Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

RYLAND

“What are you doing?” she asks as I stand from the couch.

“Giving you what you want,” I say as I grip her jaw. “Open so I can fuck your pretty mouth.”

Her eyes go wild as she opens her mouth, and I rub my dick along her tongue. It feels so fucking good.

Addictive.

I don’t think I’m ever going to stop craving this.

I slide my length into her mouth and to the back of her throat. She takes me, most of me, as much as she can fit, and when I pull out, she lets her teeth barely scrape along the sensitive flesh, adding to the experience.

“You take my cock so well,” I say as I pump into her again and pull out. “Such a good girl, opening wide. Letting me fuck . . . you. Jesus.”

She swallows when I hit the back of her throat, and it sends me into a tailspin of needing more. I lean forward farther and grip the back of the couch as I thrust harder into her mouth, watching her the whole time to make sure she can take it, and she can, so I ride her wet, hot mouth until my balls start to tighten and my legs start to go numb.

That’s when I pull out and stand there, my quads firing off, my dick pulsing, my chest heaving.

Her eyes are watery when she sits up on her elbows and says, “You need to come.”

“Badly,” I say as I itch for release. “But you need to ask me a question.”

She sits up and brings her heels up to the edge of the couch. She spreads her legs and shows off her wet pussy to me before bringing two fingers to her clit where she starts massaging herself.

Eyes hungry, she asks, “Best fuck of your life.”

“You,” I answer, not even needing to think about it. “Without a doubt . . . you.”

She smirks and then leans back against the sofa, pleasuring herself.

“I want your dick, Ryland. I want you deep inside me.”

“Then lie back,” I say as I move toward the couch and wait for her to lie down lengthwise. Once she’s comfortable, I hoist one of her legs over my shoulder and then slip inside her within seconds.

“Fuck,” she cries out and then moans loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. “Why is it so good?”

“Fucking incredible.” I pulse in and out of her. “Fuck, you’re so tight, you’re so . . . Fuck,” I shout. “Condom.”

I go to pull out when she stops me. “I’m on birth control . . . but pull out before you come.”

I nod.

“I want you coming on my tits, claiming them.”

Well, fuck, she doesn’t have to ask me twice.

I play with her tits, making her nipples hard as I start to slowly pump into her. Riding her bare is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. This is . . . hell, this is my first time ever going bare, and she’s ruining every other woman for me. Because nothing will beat this feeling.

Her walls are so tight, so warm, so wet. I can’t get enough of it. I want this to last forever. I want to live here, worship her, and never leave.

“Faster,” she says as she brings her hand to her clit. “Fucking faster.”

“You close?” I ask. She nods, so I decide to slow down my thrusts, really dragging it out.

“No, Ryland. Please. Fuck me. Fuck me hard. Fill me with your cock.”

“Patience,” I say as I fall into a glacial pace. And I hold on to that pace. I savor it despite the sweat creeping up the back of my neck and the way my dick begs for more.

“Ryland. Fuck,” she shouts. “Please, I’m . . . I’m desperate.”

I spread her other leg wider and thrust in, pushing my cock all the way to the hilt, causing her to cry out. Her skin goes red, an acute sweat breaks out over her body, and her inner walls start to tense.

“That’s it, baby. Use that cunt to squeeze my cock.”

She squeezes again, creating a magical friction that seizes me, that makes me want to submit to her and let her know she is making me bow down to her like she’s the goddamn queen as I feverishly pump into her.

Because no longer can I go slow.

No longer can I hold out.

I need her coming.

I want her dripping all over my length.

“Come for me, Gabby. Scream my name.”

Her head thrashes to the side, she grips her breast, and her mouth parts open as her pussy clenches around my cock, throbbing, tugging, pulling me in. I thrust harder and harder as she yells out my name.

“Ryland, oh my God!” Her orgasm sends her into a state of bliss just as I pull out of her, lean forward, and use her arousal to lubricate my hand. I pump and pump, and as my cock swells, I groan, my head falling forward as I bust all over her beautiful tits.

“Fucking hell,” I yell, spurt after spurt hitting her until nothing’s left inside me. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter as I fall onto the couch and attempt to regain my breath.

I glance over at her, loving the way I decorated her beautiful body. I watch in fascination as she rubs her finger over my cum and then brings it to her lips.

“Delicious,” she says, making me want her all over again.

But before I can pull her to my lap and ask for round two, she’s up and off the couch and headed to the bathroom. That’s when I lean back on the couch and stare at the blank wall in front of me.

What the fuck am I going to do?

Being with her, being inside her, it’s . . . life-changing. It’s an escape. Nothing else around me matters. I can’t even think of anything but the feeling she gives me when I’m thrusting so goddamn deep, and that’s . . . that’s a problem.

I black out when I’m with her.

Everything around me fades away.

And all I’m focused on is chasing the feeling I got the first night I was with her. And every time I am . . . that feeling reappears.

It’s not good. It’s not healthy.

I shouldn’t be this attached to a fucking person without barely even knowing them.

I’ve never felt this carnal . . . feral feeling I get when I’m near her. And I don’t know how to stop it.

Because I need to.

Before this started, I said this was the last time, so I need to shake this feeling from my brain.

This euphoric state I’m in.

I drag my hand over my forehead, smelling her on my fingers. It only reminds me of how she tastes and how she reacts to me when I touch her. She’s so open sexually, so willing, which makes this so much harder because I want to explore, I want to?—

“What’s with the pained expression?” she asks as she walks up to me, her robe now on and a wet washcloth in her hand.

She drops in front of me and starts cleaning my dick off.

“Keep doing that, and you’re going to make me hard again.”

She smirks. “Can’t have that.” She finishes and takes the washcloth back to the bathroom. I reluctantly follow and slip my joggers on just as she returns to the kitchen.

“So what was the pained expression for?”

“Just thinking,” I say, keeping my distance.

“Thinking how you’re going to handle this moving forward since I’m your assistant coach, colleague, and tenant?”

“To name a few things.”

“Simple,” she says with a shrug. “We become friends.”

I lift a brow. “Yeah, I don’t see how that will help.”

“Well, I’m a mystery to you at the moment. You know very few things about me, which is enticing. All you know is that the sex is amazing.”

“Yeah . . .”

“Well, maybe if you knew more about me, then you would be more willing to hate me, which then decreases the appeal to have sex with me.”

I scratch the side of my cheek. “Doubtful. Hate sex is a real thing.”

“Would it help if I told you that I like to eat cheese and ketchup sandwiches?”

“What?” I ask, finding that slightly appalling.

“Yeah, ketchup and cheese on two pieces of bread.” She does the chef’s kiss motion. “Delicious.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Add some Doritos in the sandwich as well, and you have my favorite thing to eat for lunch.”

“Jesus.” I cringe.

“And I like to wash it down with grapefruit juice.”

I shake my head. “No, no, you fucking don’t.”

“I do,” she says. “It’s a fantastic combination.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying. Dead serious. I love it.”

I feel my gag reflex activate. “Why the fuck would you come up with that combination?”

“It’s all that was available, all we could afford. So I became accustomed to it.”

I pause for a second, my mind remembering something. “Wait, you were Bennett’s guardian, weren’t you?”

She slowly nods.

“You were . . . foster kids, right?”

I can see the wheels in her mind start turning. “Where are you going with this?”

“Well, if that’s all you could afford, that makes me feel?—”

“Nope,” she says, shaking her finger at me. “Do not even think about it. I’m grossing you out. I’m not making you think anything else about me.”

“Gabby.”

“Remember when I knew who you were and I didn’t tell you? Instead, I used your dick for my own pleasure. Remember how mad you were about that? Go back to that, Ryland.”

That gives me pause as I wrestle with my feelings. “This is all fucking confusing.”

“How about this . . . who do you think the best catcher in the league is right now?”

I lift a brow at her. “Are you going to say a different name just to argue with me?”

“No, I have a name set in my mind.”

“How do I know you won’t change it if I say the same person?”

“Fine, how about we write it down? That way, I can’t change my answer.”

I study her for a second. “From the look in your eye, I’m guessing you’ll name someone controversial.”

“No, I’m going to be right. And hey, now you can get a glimpse of my knowledge.”

She might be right about that.

I take baseball trivia very seriously. The vile ketchup sandwich might have created pity, but if she tries to tell me that someone is a better catcher than the one in my head, that could create a real division, which in return would probably cool the temperament and need between us. Can’t fuck someone who is wrong about baseball.

I rip off a piece of the pizza box top, and I hand it to her along with a marker from Mac’s marker bin. “Write it down, and then I’ll tell you who the best catcher is.”

She takes the marker from me, uncaps it, and writes a name down. When she’s done, she caps the marker and tosses it on the table, holding her cardboard close to her chest.

“Okay, who is it, Rowley?”

Rowley? Why do I find that so hot?

Clearing my throat and reminding myself what I’m trying to do, I say, “Whatever you wrote down, it’s not correct unless you said Asher Peppers.”

She smirks and flips her cardboard over. I read, “Jason Orson.”

I roll my eyes dramatically. “You have lost your goddamn mind. You’re only saying that because he’s charismatic.”

“Uh, excuse me?” she says. “Do you really think I’m that dense?”

“If you’re saying that you think Jason Orson from the Rebels is better than Asher Peppers from the Bombers, then you have lost your goddamn mind.”

“Explain,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No.” I shake my head. “I want you to explain.”

“Easy.” She takes a seat at the kitchen table, so I do as well. “Jason Orson has two championship titles under his name. Peppers doesn’t.”

“That’s your reasoning? You realize it’s a team event, right?”

“And within those two titles,” she continues, “Orson averaged a .356 batting average, allowed only two stolen bases, and had a pop time of under two seconds, under pressure. Outside of the postseason, he’s maintained a slugging percentage of just over four hundred and has easily one of the quickest, most accurate arms in the league.”

I shake my head. “Orson used to be the best. Your question is who is the best now? And I would have said Orson maybe last season, but this season, it’s all about Peppers. His pop time is a solid 1.5 seconds. He’s had over three hundred and fifty putouts so far this season, his fielding percentage is just over nine hundred, and he’s allowed three passed balls all season, as opposed to Jason’s five.”

“The Bombers pitching staff has more accuracy this year, making it easier on Peppers,” she counters. “Not to mention, the Rebels have a tougher schedule than the Bombers.”

“The schedule is not that different,” I say.

“If you seriously believe that, then you’re the delusional one.” She folds her arms. “Bennett and I have been over this, how the Bombers skate by every year with an easy schedule.”

“If it was so easy, then why aren’t they winning?” I ask.

“Great question. Maybe because the team isn’t that great.”

“Which in return would make Peppers’s job harder.”

“Or,” she counters, “it would make him more shiny to people like you since he’s mixed into a talent pool of crap.”

“Wow.” I laugh sardonically. “You seriously have no leg to stand on. Just admit it, you like Jason Orson because he claims he has the best butt in baseball and is now selling potato salad to the masses.”

“I couldn’t care less about his potato salad.”

“Did you hear that?” I say, holding a hand up to my ear. “That was Orson just squealing from the insult.”

“I hope he did squeal.” She sets her cardboard down and continues, “Well, this was helpful. Because after this conversation, I have a very small opinion of you.”

“Says the person who’ll be working for me.”

“Oh, good luck firing me.” She crosses her fingers and holds them out to me. “Me and David are like this.”

That causes my eyes to narrow. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that he likes me, he’s on my side, and you would be hard-pressed to figure out a way to get rid of me. So . . . good luck.”

I give her a quick once-over. “You know what? You’re right, this was a good conversation because now I know exactly what I’m going to do with you.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“Uh, yeah,” I say like a child.

“What are you going to do? Try to make my life hell?”

“As a matter of fact, I am,” I say.

“Well, good luck to you because I had to army crawl, walk, skip, and jog through the depths of Satan’s asshole to get to where I am right now. Nothing you throw my way will scare me.”

“We’ll see about that,” I say, then gesture to the door. “Thanks for the quick fuck, but I’m done with you.”

“Thanks for your sticky cum on my chest . . . I’m surprised it wasn’t more.”

I don’t know why that grates on my nerves, but it does. “I fucking unloaded on you.”

“I’ve seen more,” she says with a shrug as she moves toward the door.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to lie.”

She looks over her shoulder and says, “I wasn’t lying.”

With that, she exits the house and shuts the door behind her.

Bullshit, that was a lot of fucking cum.

No way another man shot out more.

I grab a container to put the pizza in as my mind whirls.

No fucking way . . .

“Are you ready?” I ask Mac as I look at her in my rearview mirror all buckled up, looking fucking adorable with her pigtails.

“Yeah,” she says softly as she looks out the window.

“Doesn’t seem like you’re ready. It seems like you’re sad,” I say.

“Because I am sad.”

I put the truck in park and turn around to look at her. “Why are you sad?”

“Because I am.”

Classic response.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head. “I just want to be sad.”

“Okay,” I say as I turn back around. “You’re allowed to be sad, but you know, if you want to talk about it, I’m here for you.”

She nods and clutches Chewy Charles close to her chest.

I pull out of the driveway, my chest feeling heavy because I don’t like that look on her face.

I spent the weekend with Mac, finishing up the final touches to her room and making sure it’s as perfect as can be. She has a horse mural, horse curtains, and horse bedding. Everything horses. And she loves it so much. Her smile last night as I tucked her into bed made all the hard work worth it. Thankfully, Aubree and Hattie helped a lot with decorating, or else it would still look like my room—a mattress on the floor with boxes everywhere.

“Are you nervous about the first day of school?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Okay, because it’s just like preschool last year. Same friends and everything.”

“I know,” she says, still looking out the window.

Okay, this is not about school.

“Uh, are you sad that I had a hard time doing a braid in your hair? I’m still learning, but I promise I’ll get better.”

She shakes her head, her pigtails whipping against her face.

“Are the Chewys in a fight again?”

“No. That’s not what I’m sad about.”

I sigh because fuck this is hard. “Well, I don’t want you to be sad, MacKenzie. And if it’s something that I can fix, I’d like to know. But if you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay, I’ll drop it.”

She’s quiet for a moment and then she says, “Are you going to forget about me?”

Uh . . . what?

“Forget about you? How could I possibly forget about you? You’re my top priority.”

“What is prio-titity?” she asks.

“I mean you are what I care about most, I could never forget about you.”

“But you’ve forgotten about Mommy?”

Uhhhhh . . .

“What do you mean?” I ask. “I haven’t forgotten about your mommy.”

“Yes, you have. There are no pictures of her anywhere in the purple house.”

Shit.

I drag my hand over my face.

“That’s because I haven’t finished unpacking yet. Trust me, once I finish unpacking, I will be sure to hang pictures of Mommy everywhere. Okay?”

“Promise?” she asks.

“I promise.”

“Okay.” She’s silent for a moment as guilt consumes me. I need to do something about the house. I thought it would be easy to move, but it’s turning out to be way harder than I thought. In my spare time, I play with Mac, so by the time I put her to sleep, I’m exhausted or thinking about the upcoming season. Unpacking has been the last thing on my mind. Now that school is starting, it’s going to get harder and harder. I make a mental note to tackle some unpacking this weekend, maybe make a thing of it with Mac.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t unpacked,” I say. “I’ve been having a hard time getting everything done.”

“’Cause you’re fixing that girl’s shower?”

“Gabby’s shower?” I ask. “No, I hired someone to do that, but it hasn’t helped.”

“I saw her when I was outside yesterday. She waved at me. She seems really nice.”

That’s one way to put it.

“Think she would want to play with me?”

Christ, why do kids ask questions like this? I want to answer Mac and say you need to stay far away from that Orson-loving wench, but she wouldn’t understand why. I don’t want to say she wouldn’t play with Mac because that might hurt Mac’s feelings. So I go with a simple answer.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Maybe you can ask her if we can have a playdate.”

All I need is another playdate with Gabby, although this would be very G-rated.

“Yeah.” I swallow. “I can ask her.”

“Do you think she likes horses?”

“Who doesn’t like horses?”

“Some people.”

“Well, they clearly don’t have good taste because we are horse people over here.”

“You hear that, Chewy Charles?” Mac says and makes the horse neigh. “We are fucking horse people.”

My eyes widen, and I look into the mirror. “Hey, we don’t say that word.”

“Aunt Aubree said it a lot when I was at her house.”

I grip the steering wheel tighter. “Well, Aunt Aubree needs to learn that we don’t say that word. Don’t repeat anything that she says.”

“She also said shit.”

I nod. “Yup, another word we should not be saying, okay?”

“Okay.” She glances out the window. “Mommy used to say crap. Can I say crap?”

I press my lips together, oddly wanting to keep that connection between Cassidy and Mac.

“Yes, but only at the house. You can’t say it at school.”

That brings a smile to her face. “Can I say it in the truck?”

“Yes.” I sigh.

“Cool. Hey Uncle Ry Ry, look at that crap over there.” She points at a garbage can.

I tiredly nod. “Yup, Mac, look at that crap.”

Ryland: Do you have any free time this weekend? I need help with the house. You know how painful it is for me to ask.

Hattie: I thought you’d never ask. I’ll get all of the things together.

Aubree: It was looking rather . . . terrible the other day, I wondered when you would get it together.

Ryland: Wow, was looking for a little love from the both of you.

Hattie: Hence why we’re willing to come over.

Aubree: It’s called tough love, bro. It’s what you’ve done with us. We learned from the best.

Ryland: I don’t know if I should be proud or not.

Aubree: Hold your opinion until you see what we do on Saturday.

Hattie: Do you need me to get anything at the store? You know I’d be more than willing to purchase all the things to decorate.

Ryland: I think I just need to focus on unpacking at the moment, getting some photos up, and putting furniture where it should go. That stuff that we ordered online should be delivered by the weekend. We’re going to have to put it all together.

Aubree: I can do that while Wyatt plays with Mac. I’m sure he’ll do a good job distracting her.

Hattie: Do you need me to paint? I can paint.

Ryland: I need you to chill and tell me where to put things in the kitchen.

Hattie: God, that’s boring.

Ryland: That’s me . . . boring.

Hattie: According to Hayes and what he saw the other night, your life is anything but boring.

Aubree: Uh . . . what did he see? This is exactly why Wyatt needs to go to these bro-nights. I need to know what’s going on. And why didn’t you tell me, Hattie?

Hattie: Sorry, I was preoccupied all weekend. We went to a little bed-and-breakfast up north, and I thought Hayes was going to propose. Shock alert, he didn’t.

Ryland: You think he’s going to propose when you’re clipping your toenails?

Hattie: I have to be prepared at all costs!

Aubree: I think the more you talk about him proposing, the more he pushes it out. You need to just let him do his thing.

Hattie: His thing is taking too long, and I don’t appreciate it.

Aubree: Enough about the inevitable proposal, I want to know why Ryland’s life is interesting.

Ryland: Not necessary to share. Everything is fine and normal.

Hattie: According to Hayes, the new tenant is also the new assistant coach and she’s the girl Ryland had a one-night stand with and also seems to really like.

Ryland: I said it wasn’t necessary to share.

Aubree: UHHHH WHAT? *Blinks eyes* And you didn’t share this with me?

Hattie: Like I said, I was getting a manicure, preparing to say yes. Clearly a waste of time.

Aubree: So you like this girl?

Ryland: No.

Hattie: He does. He likes her so much that he did her in the bathroom.

Ryland: Hattie, you realize you’re my sister, right? You saying I did someone in the bathroom is really weird.

Hattie: I don’t care . . . he totally did it in the bathroom.

Aubree: My God! Ryland, this is information we need to know.

Ryland: Why?

Aubree: Uh, isn’t it obvious?

Ryland: No.

Hattie: Because we have the right to meddle!

Ryland: Says who?

Hattie: The law! Now . . . tell us how you feel about this woman.

Aubree: And how you are going to navigate your proximity and professionalism.

Ryland: Yeah . . . I’m not going to do that. I’m out.

Hattie: Wait no, come back, we won’t pester.

Aubree: He knows you’re lying.

Hattie: I know, thought I’d at least try.