Chapter 3 Brooks #2
That one little bite had unraveled something in me—something I had spent months desperately trying to keep buried because “it was easier that way,” or so I had told myself.
Fucking idiot.
A burst of laughter spilled from the bar, followed by a high-pitched squeal. It broke through the haze just long enough to remind me we were still in public and I was still the head coach of the reigning World Series champions.
We were too exposed out here. All it would take was one rabid fan, one grainy photo for this—whatever this was—to spiral into an endless stream of degrading memes and headlines.
And once the rumor mill started turning, it didn’t stop.
It was a relentless cycle, always hungry, never fair. Especially to women.
Because the truth was the fallout wouldn’t hit me the hardest. It hardly ever did with men.
I would probably get a slap on the wrist, maybe a few sharp questions at a press conference, but Dani was a different story.
She would be dragged through the mud, dissected by strangers who’d call her unprofessional, a gold digger, or worse.
The world wasn’t kind to women, especially not the ones who dared to want something for themselves or, heaven forbid, their bodies.
She deserved better than to be reduced to a scandal. Which was why we needed to make this party a bit more private.
I tore my mouth from hers. “Hang on.”
Neither of us said another word as I raced across the lot with her in my arms. Her hot pussy rocked against me with every step I took, and the friction nearly undid me.
We rounded the side of the bar in record time, past the glow of the security light and around the far end of the dumpster. Not exactly romantic, but it would have to do.
Besides, this wasn’t about romance; we were scratching an itch, nothing more. And that was the story I was sticking with.
I spun us until her spine met the bricks, probably a little rougher than necessary, but she didn’t seem to mind.
She gasped into my mouth, fingers digging into the back of my neck like she needed something to hold onto or she’d fall apart right there.
She was all heat and softness and need, and I didn’t even pretend to fight it this time.
“Still good?” I growled against her lips.
She nodded, eyes dark and wild. “Still want you,” she answered, echoing my words.
That was all the permission I needed.
I ducked my head, kissing her again. Harder this time, slower. Like I meant to brand it into both of us, like I could press everything I felt into her—every sleepless night, every minute I’d spent convincing myself this wasn’t worth the risk.
Her hands slipped under my shirt. I let out a muffled curse when her icy palms connected with my back. She giggled into my mouth, and the sound shot straight to my dick.
“Fuck, kitten.” I kissed a path across her collarbone, teeth scraping the black and grey flowers inked on her skin. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Show me,” she said breathlessly, tilting her chin to give me more room to play.
Fucking hell.
My hands were everywhere in seconds—under her coat, sliding up her sides, fingering the edge of her top. With one clean move, I tugged it down to her waist, baring her small, perky tits to the cold.
“Fuck, I missed you,” I murmured, thumbing her nipples into hard points.
“Me or my tits?”
“Do I have to pick?”
I leaned down, sucking one nipple into my mouth, and then the other. Her hips rolled against mine, and I let out a low groan when I found her wet and wanting beneath her skirt.
She gasped, a sharp, broken sound.
“You have to be quiet, kitten.” I teased her weeping cunt, swirling two of my fingers through her slit. “You don’t want anybody to see, do you?”
Her breath hitched when I pushed my finger inside her, curling it just right, hitting the spot I knew drove her insane.
“You don’t want them to know how wet this pussy is for me.”
She shivered when I added a second finger.
God, I hadn’t touched her in months, but my body hadn’t forgotten a damn thing. She was tight and trembling. I wanted to stay here, just like this, with her pussy gripping my fingers like a vice and her teeth sunk into my shoulder to keep from screaming.
“Fuck,” I groaned against her throat. “You feel goddamn perfect.”
She didn’t answer, not with words at least. She just rolled her hips against my hand, chasing more.
Little did she know, I would lay down my heart to give her everything.
I watched her face, how it crumpled with pleasure, her lashes fluttering, lips parted and breathy.
It hit me hard how much I’d missed this.
Missed her. Not just the way her body responded to mine, not just the way she said my name when she came, but this.
The vulnerability, the surrender.
It was a rare gift—especially from a formidable woman like Dani Bernal—one that needed to be cherished.
My cock throbbed, still pressed against her core, hard as stone. Every muscle in my body was strung tight, but I didn’t rush this. I wanted to watch her come apart first. I needed it.
Her hands grabbed at me—hoodie, shirt, anything she could hold on to—as she writhed against my hand.
“That’s it,” I whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear. I thrust a third finger inside her channel, stretching her wide. “Ride my fingers, kitten. Take what you need.”
She cried out as she came, and this time, I couldn’t bring myself to care if someone heard us. Not when she was creaming my fingers, drenching me with her cum.
When she finally finished convulsing around me, I pulled my fingers free from her pussy, dragged them up her body, and painted her neck with her release.
She tipped her head back in offering, and I took it, my tongue following the slick path I’d left, up her neck, across her jaw, tasting every drop until finally, I claimed her mouth.
She moaned into the kiss, our tongues dueling for control.
It was dirty and delicious, the best goddamn meal I had ever tasted.
My body lurched when she reached a hand between us to palm my cock. “Jesus, Dani—”
“Please,” she cried.
“Please what?”
“Please stop teasing me.”
“Who’s teasing?” I said, voice cracking. “You’ve been in my head for weeks, kitten. Every goddamn night.”
Her hand cupped the back of my neck, dragging me back to her mouth.
“Then stop thinking,” she whispered. “And fuck me.”
I didn’t hesitate.
I dragged her panties down just enough, freed my cock with a clumsy, desperate hand, and buried myself to the hilt inside of her. She choked back a groan, burying her face against my hoodie so as not to scream.
“Fuck, Brooks—”
“Say it again.”
“Brooks,” she breathed, again and again like a prayer. Or maybe a curse. I had been under her spell since the day we’d met.
Her pussy was like liquid lava, still hot and fluttering from her orgasm. It was almost too much. Almost.
My fingers dug into the backs of her thighs as I lifted her up and down my cock and pounded into her.
She tightened her legs around my waist, hanging onto me like a lifeline.
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that we would both have a few scrapes and bruises tomorrow, but I didn’t care.
On the contrary, I would wear her marks with pride.
At least then, I would know this was real.
I felt my climax building, but I wanted to get her there one more time. I shifted my hold on her, moving a hand around her hips until my thumb brushed her clit. She tightened around me, a fresh rush of arousal coating my cock.
Fuck, I wanted to bathe in her juices.
Preferably with her laid out on my bed, legs splayed wide open, completely bare except for the boots that were currently digging into my ass.
She gasped as my fingers circled her clit again. She was right there; we both were. Just a little harder and—
“Oh god, don’t stop!”
Perfect.
Her second orgasm tore through her like wildfire, sharp and sudden. That was the last straw. I lost it with a groan, hips jerking as I emptied inside her.
A small, nagging voice in the back of my head told me we probably should have had the safe sex talk before I was filling her up with my cum. But I hadn’t been with anybody but her for nearly a year, and she was on the shot or had been when we’d first hooked up earlier that summer.
So much for being a responsible adult.
Tomorrow, I would go back to being the straight-laced, single father who spent his days coaching baseball and his nights watching Bluey. Tonight, I was too caught up in the feeling of Dani’s strangled breath fanning my cheek.
We stayed like that, forehead to forehead, gasping for air, as the weight of the world slowly crept back in. The evening chill brushed against our damp skin, but I barely felt it.
I held her for as long as she let me, until eventually, she lowered her unsteady legs to the ground and pulled her clothes back into place. She adjusted her skirt in silence, and I tucked myself back into my sweats, heart still thundering, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
That hadn’t just been about sex. Not to me, at least. Not when she’d looked at me like that, said my name like it meant something. But she was already pulling away, rebuilding whatever wall I had just cracked.
I’d seen her do this before—retreat into herself, piece by piece.
The first time I’d kissed her, she’d smiled afterward like it was any other day, like the universe hadn’t shifted the moment her lips had met mine.
Same thing the first night we’d slept together.
She had slipped out of my bed before morning without a word or kiss goodbye.
I reached for her hand, brushing her knuckles with mine.
“Dani—”
She stepped back, evading my touch. “Can we just skip past this next part?” she asked quietly.
I blinked.
“Neither of our situations have changed,” she added. “We still work together. You still have Carolina.”
My jaw tensed at the mention of my daughter. It wasn’t what she’d said—it was how she’d said it. Like Carolina was a barrier separating me from any semblance of a personal life. To be fair, she wasn’t entirely wrong.
Carolina came first—always had, always would—and Dani respected that. It was hard enough growing up with divorced parents; doing it in the public eye with a dad who was on the road for four months of the year was something else entirely.
I owed her the relationship with her father that I’d never had.
“Brooks.” She took a breath, but it caught in her throat. “Please. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
I wanted to argue. To tell her it didn’t have to be one or the other—that just because Carolina was everything didn’t mean there was no room for anything else. For her.
But the way Dani looked at me just then—guarded, standoffish, her decision already made—I knew it wouldn’t matter. At some point in the last few minutes, she had rebuilt her walls, and I was no longer welcome inside the fortress.
So instead, I nodded. Slow and numb, like my body was moving half a beat behind everything else.
Dani gave me a ghost of a smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes, and turned away.
I watched her walk back toward her car. The silence between us stretched longer with every step she took. A leftover firework cracked somewhere in the distance, too late to matter.
And I just stood there like a fucking moron, watching, wondering, asking myself how something that had never officially started could already feel so over?