His body curls around mine and all thoughts of baseball flee my mind. I savor the sensation of his body pressed against me, consumed by the heat between us. Gently, Knox adjusts my grip on the bat.
“Now you wanna choke up,” he says, shifting my hands higher up on the bat.
I lean back against him. There’s a spark at every place we connect that has heat pooling in my belly. “Trust me, I don’t choke.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he returns with a smirk. He pauses, looking me up and down. “Make sure you keep both eyes on the ball.”
He shows me the best way to swing the bat, but I’m hardly paying attention. All I can focus on is the contact between us, the way our bodies move in sync.
“Alright, one more time,” I say.
Knox releases me and trots back effortlessly to the pitcher’s mound. Alone, I suddenly regret his absence, the perfect way his hard muscles pressed against me. “I won’t go easy on you,” Knox says.
I tap the bat on the ground and twist my hands on the grip. “Bring it on, Knox.”
He winds up and throws. I watch carefully as it soars through the air towards me. I swing. The bat connects with the ball with a soft crack and the ball pops straight up into the air.
I toss the bat aside and throw my hands into the air in celebration. I give zero fucks where the ball went, just that I got a piece of it.
It’s only when I see Knox darting towards the outfield that I remember hitting the ball is only part of the game. After that, it’s a race for first base.
I take off at a sprint, my bare feet raising dust around me. Catch me if you can, Knox. But he’s quick. Years of training have perfected his spring and he’s already headed my way with the ball. I’m almost there, the distance between me and the base shrinking. Before I make it, a strong arm wraps around me and lifts me off the ground.
The ball in Knox’s fist drops as his hands press against me, pulling me back against him. The pressure of his body against mine, his firm grip on my waist—it feels so good, to be held by him, to be caught by him. I turn in his embrace and reach up on my toes to kiss him. He helps, shifting his hands and gently pulling me closer. The kiss overwhelms me. It’s hot and demanding. His tongue twining around my own as if it can’t decide where to start. At least we’re on the same page.
I run my hands over his muscles, feeling their strength. I don’t know where I want to start because my body is ready for whatever he has to dish out.
He pushes up the hoodie, searching for skin, only to be blocked by the dress underneath. His breathing deepens with frustration and I feel his pain. I swear I’ll burn this dress if it stands in the way of me getting laid tonight. Knox laces his fingers through the cut outs on my dress, tugging them this way and that, trying to get to more. His fingers are like brands against my skin, marking every inch promising more to come.
I pull at his shirt. He trails kisses down to my neck, stopping just under my jawline, right against my pulse. I shiver, ready to surrender everything right on this godforsaken baseball field. If I knew this was what I was gonna get out of playing ball, I would have picked it up years ago.
CHAPTER FIVE
Knox
Shelby moans as I run my hand along the inside of her thigh. Her skin is warm to my touch. Breathing heavily, she parts her legs, urging my hand along. I trace a finger along the fabric of her panties. She’s already soaking and sighs through the kiss when I press against her. I brush against the lace seam, teasing, feeling her warmth and loving the way she claws at me, demanding.
“I know you’re begging for it, slugger,” I say, giving her ass a squeeze.
She moans against me and says, “You’re going to have to work a little harder.”
Her lips crash against mine, hungry, insistent. I love to see her like this, desperate, willing, and eager for anything. “Are you just as sassy when you orgasm?” I breathe into her ear. Her breath hitches as I tug at the thin cotton that separates her aching * from me.
“Try me,” she manages to get out.
“I’ll have you screaming all night, baby.”
I tease her core, dipping only my fingertip into her slick heat, but just as I’m about to plunge into her, a voice cracks through the silence. “What’s going on out there?” It comes from somewhere in left field, shattering the moment like a baseball through a glass window.
I pull away. Shelby whimpers, suddenly deprived of my fingers. A Maglite spotlight sweeps the field and stops on us. Caught red-handed. Like a bunch of kids stealing candy bars.