30. Scarlet

THIRTY

SCARLET

Slamming my laptop closed, I snatch my phone and punch in the password, my jabs so heavy it takes several tries before it unlocks. Scrolling through my contacts, I'm surprised I don't crack the screen as I hit the call button.

"Scar?" Remi asks, taking his wireless earbud out as he hops off the treadmill.

Putting my finger up, I slice it through the air as I snap, "Uh-uh," his hands immediately going up in surrender as his lips curl in and he steps back. "Pick up, you misogynistic ass-hat," I growl as the line continues to ring. "You were just logged on in the portal and have to be in class in fifteen minutes." As Brady's voicemail clicks on, I let out a frustrated scream, throwing my phone before I can check my anger.

"Shit!" Remi swears, lunging for it, his reflexes lightening quick as he snatches it before it can crash and shatter.

"Give it back so I can call that douche-canoe again," I order as he pockets it. Standing up from the table, I slam my hands down on the wood top and glare at him, "Remington Hawthorne Tate, you give me back my phone right now. "

"So you can fastball it again when he doesn't pick up? I don't think so. And unless you got my ma's wooden spoon over there, middle-namin' me ain't gonna have me shakin'."

"Don't tempt me. I'm sure I can find one upstairs."

"Kinky," he smirks, making me dart out from around the table. "Oh shit," he laughs, taking off for the stairs, running up two at a time.

Chasing him up to the main floor, his much longer legs giving him the advantage, he's already positioned on the opposite side of the island when I skid into the kitchen.

"What's your plan here, Remi? Bring me to the kitchen where I have my choice of cooking utensils with which to beat you until I get my phone back?"

"I admit, not my best plan but, baby girl, you look nearly homicidal. And though I am sure that fucker has it comin', I'm not too keen on the idea of visiting my wife at the Johnson Rehabillitation Center. Conjugal visits just don't seem like our thing. Plus, you're way too pretty for prison and you hate orange. At least if I keep your phone, we can get you pleaded down to heat of passion because there won't be any proof of premeditation."

Huffing out a breath, I concede, "I do hate orange."

"Yeah, you do."

"And I would miss you."

"I'd miss you too, baby girl, but I'd wait for you."

"That's sweet," I sigh, my shoulders starting to drop.

"That's love."

Puffing up just a bit, I grumble, "I could totally hold my own though."

"Scarlet," Remi says, giving me a disbelieving look. "Have you ever been to the parts of Nashville and Chattanooga Ro and I are from? It's cute you think you could cut it, and while you did lay me out on my ass like it was nothin', those women in lockup would eat you for a midday snack—figuratively and literally. And then I'd have to punch a woman and do all sorts of deplorable things to assert my dominance over them which would make my ma roll over in her grave. But I would, because I love you and no one touches my wife."

Coming around the counter into his open arms, I mumble, "I'm not your wife yet."

"That's just ink, paper, and red tape. You're my wife in all the ways that count." Then picking me up and putting me on the counter, he asks, "Now tell me, what'd the douche-canoe do this time, and does anyone besides your brother get to do anything about it?"

Raking my fingers through my ponytail, I lament, "I don't know what I was thinking when I signed up for a lecture with Professor Hastings. When you come into the program you're warned by the other students about how much he loves assigning group projects and how he grades them. And I mean it's not as if my being excluded from things is new since starting the semester. So really I shouldn't be surprised.

"The moment I was assigned to the Nighthawks at summer orientation, Brady made sure everyone who wasn't familiar with baseball knew exactly who I was and how connected I am to the team and owner. With nepotism in the air, no one in my block wanted anything to do with me after that.

"It didn't matter that I had a 4.0 in undergrad, had graduated two years early, was an academic tutor to several athletes who have since gone on to play professionally in various sports, or that I'd been accepted before Boomer and Jennings even enrolled the team in the program. All anyone saw was a dumb blonde with daddy's name and plastic using both to my advantage, all thanks to Brady fucking Hendrix."

Sniffling and swiping at a tear, I say, "I've been excluded from parties, study groups, dinners out. Hell, I can't even get someone to silently share a table with me while we eat lunch or drink a coffee. It's lonely and I hate it so much. If I didn't absolutely love what I do, I would have dropped out by now." Laughing without any humor to the sound, I smile, "I can't wait to hear what everyone is going to say when we announce our engagement. That'll just be the cherry on my shit cake. Father, brother, and husband, all Nighthawks." Looking up at Remi, I add, "And just so we're clear, I don't care what they have to say. It won't change anything for me. You just need to be aware that people will talk and while most of it won't, a lot of it will be nasty. By marrying a player, I'm fulfilling every stereotype about women in the industry and every preconceived notion about me.

"Anyway," I sigh, circling back. "All that to say, I knew better than to take a class with Professor Hastings. He likes to weight project grades as 50% coming from our effort and 50% coming from our partner's effort. I've skated by working alone all term but that luck has run out with this assignment. It's worth 40% of our overall class grade and lucky me, the name I drew from the proverbial hat was Brady's.

"The end of term is December 13th, and that's when our project is due. It was assigned shortly after we got here to Gatlinburg, so we've had a couple months to work on it, and as of today—which is less than three weeks away from the due date—Brady hasn't done a single thing."

"Oh, you've gotta be shittin' me," Remington draws out. "Seriously, nothin'?"

"Zero. Even went as far as to tell me to get off your dick and do it myself on the classroom's message board, unless of course I was planning to drop out and make sucking your cock my full time job. Hence the homicidal phone call."

Taking my phone out, he gently slaps it into my palm and apologizes, "I'm sorry, Scar, I stand corrected, chew his ass out. Or would you rather get in the car and drive down there to kick his ass?"

Glancing at the time, I set my phone down and sigh again, "Later. Professor Maldenado's class is about to start and she'll dock him and me if his phone goes off in class since you know he will be too eager to dime me out as the one calling."

Letting out a heavy breath, I finally stop to take in Remi's sweaty, shirtless state. Despite what he says about eating too many cupcakes and spending too much time lounging about—especially in the first days following surgery—when I'm working him out, his body hasn't suffered one bit. Every inch of him is as cut and defined now as it was back in August when I saw him getting into an ice bath in only his boxers. His dedication to the game and his health is abundantly clear, not only in how he looks but in how quickly he's recovered.

I think it's that dedication and drive he has for the game that first attracted me to him. Or rather re-attracted me to him. He wasn't simply just lucky. He got to where he is—ranked amongst the top ten catchers currently playing—through hard work and dedication. Nothing is ever too much—no workout, no practice, no game review. He lives and breathes baseball, will one day be in the Hall of Fame for his skill, and will no doubt receive countless offers to transition to coaching when he decides to hang up his pads and glove.

He works for what he wants, is relentless in his pursuit of it. Wholly dedicates himself to achieving whatever he desires. And that drive, that ambition, has turned to me. He's given me that same attention, that same nurturing, in order to make me his. And even though he now has me, he hasn't stopped. He keeps me at the center of his universe, reshaping everything else to accommodate me and us and our future together. It is so incredibly attractive and intoxicating. I'm hopelessly devoted to him now because of it and should have known from the start that I was helpless to any other outcome.

Tracing my fingers along the ridges of his pecs and down the center line of his abdominal, I slide off the counter and begin lowering myself to my knees. My helpless state of stressing over something I can't control is an excellent excuse to stoke the slow building arousal I've been experiencing all afternoon. As my fingers hook on his athletic shorts, his knuckles start to caress down my cheek, his other hand wrapping around my ponytail, as I pull his half-erect cock free. Licking my hand, I wrap it around the base of his shaft, his sharp intake of breath making me excited as I begin to pump his dick.

"Are you hungry for my cock, Scar?"

Nodding my head, I peek my tongue out to lick the bead of moisture coming from his slit, humming, "Mhmm," the vibrations making the fist in my hair tighten.

Using his hold on me, Remi guides my head back so I'm forced to meet his eyes as he asks, "What are my rules?"

Unable to resist, I run my tongue along the underside of his head before answering, the quick sting of my hair getting pulled only working to make me more defiant.

Voice growing deliciously dark, he warns, "Scarlet."

Pouting, I pull away from him and answer, "Your cum goes in my pussy."

"And?"

"And if it gets to be too much, squeeze your thigh."

Bending down to kiss me, he nips at my lip as he praises, "Good girl." Straightening up and letting me go, he begins to walk backward towards the living room, adding, "Oh, and baby—crawl for Daddy." He sits down in the leather armchair, dick proudly on display and waiting for me. "Naked."

Eagerly stepping out of my sneakers and stripping off my clothes, I sink back to my knees, stretching my hands out in front of me. Then with a soft slope in my spine, I slowly slink forward, following his path, my entire body coming alive with anticipation. As I reach him, a pillow drops to the floor between his legs with a muted thump, my heart melting at my fiancé's tenderness. Kneeling on the pillow, I look up at him, my giddy excitement hardly contained.

Pointing a finger to the ground, he moves it in a lazy circle, boredly saying, "Show me."

Scrambling to comply, I turn around and bend forward, until I feel his hands on the cheeks of my butt. Spreading me open, he murmurs, "Stunning," tapping the jeweled heart of the plug I've been wearing all afternoon. Then hooking his fingers around it, he begins to slowly fuck my ass with the plug, making my thighs clench and tremble as my already damp pussy starts to leak.

Just as my breath quickens and I begin to push back on the plug, he stops, tugging on the end of my hair. Quickly turning back around, I lean into his palm as he cups my cheek and drags his thumb along my bottom lip.

"One day, I'm going to fuck you here," he promises, pushing his finger into my mouth and allowing me to suck for just a moment. Then moving down between my thighs, he continues, "then here," shallowly interesting a finger into my pussy before reaching further back to tap my plug again and finishing, "and finally here, filling each of your pretty little holes with my cum."

"Yes, please," I practically moan, unconsciously drifting forward for his finger, his cock, anything.

"You really are so desperate for it aren't you, baby girl?"

Nodding as my eyes drift to the rivulets of pre-cum sliding down his shaft, he chuckles, "Go ahead, Scar. Suck my cock."

I show zero restraint as I bypass teasing and building Remi up in favor of licking him clean. Following the beads of pre-cum up to his head, I seal my mouth around him and at the feel of its weight on my tongue, give a deep moan as I start to suck. Hollowing my cheeks as I pull on him, his hand fists through my hair, pulling and guiding as his hips drive up and force more of his length into my mouth.

Swirling my tongue along his shaft, I salivate for him. Ropes of drool leak from the corners of my mouth. Each one keeps me connected to him as he pulls me off to stare into my eyes. Giving him a dreamy smile, he wipes his thumb along my chin before lowering my head back to his dick, this time feeding me even more.

As his head reaches for the back of my throat, I gag, fingers digging into his thighs as I remain careful to not squeeze.

"You look so pretty, choking on my cock, Scar." Pulling out his phone, he grips my chin and says, "Pretty as a picture," tapping the screen before putting it back in his pocket, murmuring, "For road stretches next season."

Knowing his camera roll is filled with explicit pictures of me being used by him excites me. It's filthy, depraved, dangerous, yet I love it. I don't know what that says about me, or him for that matter, but I don't care.

The feel of his hands through my hair as he uses me to find his pleasure. His hips rising up to meet every downward thrust of my head. The smooth glide of his cock across my tongue as he pushes for my throat. And in my hands the weight of his sac as I massage his balls, gently pulling and twisting to further plunge him into me.

Sucking even harder as I feel his balls start to rise, Remington groans and swears, his words long and guttural as he forces his hips and my mouth to meet. With his cock thrusting so far down my throat, I have to breathe slowly and carefully, the balance of taking him so deeply precarious. Even relaxed as I am, more saliva pools in my mouth and drips free until I'm having to swallow around him to help control it.

"FUUUUCK!" he shouts, working my head on him just a bit longer and harder before he's yanking me off and hauling me into his lap, sinking me down on his cock, the both of us letting out moaning grunts as he fills me.

"Ride my cock, baby girl. Make us come."

My response is breathy and nonverbal as I use his shoulders for leverage. Lifting up and letting gravity sink me back down with hard, deep thrusts, I roll and grind, dragging the swollen little bundle of nerves between my thighs across him. Behind me, Remi takes my plug and begins pushing it in and out of me opposite to when I fill my pussy with him.

Everything is wet and slick, my arousal from sucking him loud in the air. Panting breaths, short grunts, long moans, quick gasps, slapping skin. We're an erotic symphony as I ride him faster and faster, my deep bounces onto him forgotten in favor of rushing towards release.

I can feel my release coming low in my belly. My muscles growing taut, heat pooling between my legs and at the base of my spine, heart galloping. It's right there, my cunt clenching around him as my ass grips the plug.

"That's it, Scarlet.. Be a good girl for Daddy and soak my cock."

And that's it. I scream, "YES!" falling forward into his arms as I hump and grind, riding out my orgasm, the feeling of his cum flooding my pussy as he presses down on my hips, driving his cum as far inside me as he can, making me moan his name into the crook of his shoulder as I suck and lick at his sweaty skin, soothing myself down from my high.

Pulling my plug free, Remi starts to massage the back of my thighs, up to the muscles of my butt and along my back, before gently caressing my throat. With a kiss to the crown of my head, he continues to touch and soothe my body while quietly washing me in praise and endearments, lulling me into an afternoon nap wrapped up in him.