least the guy gripping his dick while looking at them doesn’t have a crooked member.
Emory: Or so you think.
* * *
Emory: What is this?
Emory: [Picture]
Knox: What do you think it is?
Emory: It looks like a jockstrap, but I couldn’t fathom why you’d send them to me with some of Grandma Sue’s toffee.
Knox: It is in FACT my jockstrap.
Emory: Why on earth would you think I want this? (P.S. thank you for putting it in a Ziplock bag so it didn’t taint the toffee)
Knox: You send me panties, I send you my jockstrap. Don’t worry, babe, I washed it but did press it against my naked penis right before I sent it, in case you wanted to feel close to me.
Emory: You realize this is worse than texting me a dick pic, right?
Knox: No way, it’s so much better. Consider it your new pillow.
Emory: Wow, we really aren’t going to make it a month. I never knew we were going to breakup over a jockstrap.
Knox: Babe, don’t hate on the crotch protector. That right there is romance.
Emory: Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but this is not romance.
Knox: A little.
Emory: The opposite of romance.
Knox: A tiny bit of romance.
Emory: I almost puked in my mouth when I opened it.
Knox: Now you
’re just being dramatic.
Emory: Excuse me, I need the toilet again.
* * *
Knox: WHAT??? IS?? THIS???
Knox: [picture]
Emory: Take a wild guess.
Knox: Why did you send me an insert to your bra?
Emory: Since we’re sending each other things . . .
Knox: Babe, this is . . . please tell me this touched your tit.
Emory: Multiple times.
Knox: I could cry right now. I’m going to wear it as a face mask.
Emory: If you do, I’m going to need a picture of that.
Knox: Orrrrr, I can duct tape it next to the panties. Have a little shrine of you on my wall that I can stare at before I go to bed. Damn, I’m so undecided.
Emory: The possibilities are endless.
Knox: Or, I can have my crafty mom sew me a pillow using both panties and tit insert. Now there’s an idea I can get on board with.
Emory: DO NOT DO THAT!
Knox: Already done.
Emory: I am not kidding, Knox.
Knox: She likes the color of your panties, very flattering to your skin color she says. I’ve been showing her pictures of you.
Emory: If you’re not kidding right now, I’m going to murder you.
Knox: She also complimented your cup size and wants to know if you sleep with my jockstrap.
Emory: No, I wear it over my head, using it as an eye patch so my parents think I’ve truly lost it.
Knox: Aye, matey.
Emory: Did you really show your mom?
Knox: Nah, your pussy and tits are private, only for me.
Emory: Good answer, which means you get topless FaceTime tonight.
Knox: Jackpot!
* * *
Emory: I’m afraid to open this package.
Emory: [Picture]
Emory: You sent me a jockstrap last time, who knows what this could be?
Knox: Good, you got it! The person at the post office confused the shit out of me, and I had no clue what postage I was paying for.
The Locker Room Page 19
