Chapter 18

Jenica

When I wake the next morning, I feel better than I have in weeks. Gone is the crushing weight of exhaustion in my bones and the boulder that's been sitting on my chest for weeks, has lifted.

It's strange to feel so light and I don't have to look far to know the reason for my buoyancy. Sound asleep on the pillow next to mine is Jake. I said I wanted fire and angst, and shit, I got it, because what happened last night…there are no words.

How had it taken me so long to give in to the absolute sex on a stick that is Jake Chambers? He was as rock and roll as they came. Only, his passion and fire was hidden beneath a beautiful heart, and stunning good looks that masked the weight he carried. He was brawn on the outside and warm on the inside. Like cobbler. Only, more delicious.

What happened between us wasn't just sex. It was passion and fireworks and unlike anything I'd ever experienced. If there were a PROPERTY OF JAKE CHAMBERS stamp, it would be inked all over my body this morning because there wasn't an inch of me he didn't own last night.

"If you take a picture, it will last longer," he murmurs sleepily.

I place my hand on his cheek, a light stubble that cropped up overnight, tickling my palm. "How did you know I was awake?"

With his eyes still closed, he reaches out and drapes an arm over my waist, pulling me to him. "I felt it."

Snuggling against his chest, I can't help but think Nana was right. He is a tall drink of… "Shit, Nana!" I pull back quickly.

"Now that's a first." He opens one eye and grins. "You called out a few things last night, but your grandma?"

I slap my hand down on his mouth and flick my eyes to the door. "If she finds you in here she'll freak out."

"Msss dat wha…"

I pull my hand down and he laughs. "Why are you laughing? It's not funny."

He tugs me toward him again and nuzzles my neck. "Damn, you're sexy in the morning."

"I am not." I slap a hand on his chest and push him back. "I'm trying to save your balls because I know how fond of them you are and how horrible her aim is."

"Aim?" he laughs. "Your grandma likes to play catch?"

"This is the south, Hot Shot. Everyone has a shotgun, including my Nana, and she knows how to use it."

Placing a hand on the back of my head, he brings my mouth to his and kisses me. For a moment, all thoughts of Nana fade away, as heat stirs in my belly.

"Jake," I whisper against his lips. "I'm serious. She can't find you in here."

"She won't," he whispers back.

Pulling the sheet down, he eases me onto my back and positions his body between my legs. With his morning wood digging into my thigh, he bends down and places a series of kisses along my collarbone.

"Before you lose your shit," he murmurs against my skin, "you need to know she's not here."

I lick my lips, warmth spreading across my shoulders and through my chest. "She…what?"

"Your brother came by earlier to take her to church."

"What?" I look down. "Which one?"

"Travis," he grins. "Although, something tells me the God she's going to pray to, isn't the same one you were last night."

He floods my cheeks. I wouldn't be surprised if I called out to Jesus, Mary, and the Apostles last night. Thank goodness Nana can't hear when she's sleeping.

I close my eyes and swallow, the way his erection is digging into my leg, stirring my arousal. "So you got up earlier?"

"Sure did," he confirms. "I smelled coffee and thought it was you, so I got up to say good morning. But when I saw that it was your Nana, she asked if I would like to have a cup with her so I said yes. She said not to wake you because you had been working so hard and needed your sleep. By the way, when did you start working nights?"

I look toward the window, not wanting to think about the club. It's the weekend, which is my Richardson free time.

"Wait." I turn away from the window and look back at Jake. "How did you manage to get out of my room this morning without her seeing you?"

"I left your room shortly after you passed out last night." He places a series of kisses on my abdomen then looks up, grinning. "Well, it was more like morning. We were up for quite some time."

I bring my finger to his cheek, stroking it slowly. "And she said she was going to church?"

"Yup." He moves one hand to my breast and plucks my nipple expertly. "Some craft fair?"

"Oh…right," I arch my back slightly. She told me about it last week. I must have forgotten.

"Sounds like she will be gone for a while," he says with a waggle of his brow.

The idea of having more alone time with Jake gives me all kinds of ideas. "When do you go back to Highland?"

"Well…my flight was actually last night."

"What?" I push up on my elbows. "You missed it?"

"It's fine," he laughs. "I wanted to. Last night was worth it. Shit, it was worth everything."

Heat blooms in my chest and cheeks. "So, when do you have to head back?"

"Monday is a holiday for me, so I can stay as long as you want me to."

"Well," I consider the possibilities. "I have a full day Monday but can you take a late flight tonight?"

He pushes up and kisses me gently. "Sparky, I can do whatever you want me to do."

"Oh yeah?" Pushing him up, he falls onto his back and I throw my leg over his waist and straddle him. "Then how about this?"

Bending down, I kiss his neck and chest, running my tongue along the grooves of his glorious six pack. He runs his hands through my hair, moaning in pleasure. "I could get used to this."

I murmur my agreement. I like seeing Jake in my bed. In fact, I like falling asleep and waking up next to him.

"You know what I want?" he groans.

I push up and place my hands on his chest. "Pretty sure I can guess."

Moving both hands to my tits, he fondles them with a laugh. "I want you every day, all day. But I was thinking of something else."

"Oh yeah?" I look down, taking in his incredible body. He looks like he was chiseled from stone. A Greek god, but hotter. "And that would be?"

"You keep looking at me like that," he moves both hands to my ass and squeezes, "and I am going to bend you over and take this the way I want."

"You want to claim my ass, Hot Shot?" I shoot him a playful smile.

I'd tried anal before but didn't care for it. The idea of Jake grabbing my ass while pounding into me, however, stirred my interest.

"Oh yeah," he nods enthusiastically. "But we don't have enough time right now. We need to go slow to do it right. Plus, once that tight little hole lets me in, I'm going to tap that ass like it's no one's business."

"Good God," I shake my head, cheeks burning.

"I'm serious," he laughs, smiling harder than I think I have ever seen. "When I claim that part of you, I need time. We're talking a long night, with no wakeup call the next day."

"Charleston?" I propose. "Ellery mentioned you and Cruz had a series down there soon."

"Well, one, remind me to thank her for telling you. And two, hell yes, Sparky. It's a date. You bring this hot ass, and I'll bring the lube."

I slap a hand over my face and laugh. "You're too much."

"Yeah," he kisses the back of my hand, "I am. But I know you can take me."

I spread my fingers and when I peek through, he winks. "So what is it you want to do if it's not me?" I ask, dropping my hand down to his chest.

"Well," he looks at me cautiously. " I want you to pitch for me."

"What?" I shake my head.

"I want to see you pitch, Sparky."

"No."

I start to slide off and he grabs the leg that's still draped over him. "I saw the way your eyes lit up last night when you talked about playing ball in college. You love it, just as much as I do."

"No," I say a second time, and pull my leg out of his grasp.

Swinging both over the side of the bed, I look down and search the floor for my clothes. "I want to see you." He scoops my pajama bottoms up and hands them to me.

"Um," I look down at the clothes in my hand, "I think you already have."

"Not your body," he rolls his eyes. "This." He points to my heart. "Your first love."

"I haven't pitched in two years," I shake my head. "I don't think I can anymore."

"Bullshit." He waves off the comment. "Once a pitcher, always a pitcher."

"Okay," I nod. "Then how about this…I can't bear any weight on my left knee."

"Shift the weight," he shrugs. "Have your right side bear the momentum."

"Uh-huh," I nod, knowing it won't be that easy. "And these?" I hold up my hand, flashing nails he is very aware of considering the scratches on his back.

"You didn't have them in high school?" he asks.

"My coach wouldn't allow it." I drop my hand. "Said it would throw off my snap."

"Well, the starting pitcher on the girl's team at Highland has long ass nails. Says it helps her grip and makes her fingers stronger."

"Really?" I arch a brow. My coach in high school was adamant about keeping mine short. Then again, he turned out to be a real shit, so his advice may have been, too.

"Yeah, really," he confirms. "So get back out there and show me what you got, Sparky."

I bring my hand to my mouth, sucking on my thumb nail for a second. "Why do you want me to pitch for you?"

"Because you deserve to have all your dreams come true. And maybe," he pushes my hair back, "if you find your way back to the mound, they can."

"And you think pitching for you will do that?"

He shrugs. "Never know until you try."

Knowing he won't take no for an answer, I do something I never thought I'd do. I agree to get back on the mound. "Okay."

"Yes!" He jumps up from the bed and claps.

"But just one pitch. And if my knee gives out, and I fall…"

He flashes me that sexy smile of his that can sell anyone, anything. "Not gonna happen. I got you, Sparky."

"Promise?"

Cupping my face, he kisses me sweetly, then pulls back. "Haven't broken one yet, and don't plan to start now."

***

After throwing his clothes in the wash so he has something clean to wear home later, I find an old pair of Travis' sweatpants and concert tee for Jake to throw on, and slip into my own sweats, T-shirt, and old Converse.

"You stand there." I point to a spot in front of Papa's old work shed. "I need to grab a couple of gloves and a ball."

"Need help?" he calls out.

"Nope! Be right back."

Heading into the shed, I move around the boxes I brought from home, until I find the one I'm looking for. Removing the lid, I set it aside, and when I reach in, pull out my glove. It still feels the same—smooth, worn to the touch—and when I bring it to my nose, it still smells the same, too. Leather and grass. A combination that stirs memories. Some fond, others painful.

Setting it aside, I remove the lid to another box, and dig around until I find my backup glove and a ball. With both gloves tucked under one arm, I return the lids to each box, then grab the ball, and head back outside.

"You good?" Jake eyes me carefully as I make my way over.

I nod, handing him the backup glove. "It's probably a little small for you, but a catcher can catch anything, right?"

He winks and shoves his hand inside the glove, rubbing the smooth leather with his hand. "Tight, but perfect."

My cheeks warm with the obvious entendre, and I turn and make my way toward the patch of dirt where a makeshift mound used to rise. Forty-three feet. Nana measured it and Daddy marked it so I could practice when I was here. Only, in those days, there was a pitch back where Jake now stood, ready to spring the ball back to me.

The first time I came here after I hurt my knee, I tore down the pitch back and got a shovel out of the shed and removed the dirt of the mound, smacking the earth with the flat side of the shovel until it was gone. Standing here now, it's almost as if I can feel the ground rise under my feet.

"Shouldn't you be wearing a mask?" I call down the line to Jake. He's in his catcher's crouch, and damn, if I don't want to crawl onto his lap and have my way with him right there.

"I'm fine." He holds up the ball, wagging it back and forth. "Ready?"

Sliding my hand into the glove, my fingers wiggle as if greeting an old friend, and when I feel them settle into their familiar slots, I stick my hand up for him to throw me the ball. While still in his crouch, he lobs it my way and it lands in my glove with a pop.

I hold it for a moment—the fact we are standing opposite one another, in the positions that we are, not lost on me. I don't think anyone else could have gotten me back on the mound. But it wasn't the mystical catcher/pitcher bond that did it. It was him. Jake was his own kind of magic altogether.

I reach inside and grip the ball—seams rough against my now smooth fingertips—and when I pull it out and roll it in my hand, my heart starts to race. I used to love this time. When I stood on the mound in silent contemplation with nothing but the air in my lungs and the ball in my grasp. It was my religion. The one thing I truly believed in. In those seconds, the game spoke to me, its language sacred.

Pushing down the emotion swelling within me, I hold the ball in my right hand at my side, kicking at the dirt out of habit, then look up. When I'm ready, I step back with my left foot, keeping my right steady in place, ready to drive, then bring my glove down over my knee, as my right arm swings back, coming high over my head.

My muscles scream with the stretch, my once pliable core now tight, but they remember well, the sling-shot rotation of my windmill as my arm swings back in a counterclockwise rotation. Driving with my right foot, my left leg leaps forward as my right toe drags in the dirt, opening up my hips, and when the ball reaches my hips, I release. The snap is quick and the ball sails toward Jake, rotating with a spin that is both beautiful and powerful, and when it hits his glove with a slap, I'm stunned.

"Yeah, baby!" He jumps up, muscles in his arms pulled tight as he clenches his fists in excitement. "Now that's what I'm talking about!"

I stare at him in disbelief. Did that really just happen? Did I just throw a pitch and not fall on my ass? Looking down at my knee it's holding steady—no wobble or give as I push up and stand straight.

He watches me, a beautiful triumphant smile on his face, then throws the ball back. "Want to do another?"

I catch it easily and look down at the ball in my glove. Nodding, he crouches back down as I look down and roll my shoulders, loosening up to throw another. When I'm ready, I wind up again, driving harder with my right foot this time, and when I release the ball, it sails toward him harder and faster than the first.

"Again," he throws it back to me, this time staying in a crouching position.

I throw another pitch, and then another, and with each I feel my resentment growing. Jake was right. I did love this game. So much so, I pinned my future on it. Softball had been a part of me for so long, that when I lost it, I lost a part of myself and where it used to be, bitterness grew.

I should not be here, taking classes at DCC so I can work and save. I should be playing ball at a D1 school, just like Jake. With each pitch I throw, my anger grows stronger, and when I can't take it anymore, I scream with my snap and release a pitch that is so hard and fast, the slap when it hits his glove, reverberates along the back of the property.

He stands up and takes off his glove, looking down at his hand, and when he looks back up I storm down the line, eating up the distance between us.

"What do you need?" he asks when I stop short of our chests touching.

"You," I pant, my breathing heavy. "I need you."

Jumping into his arms, I climb him like a tree, as he wraps one arm around me, and spins me around, gripping the back of my neck with the other.

"Christ, I want you," he groans while slamming my back up against the side of the shed. "Seeing you on that mound, watching your wind up…fuck, it was hot."

"Then take me," I kiss his chin, jaw and neck, needing him more than anything right now. "Right here."

Letting go of my waist, my legs slide down his body and when my feet touch the ground, he spins me around. Placing both hands on the aged wood of the shed, I lower my head and he yanks my sweats and panties down in one fell swoop. Shoving one hand under my shirt, he grabs a tit, while moving his other between my legs.

While kissing my neck he rubs my clit, and when my moaning and writhing reaches a fever point, he brings one hand to my hip and with his other, pulls his cock out of his sweats, and nudges the head against my entrance.

I push back slowly, desperate to feel him, and when he bottoms out, he pulls back and thrusts into me again. He does it again, and again, opening me up, and when my arousal coats his cock and he glides in easily, he brings both hands to my hips and starts pounding into me.

I bounce on his cock like a bronc rider, pulse racing and breathing growing ragged, but when his own breathing grows labored and I feel his fingers kneading my flesh, I can tell he's close to coming.

I look up over my shoulder, wanting to own his release, the way he has mine, so many times. "I want to taste you," I rasp.

He slows to a near stop, eyes hooded. "You don't have to."

No blowjobs. It was one of our rules. But I want him in a way I have never wanted anyone. "I want to."

His eyes lock on mine, and when I straighten, he slips out of me, watching me almost dreamlike, as I turn around and drop to my knees. Grabbing his cock with one hand, I wrap the other around the base, and place my lips on the head and suck. His cock is warm and salty, like the ocean. Like home.

"Shit," he puffs out, throwing one hand to the shed, and placing the other on the back of my head. "That mouth, God damn."

Grabbing his ass with both hands, he looks down as I look up, and with our eyes locked, he starts to rock his hips back and forth. As he pulls back, I suck, and when he eases forward, I open my mouth wider.

The look in his eyes shifts from hot to carnal as I coax his enormous cock down my throat deeper each time. When I can take all of him, I bring one hand to his balls and massage them, while gripping his ass with the other

"Fuck, Sparky," he groans, bringing his other hand to my head. "You can suck dick like a pro."

With my eyes watering and saliva dripping from my mouth, I preen with the compliment, and really get into it. With his moans encouraging me, I take him deep in my throat, then pull back and suck in a gulp of air. I do this again and again and when he starts to knead my scalp, and the head of his cock swells, I know he's going to come.

He looks down at me, seeking my approval, and when I nod he jerks forward, warm ropes of cum, shooting down my throat.I've never swallowed, let alone sucked a guy off, but I can't get enough because watching this incredible bulk of a guy come undone because of me, is intoxicating.

He watches me take all of him, heat in his eyes clouding with ecstasy, and when his dick stops twitching, I pull back and he slips out of my mouth with a wet pop.

Reaching under my arms he picks me up, and with his sweats down around his knees and my own bunched around my legs, he shuffles over to my Papa's old workbench and sets me down.

Yanking my sweats and undies down over my shoes, he drops them on top of the bench next to me, then pushes me down, gripping my thighs and pulling them apart. Lowering his head to my pussy he feasts on me like a man starved, sucking and flicking my now buzzing clit, while lapping at my pussy with long, seductive strokes.

"F…fuc…fuck," I pant, and wrap my legs around his head. My insides feel like a coil being wound tight and when I look down to watch him devour me, it winds tighter.

"You taste so good," he murmurs against my sex as my insides get hotter and the coil tighter. My chest warms and my heart pounds as my climax builds, and when the coil inside me springs free, he reaches under my ass and grabs my ass, suckling like he's consuming the very essence of me.

"Yes," he moans. "Give it to me. Give me that sweet release."

A rush of electricity rushes down my spine and shoots through my body, igniting every nerve ending as I writhe and moan, heat flooding through me. I can't breathe, can't speak, the tidal wave washing over me making it impossible to even see straight.

When the euphoria recedes, and he pushes up and leans over me, I grab his face with both hands and kiss him. The combination of his release and my own is a combination of salt and sweet that turns me on, making me want him again.

He pulls back and reaches for my sweats, but surprising him, I hope off the workbench. "Where are you going?" he laughs.

"First one to the shower, comes first."

Reaching for his sweats, he pulls them up quickly, but by the time he exists the shed, I have already reached the stairs to the back porch. Running into the house, I dash down the hall to the bathroom and turn on the shower. By the time he bursts through the door, I am pulling open the curtain and stepping inside.

"Close the door," I reach for the soap. "You have work to do."

Undressing in record speed, he climbs in behind me and when I turn around and hand him the soap, he accepts it with a smile.

After working up a lather, he places it on the shelf, then rubs his soapy hands over my back and when done, around to my front. He takes his time, caressing my boobs and stomach, before sliding his hand between my thighs and doing the same.

When done, he grabs my leg and places my foot on the edge of the tub. "Keep that there," he commands, before reaching for the soap again, washing his body quickly, then using the adjustable shower head to rinse us both off.

When he's done, he returns the head to its holder then grabs my hips and eases into me. Between my earlier orgasm and the soap, he slides right in, and in no time, the sound of our wet skin slapping, echoes in the shower stall.

"Say you're mine," he sucks my neck while pounding into me.

Slamming one hand on the wet tiles, I reach up and grab his neck with the other. "I'm yours."

"Again," he says urgently.

"I'm yours, Jake. Only yours."

Grabbing both tits, he fucks me under the water until both of us are panting, and when I come, he pulls my back against his chest, thrusting up until his own climax hits, in time with mine. I am his and I know without a doubt that he is mine. Distance, draft, and broken dreams be damned.