Long Ball: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Rae Lynn Blaise

  I swallow my bite just as his lips hit mine. Our kiss tastes like a warm, dirty martini, and even though Dylan left me completely satisfied not even half an hour ago, I want him again.

  I want him inside me again.

  I suck his tongue into my mouth, sighing happily when he understands my physical invitation and presses me to the floor, plunging his tongue deeper, kissing me harder. The carpet provides minimal cushioning so when he lies on top of me it’s like being embraced from both sides. He nudges my legs apart, sensuously grinding his hips in a slow, rolling motion that tips my head back.

  He licks and sucks his way down my neck, shaggy hair tickling my skin as he moves lower, stripping off my shirt and covering the skin beneath with kisses and caresses.

  “Hold on a sec.” He abruptly stands, leaving me panting on the floor.

  “Where are you going?”

  He doesn’t answer as he moves the cranberry-grape juice to the coffee table. “Don’t want to lose your deposit,” he says with a wink.

  “Thanks.” I’m shocked that I hadn’t even thought about the mess that could have been made. It’s exactly the kind of thing I normally fret about. Who am I with this guy?

  This guy shoots me a sexy glance. “Stay there.”

  I watch every ass-flexing step he takes to my bedroom, entranced with him. Entranced with who I am with him. I wonder if she’s someone I could be more often. If she’s someone I could grow to like.

  Dylan’s back before I have an answer.

  “I believe we were going to use this.” He throws his hand out.

  Something soft lands on my chest. My scarf. Oh, boy. “I’ve never actually—”

  He laughs, but it’s not mean. More…adoring. “I know you haven’t. I bet there’s all kinds of interesting things you haven’t done.”

  I prop myself up on my elbows. “We’ve done a few of them tonight.”

  “I bet we have.” He stands over me. “Hold out your hands. We’re going to do a couple more.”

  I kneel, the fabric delicately sliding across my inner wrists, and before I can think of worrying that letting a stranger tie me up is a Very Bad Idea, my hands are bound in front of me.

  He pulls a condom from the band of his boxers, kicks them off and slides the protection down his erection. “Stand. Now, I want you to walk to the window.”

  I scramble to my feet. “What?”

  He slaps my ass. “Don’t argue.”

  I let out a gasp. My ass stings where he hit me, but as it dissipates it sends a hum to my lower regions. A delicious hum. So delicious, I consider not doing what he says, hoping he’ll do it again.

  But I’m too eager for what he has planned. Folding my hands up so my forearms cover my nipples, I walk to the window. “What now?”

  The lights go out and a moment later, his chest heats my back. “Now you look down on the street where you’ve lived, where you’ve given all these people songs of their own. And this time, instead of giving, you’re going to take.”

  I lean back against him. “What am I going to take?”

  My shorts and panties hit the floor.

  “Whatever I give you.” He guides my hands up and hooks them behind the back of his neck, baring my breasts for the street to see—if anyone cared to look up. I suppose I’m not really exposed up here, but my breaths leave my lungs in ragged gasps.

  Dylan pushes me forward until my nipples press against the cold glass, and reaches between my legs from behind, plunging two fingers deep inside me, buckling my knees.

  “You like this, don’t you? I can see your face in the reflection, Rachel.” He adds his other hand, pinching my clit between two fingers.

  I whimper.

  “Look at yourself,” he whispers, breath hot in my ear.

  My gaze obeys him, shifting focus from the street below to my face, pale and perfect in abandon, in pleasure.

  “You’re so sexy.”

  I am. Right now, I am, and it’s because of this man. “I want…”

  “What do you want?”

  “I need...”

  He sucks my earlobe into his mouth, and presses his hard cock against my ass. “What do you need?”

  “I—”

  “Rachel.” He nuzzles my neck. “Don’t be ashamed to ask for the things you need.” He abruptly takes his hands away from me, and I groan.

  “Please.”

  “Tell me what you need.”

  Frustration borne of desire tears the words from my mouth in a demanding voice. “I need you to fuck me in front of this fucking window.”

  He kicks my feet apart and nearly splits me in two with the depth of his first thrust. I cry out and pull on the scarf, wanting desperately to brace my hands on either side of the window, to push back against him to better feel every inch of his cock plunging inside, unable to do more than spread wider and moan, taking what he gives me.

  “Anyone could look up and see me fucking you.”

  Exhilaration and fear jolt through me, spiraling in my belly, sharpening my senses, which only makes everywhere he touches that much more sensitive. I’m hyper-aware of his hard body pressed against my soft curves.

  Of his mouth, tracing patterns with his lips and breath against my neck and jaw, and the incredibly delicate skin below my ear.

  Of his ten fingers digging into my hips, urging me off and on his cock to a rhythm he’s creating.

  Of that cock, stretching and filling me, stroking my g-spot, weakening my knees.

  Of my spine curling when everything tightens and blows out my senses with a deep orgasm wracking through my core and rippling out in a crescendo of yes.

  He unhooks my bound hands from behind his neck and holds me tight, pressing me against the window, burying himself deep as he comes.

  I can feel his cock twitch inside me.

  Our breath fogs the window in fast bursts, tiny patches of condensation that disappear as quickly as they’re made.

  I never want to forget this feeling.

  While keeping me in his arms, Dylan’s fingers make quick work of the knot in the scarf, and I’m freed.

  But I don’t want to be. “Thanks.”

  I’m almost indecently wet when he pulls out. He smiles and rubs my wrists, encouraging more blood flow into the indentations—I pulled the knots harder with my movements while we were having sex.

  “What’s that smile for?” he asks.

  I shake my head, not knowing how to explain that tonight was like a vacation, like being dropped into someone else’s life and instead of being strange, it was empowering. “I feel really good.”

  “Good.”

  “And I was thinking about what you asked me earlier—about your soundtrack. I know what it is now.” I heard it the whole time he moved in and out of me, the melody of it spinning in my head as he pounded out the rhythm with his thrusts.

  He raises an expectant brow.

  “It’s that song you played me at the bar. It’s you. Completely.” Maybe the association simply comes from the fact that he’d been the one playing it for me, but it feels like more. It feels like it was his song. “I don’t think you ever told me the name of the band that sang it.”

  Dylan looks away. “Uh, it’s Fallen Angels. I’ll be right back.” He scoops his boxers up off the floor on his way to the bathroom.

  Slowly trailing my hands over my arms, luxuriating in the sensation, I gather my clothes and put them on, unhurriedly in the dark. I’m more comfortable in the afterglow than I was last time, and my thoughts get away from me. Maybe Dylan will stay all night. Maybe he’ll curl up with me in my bed, holding me, making love. We’ll have to go out for breakfast, though. I really have nothing in the house. I wonder if the diner down the street delivers…

  Again, I take the bathroom when Dylan exits, cleaning myself up a little, and brushing my teeth before heading back out to the living room. I’ve decided to be brave and invite him to spend the night.

  But when I find him, he’s fully dressed and talki
ng on his phone. “Thanks.” He hangs up and turns to me. “Cab will be here in a few minutes.”

  I school my features, hiding my disappointment as best I can. “Ah.” Do I thank him for giving me the best sex of my life? “I had fun.”

  “Me too.”

  I walk him to the front door, and lean against the wall while he puts his boots back on, and pats his pockets, nodding that he hasn’t left anything behind.

  “I hope your move is a good one.”

  “Thanks.” I wish I could think of something else to say, but it’s nearing four AM and my endorphin flooded brain is not doing me justice. Besides, all I want to say is, “Stay.”

  He hesitates. “Well. I should probably get going.”

  “Then I suppose this is goodbye, Dylan with no last name.”

  “The pleasure was all mine, Rachel who is moving.” He wraps his arms around me, ravishing me with one last kiss that makes my heart pound.

  He winks and walks out my door without another word.

  It takes a few minutes for the regret to settle over me. I was afraid I’d feel it, and I do. But it’s not the regret I thought it would be. Because I’m not at all sorry that I let Dylan into my bed, even though I don’t know his last name, even though I’ll never see him again. I’m not at all sorry that I let my guard down or that I became as much of a stranger with him as he was to me.

  The regret I have is completely unexpected—I regret letting him leave.

  Humming to myself, I clean up the remains of the picnic and fold the sheet, holding it to my face and breathing in the remnants of his cologne mingling with my perfume. The scents complement each other.

 

  5

  It’s after eleven-thirty when I wake up—nearly unheard of with my strict schedule, but these last few days are fairly empty, allowing me to lie in my bed, luxuriating first in the memories of last night, then continue wallowing in that languid feeling in a long, hot shower. Dylan’s given me enough Rabbit fodder to last me years, when the vividness of the memories of last night fade in intensity then finally dissolve completely like chocolate on my tongue.

  I dry my hair and dress in a khaki skirt and a light blue sweater that gently caresses my skin, and swipe on a little mascara and lip gloss. Alex has sent me a text demanding details but also sending a sneak peek at the playlist I promised I’d listen to. I press play on the song called Summertime Sadness, and with the first few swelling chords I’m taken away.

  Striding to the bathroom, I grab an elastic and hastily weave my hair into a braid, throwing it over my shoulder and out of the way. I use a blue plastic tub as a seat—the chairs buried behind a mountain of boxes and impossible to get to—and unlock my cello case. Pulling her free, I restart the song on my phone, nestle my instrument close and close my eyes, letting the music flow through me, then from me.

  My fingers fly over the strings, my body sways with the movements of my bowing, and I nail down the vocal line of the chorus, smiling when I get it just right and the notes reverberate back, full and stentorian.

  The knocking at the door kills the moment, tearing me from the song.

  I huff impatiently, not expecting company, not wanting to stop playing. If the movers came early...gently placing my cello back in the case and shutting it, I pad over to the door, ready for conflict when I open it.

  “Hey, Cello Girl.” Dylan smiles, freshly shaved and changed and smoldering on my threshold.

  “Dylan. What are you doing here?” I’m surprised I don’t stutter. My heart’s certainly tripping.

  He leans against the doorjamb. “I know you probably have a million things to do before you leave town in a couple of days so I thought I’d come by and ask if you’d spend the day with me instead.”

  “You’re leading with the fact you’re inconveniencing me? That’s not the best strategy to sell yourself.” But I’m already sold, and the truth is in the smile I give him.

  He holds up a small white paper back and two takeout cups. “I also brought breakfast.”

  My stomach rumbles at the rich aroma of coffee, and I take a cup and motion for him to come in. “Hard to say no to that.” It’s impossible to say no to him period.

  The cocky way he strides past me, I’m pretty sure he knows it. Damn, cocky looks just like sexy the way he wears it.

  “I didn’t take you for a Lana fan.”

  Alannafan? “A what?” Admittedly, I was focusing more on his ass in those jeans than what he was saying.

  “That song.” He follows me into the living room, where I point at a blue plastic tub he can sit on, and take my seat again a few feet away, shutting my phone—and the music—off.

  “Oh. It’s something Alex sent me to listen to, but yes, I really like it.”

  He sets his cup down and digs into the bag. “Let me guess: you’ve never heard of that artist before.”

  “Well, I can’t think of other songs of hers, but her voice sounded a little familiar.”

  He shakes his head at my defensive answer and hands me a pastry. “Are you this out of touch with all of pop culture, or just the music?”

  It’s not a put-down—it’s curiosity. I know this so it’s easier to answer. It’s very easy, actually, because he’s interested in me and that…well, that’s nice.

  Glazed icing crumbles on my lips as I take a bite of the fruit-stuffed goodnes“It’s not that I mean to shut it out. I like to think of myself as an attentive person.” Glazed icing crumbles on my lips as I take a bite of the fruit-stuffed goodness.

  “You just get busy?” His eyes are on my mouth and the space between my legs feels suddenly warmer.

  I fight to focus on the conversation. “And I love playing”—I nod at my cello—“but that’s hours a day of practice, maintenance of the instrument, learning the music, perfecting bowing, listening to different peoples’ interpretations of those songs I’m supposed to learn. When I’m done with that, I like it to be quiet. I don’t care about the latest reality television show, or who’s marrying who in the tabloids. Entertainment becomes noise instead of information. I’d rather go out with my friends and talk about their lives than go see a movie, or talk about celebrities we’ve never met and never will meet. I have goals, but they require work. I don’t expect things to fall onto my lap.”

  I lower my eyes hastily, aware that I likely sound boring and lame.

  “You’re so different from most women I come across. In a good way,” he clarifies hastily.

  I look up, my eyes meet his and I’m moved by the sincerity I find there. I feel myself blush.

  “Thanks. I don’t want much, but the things I want, I need.”

  “We’re more alike than I thought.”

  My cheeks heat further as I smile and finish my pastry.

  He balls his napkin and puts it back into the empty bag. “Confession time.”

  A mild panic flashes through me as I imagine all the horrible things he could confess. Oh, God…what if he’s married? My gaze flicks to his left hand, searching for a ring, or a tan line where a ring would be.

  He notices my stare and laughs. “I’m not married. And I don’t have a girlfriend, if you’re wondering. But I’m also not from Chicago.”

  “Oh. Well, neither am I.” I shouldn’t feel so happy that he’s single. It really doesn’t matter considering where I am in my life.

  “No, I mean I don’t live here. You’re moving and I’m only in town for another day or so, myself.”

  I brush crumbs from my fingertips, a distraction from how disappointed that statement makes me. Not that he doesn’t live here, but that he’s only here for another day and that I’m moving. It’s an emphasis that we’re just ships passing in the night. Though, right now it’s daytime…

  I cock my head at him. “What brings you to Chicago?”

  “Just visiting.” He tilts his head, mirroring mine. “And I need a tourguide.”

  He’s asking me to show him around. And I can’t. It’s not on my agenda. It’s not somet
hing I’d be good at. And, most importantly, it’s a bad, bad idea.

  But saying no to him…“Do you have family here who can take you?”

  “Nope. ”

  I toy with the bottom of my cup. “And you can’t ask any of your friends to be your tour guide?”

  “To be honest, the people I know here would be into going to loud bars and things I’ve already seen.” He pauses, makes sure I’m listening and I am. “Besides, I want you.”

  I feel like I’ve fallen down a flight of stairs the way my pulse speeds up and my head gets all dizzy.

  “I’m not the best to show you this city. I’ve barely seen much of it, myself.” I’m not even sure how I got those words out when all I’m thinking is he wants me!

  Dylan grins. “All the more reason to see a few places before you move, right?”

  He’s not wrong; it’s not the first time I’ve regretted not seeing more while I was here. But it doesn’t influence my answer. My answer was pretty much decided the minute he walked in the door, as bad as it is, as wrong as it feels. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  His smile is lightning fast and twice as hot. “I don’t want to see my normal things either, nothing loud and crowded.”

  “That’s a deal.” I grimace exaggeratedly.

  “See? You’re perfect for this adventure.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t exactly know where that ‘perfect place’ you’re looking for is in Chicago; we’ll have to research. I could sneak you onto campus?” I’m more excited than I want to be, but I can’t help myself. It’s another day in alternate Rachel’s shoes and the thought is exhillerating.

  “Let’s stay away from the usual stomping grounds.”

  “Hang on.” I text Alex. Where should I take a tourist for something they won’t forget? Something cool and different?

  Alex immediately texts me back a single word that makes me smile.

  Alex: Tilt

  I call for a cab and Dylan and I make our way downstairs to wait for it in the sunshine.

  Tilt’s the perfect choice and definitely not something I’d ever do by myself, but I want to save that for last since it’s the showstopper, so I tell the cab driver to take us to Millennium Park first—somewhere, I learn, neither Dylan nor I have been.