Catching Zia (Spring Training Book 1)

by Becca Jameson

  There was a new question she could ask now, though. “You seriously expect me to believe you haven’t been on a date for six years?”

  He glanced at her and smiled. “I didn’t say that. Just that I don’t meet them at the ballpark. Not groupies.”

  “Ah. Okay.” That made much more sense.

  Brett busied himself finishing dinner.

  Zia enjoyed watching him. He was a good cook. She could tell by the way he had everything timed perfectly. The pasta. The chicken. The salad. The bread. It all managed to land on the table at the same time, and nothing was burned.

  Brett held out the chair for her and pushed her in. He even lit a candle on the table.

  “Impressive.” She took a long inhale of the food. Smelled fantastic.

  While they ate, he told her about his weekend plans. “So, game tomorrow. Same as usual. We’ll have the evening together. And then Sunday the same.”

  It felt like they were settling into a routine. One that would only last ten more days before the official start of the season and his new crazy schedule.

  He reached across the table and held her hand as they finished eating. Now. She needed to ask him about the blonde now. But then he turned the conversation in a new direction. “Have you thought about traveling with me some when the season starts?”

  She had and she hadn’t. It was impossible to picture herself running around the country with him. She had only traveled outside of Florida a few times. She’d never been in a plane. “I’m not sure how we would manage it. I mean, I need to work. I need to find a permanent position with a family or get serious about building a business doing murals while I grow my portfolio. Probably both.”

  He nodded, but his look was serious. “Would you consider taking some time off from being a nanny?”

  She blew out a breath. “Brett, it’s not that simple. I can try to find enough work as an artist, but the reality is if I don’t, I need to find another position as a nanny. I live paycheck to paycheck. I don’t have a stash of savings to pay the rent with.”

  “So ditch your apartment. Move in with me. And come with me whenever it’s possible. You could work on your art anywhere.”

  She flinched, pulling her hand out of his clasp. “I think it’s too soon for that. We haven’t known each other long enough.” She reached for her wine and took a drink. Perhaps the alcohol would help calm her. And her brain was racing. Surely he wouldn’t ask her to essentially move in with him if there was anything remotely to be concerned about with the blond woman.

  Anxiety slid beneath her skin. She took a deep breath. No. She wasn’t going to let her issues ruin what she had with Brett. And asking about this now would make her look jealous and paranoid. She needed to think more about how to approach it.

  “Maybe for some people it would be too soon. But I know how I feel, and I think you do too.” He scooted his chair back, reached for her hand, and hauled her to her feet. In quick, long strides, he pulled her to the living room and sat on the couch.

  A second later, she landed on his lap sideways. He wrapped his arms around her center. “What’s there to lose?”

  “My apartment and my job?”

  He nodded. “Okay, I get that. Worst case scenario—we find out we can’t stand to live together, we break up, and you find a new job. Right? What if I pay for you to keep your apartment for now?”

  “I couldn’t let you do that.” She tensed.

  “Why not? In the meantime you could totally take that risk you’ve been dying to take for years. Give your art a chance. Paint murals, fill galleries, look for a position with a company. Have that show you’ve always wanted. You could do anything. The only thing holding you back is the fear you won’t be able to pay the rent if you don’t have a guaranteed steady income. Win-win. Perfect opportunity.”

  It sounded so logical. And in a way, he was right. She was afraid. Afraid of failure. Lily certainly thought she was. She said so every time she nagged Zia to have a show. Was Brett offering her the world?

  Somehow, he made it sound so simple. She nibbled on her bottom lip.

  He leaned forward, tugged it out with one finger, and bit it gently himself. “Makes my cock so damn hard when you do that.”

  Her heart raced at those words.

  “Move in with me.”

  “Brett…”

  “Move in with me.” He cupped her breast and stroked his thumb over the nipple.

  She rolled her eyes and moaned. Even through the thin fabric of her shirt and the lace of her bra, his touch melted her. He nibbled a path up her neck to her ear. “Move in with me.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  Suddenly she wasn’t sitting on his lap anymore. He grabbed her by the waist and flipped her onto her back on the couch.

  She lost her breath, her eyes flying open wide.

  Then he was over her, one knee between her thighs pressing against her sex, one foot planted on the floor, hands grasping hers to haul them over her head. He stared down at her for so long she began to squirm.

  Her face heated under the intense scrutiny. Her body screamed for more contact. She wished she wasn’t wearing the denim shorts. Her shirt had risen to reveal a few inches of her stomach, and the air hitting her skin drew goose bumps.

  Still he stared at her.

  Finally, he licked his lips and spoke. “It’s crazy fast, but it doesn’t change anything. I’m in love with you.”

  She swallowed and nodded. “I’m in love with you too.”

  “Then what’s there to think about?”

  “You’re awfully persistent.”

  “You already knew that about me.”

  Seconds ticked by. His gaze roamed over her face and then lower and then back to her face as if he was taking her in for the first time or needed to memorize her in case he went blind tomorrow.

  “I want you in my bed. I want to come home late at night for the next eight months and find you asleep on my pillow, your scent all over my sheets. I want to know when I’m in a hotel room for eighty-one nights that your naked body is still in my house, under my showerhead. I want to picture you wearing nothing but one of my T-shirts, puttering around in my kitchen.

  “My job is demanding. It takes up enormous chunks of my time. Sometimes you won’t be able to reach me. Sometimes I’ll be in a bad mood because the game went poorly. Sometimes you’ll be alone for days at a time. And even when I’m in town, I spend twelve hours a day at the field. It’s not glamorous. It can suck.

  “But it will be so much better knowing you’re with me. Sometimes physically. Sometimes spiritually. But with me.”

  She couldn’t breathe.

  He sucked the life out of the room.

  Her head swam, trying to take in all his romantic words.

  What was there to think about? She’d be crazy to turn him down. “Okay,” she whispered.

  His brows shot up, and a smile lit up his face. “Okay? You’ll do it? You’ll move in with me?”

  She nodded, grinning.

  He lowered his face and kissed her, not languidly, but forcefully. His tongue darted into her mouth to tangle with hers. A low sound escaped his lips as if he were starving and devouring his first meal in days, and it was filet mignon.

  His knee pressed against her sensitive core, and she lifted her torso to meet the pressure and increase it.

  She was burning up. She tugged at her hands, trying to break free of his grip so she could pull his shirt over his head and touch his skin. He wouldn’t release her.

  Typical.

  “Stop moving, imp.” He nibbled her lips. “My cock is about to explode. Your wiggly body isn’t helping.”

  “Didn’t mean for it to,” she teased. “Take your clothes off.”

  He chuckled, a deep sound that vibrated through his body and hers. “Bossy.”

  “Horny.”

  “Good. I like you that way.”

  He kissed her again, with less urgency this
time, still grinding his thigh against her center.

  She moaned, unable to kiss him back. All her focus was on the need growing between her legs. Even lifting into his pressure wasn’t enough. She wanted more.

  “What’s the rush?” He lowered his kisses down her neck to scatter them over the exposed skin of her chest. He nudged the wide circle of her tank top with his chin and then licked across the upper swell of her breasts and down into her cleavage.

  Her nipples stood at attention. Aching.

  Brett lowered his face and wrapped his lips around her nipple through the material. When he bit down, she writhed. She thought she might come fully clothed.

  He lifted his head. “My God, you’re sexy.” His gaze roamed again. Heated. Pupils dilated. “Do you have any idea?”

  She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not even to breathe. The only thing she was aware of was the driving need to come.

  His chest rose and fell. He was breathing. At least one of them was.

  “Why do you feel the need to torture me?”

  A slow grin again. The one that made her panties wetter every time. “You mean by holding you down and making you squirm? Prolonging your orgasm?”

  “Mmm.”

  He kissed her nose. “You know it feels so much more intense that way. Admit it.”

  “Mmm.” She thrust her hips upward again. It wasn’t enough.

  Brett tugged her hands higher and shifted one wrist to join the other so that he held both with one set of long fingers. Then he lowered his other hand down her body.

  He squeezed one breast firmly for a brief moment and then flattened his palm to smooth it down her belly. His fingers dipped into the front of her low jean shorts, wiggled under the elastic of her panties, and stroked over her clit.

  He froze, one finger pressing on the swollen bud. “You shaved.”

  She smiled, her eyes fluttering closed. Right. That. She’d forgotten about the decision to shave bare that morning.

  “Fuck me.” He shocked her by releasing her entirely to jump off the couch. Two seconds later, he had her shorts unbuttoned, the zipper down, and the denim dragging over her thighs. Two seconds after that, he had her panties on the floor with the shorts. And two seconds after that, he had her spun so she was facing him, her back against the couch in a seated position.

  But there was nothing else normal about her placement. Because Brett was on the floor on his knees, and he held her thighs spread wide and high.

  Before her equilibrium had even returned from being yanked around like a rag doll, he lowered his face between her legs and sucked her clit into his mouth.

  She grabbed his shoulders to hold on and brace herself. Yeah. I guess he likes it.

  Brett’s tongue flicked rapidly over her clit, so fast that her arousal grew to a new height instantly. Whether or not he intended for her to come, she was about to explode on his face.

  Then she did, tipping over the edge too soon. Her clit pulsed against his tongue as he flattened it against the swollen tip. Before the last of the vibrations settled, he dragged his tongue over the sensitive pleasure center and started over again, flicking and teasing her clit into submission.

  She pushed at his shoulders, too sensitive to come back from that orgasm yet. Or maybe she pulled on him?

  In any case, he didn’t release her. His chin rubbed against her wet opening while he added his teeth to gently nibble her clit.

  “Brett…” Oh God. She was already fully aroused again. In seconds, she’d moved from too sensitive to greedy with desire.

  “Finger yourself,” he muttered against her clit.

  “Wh-What?” Had she heard him correctly? Her face heated.

  “Finger yourself, baby. My hands are busy.”

  “No. Brett. Oh God. I came. I’m good.” She pushed definitively against his shoulders now. Embarrassed. No way in hell was she going to masturbate for him.

  Brett lifted his face, releasing her clit. He twisted his mouth to wipe the excess moisture on his sleeve, and then he met her gaze. “Zia. Touch yourself. Make yourself come for me. I want to watch.”

  She shook her head, her face turning a deeper shade of red if the heat was any indication. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because it’s sexy as hell.” He released one thigh, held it in place with his bicep, and manhandled her wrist to get her hand off his shoulder. He drew it to her clit and flattened her fingers over her wetness. “Don’t tell me you never masturbate. I’m not buying it.”

  “Of course I do. Did… But not in front of someone.”

  He chuckled. “You do? Or you did? Which is it?”

  She swallowed, not moving her fingers a millimeter, but aware of the pressure all the same.

  “Stop twisting my words.” Frustration grew inside her. This kind of conversation was out of her comfort zone.

  “Did you masturbate this past week, Zia? Did you touch yourself with these sweet little fingers until you came? Did you picture me thrusting into you or sucking your pussy while you squirmed under your touch?”

  She pursed her lips, not meeting his gaze.

  He cupped her hand precisely with his and pushed both their middle fingers into her tight channel. Deeper. Deeper. Until they could reach no farther. And then he used her finger to rub against her G-spot. “Zia? Answer me.”

  She turned her head to one side, trying not to notice how damn hot his voice was and how aroused she was from the intrusion.

  “Zia, baby, look at me.” He paused, holding her finger inside her but no longer stroking.

  Her mouth fell open. After several seconds, she slowly turned to face him. The reality was she’d never been so aroused. Not even five minutes ago. And damn him, but he knew it. “Yes.”

  “Yes, what, baby?”

  “Yes, I fingered myself to thoughts of you. Happy?”

  “Immensely.” He drew his finger out of her, but left hers inside. In fact, he grabbed her hand, pressed her palm into her clit, and forced her to keep that finger buried deep. “Fuck yourself. Show me how you like it.”

  For a moment, she considered continuing the protest, but then the burning need won out. She knew if she didn’t acquiesce, she would be left horny.

  Gradually, she began to move that one finger. In. out. Across her G-spot. Again.

  She needed more.

  Brett released her hand, probably rightfully assuming she wouldn’t protest any further. He met her gaze. “Eyes on me. I want to watch your face when you come.”

  The air was so thick in the room. Nothing but heavy breathing and the whimpers she could not control.

  She thrust her finger now, grinding her palm against her clit. When she needed more and felt bolder, she released his shoulder with her other hand and added it to the game, pinching and pulling and stroking her clit.

  It must have taken incredible strength of mind for Brett to keep his gaze on her eyes instead of glancing down at her touching herself, but he did it. Did he think it would make it easier? Because he was wrong. Holding his gaze made her that much more self-conscious.

  But she couldn’t stop. Because he wanted her to do this. Because she wanted to do it for him. And because she needed to come again so badly it hurt.

  Increasing the pressure on her G-spot and her clit at the same time, she let herself go, teetering on the edge for only a moment before her vision blurred, her lips parted, and she dragged in a deep breath, unable to stop the bursts of sound that escaped her mouth as she came.

  When she finally let her ass settle back on the couch cushion and removed her hands, her fingers were shaking. She blinked into his reverent gaze.

  He quietly took both her hands in his and sucked her fingers clean, one at a time. And then he pressed them against his chest. “Thank you, baby. That was beautiful.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Brett left early the next morning to get to the ballpark. He left her a note on the pillow with the car keys.

  She smiled as she read his words and then clasped the
note to her bare chest and sighed, staring up at the ceiling. How had she gotten this lucky?

  She had the entire morning to herself to do whatever she wanted. Read. Eat. Sit on the back patio in the sun? Anything. She knew immediately what she wanted to do. Sketch.

  She slowly eased from the bed, snagged his T-shirt off the floor, and drew it over her head, inhaling his scent while her eyes drifted closed.

  After grabbing her sketch pad and pencils from her bag, she headed for the kitchen. Brett had left a box of Danishes on the counter. They looked amazing. She made a cup of tea and padded to the patio to arrange her supplies on the small table next to the Adirondack chair.

  With a book on her knees to back the sketch pad, she lifted the pencil and found herself sketching the man she could easily visualize in her mind without needing to see the subject.

  Time flew while she perfected his likeness, and then she held it up in the sun and smiled. His strong jawline and the twinkle in his eye made her body warm. She’d even left a lock of his bleach blond hair curling across his forehead. She loved when he was rumpled like that. Sexy. Imperfect while perfect at the same time.

  She was finishing the sketch when her phone rang. A glance at the caller ID told her it was Lily. “Hi. God, I’m so sorry. I haven’t called you in forever.”

  “I noticed that. What are you up to? No calls. No stopping by. I’m starting to take it personally.”

  “Don’t. I’m sorry. It’s…”

  “A guy. Please tell me you’ve met another man.”

  “Nope.”

  “Damn. I was hoping for a good juicy story. The last one was exciting.”

  “Well, I haven’t met a new one, but I have resumed my relationship with Brett Michelson.”

  “No shit?” Lily gasped. “Seriously? You were so mad at him.”

  Zia sighed. “I was. It took some groveling. But he was genuinely sorry. Some craziness about enjoying a date with someone who didn’t want him for his fame or money. He didn’t want to tell me who he was so he could have a normal date for a change. Can’t really blame him for that. At least I hope not.”