“Come here,” he growled, and I came back to him, straddling him again.
He held my face in his hands, his dark eyes boring into mine.
“Daisy…” He kissed me softly as I reached between us and positioned him under me. His eyes fell shut as I sank slowly down, and a small grunt sounded in his chest.
He still held my face, and I clung to his wrists with both hands as the beautiful, dizzying sensation of him filling me swept through me and spread like an electric current across my middle and chest. My heart pounded, heavy and slow, and I gasped as I slid all the way down.
“Kai…” I breathed. “More.”
His eyes opened and he drank me in. “Anything. Everything. For you.”
I wanted everything. His hands all over my skin. His mouth. I wanted to feel him slide in and out of me; my nervousness fled leaving all of this want.
I reached down to grasp the hem of my dress and pulled it over my head. My bra went next as Kai took off his shirt. His eyes widened and then darkened at my nakedness, and his gaze dropped to where we were joined; where he was buried deep inside me.
“So fucking beautiful…”
Kai’s hands ringed my hips and, with one sharp movement, he pulled me tight to him, sheathing himself even deeper when I hadn’t thought it possible. Another gasp fell out of my mouth at the sensation, and that morphed into a cry as Kai went to one of my nipples, biting and sucking, while my hips began to grind against him.
“Yes,” he hissed, wrenching his mouth away. His hands gripped my hips now, pulling and pushing me. “Ride me, Daisy.”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Ride me hard.”
“Yes.”
“Let me fuck you like this…”
My head fell back and I clung to his neck, exposing my throat to his mouth. His words, his hands and mouth, and his huge cock thrusting up into me again and again were unraveling me. I was doing something I hadn’t done in a year—losing myself in a man. In the sensations he created in me and the moans and growls that told me I was doing the same for him.
Kai… I’d never been more exposed with a man than I was with the twilight light shining over us, revealing every movement, every glide of his cock pulling nearly out, and my body taking him back. Over and over.
He brazenly watched as he moved me on him, and the lust and want in his expression made me want more. I pushed him back on the bed and rode him with abandon, admiring the tight lines of his perfect abs contract even tighter where my fingernails grazed him. Brown skin showing every cut line, every tensed muscle. His hands tightened their grip and he moved me down on him while lifting his hips to thrust upwards.
“God, Kai…” My words tapered into a scream that I didn’t try to contain, head thrown back, ecstasy surging up to burn hot and deep inside me.
“Jesus, fuck…” Kai’s words turned strangled as he held me still and I let him take me how he wanted; to take his release and fill me with it until at last, he collapsed on his back, loose on the bed and his breath gusting out of him.
“Holy shit, woman,” he said, panting, reaching for my face to bring me to him for a kiss. “What did you do to me?”
I laughed weakly, settling over him. “Nothing you didn’t do to me.”
“I think I forgot my own name for a second there at the end.”
“Let me remind you: Sikai Solomon, Australian Open champion.”
He laughed tiredly. “Not bad, not bad.”
“Not bad?” I gave his shoulder a kiss. “You were amazing today.”
“It was a pretty good day,” he said and moved onto his side to look at me intently. “But there is one highlight that stands out.”
“The ’tweener at the baseline?” I asked. “Or maybe that ace in the fourth set? The one that looked like it actually hurt Brad’s feelings?”
Kai’s head went back in a throaty laugh. “Both highlights but not the highlight.” His hand came up to brush a curl from my forehead. “The highlight was seeing you in the box before the third set.”
A blush warmed my cheek and I glanced away, tracing a line on his impeccable chest. “I should’ve come sooner,” I said. “I should have come with you right away—”
But Kai was shaking his head. “I needed to get through those first rounds on my own. Keep my shit together for me. And for my Dad. I had to prove to myself I could do it.” His fingers stroked my cheek. “You came at just the right time. And I’m fucking proud of you, Daisy. For being brave enough to come here. To put up with me.” He leaned in to kiss me, his lips brushing mine with his next words. “But the absolute highlight of my day was what you said to me…”
“It’s true,” I whispered. “I’m falling in love with you. You don’t have to say it back or…”
His smile was brilliant and soft and so beautiful.
“Daisy…” He kissed me again. “I’m already there.”
The End
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Emma Scott is a bestselling author of emotional, character-driven romances in which art and love intertwine to heal, and in which love always wins. If you enjoy emotionally-charged stories that rip your heart out and put it back together again, with diverse characters and kind-hearted heroes, you will enjoy her novels.
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Holt’s Story
Meghan Quinn
Chapter One
**HOLT**
“I’m drunk.”
“Is this place spinning?”
“Ooo, patty melts. Fuck yes.”
Carson and Knox, my two best friends, sit across from me while Jason, our catcher, is two nuzzles to my shoulder away from passing out next to me.
The diner booth is crowded given our large, very manly, and muscular bodies—so masculine, the most masculine you’ll ever see and tons of testosterone, and big dicks and balls . . . big dicks and balls. Hashtag . . . check out those nutsacs.
Where was I going with that? Uh . . . oh yeah, it’s crowded, we look ridiculous in this tiny booth made for four regular-sized people—not men with the giant scrods—and thanks to Jason’s hometown friends, we’re drunk off our asses.
School starts in two weeks, and since we’re heading into our junior year—the most important year of a college baseball player because of the chance to get drafted after the season— we all decided to come back to Brentwood University to have some fun before academics and training absorbs our every waking hour.
If I’m honest—whispers softly in your ear—we couldn’t stand Jason’s never-ending badgering to show us a good time, so we gave in.
Thankfully we all live in the baseball loft that’s right outside campus, so we didn’t have to worry about dorms opening up or being homeless.
And since we’re responsible college men, we’ve kept up with our workout routines, had daily practices in the cages, but then at night, we get piss-ass drunk only to sweat out the booze the next morning on an easy two-mile run along Lake Michigan.
If you smell a trail of whiskey and Coke in the mornings near Lakeview Drive, it’s just us . . . the guys with the big balls.
Speaking of the male genitalia . . .
“Have you tried that new underwear I bought you?” I ask Carson who is thumbing through the sugar packets for no apparent reason.
“It’s a thong, man. I’m not wearing that shit.”
“You got Carson a thong?” Knox asks, eyes hazy. He’s a lightweight, always has been. Three beers and he’s dancing to his own music; five and he sits in a chair and giggles constantly. He’s had a comfortable four, so we’re not quite at the giggle phase yet. “Why didn’t you get me a thong?”
“Because, Carson was complaining about his dick bouncing around too much during our runs. Thongs keep your junk close together but also give your ass cheeks air. It’s fucking breezy down there, man.”
“You we
ar thongs?” Knox asks.
“Mmm . . . thongs,” Jason mumbles next to me, more or less passed out on my shoulder.
“Yeah, I do. You have a problem with that?”
Knox gives me a lazy once-over. “How come I’ve never seen you in one in the locker room?”
“Because I don’t walk around buck-ass naked like Romeo.”
“Want to talk about a guy who should be wearing a thong?” Carson taps his nose. “Romeo. His ass is the best on the team.”
“I take offense”—hiccup—“to that,” Jason groans, then moves his cheek against my shoulder getting comfortable. Being the catcher, Jason has made it known amongst everyone on the team that if there was a best-ass reward, it would belong to him, but we all secretly know it’s Romeo’s.
“Try the thong,” I say. “It will give your penis great bounce.”
“What can I . . .” a female voice at the end of the table starts. At the same time, Knox, Carson, and I turn to see a waitress standing at the end of our table dressed in a yellow diner dress, pad in hand, pen poised. “Uh, I can come back.”
As if she’s not standing right there, Carson asks, “Did she hear you say penis?”
Knox shakes his head. “No, she came after he was talking about the bouncing urinator.” He laughs. “That’s a superhero I could get behind. The bouncing urinator.”
“I certainly wouldn’t want to be in front of a bouncing urinator . . .” I mutter.
We all start laughing as the girl clears her throat. “I heard you talk about your penis.”
Our laughter sobers and even though my eyes struggle to focus completely, I still notice the beautiful chestnut color of her hair, deep chocolate of her eyes, and the pretty honey tone of her skin. She’s stunning. From the nametag crookedly hooked right above her breast, I figure her name is Harmony.
I could be a detective. Especially if I was sober.
“We were talking about man thongs,” Carson clarifies, as I continue to soak up the girl in front of us.
Not short, but not tall either, she has to be about five six, and even though she has a small chest and waist, her dress barely fits over the swell of her hips and the bubble of her butt.
I think we have a new winner for the best-ass award . . . from what I can see.
Would it be rude to ask her to turn around so I can make a better assessment?
“I don’t wear them,” Carson says, pointing in my direction. “Holt wears them. Says it’s breezy.”
Harmony lifts her brow and gives me a slow once-over. I puff my chest while she peruses, tempted to take my shirt off for a full show. “You wear thongs?”
“Man thongs, to be clear, and I only really wear them when we have to go for long runs, and during practice, which is all the time, but I change after practice into boxer briefs. But yeah . . . man thongs.” I knock the table with my knuckles and cheese it up for her.
Her eyes narrow and she gives our table a curtesy sweep as recognition dawns on her. “Ah, you’re on the baseball team.”
“Please, no autographs,” Knox jokingly says while holding up his hand, just as Jason lets out a roar of a snore, causing us to all buckle over and laugh. The boisterous sound wakes him and he perks up quickly, looking around, right before he burps, and his eyes widen.
Oh shit.
Harmony sees the impending disaster, steps aside, and points behind her with her pen. “Bathroom is that way.”
Without another word, Jason cups his mouth and sprints harder than any of us have ever seen. If only he did that in practice.
Carson addresses the situation and adds poetically, “Once he ralphs, I’m sure he’ll want a patty melt with the rest of us. But he’ll take the sweet potato fries.”
“Four patty melts then?” Harmony asks, with a little more attitude in her voice than before.
“That would be—”
“Is there something wrong?” I ask, interrupting Knox before he can say something douchey like “that would be lovely.”
“Nope.” She pops the P with a snap of her lips and refuses to look at any of us.
“Then the patty melts would be—”
“Do you have something against us being on the baseball team?” I ask, turning my entire body toward her just as Carson groans. He becomes “ravenous” when he’s drunk, and I know all he wants is his patty melt with a plateful of fries, but I want some answers first.
The stigma on campus is that the Brentwood baseball team are entitled assholes—which might be true for some of the players who’ve worked through the system, but not for us. There’s also a good chance, at least once a day, that we run into a student on campus who hates us. Didn’t think it would happen before school started.
“Dude, you’re so aggressive right now,” Knox says. “Maybe she just—”
“Yeah, I do.” Harmony props her hand on her hip.
“Okay, never mind.” Knox leans back in his booth and folds his arms over his chest.
“Let me guess,” I say in an irritated and affronted tone. “You think we’re a bunch of entitled assholes who rule the campus and don’t deserve half the benefits we receive for being on the team.”
She folds her arms as well and with a whole lot of sass, she says, “Yeah, I do. Your expensive stadium, equipment, staff, and full-ride scholarships eat up half the tuition on this campus, leaving nothing left for us peasants. You’re obnoxious, self-righteous, and think the world revolves around you. Meanwhile, the rest of the students around you work at shitty diners, earning low wages, serving drunk morons like you at all hours of the night, just to put ourselves through college so we can earn a degree, graduate to a shitty job that won’t pay for our student loans, and wind up in debt with the rest of the country.”
Yikes.
Silence falls. What do you say to that?
Clearly she’s bitter, but with the passion flaming in her eyes and the claws ready to shoot from her fingertips, I think I should slowly back away.
Jason takes that moment to appear from the bathroom, and he sits with a resounding plop. He glances around and asks, “Did you order me a patty melt?”
Rolling her eyes, Harmony takes off toward the kitchen, leaving us concerned . . . is she going to put in our order? Because we want our patty melts.
Chapter Two
**HARMONY**
“Switch tables,” I say when I reach the computer where we enter orders.
River shakes her head, picks up her tray of waters, and starts to walk away.
“Please, River,” I call out. “I’m begging you.”
“Last time we did that, Coral got pissed and threatened to fire both of us. I love you, but, no. Deal with them.”
Sighing, I lean against the sticky wall of the diner I’ve worked countless hours in over the last two and a half years. Coral, our manager, is a stickler when it comes to our section. She’s a control freak and watches over each of our sections, making sure everyone is happy despite the shitty food and the unkept conditions of the diner.
Yeah, Five and Dime is popular because it’s situated across from frat row, diagonal from the baseball loft, and is a quick walk from campus, making it the hangover destination for every college student at Brentwood. Well, hungover and currently smashed.
And for some reason, I always seem to serve every campus athlete. They always fall under my section, and I get to hear about their limitless dining cards, their really nice dorm rooms, the free athletic gear they get from Brentwood, and the extensions they’re always granted from professors. It’s tiresome and totally infuriating, especially for a girl who lives paycheck to paycheck, and in order to get at least one meal a day, eats the diner’s shitty food. Arrogant assholes.
Succumbing to my luck, I start entering patty melts into the system, one with sweet potato fries. I’m tempted to fuck with their order but know it will only result in extra work on my end.
Finishing up, I press enter and start filling up waters for each guy just as River comes back from her ta
ble. She sets her tray down and looks over the glass partition before saying, “Wow, you got the kings of the diamond tonight. Knox Gentry, Carson Stone, and the one and only Holt Green.”
“Jason Orson is over there too.”
“Oh, I think he was the blur I saw racing to the bathroom a few minutes ago.”
I roll my eyes. “That would be his second trip.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Took me a second to recognize them since they’re not in their gear, but once I did, I felt my skin start to crawl. And of course, they called me out on my distaste for them.”
River scoffs. “Of course they did. Only confident assholes do that. Please tell me you shut them down.”
“Easily.” I set the last glass of water on my tray and turn toward River, irritation creeping over me. “Do you know what really makes me angry? They don’t seem the least bit sorry about how they walk around Brentwood like they own everything. My tuition is paying for theirs.”
“Not true. It could be paying for the academic counselor who keeps giving you sass about the classes you want to take.”
“Both are a kick to the crotch.” I hoist the tray over my shoulder and pat River on the ass as I walk by. “Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.” My much-needed break by the water. “I can’t wait.”
“I’m bringing the snacks. You bring the sunscreen.”
We’ve been planning our beach day for the last few weeks, lining up our days off with the cover band concert contest that’s taking place tomorrow. I’d been saving every last penny to purchase a cute bathing suit I’d had my eye on at a boutique a few shops down from the diner. Every time I passed the window display, I reminded myself of my silly goal.
Two days ago, I bought the bathing suit—on sale because the end of summer is looming—and I look damn good in the tiny yellow bikini. I can’t wait to show it off.
Team Player 2: A Sports Anthology Page 69
