25. Troy
twenty-five
troy
The Line Between Casual and Committed
“R emember to throw slow, Troy,” Jake, my athletic trainer, says, watching me do my flat ground throws. “I don’t want even your fifty percent effort on this throw. Go slow and controlled. I know you’re feeling good, but the graft needs time to mature. The last thing we want is for you to get reinjured or overdo the drills.”
“Fifty-seven.” Coach Ford, the Blazer’s pitching coach, lowers his radar gun. “Still too hot. Need you under fifty for a few more sessions. Nice mechanics, but let’s dial it down on the power. You’ve got time before you’ll need that fastball again.”
They’re right, of course. But after more than six months of grueling therapy, just the feel of a baseball in my hands has me itching to let loose. I started light throwing exercises a few weeks ago, and it was like finding a piece of myself that had been missing all this time. Like I’d come home after being lost for far too long.
I shouldn’t complain though, nor should I rush this process, like my trainer has repeated multiple times. My recovery is tracking well—faster than most players in my position—but that doesn’t mean I need to overdo it.
“When do you think I can start working from the mound?” I grab a towel, wiping my face and neck while Jake makes notes on his tablet.
Having decreased the pure physical therapy I was doing for months, the Blazer’s training facility has become my second home over the past few weeks, getting me into the next phase of treatment—my throwing program. When I’m not meeting my physical therapist for strengthening and mobility work, I’m here with Jake and Coach Ford three days a week.
Rain or shine. Or, as is the case today, the day before Christmas Eve.
“Let’s aim for February. We’ll reevaluate your progress and gradually build up your distance—fifty feet, then seventy feet. If everything stays on track, we’ll add in light mound work when the team’s in spring training.”
“Should we increase my days here, too?”
“Three days a week is plenty, Troy.” Jake’s tone leaves no room for argument. “Your arm needs rest between sessions. How’s it feeling after today’s throws, by the way?”
“Good,” I state, extending my arm and twisting it this way and that, my eyes lingering on my surgical scar. “No stiffness.”
“And that elbow? Any clicking?”
“Not really. Think it’s almost gone.”
“Let’s get one more set in before we wrap it up for the day,” Coach Ford says, fiddling with the radar gun in his hands. “Remember, keep it under fifty.”
I nod, getting into position for my final throws.
* * *
My awaiting gaze finds Sarina on the other side of her door. She’s wearing a plain white long-sleeved shirt that hugs her ample breasts, red flannel pajama bottoms decorated with cartoon snowmen, and the fishtail slippers I gifted her. With her curls loosely piled up on her head and her skin completely devoid of makeup, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
You’d think, given I’ve stood on her doorstep just like this for the past several weeks, my heart would stop doing that wild tumble inside my chest by now. That her honey-colored skin and coffee-colored eyes wouldn’t have my pulse soaring. That the urge to claim her mouth and ravish her body would have lessened with time.
But you’d be wrong.
If anything, the need to have her in my arms at all times has only gotten worse.
Because whether she wants to accept it or not, the line between casual and committed is blurring with each late-night encounter. Encounters that linger past our agreed-upon two-hours. Encounters that I know stay on her mind throughout the day until we see each other again, several times a week.
Encounters that have become a dangerous routine and a maddening obsession.
Even when I know they’ll be coming to an end in a few short months . . .
“Hey,” she whispers, stepping back to let me in. “Rome’s sound asleep. He helped me put up the last of the Christmas decorations well into the evening. How’s Pearl?”
“She crashed early, too.” I don’t have to tell her that Pearl’s sleeping at my parents’ place, given Sarina knows that already. Just like I know that once Rome’s head hits the pillow, he’s out like a light.
It’s one of the reasons our arrangement is even possible—because my daughter loves to alternate sleeping a few nights between her home with me and her grandparents’ place, and Sarina’s son needs an earthquake, a fire alarm, and a marching band playing next to his ear to wake him up.
I follow her inside, noting the twinkling string lights around the fireplace mantle and the small tree in the corner, adorned with a mishmash of ornaments. The sight makes me smile, even as my chest aches as a vision of us—me and Pearl with Sarina and Rome—decorating our home together one day, stirring my desires.
Desires I have no business having.
Sarina’s hands find my chest, her eyes searching mine like she’s looking for clues. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I pull her toward me, brushing my lips against her temple. “A little tired, but happy to see you.”
“How was therapy? Are you sore?”
“It was good. My throwing is getting stronger. But yeah, a little sore.”
“Troy, that’s great!” She leans her head back to look at me with sincere joy, but there’s a tinge of sadness in her eyes.
Consciously or unconsciously, my recovery is a topic we skirt around, given my making progress also signals something else—the end of this, us. And though I know she’s happy for me, I can see the resignation on her face. She’s already preparing for the inevitable she’s convinced is coming.
“I figured you might be, so I drew up a bath. Want to join me?”
“And pass up a chance to have naked time with you?” I smirk. “What am I? Crazy?”
She giggles, interlocking our fingers and leading me to her en suite bathroom, where candles flicker on the white marble counters, casting the dark room in shadows. Steam rises from the large free-standing bathtub as the scent of lavender and rosemary fills the space.
“You planned this,” I say, brushing my fingers down her spine.
“Maybe.” Sarina turns to me, fingers finding the hem of my hoodie. “You think I’d ever pass up a chance to see you naked?”
“You never need an excuse, baby.” The endearment sneaks out before I have a chance to catch it. It’s not like I haven’t called her that before—I have many times when I’m deep inside her—but the way it slipped out just feels different. Like it intended to make another crack on the ‘casual’ facade we’re trying so hard to maintain.
Sarina tugs on my hoodie, silently asking me to take it off, and I do. Her hungry eyes wash over my chest, her fingers following suit, sending a shiver through me.
Her hands curl over my shoulders as she rises to her toes, brushing her lips over mine. “Let me make you feel good tonight.”
And before I can say anything, she kneels in front of me.
My pulse skyrockets as my cock hardens to an unimaginable level inside my pants. “Rina, baby, you don’t have?—”
“I want to,” she says, gazing up at me. Her fingers work quickly to tug off my jeans and boxer briefs, letting my enthusiastic cock spring free. “I need to.”
Her tongue slides out to slick her lips like she’s trying to stop herself from drooling, and I can’t help but chuckle. “You keep licking your lips like that and I’m going to come before you even put me in your?—”
But my words are cut off when Sarina curves her palm over my shaft and drags her tongue along the underside.
“Oh fuck.” I shudder. “Rina. Fuck, please, yes.”
Her eyes stay on mine as she does it again, licking the underside of my cock and swirling her tongue around my tip, leaking pre-cum.
My hand rounds over the back of her head. “Yes, God, baby. I love your tongue.”
She smiles, satisfied with my mumbled praise, before opening her warm, wet mouth and sliding my length completely inside. My other hand fists at my side, my nostrils flaring and my molars clamping as she takes me so deep that my tip hits the back of her throat.
“Yes, just like that.” I groan, willing my eyes not to roll back. “Goddamn, watching you suck me off might be my most favorite thing besides being inside your pussy.”
She pulls my cock almost all the way out before shoving it back in, hitting the back of her throat again while hollowing her cheeks. Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears as she almost gags, and I swear to God, I’m seconds from coming just from the sight of her.
Her mouth is so full, so stretched over my girth that I worry I’m suffocating her, especially given the gagging sounds she’s made. But she hasn’t shown any other signs of wanting to quit, so I encourage her further.
“That’s it. Breathe through your nose, sweetheart. You’re doing so good.”
Sarina drags the tips of her fingers around my thighs, squeezing my ass before pulling it toward her, deepening the best fucking blow job of my life. After sucking and bobbing over my dick for a few more seconds, Sarina brings one of her hands to the front to play with my balls.
My hips thrust forward unbidden as my jaw goes slack, watching this beautiful vixen in front of me suck my dick like she’s trying to win a championship. Her hand works my balls as her wet mouth slides up and down my shaft, making me sway on my feet.
Then she pops off suddenly, looking up at me and licking her swollen lips. There’s so much molten desire inside her irises, I’m shocked she hasn’t set the room on fire.
She nods to the tub. “Sit on the edge.”
I do so, not needing to be asked twice before watching Sarina strip off her pajamas and crawl toward me on all fours. That’s right. She crawls.
The sight of her breasts swinging and her ass in the air has my dick screaming. I take it in my palm, stroking myself as her heated gaze assesses my sprawled out form through thick lashes.
She comes to a stop on her knees between my legs before taking my erection again. She strokes it once, twice, before lowering her head and sucking on my crown, teasing me until my hands white-knuckle the edge of the tub.
“Rina,” I warn. “Put me back in your mouth all the way. I want you gagging on my cock again.”
Her answering smile tells me she has no intention of doing things my way. Stroking my shaft with both her hand and her mouth while playing with my balls with the other, she works me until I’m seeing stars in my peripheral vision.
She pops off me again before she spits on my tip. Then she uses her saliva to rub my length up and down, pushing me toward my orgasm.
Her brown gaze is glossy when it settles on me again and I lean in to capture her mouth, kissing her hard and deep, like she’s the only one who can keep me from floating away.
Sarina moans as my tongue dives inside, needing to meet hers while my hand cups the back of her neck, keeping her against me.
All the while, she jerks me off while rolling my balls inside her other hand. When our lips part, our foreheads come together, and we both peer down at my dick in her small hand. But then my girl surprises me again by rolling her mouth back down my shaft.
She sucks and licks, strokes and bobs, using her mouth and hand while I continue to murmur my praise, reaching down to cup her heavy breast with my hand. I tweak her nipple, making her moan and jerk over me.
My groans get deeper, more desperate, echoing inside the dark room before my head rolls back. My hips rock into her mouth involuntarily, erratically, while I try to get a few shallow breaths into my lungs.
Sarina just continues to work me, knowing I’m close and waiting for me to come undone.
“Rina.” I can barely even grit out her name. “I’m gonna?—”
She continues using her proficient tongue, swirling and licking, not heeding my warning. Then, like something before a cosmic explosion, my muscles pull together, and I suck in a ragged breath. My entire body goes rigid and my vision blurs as I come in long, hot spurts inside her mouth.
Sarina doesn’t stop immediately, swallowing me down like a prize before licking and kissing my crown.
My eyes flutter closed as I try to steady myself on the edge of the tub, hoping like hell I don’t lose my balance. Because I’m completely and utterly spent.
The woman has done me in. Ruined me for another for as long as I live.
And that smug, satisfied smile curving her lips? She knows exactly what she’s done to my body. But she has no idea what she’s done to my soul—that she branded it somewhere along the way.
I chuckle disbelievingly, recalling how I thought it was fate that brought us together again after that night in Colorado. It had to be, right? Because what else could explain this? How else could that one-night have led to these stolen moments that mean everything?
But will eventually mean nothing.
Two minutes later, Sarina and I are inside the tub together. She settles between my legs, her back to my chest as I rub lazy circles around her nipple, loving the way it pebbles under my touch. My lips brush over her earlobe, nose inhaling her lilac scent, still discernible with the scent of lavender and rosemary floating around us.
“You looking forward to Dev and Piper’s Christmas Eve party tomorrow?” she asks softly, trailing her fingers over my thigh. In every moment I’ve spent near her where it’s just me and her, I can’t recall a single one where we weren’t physically touching. “It’ll be the first time both our friend groups are together in the same room.”
I chuckle, already anticipating the shenanigans, but that’s not what I’m most excited about. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”
She turns to look at me over her shoulder. “You have me now. How can you already be looking forward to seeing me tomorrow?”
“Because tomorrow I get to see you dressed up, probably in something that will drive me crazy all night, and I’ll have to do everything in my power to keep my hands off you.” I brush my lips over her shoulder. “Though it will be interesting to see how our friends pretend to not know about us.”
She groans, laying her head on my shoulder. “God, Dean is going to be impossible, isn’t he? Did you hear that he ordered custom pajama pants for everyone with your face printed on it?”
“Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“I wish I was. Apparently, the hem says, ‘I’m sleeping with Troy Winters.’”
I groan into her hair while she giggles. “Where does he come up with this stuff?”
“Heaven knows. Thankfully, my dad and Emanuel will be on a cruise, so they won’t witness his brand of crazy.”
“And my parents will be babysitting Pearl and Rome, so they won’t see it, either.” I pause, trailing my fingers down her stomach, making it clench. “And since Pearl and Rome are sleeping at my parents’ place tomorrow night . . . you know what that means, right?”
She clasps her bottom lip between her teeth as my fingers trail lower, finding her seam before circling her clit. She wriggles between my legs, surely feeling my dick harden again. “That you’re planning to give me my Christmas gift early?”
I chuckle as my fingers find her entrance and Sarina sucks in a breath, jutting out her breasts and making the water slosh. “I’m planning to give it to you multiple times.”