Page 26 of Wild Pitch
“Kylie, if you’re ever cold here, let me know. I can adjust the temperature to whatever you need. But I live alone, and except for when my cleaning crew is here, I don’t see the need for clothes. But if you want a T-shirt, let me know.”
I let my eyes wander, taking in the sharp planes of his body. He had the body of an athlete and the height of a ball player, and it looked like he kept the same gym routine as his players.
“If you walk around like that, how am I expected to keep my hands off of you?”
“Bingo, baby. That’s the point.”
CHAPTER 14
LUC
“Thirsty?” I asked Kylie.
“Yes, please.”
“Here, hop on,” I said, signaling her to jump on me in piggyback style.
I carried her on my back and headed towards the kitchen.
“Okay, your options are water, wine, tea, or soda?”
“Um, I think tea. I’m going to need to leave soon, so no more alcohol for me.”
I set her on the counter, her eyes wide when the cool counter hit the warmth of her ass cheeks. When did she get the impression I planned on her leaving?
“Stay, please.”
I wasn’t ready for her to leave, and no, I also wasn’t prepared to think too deeply about why that was. We hadn’t played intensely, so while I hadn’t planned on aftercare, I was fully aware of how the brain worked post sex. Especially with a new partner as we tap danced around each other, not wanting to overstay our welcome, and not yet feeling confident enough to voice exactly what we wanted.
“Oh,” she said, a surprised lilt in her voice. “I didn’t want to assume or overstay.”
I swept her flyaway hair from her face and met her gaze, her mouth beckoning. I planned to kiss her quickly, but shit, she tasted so damn good. She opened for me, her tongue swept out boldly, and my body hummed with need once more.
“Tell me you’re staying, baby girl. I have more plans for you…”
God, she melted right in front of my eyes.
“Okay. But I’m moving tomorrow. Which means I have an early start.”
“We have a home game tomorrow, and I have to be at the ballpark early. How about if I promise to make you breakfast?” I asked, using my stubble to tickle her neck, something I’d noticed caused her to become breathless more than once.
“It depends…”
“On what?”
“You’re not going to try to feed me fake shit for breakfast, are you?”
“What do you mean by fake shit?” I asked, amused.
“Like egg whites or turkey bacon? And please, no clay-flavored protein shakes.”
“Baby, I never waste my time with fake shit. Now tell me you’ll stay so I can open a bottle of champagne.”
“I’ll stay,” she finally answered. I rewarded her answer by drawing one of her nipples in my mouth and flattening my tongue against it until she arched her back, letting her head drop back as she supported herself on her hands.
“Okay. Don’t move.”
I left her on the counter and pulled open the refrigerator door, where I had a bottle of champagne chilling. I popped the cork, purposefully letting some of the champagne overflow as I stalked back over to where she remained sprawled out on my kitchen island exactly as I had told her to do.
