Chapter 16 Indie

Chapter 16

Indie

Leather sticks to my skin and I pull the blanket tighter around me, trying to get comfortable. The pillow slips and a zing of pain shoots up my leg in the darkness when I move to grab it. Slowly, I sit up, disoriented at first. My ankle throbs where it’s propped up, bringing back the events that lead me to wake up on a cold leather couch.

The squirrel, the bike, Dom. It all comes rushing back.

Moving gingerly this time, I sit up. My eyes adjust to the low light and I see that someone left a pair of crutches for me, probably Grant. Judging by the thick grogginess that still clings to me I was out for a while and the game is probably well underway.

I hobble my way towards the light filtering in from the hallway and find Grant still in the trainer’s office, right where I left him. Only now the TV is on, and he’s engrossed in the game.

“You’re awake. I came in to check on you a few times and had to make sure you were still breathing,” he jokes, glancing from the TV to me momentarily before he stands and offers me his seat .

I want to refuse, but I’m still too tired and sore.

“It’s already the eighth inning.”

There’s no point in trying to hide my yawn. He’s seen me at my worst once already today.

“As I said. Out like a light.” Grant rolls another chair over and helps me elevate my foot. “We should ice that while you’re awake.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond, just grabs a bag of ice out of the chest freezer in the corner and fits it against my ankle.

Between the weight of the ice and shock from the cold, I hiss through my teeth.

“You really did a number on it. It’s going to hurt for a while, and it’ll heal faster if you stay off it.”

Groaning, I let my head fall backwards, already feeling trapped by the stupid injury. “How long are we talking?”

“Oh, you’re going to be one of those.”

“One of what?” Goosebumps cover my skin and I cross my arms, attempting to stay warm. The closed off posture and my words give off defensive vibes. But I suppose I am.

“The kind that can’t sit still and ends up hurting it worse.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Nothing isn’t an option, not when getting outside and moving my body basically keeps me sane.

“Swimming, but only if it doesn’t aggravate the injury. Dom had a similar injury during spring training last year. He can show you the pool exercises he did. It’s mostly walking and running with a flotation belt on until it’s strong enough to swim.”

Perfect. Where the hell am I going to find a pool? Especially one that I can use anytime of day and without dozens of other people around. That’s the reason I run to nature when things in the real world get too hard. Solitude helps me think.

“Let me grab you a sweatshirt or something,” Grant says, his eyes dropping to my bare legs. Between the ice and the dried sweat from my ride, I’m freezing .

He’s back a minute later handing me an oversized black and teal hoodie. I don’t need to see the number four stitched on the arm to know who it belongs to. The second I pull it over my head, warm amber and rich jasmine surround me. I hate the way it immediately relaxes me. And that it’s so perfectly him—a little sweet, a little spicy, and so damn wholesome. It could be straight out of a cologne ad in one of my mom’s Good Housekeeping magazines from the nineties.

Ducking my head I breathe it in one more time. That’s all I’ll allow myself. Despite my annoyance, the sweatshirt does the trick, helping to chase the chill away. With no other options, I watch the Bandits wrap up the game, narrowly beating the LA Diablos two to one.

It’s a miracle I’ve avoided the other guys this evening, but I know the chances of escaping the stadium unseen are slim. It’s not that I want to hide this from anyone, but I’m just not ready to deal with the explanation for why I was out riding alone in the first place. Not until I know what I’m doing.

When the door to the office bangs open, I’m so startled that I almost topple off the chair. Thankfully, I don’t. But I do laugh when I see Dom standing there, hair still dripping wet and his joggers on inside out. All the humor quickly fades when my eyes settle on his bare chest, water droplets still clinging to his firm pecs.

“Ready to get out of here?” he asks.

I hear him, but I can’t pull my eyes away from the rivulet that is slowly running down the valley that splits his stomach, heading straight to where his perfect dick is outlined by his sweatpants. Did he forget his underwear in his rush?

“Can you check her head again? There’s got to be something wrong with her if she’s openly gawking at me.”

And that does it. I give my head a little shake freeing it from its lust-addled state. “Maybe check his while you’re at it. All of my clothes are on the right way.”

Grabbing the shirt tucked into the waistband of his joggers, he shrugs it on. “Did you give her the lowdown on her restrictions? ”

“Sure did,” Grant says slowly, like he’s not sure how much he wants to involve himself.

“And?” Dom prompts, looking at me this time.

“Take it easy and ice it,” I summarize leaving out the bits I didn’t like.

“That doesn’t sound right.” Dom frowns and looks back at Grant.

“Limited weight bearing, especially for the next week, no high-impact activities. The pool is okay. Same deal as when you sprained your ankle sliding into second.”

“Thanks for looking after her. We better get you out of here.” Dom hovers over me, reaching down to help me up before sliding the crutches towards me. His hand never leaves my bicep until I’m stable on my feet.

It’s the same through the dark parking lot. And when he helps me into the truck. Under different circumstances, I would fight this, and not allow anyone to help. I’ve been strong for so long that anything less feels like failing. But all of my fight is gone at the moment, and as long as it gets me home to my bed, I’ll go along with anything.

Leaning across my upper body he grabs my seat belt and buckles me in. I blink back at him, not realizing he’d already joined me in the car.

“Is there anything you need from your place for the night before we head to mine?”

That wakes me the hell up. “Uh-uh. Nope. Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

“You heard Grant, someone needs to keep an eye on you tonight.” He narrows his eyes at me looking more serious than I’ve ever seen him look. And damn it, even exhausted I can’t deny it’s kind of hot to see his assertive side. Or it would be if it were anyone but him.

“So come stay at my place. You have to go up and down the stairs at your place.”

“Only if I plan on coming and going. Which I don’t.”

“What if there’s an emergency? Are you going to wait for me to come over and help you?”

“No. ”

“Then it’s settled. We’re either both staying at your place or mine. You pick, but let me remind you there’s only one bed at your place. And I’m not sleeping on the couch after playing a game when there’s a perfectly good bed at my place.”

“I’m not sleeping on the couch in my own damn place. Not today.” As my frustration escalates, so does the volume of my voice.

“Hey. It’s okay.” Before I know what’s happening, his large palm covers my thigh, squeezing lightly.

“No, it’s not. Nothing is okay.” Bordering on straight up panic I look at him silently pleading.

“Let me make this okay, just for tonight. Come to my place and you can soak in the tub—I’ll give you space. Or we’ll go to your place, even if it means I’m sleeping on the couch. Poppy and the girls would never forgive me if something happened to you.”

There’s an earnest concern in his voice that I hear so rarely from anyone but my best friends now that my mom is gone. Brianna gave me glimpses of it, but I never expected it from him, and I find myself caving to him because it just feels so damn good to be cared for. “No, you’re right. It’s silly for you to sleep on the couch. Go to your place.”

“You’re sure.”

“Mostly, but if you ask again, I might take it back.”

He rolls his teeth over his lips like it’s killing him not to gloat. “Noted.”

Other than helping me into the house and asking if there’s anything else he can do for me in approximately a dozen ways, Dom sticks to his word and leaves me alone. In theory, that sounds splendid, but now I’m sitting here alone, going stir crazy. As tired as I am, I can’t even think about sleep, not with the sweat and dirt from my ride earlier still clinging to me.

Pulling the hoodie over my head I set it off to the side. Next comes my tank top and sports bra, both too gross to wear later. Seated on the edge of the bed, I use my uninjured foot to lift my hips enough to slip my bike shorts and underwear down my legs. Annoyance creeps in as I look at the pile of dirty clothes. Another night of somehow ending up in his clothes .

What aggravates me more than anything is how comfortable they are. The oversized fit and softness you can only get when someone else breaks them in. A thrill races through me at the mere memory of the possessiveness that filled his chestnut eyes when they roamed over me in the hallway the other morning after seeing me in them.

Using the crutches I make my way to the bathroom and set them off to the side. The tile is cold against my bare skin as I sit on the edge and fill the massive tub. Swirling my hand through the water I test the temperature. When it’s just below scalding, I add some lavender scented Epsom salts from the wicker basket next to the tub.

Martha would be so proud, and I can’t even hold it against him because knowing he keeps it stocked for his mom makes it too damn endearing to use it as future ammo. Plus, after everything he’s done for me since I moved, it would make me an asshole of epic proportions. It’s almost like he cares. Like really cares, and I’m not sure what to do with that. It makes it that much harder to keep him in the box I put him in when I walked away. The one I convinced myself he deserved to be in because on the surface he reminded me too much of my past.

Carefully easing into the bath, I prop my bruised foot up on the side, but the edge digs into my swollen ankle, making pain shoot up my leg. I grab one of the rolled up fluffy white towels from the basket and slide it under my ankle. Much better.

Warm water laps at my skin as the tub fills. Switching on the jets, I sink lower, letting them work their magic on my tired body. Against my will, my mind wanders back to the man who came to my rescue today. Is he in bed already? Or is he wound tight after playing? Irrational jealousy has my teeth grinding together at the realization that he probably brings someone home after games to blow off steam.

With me here, that’s obviously not happening.

That realization shouldn’t make some of the tightness in my jaw melt away, but it does. It’s just because I don’t want to deal with whoever he brings home .

File that under lies I tell myself about the baseball player I’m not supposed to want.

Shifting in the tub to take some pressure off my ankle, a stream of water grazes my inner thigh. The pulsing sensation that accompanies it only reminds me of where I am. He would never know if I took the edge off. After a day like today, I deserve it.

Besides, he’ll probably do the same. From everything the girls have told me, and from my own experience with the man in question, I know the postgame high that players feel is a very real thing. This time, when another jet of water hits my pebbled nipple, a delicious zing has me gripping the edge of the tub, and the pain tinged with pleasure tugs free the loose grasp I had on my self control.

Trailing my hand over my slippery skin, I cup my breast, heavy from the idea that I’m doing this under his roof. Being with him is not an option, but there’s never been a question that he does things to my body. Things I hate.

Letting my head rest against the edge of the tub, I close my eyes, my mind already drawing on the memory of what he looks like under the spray from the shower. Is that where he is now, doing the same thing, or is he in his bed? The one he last had me in.

Shifting my pelvis I chase the pressure from the jet, letting it do the work for me. A whimper slips past my lips and then another as the pressure builds. His voice eggs me on as I imagine him pumping his hard length while he watches me.

With the warm jets making my brain malfunction, it feels like a missed opportunity that we never did that. His body is a work of art, sculpted from all the time he puts into it. Undoubtedly, it would’ve been hot as hell to watch him take matters into his own hands.

“That’s it. Take what you need.” I can practically hear him growl at me. His palm pressing down on my knee, he’d taunt, “Show me how wet you get for me. That pussy doesn’t look like it hates me.”

Blood pounds behind my ears as every muscle in my body tightens. I’m so lost in my pursuit of my orgasm that I almost don’t hear it when my crutches slide down the wall and crash to the ground. And I certainly don’t care enough to stop.

“What the hell.” My eyes fly open at the rough voice. Standing in the doorway in nothing more than a pair of low hanging basketball shorts Dom looks wild. His hair is pushed back like he’s been raking his hands through it, and his eyes are dark with lust and maybe a little anger. He looks from the crutches back to me.

With one hand on my breast, and the other between my legs, there’s no hiding what I’m doing.

I should move, cover up, yell at him for intruding on my privacy.

But here’s the thing: I’ve never been great about doing what I should .

Taking a step forward he looks down at me. “I hear whimpering and a crash. Now, imagine my surprise when I come running, thinking you’ve fallen, hurting yourself worse, and I find you touching yourself in my house. It better be me you’re thinking of.”

“And if it’s not?” I push, my voice shaking when the jet hits that spot between my legs that has me seeing stars.

“I’ll turn off these jets and remind you how good I am at giving your body what it needs.” He moves another step closer.

“We’re never doing that again.” There’s no conviction behind the statement, not with the pressure building between my legs again and the way he’s watching me.

“No?” One more step.

“No.” He’s hovering over me now, right at the edge of the tub.

“Then tell me to leave,” he says, adjusting himself through the thin material of his shorts. It’s just as large as I remember. “Say it and I’ll go. I’ll accept that it was one time.”

I bring my eyes back up to his, my heart pounding wildly against my chest as I work up the nerve for what I’m about to say. “Don’t go. I want you here.”

Fuck . His smile morphs into wickedly satisfied. “Tell me who you were thinking of just now. ”

Biting my lip I consider my options. Am I really about to do this after all the times I’ve sworn to him and myself that there was nothing between us? Nothing good can come from this, but my life is already a mess. What’s one more time? It’s not like it means anything, it’s just an itch I need to scratch to get this little fantasy out of my head so I can sleep tonight.

“Words, Indie,” he demands more firmly, dropping to the edge of the tub, and covering my knee with his palm.

Letting the weight of his hand help gravity, my knee falls to the side and I give him the truth. “You.”

“Fuck. That’s what I like to hear.” I don’t miss the way his voice turns all gravelly as his eyes land on the hand between my legs.

“Such an ego.” My finger brushes over my clit making me shudder.

“Be careful, your sharp tongue only turns me on.” The chuckle he gives me has me biting back a moan. “I need to know exactly what you were thinking that got you so worked up for me.”

“Us . . . doing this. But to be fair, it started with a wayward jet.”

“Don’t blame the jets.” His hand drops below the water. I should stop him. He’s not supposed to be touching. Just watching.

Placing my hand over his I move it back up to my knee—giving me the illusion of safety. “I don’t, I blame you. You just won’t quit. You keep showing back up. Being in this house again, surrounded by your things. I can’t control it. What am I supposed to do?”

“Maybe stop fighting it.” His hand drops, grazing my inner thigh. My pussy clenches. Traitor .

“If you want me to keep going, your hand will stay where it was.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” The lie is more for me than him. “Take your cock out.”

“No,” he says with a shrug.

My mouth falls open in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“You’ll get my cock again when you beg for it. ”

There’s no holding back the snort that comes out of me at that. “Never happening.” Just as the words leave my mouth, the jets kick up, catching me by surprise. It takes me a second to realize his hand is at the controls.

“Enough teasing, you’ve got me here, time to show me how hard you come when you think of me.”

“God, you’re such a cocky asshole.” My words have no effect on him; not now that my hand is moving under the water, toying with my clit while the pressure from the jets helps me along.

“But I’m the cocky asshole you think about when you fuck yourself. And that’s a win in my book. Slide your fingers inside that greedy pussy while you look at me.”

“Oh, fuck,” I groan, doing as he asks.

“That’s it. Curl them the way I do, reach for that spot that makes you scream my name.”

I wish I could say that it isn’t exactly what I need, but it sends me reeling. My whole body tightens like a rubber band. Before I know what’s happening, I’m lifted up and out of the water. It’s incredibly gentle considering how quickly he moves. My ass hits the tile ledge behind the tub, my injured leg undisturbed. Dom is kneeling in the water, his shorts soaked, and his broad palm pressing my opposite leg me open for him.

“What the hell?” I ask, annoyed that he moved me when I was so close.

His eyes flash to mine looking so damn pleased with himself. “The water was getting in the way. I couldn’t see you.”

Everything about this should irritate me. The way he took me out of the moment, his hands on me, the bossy attitude, but in reality, the way he takes control makes the pulse between my legs pound harder. His grip on my leg tightens; he wants to see me like this as badly as I need him to.

“If I only get one shot at this, I want to see everything. Now slide those fingers back inside and give us what we both want.”

I’m drenched from the prolonged edging, so they slip back in easily. Dom leans in close, placing his other hand on my knee, holding me open. Seeing him between my legs with all his focus on where my fingers work in and out has my pussy clenching and my back arching.

If it wasn’t for his grip on me, I’d probably end up sliding back into the tub.

“That’s it. So beautiful,” he murmurs against the inside of my knee. “You’re stunning when you fuck yourself for me—doing such a good job giving that pussy what it needs for me.”

His stream of praise snaps the pressure coiling in my core. Everything goes black and tingles rain across my heated skin making me feel weightless. I vaguely hear the way his name tumbles out of my mouth, broken and needy. I’m too consumed by my release to dwell on it.

Fingers circle my wrist, bringing me back to reality. Without taking his eyes off of mine, he pulls my fingers to his mouth, running his tongue along them, until I finally come to my senses and take them back.

His tongue darts out licking his lips, looking smug as fuck. “The sweetest thing about you. Just like I remember.”

“That was not part of the deal.”

“Rules are overrated, especially when breaking them tastes like you.” He leans back on his heels, rising in front of me. And dammit my eyes go straight to the tent in his shorts. From the way it bobs, I’m guessing he’s not wearing anything beneath them. It would be so easy for me to reach out and test that theory.

As if he can hear the rebellious thoughts running rampant in my head, begging me to give him more, one side of his mouth lifts higher, giving me that lopsided grin. It shouldn’t make my skin heat all over again. But it does, which is a problem, and all I need to shut down the needy voices in my head.

“Ready to beg already? I thought it would take longer.”

“Fat chance. Now hand me a towel before I freeze to death.”

After a beat too long, he reaches for a towel from the basket, shaking it out and draping it around me before he scoops me up.

“I can walk—” My protests fall on deaf ears as he continues turning sideways to get through the bathroom door .

“Actually, you can’t. So let me just get you to bed safely before you slip trying to get out on your own.”

“You’re annoying.”

“And you don’t hate it as much as you pretend to, or you wouldn’t have just let me watch you come with my name on your lips.” With his knee on the bed, he sets me in the middle, looming over me. His eyes drop to my lips. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he brings his mouth to my ear and his free hand to his still tented shorts, gripping himself. “I’m going to go take care of this. If you listen closely, maybe you’ll be able to hear me groan your name when I come all over my stomach.”

“That level of detail was hardly necessary.”

“I disagree. Last time you were here, I got you to picture me naked. Now you’re thinking about the way I look with my fist around my dick after you let me watch you. You want this more than you let on, but don’t worry, playing this game with you is the most fun I’ve had in a year.”

Pushing off the bed he moves just out of reach, making a show of adjusting his cock. Then he leaves, flipping the lights off on his way out. Reluctantly I pull his shirt over my head accepting, once again, that it’s my only option other than going to bed naked. But sleep doesn’t come easy; not with my ears straining to hear any noise coming from upstairs.

Small miracles do exist because at some point last night exhaustion won out and my body gave in to sleep. The noises he taunted me with never came. Which is definitely not the reason I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

Not at all.

That might be the throbbing in my ankle, or the fact that once again I can smell him everywhere; his scent clinging to the shirt I’m wearing and blending with the familiar clean fragrance of his sheets. If I wasn’t cranky, maybe I’d ask him what brand of dryer sheet he’s using because they smell too good for a single man.

The first thing I notice when I pull myself up to sit against the headboard is the glass of water and ibuprofen on the nightstand. The second is that my crutches are propped against the wall there as well.

Was he in here this morning or was it last night after—nope, not thinking about that.

Pushing away the landslide of memories, him on his knees in front of me, the way he taunted me with the promise that he’d make me beg for his cock. Like that’s going to happen. Last night was it. Never again.

My sour mood improves marginally when the smell of strong coffee reaches me as I hobble towards the door, still slightly unsteady on the crutches.

Silence greets me when I step into the kitchen, which is always unexpected any time Dom is involved.

“Oh, Dommy-boy, you here?” The dripping of the coffee machine hints that he can’t be too far. Movement outside catches my eye, so I crutch towards the sliding door to take a closer look. I almost trip when I get a clear view.

What seems like miles of muscles and tan skin glisten in the morning sun as Dom effortlessly hoists himself out of the pool, using the edge instead of the perfectly good stairs. With his back to me, he stands to his full height.

Oh my god. What the hell is he wearing?

Impossibly tight teal spandex cling to his ass, highlighting the perfect divots that grace each side. He bends to grab the towel at the side of the pool testing the scrap of fabric. There’s a lot that sucks about my situation, but right now it’s that I can’t make a stealthy escape. If he turns around, he’ll find me here gawking and I’ll never hear the end of it, especially after last night. At the very least, I should look away.

Except what he does next has me entranced. Lifting his towel to the overgrown mop of golden brown hair, he runs it over his head, making every single ab pop off in spectacular fashion. His biceps and round shoulders flex with each pass of the towel. I am completely defenseless as I watch, knowing I’m playing with fire but not doing a damn thing about it .

Momentarily forgetting about my ankle, I spin, getting tangled in the stupid metal contraptions and lose my balance. My only saving grace is the oversized chair next to the door, which I’m able to dive into, keeping myself from putting weight on my injured ankle.

Once again, the clatter of my crutches falling gives me away, and moments later there’s a still-wet Dom dripping on me as he leans over me.

“Enjoy the show?” He sounds smug as ever, but his brows pull together and his eyes roam over me, inspecting me for damage.

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m just looking for help getting a coffee mug down.”

A damp lock of hair falls forward when he cocks an eyebrow at me. “The mug I set out for you didn’t do the trick.”

Dammit.

“Oh. I didn’t see that.”

“That’s weird. I set it right by the coffeemaker so you couldn’t miss it. Grant told you to stay off your feet. Not to stand around like a Peeping Tammy while I swim. The shows are free, but at least take a seat so you don’t hurt yourself.”

Another droplet of water rolls off his hair, landing on my bare leg. “You’re getting me wet.”

“Glad to hear it. If you want some help taking care of that again, just let me know.”

“What I need is a cup of coffee and a minimum of forty-eight hours without seeing your face.” Not true , that annoying little voice in my head argues.

Shut up, you hussy.

“That’s not very nice. I thought we shared a special moment last night.” He mocks. “You’ll be back for more before you know it.”

“You’re delusional,” I say, rearranging myself in the chair and reaching for the crutches in his outstretched hand.

“There’s a key by the coffee mug. The pool is yours to use anytime you want to rehab your ankle. Show starts at 7 o’clock every morning if you want to try to catch the full performance. On Wednesdays we swim naked,” he teases. At least I think he’s joking, but I can’t be sure.

Not that it matters. I’ll find another way that doesn’t involve being alone with him.

“I’ll drive you home. Just let me rinse off first.”