Chapter Twenty
Camille
O ne week has passed since that weekend in New Mexico, a weekend I won’t be able to forget. I don’t think the connections I made with Ryker will ever be broken. I was not only able to share with him my secrets, but also a side I haven’t been able to share with anyone else in years.
The dominant, confident, and sexy side.
God, it’s been years since a man touched me like that. Actually, scratch that. No man has ever touched me the way Ryker did, making it a new experience in and of itself.
Every brush of his lips against mine made my chest ache. Every caress of his rough hands across my skin made me shiver, and every time his mouth connected with my pussy, I saw stars. I don’t know if it’s because I was raised as a royal, with the mindset that I have the power, but I’ve always been this way sexually.
Unabashed and in control, knowing exactly what I want and not being afraid to ask for it.
That night after dinner, we went back to Ryker’s room, and while I was anticipating more happening, Ryker and I stayed up late, talking about anything and everything while a Disney movie played in the background.
We decided to stray away from our childhoods, neither of us wanting to go down that solemn path, and instead, the topics stayed light and playful. Well, mostly I was playful and spent the majority of the night trying to make Ryker laugh. Every time I succeeded, I felt like I was on top of the world.
I feel the same way now as practice comes to a close because Ryker promised to teach me how to hit a baseball after. The team is slowly trickling out as Ryker walks to home plate and dumps a black duffel bag on top of it, causing red dirt to swirl in the air.
He takes out a baseball tee, along with a bat that looks like it’s made for children.
“Going back to the basics there, Ryker?” Cuddy calls out as he slows his jog down to a stop between Ryker and me.
“Shut up.” Ryker shakes his head, not taking his focus off his task.
Cuddy turns to face me then, his eyes lighting up. “Is this for you?”
My eyebrow arches from intrigue. “Apparently so. I’ve never swung a bat before.”
“I can stay and help,” Cuddy offers, but Ryker cuts in.
“We don’t need your help,” Ryker says bluntly as he stands.
“Oh, I get it now. You wanna wrap your arms around her, press your body ag—”
“Leave, now .” Ryker glares at Cuddy, arms folded across his chest.
Cuddy’s lips curl devilishly before he wraps me in his arms for a hug that I know is platonic because of his secret relationship with Mackenzie, but it doesn’t stop Ryker from sighing and muttering something under his breath .
“If you leave right now, I will make you breakfast tomorrow,” he proposes.
Cuddy releases me instantly and turns to walk backward, smiling victoriously. “Not only did I get to witness Ryker turn possessive over something other than baseball, but I got a breakfast out of it. Sa-weet .” He throws a fist in the air, then jogs to the dugout.
Ryker’s lips remain in a scowl while his brows pinch inward at his friend. “You okay there, Ryker the biker?” I inject playfulness into my tone, hoping it takes the grumpiness out of him.
“I will if you stop calling me that,” he mutters, but the slight crook of his lips tells me he likes it when I call him that.
“Never.” I smile, tucking my hair behind my ear as I change track. “Is all of this really necessary?”
“It is if you want to actually learn proper swinging techniques,” he counters, setting a foam ball on the top of the tee. “I have a steel bat and softballs in the bag for when I think you’re ready to advance.”
I clap my hands together, all too excited to swing my very first bat. Even if it’s a foam one. “All right then, let’s get to work.”
With his arm outstretched toward me with the bat in his hand, he orders, “Show me how you plan on gripping it.”
“Well, it depends on what we’re working with. If you’re packing, then two hands might be needed.”
Ryker closes his eyes briefly, then opens them, letting me see the war he’s fighting within himself. “Let me teach you how to hit a ball first before you make my cock harder than the bat in my bag.”
I pout my lips at him. “Fine.” I take the bat from him and put my left hand near the bottom, my right hand above it. “Is this the right way?”
Ryker takes a step toward me, his hand landing on top of my left one and he twists it slightly. “You want to make sure your knuckles are lined up. Now, let’s see a swing. ”
“Just give it a whack?” I ask as I step into the batter’s box, digging my Converse into the dirt for traction.
“Bring the bat up and behind you while keeping your right elbow at a ninety-degree angle, nice and high. Then keep your eye on the ball and swing.”
“Like this?” I purposely do the opposite of what he says, letting my elbow hang downward, the bat resting on my shoulder.
“You’re trouble,” he mutters as he moves to stand behind me.
The hair on my arms stands when he presses his front to my back, while his right hand trails gently up my hip, over my ribs and under my bicep where he lifts it higher into the air.
“Lift the bat off your shoulder and leave it like this.” His gravelly voice brushes over my neck, making me shiver as my body instinctively grinds back against his.
Surprising me, his lips press against my pulse point, his tongue hot making me gasp while pleasure unfurls in my belly.
“God, you just have to smell so fucking sweet, don’t you, princess?” he groans painfully, rolling his hard cock against my ass. “Do you enjoy making me want to say fuck it and take you right here on this field?”
I know he has to work at the shop after this, so I’m halfway tempted to take him up on his offer since we haven’t had the chance to be alone since New Mexico.
“Someone could be watching,” I remind him, coming to my senses amidst the rush of lust.
Ryker steps back instantly, his voice hoarse. “Show me what you’ve got.”
After I take a moment to refocus and calm my erratic breathing, I do as he says, imagining the stance he takes when he goes up to bat. I have it memorized because…well, I can’t keep my eyes off him, okay? Sue me.
Digging my right foot into the dirt, I bend my knees slightly and shift left to right on the balls of my feet before settling in. Then, with a deep breath and my eyes on the ball, I swing the bat forward and send it flying toward second base.
Pride swoops over me, and I can’t do anything but stare at the foam ball on the dirt, knowing I did that. It’s so simple, something kids experience at a young age with a parent or a coach. But for someone like me who’s always wanted to but never had the chance, and is finally doing things for me , it’s everything.
Ryker remains silent as he jogs to get the ball, then sets it back on the tee. We do this a couple times, letting me get used to the motion of swinging the bat until I grow tired of it.
“I want the real deal now, please,” I plead, turning to Ryker, whose hard gaze is unrelenting on mine. “What is it?” I start blushing, wondering why he’s staring at me like that.
“Just wondering how it happened that I’d do anything you asked me to when you look at me like that,” he answers, bewildered and confused.
Meanwhile, my heart is fluttering so hard I fear it’s going to leap right out of my chest. I’m so used to Ryker’s grumpiness, but every time he shows me the softer parts of him, it makes me fall a little more and more in lov—I mean, like. In like with him.
Ryker clears his throat and wordlessly takes the foam bat from me, replacing it with a steel one.
“I’m going to pitch you some balls, so you have to remember to swing through fully and use your hips. It’ll give you more power,” he instructs before jogging to a spot a few feet in front of the pitching mound and dropping his bag of balls on the grass.
While he gets set up, I practice swinging with the heavier bat. It’s not so heavy that I’m unable to do it, but it is different from swinging a foam bat.
“You ready?” Ryker calls out, ball in his glove as he twists his ball cap backward with his free hand .
Well, now I’m not ready. How am I supposed to focus when he looks like my wildest fantasies right now?
His dark green long-sleeved RLU shirt hugs his arms and the black shorts he’s wearing show off his thigh tattoo that’s peeking through the hemline of said shorts. To top it off, his hat is now flipped backward, those long brown locks free in the wind.
It’s a sight to behold.
It’s my turn to clear my throat, which is drier than normal. “Yeah, of course,” I say excitedly, making it known that I want to let him have his way with me, right here, right now.
I go through my ritual, digging my right foot in before bending my knees and swaying lightly from side to side. My chin dips as I nod, letting him know he’s good to go. Ryker nods back, then underhandedly throws a lob to me.
I swing and miss, which makes me want to curl up in embarrassment. “You didn’t see that,” I yell. “Erase it from your memory.”
“Just keep your eye on the ball. You got this,” he encourages me.
The next one, I make contact with, but my swing is pathetic and only allows the ball to land a few feet in front of me.
“Again,” I tell him. I’m not leaving this field until I have one good hit.
The same thing happens with the next few balls, not going very far when I hit them.
“You’re swinging too slow,” he comments, then shifts his body to pretend like he’s swinging a bat. He swings slowly and says, “This is what you look like, when it should look like this.” He does it again, this time swinging much faster.
I take a practice swing, whipping the bat faster this time. At least, I think.
“How’s that?” I huff, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead .
“Good, but I think you can do better,” he challenges me while casually tossing the ball into his glove over and over. “Swing the bat with purpose. I know someone’s pissed you off before. Get that anger out right now.”
I mull his words over, my mind filling with images of my parents, of the people who attacked me. And for once, rather than fear filling my head, it’s anger for what they did to me and what they took from me. A normal childhood, a chance to be myself, and those men who took my sense of safety.
When I get into my stance, I dig my foot in a little harder, gripping the bat with a determination I’ve never experienced. And this time, when my bat hits the ball, there’s a piercing thud before the ball is soaring rapidly into the outfield.
“Holy fuck,” Ryker says in astonishment, but I don’t acknowledge it. I want more.
“Keep going,” I shout, enjoying this release.
The next few balls are the same, crushed balls into varying parts of the outfield. Each time I hit the mark, I feel lighter than before. It’s therapeutic for some reason. I smash the last ball into left field, hitting the fence right under the sign that reads two hundred feet.
Dropping the bat to the ground, a mixture of emotions hit me all at once. Happiness and frustration mix together, and tears stream down my cheeks as I smile widely.
Ryker rushes over to me, a concerned look on his face. He pulls me into his arms and I rest my head under his chin while his hand presses against my lower back.
“I don’t know what’s happening.” I sniffle against his chest.
“Shhh, it’s okay. I got you,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead.
Once my body settles from the height of my emotions, I pull back from him and attempt to wipe the tears from my cheeks.
With a gentle push, Ryker ushers my hands away and does it himself. We stare into each other’s eyes, and I can’t help but wonder, how is this only a hookup for him?
Is this how people act with their friends with benefits?
His eyes light up with pride, breaking the intimate gesture. “You fucking crushed those balls. You should play for our school’s team. Hell, maybe even our team.”
I smile up at him, loving his praise. “Thank you, but I don’t think so. While I love the sport, I don’t want to play it professionally.”
“Understandable.”
“Thank you for taking time out of your schedule to teach me,” I tell him, hating how easily my cheeks seem to heat up around him.
Ryker’s lips twitch into a side smirk. “No problem.”
I’m about to ask him to come over later so we can finish what we started earlier, but we’re interrupted. “The girl can hit! What can’t she do, honestly.” Cuddy claps, revealing himself in the dugout.
While I don’t love that he saw me break down, I know he’s not the type to make fun of me for it.
“Cuddy, why the fuck are you still here? Actually, since you’re here, you’re going to help me collect the balls in the outfield.”
“I can help,” I chime in.
“No,” Ryker says quickly. “Let me take care of it.”
I hear the undercurrent of his words loud and clear, even if he doesn’t say it.
I let him and Cuddy collect the balls while I lean against the fence, face tipped up to the slowly sinking sun in the sky. There’s a hue of purple mixed in with the orange and blue, and it hits me then how grateful I am.
To be here, in Colorado. To have met the people I have.
Even if one of them is a man who has no room for me in his future, no matter how much I envision him in mine.