Wild Pitch (Dominating the Diamond Book 1)

CHAPTER 51

I’m oddly nervous when Reyes hands me his phone. There’s a video queued up, and he turns the volume up to the max as he hits play. He leans back on his elbows again, seemingly oblivious to the way that posture makes my skin hot and tight all over, and watches me while I watch the video of him.

It’s a press conference at the stadium, set up like normal post-game interviews, with Reyes sitting flanked by the head coach and the general manager. He explains that there’s no trade and never was. Reporters pepper him with questions. When my name comes up, he assures the media that neither his absence from the last two games of the regular season nor his meeting with the head coach from the Bay had anything to do with me.

“As many of you already know, I missed the final two games of our regular season due to a family emergency that had me rush home to the Bay Area. All I have to say about Ramirez is how disappointed I was to miss her no-hitter and how grateful I am that she helped our team seal our place in the play-offs. Thank you.”

The video cuts out, and I hand the phone back to Reyes. He waits for me to say something, but I’m at a loss for words, as I have been since he showed up at my house. Unannounced. Looking delicious enough to sink my teeth into, as usual. Ready and waiting with an apology that I couldn’t help accepting and promises that I still don’t know if I can trust.

My chest aches from the conflict. In the same shaky breath, I’m happy to see him and terrified to let myself feel anything. I flip-flop between my desire to climb him like a tree and my need to run away until I can remember my one rule.

He’s almost unbearably patient. Reyes sits beside me with his shirt clinging to his magnificent shoulders, his posture showing that little bit of belly that I want to tease with kisses and bites until he begs me to go lower, and his joggers hanging onto his thick thighs for dear life. He smells as good as he looks, so I give into what comes easiest.

I swing one leg over him and sink into his lap. Pressed tight against him, I leave no room for conversation.

Peeling my shirt off without a word, I reveal the lacy black bralette beneath. My hips roll against his as I reach for the nearest slice of lime and one of the single-use salt packets. I savor the way he grows hard beneath me while I take the lime between my teeth and sprinkle salt between my breasts.

His bottle of beer is still nearly full and no longer cold. I grab the bottle by its neck in one hand and tangle my fingers in Mateo’s hair with the other. He needs no more encouragement or provocation; he submits without me uttering a single command. Mateo stares up at me until the moment his tongue collects the salt from my skin and his eyes flutter closed. He lingers until I pull his hair and bring his mouth to mine.

The rush of lime between us is sour, salty, and tastes like him. He turns his head to spit the wedge to the side. Pulling his hair until his eyes struggle to focus on me and his throat bobs in the moonlight, I wait for him to open his mouth and tilt the bottle to his lips.

I pour until amber liquid begins to spill down his chin. Before he can splutter or choke, I lean in to meet his mouth with mine.

Our kiss is a masterpiece of pleasure and pain. Of submission and surrender. I bite his lip and swallow his moan greedily, as if sex can restore the power I lost by falling for him. Mateo grabs my hips and grinds me against him and steals a moan back from me.

He pulls me down into the cushion of grass and blankets and tries to guide me to my back beneath him as the kiss softens, the last remnants of beer fading from our tongues. Making the most of the strip mall jiu-jitsu from my younger years, I flip him onto his back and mount him.

Anything to retain at least the illusion that I’m in control.

I begin grinding and moving to the music playing softly on his phone. When the song ends, I rise and pull him to his feet with me. While he packs up our trash and leftovers, I spread the blankets and sleeping bag out in the bed of the truck. Making sure he’s watching me, I slide out of my pants and hop up to perch on the tailgate in my matching bralette and panties.

“Do you deserve to join me?” I ask when he approaches.

He takes three more steps and pauses just out of my reach. Warm fingers wrap around my ankle and raise my bare leg until I have to lean my weight back on my arms.

“Have I told you today how beautiful you are?” He emphasizes his question with his lips pressed to the inside of my ankle.

“You know, I don’t think you have.”

“Gorgeous. Breathtaking. Stunning.” Each word is separated by kisses as he makes his way up my calf. His breath tickles the inside of my knee. His teeth sink into the inside of my thigh. “You smell different,” Mateo says while admiring the hickey he’s left halfway between my knee and my aching pussy.

“Bad different?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious for one split second.

“You could never smell bad to me,” he says with another kiss. “You smell like fall? Instead of strawberries.”

I laugh and bring my other foot up to his chest to stop him before his kisses reach my wet panties. Holding him in place, I slide back into the bed of the truck.

“Strip first.”

I’m pleasantly surprised that he doesn’t hesitate. The even better surprise is the way he dances, removing his clothes to the music and tossing them into the truck around me until he’s down to short purple boxers. He hops into the bed with the ease of a man who has never known knee pain and crawls forward.

When his lips are a hairsbreadth away from mine, I flip him onto his back for the second time tonight.

“Keep them here,” I say after pinning both arms over his head. Straddling him, I pull the ribbon from my hair and lean in close to loop it around his wrists. “Is this okay?”

“Yes, mami.”

He responds eagerly, but I keep the ties loose. They’re for show and sensation more than bondage itself. Relaxed loops that he could pull his hands free from in an instant. I hook the binding over the truck bed tie-down anchor beneath the cab window with plenty of slack to ensure that his shoulders aren’t straining.

I remove the rest of my clothes while admiring the way his body stretches for me. The way his lats flare like the sexiest wings in this position. His ribcage rises and falls, calm and steady despite the fire in his gaze.

“I don’t have a condom,” he groans as I slide his boxers down his thighs. “I–this wasn’t what I expected.”

I spread my legs over his narrow hips and let him feel my wet warmth against his cock. Pinching it between my index and middle fingers, I flash the telltale foil square.

“Do you want to stop?”

“Duh, no,” he says, quoting me from earlier. “Do I look like a masochist?”

“Are you sure you need an answer to that?”

I roll the condom down his perfect cock, no longer able to edge or tease him because my own need is becoming too much. I have been attracted to him for years; I’ve had a crush on him for months. I have sucked and fucked him and dreamed of so much more, and I can’t wait any longer to have his cock inside of me.

“Please,” he begs so prettily. “Let me taste you, first.”

As perfect as his cock is, I can’t deny him when he asks so nicely.