by Tara Wyatt
He curled one arm around her waist, leaning the other against the wall, and kissed her, hard and deep, stealing her breath and shutting off her brain. His tongue swept against hers in a dirty, promising rhythm, and she melted into the kiss, liquid heat pooling between her thighs. She kissed him back greedily, lips and tongues clashing. Devouring as arousal scorched through her like fire.
“Rule number five,” he said, kissing down the other side of her neck. His stubble chaffed her skin, amping up her arousal even more. “No fucking anyone else. While we’re doing this, you’re mine.” A little thrill charged through her at the idea of belonging to Dylan again, but she squashed it down. They were just words.
“Fine,” she agreed. “Just you.”
He cupped her ass and lifted her, and she wound her legs around his waist, grinding herself against his hard cock. Her panties were soaked, and she could tell from the gruff sound he let out that he could feel her heat.
“Rule number six: condoms,” she said.
He nodded and kissed her again, nipping at her bottom lip and then licking where he’d bit her. “Rule number seven: if you catch feelings, this is over.” A part of her resented the implication that she was in danger of catching feelings, but she let it go. It wasn’t worth arguing about because it was never going to happen.
She kissed him again, relearning his taste and the contours of his mouth with her tongue. He pressed her firmly against the wall, slid a hand into her hair and tugged, forcing her to meet his eyes. Electric heat zapped through her at this new side of Dylan, this demanding, slightly rough side that was all man. “Deal?” His blue eyes were dark, his pupils blown with lust.
“Deal.”
He kissed her, licking into her mouth with deliciously hot strokes of his tongue. Still cupping her ass, he walked them into her bedroom and dropped her onto the bed. She watched as he shucked his jeans, leaving him naked save for his boxer briefs. With an easy, masculine confidence, he made himself at home against her headboard.
“Come here, sugar,” he said with a wicked grin that had her feeling like she was dissolving into a puddle of lust and need. Not needing to be told twice, she climbed into his lap, swinging her leg over him to straddle him. He skimmed his hands up her ribs, pulling her tank top up and lifting it over her head. “Fuck, you always had the best tits.” His voice was rough and low as he cupped her breasts and closed his mouth over one of her nipples. She moaned and arched her back, weaving her fingers into his hair, still damp from his post-game shower.
“I like this dirty mouth of yours,” she sighed. It was so hard not to compare how he’d been with how he was now, even though she knew she shouldn’t. She couldn’t risk getting caught up in nostalgia and ruining her chance at closure.
He gave her nipple a gentle tug with his teeth, and damn if she didn’t feel it right between her legs. “Good. Because I plan to do all kinds of things to you with this dirty mouth,” he said, his hands sliding down her back and to her ass as he bit at her breast. With gentle pressure, he worked her hips against him, the grinding friction on her clit just enough to drive her insane. She rocked her hips again, rubbing herself against his thick cock. His hips flexed up to meet her. Satisfaction charged through her at the thought that she’d been right about the two of them still having chemistry, and about him wanting her as much as she wanted him.
“Oh, yeah?” She circled her hips again, and he kissed her, a long, deep kiss that promised incredible sex. Then, he circled his hands around her waist and tossed her down on the bed. She let out a small shriek that dissolved into a strangled groan when he hooked his thumbs into her panties and slid them down her legs, throwing them on the floor. He came down over top of her, supporting his weight on his arms, and she melted at how freaking gorgeous he was. It felt surreal to be here with him again like this, and yet it didn’t feel wrong. Not even a little. It felt hot and easy and so damn good.
“Oh, yeah,” he whispered, kissing her neck and starting to work his way down her naked body. “Like make you come.” Her fingers curled into the sheets as he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses over her breasts and down her stomach. She let her legs fall open, eager for him. Ravenous. He settled between her legs, pushing them even farther apart with his hands on the backs of her thighs. “Mmm, so pretty,” he murmured gruffly before licking her, just once. “Fuck, Maggie, you taste even sweeter than I remember.” A tendril of something soft and sweet unfurled in her chest, something she was pretty sure wasn’t supposed to be there, but she felt too good to care.
He groaned and then closed his mouth over her, his tongue circling around her swollen clit. She cried out and clawed at her sheets, heat and pleasure coiling through her. A hard, heavy throb pulsed through her as Dylan licked and sucked her sensitive flesh, working her into a near frenzy. Her legs trembled as she fought to keep it together, wanting how good she felt to last forever.
With his lips around her clit, he slid two fingers into her, curling them up and stroking her. The dam she’d been fighting to contain burst, and she came, hard, pulsing on his mouth and fingers as she screamed his name. Her entire body felt like one giant throb as wave after wave of her intense orgasm crested over her. It had always been so good with him, so intense. That much hadn’t changed.
Dylan looked up at her, a cocky grin on his mouth, still glistening with her. It was such an erotic sight that something snapped inside Maggie, and even though she’d just come, she needed more. She sat up and pulled a condom from her nightstand drawer. Her fingers trembled as she struggled to rip it open, and Dylan took it from her. He resumed his spot against the headboard and lifted his hips so he could slide his boxer briefs off. His cock was just as gorgeously thick and long as she remembered, and she watched, transfixed, as he rolled the condom down his length. He arched an eyebrow at her, sending heat and excitement swirling through her. She practically leaped into his lap, needing him now. He fisted his cock, and she sank down onto him, crying out as he filled her, inch by inch, stretching her as only he’d ever been able to.
“Oh, God, Mags,” he panted out.
She froze and then circled her hips because he felt too good inside her for her to stop. “I told you not to call me that.”
His hands dropped to her hips, and he moaned as she bounced on his lap, taking him deep. “Right. Shit. Sorry.” He flexed his hips up at the same time as he urged her hips down with his grip, hitting a spot deep inside her.
“Oh, fuck, Dylan, that’s good. So good. Right there.” She worked her hips against him and found his mouth with hers, kissing him long and deep, riding him until sweat slicked their skin and the fuse of another orgasm had been lit. With his hands tight on her hips, he lifted her off of him and spun her around so that she was facing away from him on all fours. He thrust back into her from behind, one hand slipping between her legs and the other tangling in her hair and tugging, forcing her to arch her back. His fingers worked magic between her legs as he stroked in and out of her, stoking the flames of her building orgasm until she couldn’t hold on anymore and it scorched through her in molten throbs.
“Dylan! Oh, God, Dylan!” she screamed as her arms gave out and she pressed her face into the mattress. Pleasure overwhelmed all of her senses until everything was just… Dylan. His body inside hers, the scent of his skin, the taste of his kiss lingering on her lips. He held her hips in a bruising grip and rode her hard, slamming into her until he groaned long and loud with his own release. She felt each pulse of his cock as he came, buried deep inside her. No one had ever felt as good as him. No one.
“Fuck, Maggie,” he growled, letting out a long breath. He held still, stroking a hand up and down her spine in a way that made her want to purr. Too soon, he pulled out of her and disappeared into the bathroom. She stayed exactly where she was, too boneless to move. When he came back and saw her still lying face down on the bed with her ass in the air, he chuckled.
She turned her head to look at him. “You’ve changed, you know.”
He picked up his boxer briefs from the floor and stepped into them, then started putting his jeans back on. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. You don’t smile much anymore.”
His movements slowed, just for a second. He stepped out into the hall to retrieve his shirt, and then came back with it on, his fingers making quick work of the buttons. “We’re doing this again soon, right?”
“Hell, yes.”
He gave her a smack on the ass and then let himself out of her apartment.
Five
“McCormick, it’s coming to you!” Hunter called as Dylan started running, shading his eyes from the slanting evening sun.
“Got it got it got it!” He pumped his legs, not taking his eyes off the soaring ball. He was almost there, he almost had it…with a final push, he jumped to make up the few inches he was short, stretching his glove out in front of him. The ball smacked into the leather and he landed hard on the grass, sliding forward on his stomach. But the ball stayed where it was, and Dylan leaped up, throwing the ball to Hiroshi at second, who then relayed it to the catcher, keeping the Angels’ runner at third.
Hunter held his hand up in the air, his index and pinky fingers raised. “That’s two,” he called with a nod, and Dylan held his own hand up, signaling back to him and smiling. Green smeared the front of his uniform after his slide through the grass, but he liked coming off the field at the end of the night with a stained uniform. To him, it symbolized hard work. He especially liked it when that hard work was paying off, like the diving catch he’d just made.
The Longhorns were on the road, playing the second of three games against the Los Angeles Angels. They’d won yesterday, 11-4, but Dylan had gone 0-4 on the night. His timing was still off, and his mechanics were rusty. But for the first time since returning from his knee injury, he felt as though he could see his problems clearly. And if he could see them clearly, he could fix them.
In truth, he felt more like himself than he had in a long time. As though a weight he hadn’t even known he’d been lugging around had been lifted. And he was completely certain as to why.
It was Maggie. Reconnecting with her—if you could call the dirty, insanely hot hookup they’d had a few nights ago reconnecting—had settled something inside him. He felt clearer and more focused.
Ten years ago, Magnolia Jennings had been everything to him. They’d been just kids then, but she’d grown into a gorgeous, smart, capable, sassy woman who intrigued the hell out of him. Who made him want to claim her and show her how good things could be between them. At first, he’d thought that maybe sex would satisfy him, but now he knew that anything short of everything wouldn’t be enough. So if she wanted to pretend that what was happening between them was just sex for the sake of closure—whatever the fuck that meant—he’d play along. Now that he had a second chance, he wasn’t going to throw it away. He was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them.
And it wasn’t just sex. The spark, the connection, the magnetism between them, it was still there. It had survived a ten-year drought, and whether she wanted to admit it or not, that meant something. It had to. And he knew exactly how to prove it to her. One by one, he’d break all those damn rules they’d agreed on—or convince her to break them. He imagined taking each one and smashing it out of the park like a moon shot, gone into the night.
He smiled to himself. Sleeping with Maggie again had awakened something in him. Something possessive, something almost predatory, mixed with the steely determination that he wasn’t going to let her go again. He’d tried to stay away from her, feeling guilty for the way he’d hurt her in the past, but now instead of letting his guilt keep him away, he was letting it pull him closer. This was his chance to make amends, to make everything right between them. To fix the biggest regret of his life.
The inning ended and Dylan jogged off the field with the rest of the team, adrenaline surging through him. That catch had restored some of his confidence, and for once, he was actually looking forward to stepping up to the plate.
Back in the dugout, he tugged on his batting gloves, adjusting the Velcro at the wrists, and then grabbed his bat. Abby approached him, chewing a wad of gum that seemed to take up half her mouth.
“Remember what we covered at BP this morning. Hang back, just a little. Let it come to you. Check your plate distance and choke up a bit.” She clapped him on the shoulder and turned to say something to Javi.
“This guy’s throwing a lot of heat,” said Hunter, taking a sip of Gatorade and gesturing at the Angels’ pitcher as he threw a few warm-up pitches. “High nineties, tight to the inside corner. Set yourself up with some breathing room.”
Dylan nodded and stepped out onto the deck, working through his practice swings. The evening air was cool and refreshing, and the crowd buzzed around him. The scents of grass and pine tar swirled through the air, and he took a second to look around. Centering himself. Finding that calm, quiet inside that had been missing for way too long now.
The announcer intoned Dylan’s name through the stadium’s speakers, and he stepped up to the plate and went through his usual routine, sketching the same four letters in the dirt that he always did, adjusting his helmet, and taking a few practice swings before falling into his stance. He felt like he was a little too far from the plate, but if that’s what Abby had suggested, he was willing to give it a try.
The pitcher wound up and released the ball. Dylan couldn’t explain it, but he felt like he could just see the ball better. It was like he’d unleashed everything coiled inside him on Maggie, and now he could actually think again. Could actually see and breathe. The pitch was away and outside, and he didn’t swing. Ball one.
The next pitch was low and inside, and he didn’t swing again. Ball two. The third pitch was in the dirt, bouncing up against the catcher’s chest protector. Ball three. Dylan knew the next pitch would be a strike, something worth swinging at. And it was, so he did, but his timing was off and he caught just enough of the ball to send it careening off into foul territory. He reset himself, focusing on the feel of the bat in his hands, the pitcher on the mound. A fastball came right down the middle, and Dylan swung hard, a home run cut. But he only connected with air as the ball smacked into the catcher’s mitt. He shook his head and adjusted his helmet, then took a breath, trying to remember exactly how he’d felt as he’d left Maggie’s place the other night. Calm and sated and clear.
He swung at the next pitch and connected, sending the ball skidding down the third base line. He took off for first, trying to beat the throw, but the third baseman had a good arm and threw the ball to first a millisecond before Dylan’s foot touched the bag. He headed back to the dugout and handed off his helmet to the batboy, feeling discouraged. Abby tipped her chin at him.
“That was good out there, McCormick. Solid contact, nice patience. Keep it up. It’s all coming together.”
They lost 3-1, but the team was still in good spirits after the game. Hunter had roped Dylan and a few other guys, including Javi and Abby—who was basically one of the guys—into hitting the bar for a couple of drinks, even though Dylan would’ve been happy to just go back to the hotel and crash.
But Dylan had to give Hunter credit—he’d picked a nice place. The bar was on the rooftop of a small boutique hotel in Anaheim, not far from the Angels’ stadium. Futuristic looking heaters sat spaced around the terrace, giving off a warm glow against the chilly spring air. Simple tables and chairs and a few outdoor sectionals filled the area, along with potted cypress trees. Strings of lights hung overhead, giving the bar a casual, laid back vibe. In the distance, Dylan could see the lights from nearby Disneyland, cheerful and bright against the night sky. The air here felt clearer, sharper. Easier to breathe. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the different climate in Southern California, or because everything just felt more oppressive in Dallas.
They moved to the corner of the terrace and pushed a few tables together to accommodate their group. Hunter ordered shots of tequila for everyone
, getting the party started. Dylan tossed his back, savoring the burn it cut down the center of his chest. He watched as Javi clinked his glass against Abby’s, his body angled toward her. She took her shot, and then as Javi leaned in to say something, she nodded absently, her eyes glued to her phone.
“Hello,” called Hunter, waving his hand in front of Abby’s face. “Earth to Abs.” She jerked her head up, her cheeks going pink. Hunter laughed. “What, you got some dick pics on there or something? Lemme see.”
She flipped him off and put her phone away.
Nate Pederson, the team’s rookie pitcher, set his shot glass down with a clack, grimacing. “Fuck, I hate tequila,” he said, wiping his mouth.
Alejandro Cruz, who played left field and was one of the veterans on the team, shot Nate an assessing glare. “Hang on, are you even old enough to drink?”
Nate rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Uh…legally?” He shot Alejandro a charming grin.
Hunter pushed another shot in front of Nate. “Lighten up, Cruz. You’ll be twenty-one soon enough, right kid?”
“In August.”
Alejandro scowled and took the shot away from Nate. “One’s enough.” He pointed at Hunter. “You’re a bad influence.” Hunter just smirked. For all Dylan could tell, Hunter liked being a bad influence.
The waitress came by, and everyone ordered a drink. Beer for Dylan and Alejandro, whiskey for Hunter and Javi, a Bloody Mary for Abby, and a Coke for baby Nate.
“You know, a lot of managers wouldn’t come out with us like this,” said Dylan to Javi, leaning forward on his elbows. “It’s cool that you take the time to get to know us.”
Javi, who’d been staring at Abby, managed to pull his gaze away from her to smile and nod at Dylan, who suddenly understood why Javi had come. It was pretty obvious he had a major thing for Abby, who seemed completely clueless as she kept sneaking glances at her phone in her lap.
