Page 32 of Heavy Hitter

Lacey

LACEY CRACKS ONE EYE OPEN AS JIMMY’S MOUTH FUSES OVER HER collarbone a few long, hazy minutes later, stealing a glance around his bedroom. It’s nothing like she thought it would be, this house. Lacey doesn’t know what she was expecting, exactly—Joanna Gaines farm decor? Black-and-white photos of baseball stadiums? Possibly she was expecting black-and-white photos of baseball stadiums, actually—but instead it’s all wood floors and fireplaces and big leather couches, a place that invites a person to stay. Lacey wants to rummage around his pantry and page through his day planner. She wants to know everything about him there is to know.

For now she squeezes the back of his neck, then pulls away, sitting down on the edge of his neatly made bed and leaning back on her palms. “Take your clothes off,” she instructs.

That surprises him, which was the point. “’Scuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“I did.” Jimmy raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Take your clothes off, how about.”

“You’ve already seen me naked,” Lacey points out. “Or partly, anyway.”

“Not enough.”

Lacey doesn’t move. “James,” she says, honestly impressed by how calm she’s managing to sound right now, the way her voice isn’t even shaking at all. “Take your clothes off.”

Jimmy is quiet for a moment. His gaze is so, so even. “Okay.”

He keeps his eyes locked on hers the whole time he’s doing it: shrugging off his Henley and flicking open the clasp on his watch, sitting down in the armchair to do his sneakers and socks. He reaches back to tug his undershirt over his head like a little kid, rucking it up over the bulk of his shoulders, stands up to take off his jeans, then hooks his thumbs in the elastic of his boxer briefs and pulls those off, too.

“All right,” he says, once he’s naked except for a thin gold chain at his neck. “Now what?”

Lacey looks at him, at the hugeness of his body: his cock long and thick against his stomach, his muscular thighs spread just slightly apart. She wants him to fuck her until she forgets her own birthday. She wants to watch him get himself off. “You know,” she says thoughtfully, “on second thought, this actually might be too much of a distraction for me. I think maybe I should head back, get a little bit of extra rehearsal time in, maybe schedule an interview or two—”

Jimmy makes a face. “Funny.”

“I am funny.”

“Not as funny as you think you are.”

“Liar.” Lacey stands up on two unsteady feet, crossing the carpet and reaching for him. She touches him for a long time, smoothing investigative palms over the warm planes of his chest and his stomach, running a finger down along the sharp cut of his hip. When she rakes her nails lightly over the high, round curve of his ass his entire body shudders, like she plugged in a hidden amp somewhere: “Duly noted,” Lacey murmurs, smirking, and does it again.

Jimmy growls, then blushes, the heat creeping visibly up his chest and neck. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, but he’s smiling, rolling his eyes a little. He has a nice smile, Jimmy Hodges. She forgot that about him, from back in New York. When she reaches out and wraps her hand around his cock he just stands there, almost docile, his only tell the way his pulse is ticking wildly inside the soft skin of his throat.

Lacey strokes him a few times, curious: learning the weight and the curve of him, the faintly heartbreaking warmth of his skin against her palm. There’s something kind of hot about it, being fully clothed and so obviously in charge here, like she’s tamed some enormous animal. The quiet pleasure of bringing him to heel.

Eventually Jimmy gets bored, though, stripping her out of her jeans and top and sandals, his thick fingers surprisingly nimble as he works the tiny buckles. “This is nice,” he observes, nodding at her frilly bra as he reaches back to pop the clasp open. “This for me?”

Lacey shakes her head. “My pilot,” she says sweetly. “He likes a high-end undergarment.”

Jimmy smirks. “You know what?” he says, scooping her into his arms and dumping her flat on her back onto the mattress. “I deserved that. I did.”

“You did,” Lacey agrees, stretching her arms up over her head, the tips of her fingers brushing his headboard. She’s expecting him to climb up on top of her but instead he just stands there for a minute, staring at her, his plush mouth slightly open. “All right,” she says finally, rolling her eyes at him. “Get on with it, will you?”

“Fuck off,” Jimmy says easily—still gazing at her, one scarred knee up on the edge of the mattress. “You got to look.”

Lacey squirms, but it’s not like she’s not enjoying herself. She’s used to being looked at—hell, she’s looked at more or less every second of her life—but there’s something different about the way Jimmy Hodges is doing it, like he’s making a game strategy in his mind for what he’s about to do to her. “I guess I did.” Eventually, though, it starts to feel like too much: the anticipation of it, how wound up she is after all these stops and starts. “Jimmy,” she says, her voice coming out high and urgent. “Please.”

Just for a second, Jimmy’s eyes widen. Then he nods, climbing up onto the bed beside her and leaning over to dig around in the nightstand. “All right, princess,” he says gruffly. “Hold your horses.”

“You hold your—give me that,” she says, holding her hand out for the condom. Then, off his faintly amused expression: “What?” she asks. “I’m modern.”

Jimmy snorts. “You’re something,” he mutters, but he hands it over, both of them watching with interest as she rips it open and rolls it on with two shaking hands. Jimmy kisses her again once she’s finished, bracketing her shoulders with both elbows and dropping down into the cradle of her hips. The weight of his body is almost enough to calm her down but the instant the tip of his cock catches she gasps so hard and so loudly Jimmy pulls back like she’s kneed him directly in the nuts. “Sorry,” he says, and for a second he sounds more panicked than she’s ever heard him. “Fuck, sorry.”

“No no no,” Lacey says quickly. “Don’t stop, just—” Oh god, she’s like a cartoon cat riding a ceiling fan, her tail straight up in the air. “Look.” She makes herself breathe. “There’s just—a lot of preamble here, obviously, so I think we should probably both—you know. Adjust our expectations.”

Jimmy nods seriously. “Adjust our expectations,” he repeats, his eyes crinkling up just the slightest bit.

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