Scoring Position (Daytona Fury #2)

6. Ace

SIX

ACE

I pace the floor of my hotel room, checking the clock for the fifteenth time. It’s five to eight, and Lark is supposed to be here to help me with my next assignment any minute. I’m so fucking nervous, although I’m not really even sure why. When we met yesterday, it started off well. I immediately noticed how hot she was with her long blonde hair and big blue eyes, but I stayed cool. We talked and laughed, and I even made a joke about the awful dick drawing in her notebook. But as soon as she fell into me when I pulled her up from her chair, everything inside me went haywire. Between her hand on my chest and the way she looked up at me like a deer in headlights as I towered over her—I felt things I’d never felt before.

I chalked it up to first meeting jitters, hoping that once we got to know each other a little better, I’d see her more as the girl who’s helping me with my schoolwork, and less as the sexy bombshell I want pressed against me.

I’ve never wanted to kiss someone as badly as I did yesterday at the stadium. My heart was racing behind my rib cage, and it felt nearly impossible to stop myself from pressing my lips to hers. It was all I could do to back away before I fucked everything up.

I can’t kiss my tutor. It’s not an option. First of all, I need her help. Making any kind of move on her, especially if she doesn’t feel what I felt yesterday, would have her running for the hills. Plus, she’s ten years older than me. I have no problem with the age gap, but I’m sure she wouldn’t be interested in someone who can barely warm his own SpaghettiOs without burning his fingers on the bowl.

When I called her with the details of her plane ticket, I couldn’t help but strike up a conversation. We talked for a bit—mostly about surface-level things—and I’m afraid to say that the urge to be near her and get to know her more only grew stronger. But I need to be realistic when it comes to Lark. She’s the key to passing my class, and that’s what’s most important to me right now. I can be attracted to her and not act like a horny fuckboy. Maybe we can even be friends. But we can’t, under any circumstances, kiss…no matter how much I want to taste those pouty pink lips.

I’m broken from my mental pep talk by a quiet knock on the door. Taking a deep breath, I shake out my arms, then rise to my full height before walking over and pulling it open. Lark stands on the other side with her arms piled full of supplies. Her golden hair is in a messy bun on top of her head, and her face is completely free of makeup. I immediately notice the smattering of freckles across her nose, dragging my eyes down to her plump, gloss-coated lips.

“Hey,” I say, taking the items from her arms and stepping aside. “Come on in.” As she walks past, I try not to inhale deeply, but it’s a lost cause. As soon as her fruity perfume permeates the air around me, I take it in like it’s the last thing I’ll ever smell. My heart speeds up again, and I remind myself how ridiculous I’m being. I may not have a lot of experience beyond kissing, but I’m not a fumbling teenage virgin.

So why the fuck do I feel like one right now?

She makes her way to the table in the corner of the room, putting her bag down as I follow with her laptop and books. “I hope it’s okay that I showered and got ready for bed before I came,” she says. “I’m pretty lame, so I’m not used to being out this late at night. I’m thinking we’ll probably need an hour or two to get through this lesson, and sadly, that’ll put me way past my bedtime.” The corner of her mouth tips up in a smile, and I can’t help but return it.

“Sorry,” I reply. “My schedule is awful with practices and games, so we kind of have to work when we can. I’ll do my best to get through everything fast so you can get back to your room.” I feel bad that she has to work around what I have going on, but I guess she would’ve declined my offer if she was really that concerned about it. Plus, since I’m usually out of here pretty early every morning, she’ll get to sleep in most days.

Her eyes go wide. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean— You’re fine, Ace. I’m thirty-one, not eighty. I have no business being in bed this early. Maybe working with you will remind me that I’m still young enough to hang if I ever want to rekindle my old social life.”

“What do you like to do for fun?” I ask. I hope I’m not crossing a line with the personal questions, but I want to get to know her.

“Fun?” she asks, eyebrows furrowed as if she doesn’t understand the word. “What’s that?”

“Wowwwwww,” I say, drawing out the word. “That sounds bleak, Sweets. Am I going to have to show you how to have a good time?”

“I’ll have a good time if you pass this class,” she shoots back playfully as she sits down.

Shaking my head and taking the seat across from her, I smirk. “How about we make this interesting? For every assignment I pass, you have to do something fun with me.”

Her jaw drops open. “Are you bribing me? If I recall correctly, you need this class to graduate. Shouldn’t that be the only motivation you need?”

I shrug, sitting back in my chair and crossing my arms over my chest. “I respond best to positive reinforcement. I’m just saying, a little reward would make this a lot easier on both of us. If I get the work done right the first time, you can be in bed by nine when I’m not showing you the time of your life.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a master at sweet talk?” she asks, pausing to think. She chews at the inside of her cheek, and I cross my fingers under the table, hoping she’ll agree. “Okay, fine,” she relents, rolling her eyes. An ear-to-ear grin spreads across my face, and she points a serious finger my way. “But we aren’t going out every time. You’re going to have to come up with some hotel room activities because I’m not trying to die from exhaustion here.”

I give her a tight nod, trying my best to keep my composure even though I’m internally celebrating like I just won the goddamn lottery. “Of course. I can think of lots of fun things we could do in my bedroo—” I cut myself off, my eyes going wide as I realize what I’m saying. “I mean, my hotel room. Or yours,” I rush out on a nervous laugh. “There doesn’t have to be a bed. It’s not like we’ll be fu?—”

“Ace,” she says, stopping me from word-vomiting anything else that’s going to make me want to crawl into a fucking hole any more than I do right now. What the hell is going on with me? My limited sexual experience is a personal choice. It doesn’t mean I don’t know how to talk to women. I flirt all the time, but I never get flustered like this. Lark is completely off-limits, and even if she wasn’t, she’s way out of my league. I need to relax and stop thinking about what she’d look like in my bed.

“Yeah?” I answer, taking a deep breath and reeling myself in before looking back up at her.

“Do you want to get started? You were a little late on the last assignment, so the professor will definitely dock some points. But this one should get you full credit as long as it’s in by midnight.” She gives me a confident smile, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear. The gesture calms my nerves, making me jerk my head in affirmation.

“Good idea,” I reply, reaching into my backpack to take out my laptop. I pull up what I have so far, sliding my chair around the table so she can see the screen. “I tried to get some of the essay done during batting practice, but I was kind of distracted.”

She leans over, using her fingertips to scroll along the document. It’s supposed to be five pages, but I barely got three paragraphs down before I gave up. “Okay,” she says when she’s done reading what I’ve written. “So, this assignment focuses on the physiology of sexual response. In nineteen-sixty, Masters and Johnson conducted extensive research on the way we respond physically to sexual stimulation. They came up with the EPOR model, which says that there are four phases the body goes through during sex. The first one is the excitement phase. This can occur from kissing, touching, fantasizing, or any other activities that get us aroused.”

She looks my way, and I shift in my seat. I can read the smuttiest books all day long by myself and not blush, but the way she’s talking about us getting aroused has me unable to sit still. I know she means humans—not me and her—but for some reason, I can’t stop my brain from wandering.

I’m acting like a horny teenager. This poor girl has put her life on hold to tutor me, and I’m over here thinking about all the ways I want to make her wet.

Calm the fuck down, Mathers. You’re an adult.

If she notices my internal battle, she doesn’t let on. Instead, she continues her explanation.

“Phase two is called the plateau phase. This is when we’re at the height of our excitement, and where we see the physical changes that happen to our bodies. Erectile tissues fill with blood, causing the penis to get hard and the vaginal opening to reduce in size, making it tighter.”

Dear God, it’s me, Ace. If you get me out of this lesson without popping a chub from the way she says the word tighter , I promise I’ll never swear again. I’ll brake for squirrels. I’ll even send a Christmas card to my seventh-grade archnemesis, Riley Fletcher, who told the whole school that I peed myself after spilling a cup of yellow Gatorade on my white baseball pants.

I clear my throat, doing my best to focus, but it just gets worse. So much fucking worse.

“The third phase is orgasm,” she says, looking me dead in the eye like we’re discussing the weather. “It’s the shortest phase, lasting only about fifteen seconds. Leading up to orgasm, respiration and blood pressure increase, pulse speeds up, and there’s usually some loss of muscle control throughout the body, especially in the hands and feet. Fists clench, toes curl, and shaking can occur, depending on the intensity of the impending climax.”

I’m sweating at this point, having completely abandoned any plans of pushing her out of my mind as my thoughts go from somewhat innocent to utterly pornographic. I imagine pounding into her, watching as her fists grip the sheets and her tits bounce with every thrust before she soaks my cock, screaming my name so loudly that the hotel kicks us out.

“Ace?” she says, breaking me from my creepy-as-fuck daydream, staring at me as if she’d definitely been trying to get my attention for a lot longer than I’d noticed.

I swallow thickly. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay? You look flushed.” She reaches out, pressing the backs of her fingers to my cheek, and I have to fight my instinct to lean into her touch. Her sugary perfume envelops me, and a quiet groan gets caught in the back of my throat as I breathe her in.

“I’m good,” I reply, locking my eyes onto hers. She’s sexy as hell, but there’s also a comforting quality to the way she looks at me—like I know I could tell her anything and she wouldn’t judge. Not that I’d ever unload all my baggage onto her. To this day, the only people I ever talked to about what happened the night of the MLB draft are my grandma and my lawyer—and that’s only because I didn’t have a choice. The last thing I want to do is dig all that shit back up and tell Lark what a mess I am.

“Are you sure?” she asks, genuine concern for my well-being apparent in her expression. “If you aren’t feeling well, we can turn the assignment in late and ask for extra credit to offset the partial grade.”

I shake my head, slumping back in my chair. “No, I’m alright. Let’s finish up and get this thing written.”

She eyes me skeptically, standing and gathering our belongings before dropping them onto the bed.

“What are you doing?” I ask, looking from her to my computer that’s now sitting on the mattress.

She pulls down the comforter, rubbing the pillow in invitation. “You were fine a few minutes ago, but now you look like you’re going to throw up. If you insist on continuing, you can get in bed while you do it. Now, come on.”

I breathe a long, slow sigh of defeat, rising from my chair and walking toward her as she holds up the comforter, waiting for me to slide under. Although this is stupid, since the only reason I got worked up was that I imagined her in situations I’ll definitely never have her in, I appreciate the fact that she wants to take care of me.

I stop in front of her, looking into her big blue eyes as she stares up at me. She’s curvy in all the best places, but she still looks so small as I tower over her, smiling softly before I finally relent and lie down on the soft mattress. She lays the blanket over me, and I pull myself up so that my back is against the headboard as she hands me my laptop.

“You too,” I say, patting the spot next to me. “We still have one phase left for you to explain and a whole essay to write.”

She hesitates, pressing her lips together as she considers my request. “I probably shouldn’t be in your bed, Ace. I’m your tutor,” she replies, shaking her head slowly.

“So.” I shrug. “It’s not like you work for the school. You aren’t grading my papers. Plus, this is completely innocent. No different than when we were sitting next to each other at the table.” Now that I have my imagination under control, I find my normal, flirty self. I know I can’t turn the charm all the way up, but shit almost got weird for a second, and I need us to be comfortable in these types of situations. We can be friends who sit next to each other in bed and talk about tight vaginas without anything happening.

It’s fine.

Everything is fine.

“You’re right,” she says, crawling across the mattress and settling in next to me. I want to offer for her to come under the covers, but that might be too much for us both. For her, because it would mean we’d actually be in bed together , and for me, because I was already fighting to keep my dick from getting hard just sitting there. I doubt this lesson is going to get less arousing as we write the essay.

“What’s next?” I ask, running my hands over the edges of my laptop because I honestly don’t know where else to put them. I’m trying to act natural, but my brain and my body are at odds with her close proximity.

“Umm…” she begins, trying to remember where she left off. “Resolution. This is the last phase of sexual response, where the body returns to its pre-aroused state. This can happen fast, especially with the man after ejaculation. The penis softens, and the scrotum relaxes, along with the heart rate and pulse slowing. For women, it can take longer, depending on whether or not orgasm was achieved. If it wasn’t, the body returns to a relaxed state much slower than it would if a climax had occurred. Blood flows out of the erec?—”

“Wait,” I reply, cutting her off. “Is it normal for the woman not to have an orgasm during sex?” Her eyebrows pinch in, prompting me to go on with my question. “I mean, I know it’s harder for some than for others, but is the girl getting left unsatisfied really something that happens so regularly that you’re pointing it out to me right now?”

She looks down at her lap, where her open notebook sits. “It’s pretty normal. Some women need clitoral stimulation, whether it be with fingers or a toy. That can be a source of embarrassment for the man if he thinks he can’t get his partner there with penetration alone. Other times, I think maybe people can just be selfish when it comes to making sure the person they’re with is enjoying themselves too.”

I know I should leave it, but I’m fucking intrigued. I can’t stop the questions from coming out.

“Doesn’t that hurt? Wouldn’t it be painful for her if she got through the first two phases and couldn’t have an orgasm? All that blood gathering down low, waiting to be released—isn’t that uncomfortable? I can’t even think straight if I’m turned on and don’t take care of it.”

I look over, meeting her gaze, and I can’t explain the expression painted across her face. If I had to take a stab at it, I’d say she was perplexed. And maybe a little awestruck. Like she’s surprised I’d care enough to ask that.

“Yeah,” she rasps. “It’s uncomfortable. I wouldn’t say it hurts. It just… aches. ”

Fuck.

She says it like she has personal experience, and it makes me want to find out just how neglected her body has been. Then find whoever did it and tell them how fucking stupid they are for not treating her like the queen she is—but it’s none of my business. That’s not why we’re here.

I clear my throat, breaking our connection and returning my fingers to my laptop, where I delete everything I had typed out earlier.

“What are you doing? You had a good start,” she says.

“I’m changing direction,” I reply. “The essay can be on any topic as long as it has to do with the physiological response, so I’m going to write about the female orgasm. I want to understand it more, so what better way than by researching it like this?”

She huffs a quiet laugh. “Okay. Do you want help?”

I smirk. “Nah. I think I’ve got it. But will you hang out a little longer in case I get stuck?” I know I won’t. Now that I have a topic I’m interested in, a book that explains it, and the entire internet to fill in the blanks, this should be a breeze. I just want her to stay a while. I like the way she smells and how warm the bed is with her in it.

“Sure.”