Third Degree: A Hot Baseball Romance (Diamond Brides)

by Mindy Klasky

  He wanted to photograph Ashley, right then, right there, and now that he’d imagined the shot, he could barely string the words together.

  ~~~

  “What?” Ashley whispered, wondering what he was thinking, asking why he had stopped.

  The things Josh had done were so amazing… When she’d been trapped by her sweater, unable to defend herself, lost in the scent of mango juice that had dried, sticky, on her hands… She’d thought he would make her explode with the tickle of his touch. His palms had felt like they were molded for her, like they were carved for the sole purpose of giving her pleasure. The touch of his lips against her elbow, against the back of her knee—she’d never imagined the nerves that could fire from either of those places, the sparks that could ignite through her entire bloodstream.

  Her clit had been throbbing before he took off her skirt. When he slipped his finger inside her, she’d thought she would break—one strong breath, one bearing down against the pulse in his wrist. But she’d held back, promised herself more, promised more to him.

  And now he was staring at her like a man dying of thirst, looking at a mountain stream. “What?” she asked again.

  He sank onto the bed beside her—bare chest, pants undone, halfway off his hips. “I—” he started, but he didn’t finish the sentence. “I want—” he tried again, but he got no further.

  She rolled over to face him, automatically covering herself with one of the sheets. She pressed her thighs together, ignoring the shouted protest from her clit. She ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled slowly, trying to tell her raging hormones that they needed to wait, needed to listen to her brain for once.

  She set her free hand on his knee, studiously ignoring the way his cock twitched, visible beneath the cotton of his boxers. “What do you want, Josh?”

  She could only imagine the effort it took for him to meet her eyes. This, from a man who’d had her throbbing and desperate from the touch of his fingers on her lips alone. From the man who had carried her in here like some sort of modern caveman, through the perfect, frozen living room, into this cave that seemed the twin of the kitchen, the only other room in the house that was real, that was lived in, that was Josh. He’d hurtled her along the knife edge of orgasm, teased her until she could barely draw a breath without shattering, but now he was afraid to speak, afraid to tell her what it was that he wanted, that he needed.

  She pulled herself up until she was sitting, keeping the sheet across her fiery breasts even when she leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were closed at first, hard and resolute, but she teased them with her tongue, inviting him to open to her, stoking his heat when he finally yielded. She only pulled back when she was dizzy for want of air. She took his hand and pulled it into her lap, knowing that he must be able to feel the heat of her, to know that he had released the musk that scented the air between them.

  “Tell me what you want me to do,” she whispered, purposely keeping her voice low, hoarse.

  He finally pulled his free hand out of his pocket, displaying a neat black rectangle on his palm. “I want to take pictures,” he said.

  The words crashed into her.

  She’d been ready to pleasure him with her body in any way she could imagine. Her lips were already tingling. Her sex was throbbing in time with her heart, a metronome reminding her that she could spin out any melody she desired. Her palms had itched to fold around the full length of him, to bring him one hundredth of the pleasure he’d already raised in her.

  But a camera?

  She fell back on the bed and covered her eyes with her hand. When she took a steadying breath, she was almost overwhelmed by the scent of mango. Her mouth flooded with memory of the papaya he’d fed her, of the way he’d teased her lips, even as he’d tested her.

  She hadn’t expected him to be so gentle. She certainly hadn’t expected him to court her with the same vintage of wine he’d ordered at Mangia. And before that morning, she’d never dreamed he would manipulate their folders, tease her into coming to his house.

  She had to be honest with herself. She’d known exactly what she was getting into, the moment she’d decided to deliver his Wake Up envelope in person. That’s why she’d dressed the way she had—to please him. And she’d certainly managed to turn herself on in the process.

  The guy wanted to take some pictures. Was that really any more kinky than the stuff they’d already done? Than the things she’d been thinking about doing before he pulled away?

  He’d be looking at her through the lens. Watching her. Not touching her.

  A tremor of excitement slipped along the nerves in her thighs. He’d already made her hotter than she’d ever been before. Now, the thought of stretching out those moments hummed like a secret song, deep in the most private parts of her mind. He wanted her. And she could make him pay for that desire.

  She pulled her hand away from her eyes and propped herself up on one elbow. She ignored the fact that the sheet fell away, that she was bare to him once again, but she couldn’t help but see the bob of his Adam’s apple. She curled her lips into the tiniest of smiles as she cupped her right breast with one hand. “Is this what you want to photograph, Josh? Me? Like this? Waiting for you?”

  ~~~

  Jesus Christ, she was amazing.

  His fingers shook as he tapped the screen on his phone, as he opened up the camera. The viewfinder centered around her face, around her body, around the nipple that hardened even as he raised the phone between them. He tapped the screen, and the camera clicked, the snapping, whirring sound that he remembered from his childhood.

  But there was nothing childish about the photos he took now.

  Ashley slipped her hands down to those incredible panties, hooking her fingers beneath the flurry of lace. The expression in her eyes was pure fire, and he grabbed the shot before she could blink.

  The sound of the camera seemed to ignite something in her. She rose onto her knees, a powerful woman, brave and strong and hotter than anyone he’d ever seen before. She put her hands behind her head, making her chest arch toward him.

  After that the shots came fast and furious. She posed and he took the picture, she invented another way to turn him on, and he followed, dumbstruck by her imagination, by the sheer beauty of her body, by all the ways she displayed it to him.

  His cock was raging. He could feel his pulse slamming out from his balls, the steady ache forcing him to suck in his breath every time he took another picture. She measured his hard-on with her eyes; he watched the proud satisfaction spread across her lips.

  She slipped a finger past those panties, stroked herself once, twice, half a dozen times. He heard her breath grow short; he saw her thighs tighten, her toes stretch in a single unbroken line while she still wore those goddamn shoes. Looking through the camera, he saw her cresting. Another picture and one more stroke, and she shattered against his sheets, shuddering and moaning, and thrashing at the power of her release, all caught by the camera that trembled in his hands. Her moans almost made him come as well, but he held himself steady, knowing he could raise her up again, knowing he could take her back to an orgasm even deeper, even longer, even more consuming than the one he’d caught through the lens.

  Only when she’d fallen back, gasping, did he toss the camera onto the floor. He watched her ease her fingers out of her sweet, slick passage, and he brought them to his lips, drinking in the scent of her, lapping up the juice she’d spilled. When his cock leaped, letting him know it wasn’t going to wait another second, he rolled onto his side and tore open the drawer of his nightstand. He dug to the back for the tin-foil squares of his condoms.

  He ripped one open, freeing her hand so he could kick off his shoes, so he could tear off his pants and, finally, his shorts. He rolled on the rubber, and then he used both hands to tear at her soaked silk panties, to rip the lace, to expose her completely. She cried out his name as he sank into her. It only took an instant for them to find their rhythm. She locked her legs around
his hips, scraping him with the heels of those shoes, and her fingernails dug into his shoulders.

  When she came again, it was a song without words, a moan that rose from deep inside her, each note faster and louder than the one before. She broke beneath him, clutching him with every muscle, and her cries pulled him to the edge. For one last stroke he hovered, and then she spasmed tight around him one more time. The tension poured out of him, pulsing, pounding, hammering to be free.

  ~~~

  Ashley lay beside Josh, gradually becoming aware of her own body separate from his, separate from the heat he’d poured into her. Her heartbeat slowed to something approximating normal. She could fill her lungs with regular breaths.

  No man had ever made her feel that way before. No man had ever invited her to be so bad—to pose in front of a camera, for God’s sake!—and then rewarded her so thoroughly. She closed her eyes and pictured her hands between her legs, remembered the hungry look that had carved Josh’s face as he adjusted his camera to capture her.

  She should be ashamed of herself.

  But she wasn’t. She was actually more content than she’d been in years. It wasn’t just her body, although every liquid muscle reminded her how hard she’d come—twice. It was her mind. It was the fact that she’d made her own choices, she’d done what she’d wanted to do to please herself, to please Josh, and nothing bad had happened.

  Which meant that this was the perfect time to get out of his bed and return to the safety of her own home. That was the mistake she’d made years ago, with Martin—staying the night and getting caught. That desperate fear of being exposed was the reason she never slept over. Ever.

  She pulled herself up to lie on her side, and she ran one hand through her damp hair. God, his body was gorgeous. The tight muscles of his abs, rising and falling with breath still rough from his exertions… The sharp diagonal lines that cut across his hipbones toward his thighs… Those thighs themselves, long and lean… She smothered a sound at the back of her throat.

  He opened his eyes and a lazy grin spread across his lips. “Going somewhere?”

  She tried to match his smile with one of her own. “I sleep in my own bed.”

  That got his attention. He propped himself up and said, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  She shook her head. “I… I can’t spend the night. It’s a rule I have.”

  He met her eyes squarely. “Looks like you did okay breaking some other rules. Seemed to have a pretty good time, too. We both did.”

  She blushed. She couldn’t deny he was right. Giving herself over to his fantasy had unlocked something deep inside her, allowed her to be a different type of woman, a woman who wasn’t afraid to display herself, to please herself.

  But she had rules for a reason. Rules kept her safe. Rules kept her life in order, her career on track. If she’d followed the rules with Martin, she would have graduated with a culinary degree. She’d already have her own restaurant, and she wouldn’t need to stake everything on a television contest, on the contest where she was going head to head against the man who lay beside her.

  “Josh,” she said, drawing out his name with her own uncertainty.

  He didn’t play fair. It wasn’t right for him to run his finger along her jaw. He wasn’t supposed to slip his palm across her breast, to catch her traitorous nipple between his finger and his thumb. He definitely shouldn’t be dragging that same palm across her trembling belly, slipping his hand between her thighs, sliding his fingers into the slick heat that told them both how much she didn’t want to leave.

  He paused in his slow caress, holding his hand perfectly still. The question on his face was silent, all the more intense for the words he didn’t say.

  She could stop him. She could pull away. She could totter on the ridiculous heels she still wore—still, after everything they’d done!—and she could gather up her sweater and skirt. He’d let her leave.

  Instead, she shifted her hips to give him a better angle. This was what she wanted. He was what she wanted. All the mistakes she’d made in the past were just that—in the past.

  She moaned his name and reached out to pull him closer, to feel all his muscled weight on top of her as she threw away one more rule that kept her safe. And she didn’t even think of complaining when he took a moment to run his hands over her ankles, to release the straps of her sandals, to throw her shoes across the room before he turned back to give her everything she wanted.

  CHAPTER 6

  The smell of coffee teased Ashley from her dreams—the smell of coffee and the sound of running water and the feel of cool air on her bare legs.

  Eyes slitting open, she reached toward Josh’s side of the bed, already certain she wouldn’t find him there. Someone had to have brought the stoneware mug to her nightstand. Someone had to be taking a shower in the bathroom. Someone had to have stolen all the covers and left them at the foot of the bed.

  She tugged at the sheets, redistributing the crisp cotton even as she pulled the burgundy blanket up high across her chest. She was rewarded for her efforts with the soft lemon scent of Josh. She could even make herself imagine that the heat of his body still radiated from the linens.

  But she couldn’t deny one essential truth: She was awake. Awake enough that it only made sense to sit up. It only made sense to sip the coffee—warm and sweet and rich with cream. It only made sense to turn a smile toward the opening bathroom door, toward the man who leaned lazily against the doorframe, seemingly unaware that he wore nothing but a tight-tucked towel.

  “Good morning,” he drawled, taking his time to study her in greedy appraisal.

  Her fingers were folded around the mug, but she raised her forearms to better clutch the blanket against her chest. Even so, she felt her body respond to his frank gaze. The tightening of her nipples kindled a bright thread to her clit, and she arched her back in reflex. “It will be,” she said. “Once you come back to bed.”

  The hunger in his eyes rewarded her for daring to make the invitation. “I’d love to, babe. But I have a meeting I can’t miss.”

  Her pulse quickened at the endearment, even as she summoned a theatrical pout. “A meeting? On a Saturday?”

  He shifted in the doorway, and she was pretty sure he was trying to disguise his distinctly physical reaction to her pursed lips. He sounded truly regretful as he said, “Lunch with my grandmother. A standing date, whenever I’m in town. Want to come?”

  She flushed at the double entendre, wondering if he’d used the word intentionally. He’d certainly made her come the night before—multiple times and in quick succession. And now he was talking about taking her to meet his grandmother? Some sweet little old lady, with blue hair and a couch covered in clear plastic? A lunch of cottage cheese and peach slices, maybe a scoop of egg salad on a plate with club crackers?

  Even if she’d wanted to go, she could hardly meet his grandmother while wearing her outfit from last night. She needed to fortify herself with a bra at least. With an untorn pair of panties. With shoes that didn’t look like a stripper’s. Maybe if she drove home, changed, then came back here…

  She glanced at the clock for the first time since the coffee had worked its magic and was shocked to see glaring red numbers: 11:15. She swallowed a little shriek of surprise. “How did it get to be so late?”

  His wolfish grin made her stomach flip. “Do you want me to draw pictures?”

  Pictures. Like the photos he’d taken of her.

  She couldn’t help but look toward Josh’s nightstand, toward the sleek black rectangle of his phone. She swallowed hard, imagining the shots he’d captured. She couldn’t help herself. She had to reach for the phone. Even if that meant putting down the comforting coffee cup. Even if that meant exposing her flank as she stretched, as the sheet slipped away. Even if that meant staring at the phone’s screen, wondering if she could ever guess his password.

  His fingers closed gently over hers. “Having second thoughts?”

  She licked her li
ps. “Not really.”

  He sat beside her, letting her settle his phone lightly against her thigh, and he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Somehow the gesture was more intimate, more tender than any of the things they’d done the night before. “But sort of.”

  She closed her eyes. They’d shared so much. He deserved to know the truth. He deserved to know why the thought of those photos—why the thought of any public exposure of her private life—freaked her out so much. Still safe in the darkness behind her eyelids, she said, “There was this guy.”

  She heard him catch his breath. She felt him waiting. But he didn’t interrupt her., didn’t keep her from going on.

  “There was this guy. He was an instructor of mine, at Mid-Atlantic. We got involved, way more than we should have, and then we got caught. Everyone in the entire school found out, and I left without ever getting my degree. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “That’s why you wanted to go home last night.” His voice was so soft, so understanding, that she had to look at him. She nodded slowly, gaining strength from the steadiness of his gaze, from the golden flecks that sparked deep inside the blue of his eyes.

  “I’ve never put myself in that position again. I’ve never given anyone that power over me. Over my future. I’ve never stayed overnight with another man.”

  As his palm softly cupped her jaw, she caught her breath. “I’m glad you stayed with me.” He touched the phone where it rested against her leg. “I’ll delete them, if you want.”

  She should tell him to get rid of the pictures. She should watch, right now, as he moved each one to the little electronic trashcan. She should protect herself—no matter how much fun she’d had the night before, she didn’t really know Josh, she couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t use the photos to hurt her.

  But erasing the pictures would erase the incredible night they’d shared. She’d be admitting she couldn’t trust him. She’d be telling him that everything they’d done was a mistake. That spending the night was a mistake.