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Bullied By the Pitcher

Page 31

by Mayra Statham

He was gone.

The sight of his bed all empty and bare made my heart clench. Shit. This was why I didn’t do complicated. Dave had been so big on rules and safe words that he didn’t think of making one up to clear up the emotions that came the morning after. He’d said a lot last night, a lot of things that sounded great in theory, but had he actually meant them? I extended my arm and touched his side of the bed. It was cool to the touch.

For all I knew, he got the hell out of there the moment I’d knocked out, needing his space.

From me? The thought hurt more than I wanted to admit. Shit, this was why I didn’t do serious. I kept things light and easy without strings.

More than likely, he left to practice. The logical, half-in-love side of me perked up. He could have gone to practice. Or a morning workout he had to do. It wasn’t like Dave was a regular guy. He was a division one athlete who was constantly approached by professional teams.

Plus, the school’s team was currently in season. He was busy. He had a life. I did, too. I sat up, pulling the sheet up with me, just as the bedroom door opened slowly. My eyes widened and my hand fisted the fabric. Dave might have said he didn’t bring girls here, but that didn’t mean his friends didn’t hang out here during the day!

Instant relief washed over me as he stepped in holding a plate and cup, too busy kicking off his shoes to notice I was watching him. I took that moment to soak in the sight of him. When he looked up, his dark eyes along with the sharp lines of his features softened.

“You’re awake,” he noted.

“I thought—“ I clamped my lips shut as we took a moment to stare at one another. His hair was damp, like he’d taken a shower, or was it sweat? He looked too good wearing gym shorts and a shirt without sleeves that showed off his long muscular arms.

If he noticed my hesitation, he didn’t mention it as he made his way towards me. Placing both cups and the plate on the nightstand next to my side before tugging his shirt off, he rolled into bed with me.

“What are you—“ I started to ask, but he pulled me into his side and kissed me. It wasn’t a lazy good-morning kiss. Nope. It was hungry with pent-up need he’d put off for whatever reason.

“Good morning,” he whispered roughly against my lips.

“Morning,” I whispered back.

“Had an early practice. Thought I’d make it back before you woke up, but I stopped downstairs to get us breakfast.”

“Oh.” I blinked. “You got us…”

“Breakfast and coffee. I know how grouchy you get if you don’t get your iced latte first thing,” he teased.

I looked over at the table and the plate on top of it. It was stacked high with what looked like two bacon egg and cheese croissants and next to them a honey bun.

“What’s that?” I asked. His lips quirked upward.

“Thought you might like that.” He reached over and handed it to me. I smelled it, and sweet cinnamon-y goodness filled my lungs. “Take a bite,” he ordered, and for some reason, probably because I was still just waking up, I did as he asked without argument. I moaned as the sugary deliciousness blossomed on my tongue.

“Mmm.” Suddenly, he moved, sliding me down to the edge of the bed. “What are you⁠—"

“You’re going to eat that honey bun,” he said, settling my feet flat on the mattress, his eyes pinned between my legs. “While I eat mine.”

“What?” I laughed, but the sound morphed into a moan when he spread my lips apart with the pads of his thumbs and his mouth connected with my sex.

The flat of his tongue laved me from entrance to clit. Back and forth, back and forth, and all I could do was lie back and take it until my thighs shook and I was screaming for Daddy until I was hoarse.

Best morning ever.

SIX

DAVE

There was a sizzling just beneath my skin.

An awareness that prickled to life and hummed deep within me.

One that I wasn’t used to feeling. The closest I’d ever felt to it was coming out onto the pitcher’s mound for the first time in a game. But it was the bottom of the seventh inning, and it was still there.

Humming and burning.