Wild Pitch (Dominating the Diamond Book 1)

CHAPTER 34

She tries to squirm out of my arms, but I’ll be damned if I’m letting her go so easily. Not while my cum is still dripping down her stomach and her pussy is still warm against my softening dick. I maneuver us until we’re both beneath the lukewarm water. I’m oddly disappointed by how quickly the shower washes away my claim.

“Set me down before you hurt your back, viejito. I’m not one of the petite fans I’m sure you’re used to taking home.”

It’s obvious that she’s teasing, but there’s a strain there, like the bass note of a chord hanging soft but undeniable between us.

“I guess you haven’t been reading the gossip about me after all.”

“Why?” she asks, resuming her half-hearted struggle to be set down, once we’ve abandoned the slippery tile for the relative safety of the low carpet. “What’s your type? And, seriously, Reyes, you can set me down.”

Two more steps, and I drop her into her chair. “Alex did tell me to keep you off your feet.” She rolls her eyes, but she lets me hand her a towel instead of standing up, insisting on doing it herself. “I guess you could say that my type is–” I pause as if considering, “people who make me beg for it.”

She rolls her eyes again, but she can’t hide the heat coloring her broad cheekbones. By the time she’s dried herself off, I’m standing in front of her with her clothes in my hands.

It isn’t just to be helpful–though I wasn’t lying when I confessed that I want to take care of her. I’m selfishly motivated to see her in my clothes again.

“What am I going to do with you?” she asks instead of questioning the fact that I’ve brought her every piece of clothing except her sports bra and panties.

I ignore the question because I’m not ready to hear my own answer. It’s one thing to admit that I want her for more than just tonight. To think about what that looks like–what a life with another person in it would look like after all these years alone–it’s too much.

She tosses me her towel; it’s such a strangely intimate act, considering how much time I spent with my face buried in her cunt tonight. We dress in silence, and I marvel at how easy it is. How easy it always is to simply be with her. Not talking. Not arguing. Not sitting in passive aggressive quietude waiting for the other to speak first.

She talks a lot. There’s no doubt about that. A chatterbox who has a habit of getting louder every few sentences. Each story she tells is one long, steady crescendo, building to a punchline or that husky giggle. Ramirez would hold her own with Nessa and Leila just fine.

If they ever meet. I tell myself that the only reason I’m thinking about having her around my family is because she’s a friend and a teammate. A teammate that my niece is obsessed with. I’d be willing to bet my next start that Leila knows Ramirez’s stats better than she does.

I loop both of our bags over one shoulder, and Ramirez locks her room up behind us. It’s a precaution she shouldn’t have to take, and my confusion must be written on my face because the expression she meets me with is resigned.

“Habit,” she says, as if that’s explanation enough.

“Since Texas?” My question is guided by gut instinct. By memories of the way she pitched during her short time on the Scorpions. I remember how she choked every time they put her on the mound, throwing wild pitches into the dirt, the backstop, even the dugouts on a few particularly unlucky occasions.

She nods. I decide not to press, even though it’s eating at me to not know what she went through on that team.

“They’re big on pranks in Texas.”

“Whatever they did, I promise it will never happen to you here,” I say, far too earnestly but too caught up in the way the parking structure shadows dance on her face to care. “They’d have me to deal with.”

“Reyes, I told you, you can’t start giving me special treatment–”

“Oh, so you think I eat all the guys out like that?” I feel bad when she blushes. It turns out, flirting isn’t at all like riding a bike, and I have no idea what I’m doing. I drape one arm over her shoulder and squeeze her arm. “Only when we win, rookie.”

I toss her bag into her trunk and walk around to hold her door open. She hesitates with one foot in her car and one hand on her door, close enough for me to spread my fingers and feel the static shock between us.

“What are we doing?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. She’s the first person in a long time who’s made me want to risk anything. That would be scary enough if she weren’t the one person, whom being with might risk everything. “You have no idea how much you scared me when you dropped to the dirt out there. I couldn’t breathe until I knew you were alright. That’s all I know.”