Page 23 of Wild Pitch
But as I carried this naked, gorgeous woman in my arms from my rooftop three floors down to my living room, I decided I didn’t need to know how or why. She was here.
I placed her on her feet and held her until she was steady.
“Are you good?” I asked.
“Yes,” she nodded. After I asked her to use words, she had done much better at finding her voice. I needed her answer to be crystal clear; I couldn’t take chances by guessing.
“When we’re here, and I tell you to take your place, I mean for you to be naked and on your knees. From there, I want you to rest your hands on your thighs and wait for me.”
“Can I kneel on a pillow?” she asked, her eyes wandering to the thin, decorative pillows on my couch.
“Yes, you may use a pillow.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there a reason you need a pillow? Do you have a physical limitation?”
This conversation reminded us of just how much ground we needed to cover.
“Yes, I had ACL surgery on my knee. Sometimes, it bothers me when I kneel directly on the scar. A bit of cushion helps.”
And now, the athletic coach in me wanted the entire story, but I didn’t want to derail the scene.
“Can you tell me all about it later?”
“Sure, it’s not the most interesting story, though,” she said with a slight shrug.
“I think earlier tonight, when I tried to set the expectations for this relationship, you might have thought this wasn’t real to me. I want to have a relationship with you. I have no intentions of it being casual, fake, or even secretive. What I need is for you to be honest with me if and when this doesn’t fit into your future plans. And I think I did a shit job explaining that because I wanttoknowyou, Kylie. I want to know your scars, and not so that I don’t hurt you during sex.”
I tipped her chin up, her eyes wide as they tried to absorb what I was saying to her. I brushed my lips against hers, fully intending it to be a quick, chaste kiss, but no, Kylie responded to it, her mouth opening for me, and at that moment, I realized that even vanilla with her had depth and was full of flavor.
“Can I touch you?” she asked.
“Fuck, yes. Anyway, you want to.”
Her hands pulled at my shirt, still somehow tucked into my dress pants; her fingers shook as she attempted to unbutton it. I was painfully hard, and I hissed sharply as her hand brushed against my length, and she worked my fly down.
My pants slid to the floor, and I stepped out before pulling my T-shirt over my head.
“Oh, wow,” she said, her hands reaching out, tracing my tattoos. “I had no idea these were under here.”
“That was the plan. My grandmother threatened to write me out of the will if I marked my body.”
“That sounds like another conversation for later?” she asked.
I nodded. “Definitely.”
She traced the lines of ink down my abs, where they disappeared into my briefs. Her hand hesitated, and my stomach trembled as she hit a ticklish spot. Her eyes looked back to mine as she finally slipped my briefs down and over my hips. My cock bobbed thickly, and her eyes locked on mine as her hand grasped it tentatively.
“Oh,” she said, eyes widening as she explored my length with her hand. And yes, I could sense her trepidation, but it didn’t feel like inexperience. My mind went blank the second her hand was on me. And when she spat in her hand? Fuuuucck.
Her timidness abated as she observed my reaction to her touch. Yeah, she was a quick study.
The box of condoms sat on the end table, and I snagged it, handing it to her.
“I’m usually a hell of a lot more patient, but Kylie, I need to be in you now. Are you ready for me?”
“Right here?” she asked, looking around the living room.
