Page 35 of Strike Zone

Wave after wave, I slam her, begging for more, giving her everything I’ve got. I’ve never come so hard or so long in my life. As the aftershocks pulse through me, her muscles spasm around my cock, the pleasure so intense it’s on the verge of painful, but I don’t fucking care.

When I can’t hold us up any longer, I withdraw, bereft, before lowering us to the hardwood floor. Her breath is labored, her cheeks flushed with the blissful afterglow of a screaming orgasm.

“Holy shit, I was not expecting that tonight.” I roll onto my side, drinking in the sight of her naked and sated. “That was…”

“The last time.”

“Yeah, should probably go back to the condoms from here on out, but Jesus, you feel so fucking good.” I reach over, tracing circles on her stomach. “You’re breathtaking, Diana.”

I’m not prepared when she recoils from my touch, scrambling for her discarded clothes. “I need to go.”

“I’m sure your sister won’t mind if you’re a little late.” As she wrestles her dress on, the inside of her thigh becomes slick with my cum as it spills out of her. It might be the single hottest thing I’ve ever seen. “Stay, we can take it to the bed for round two. You know you want to.”

She can’t even look me in the eye as she slips her panties on and stuffs her bra in her purse. “I don’t want to. When I said the last time, I meant us. Whatever this is between us just stopped being fun.”

“I beg to fucking differ.” I don’t bother with modesty, jumping to my feet as she heads for the door. “When you say it with a voice so hoarse you’ll still be feeling it tomorrow, I don’t think you have a leg to stand on.”

“You’re a great lay, but this…” she gestures to the dinner table, “… I don’t want this. You couldn’t just keep it light.”

“I just fucked you bareback. I hate to tell you, southpaw, but we’re way past light.”

“Consider it a goodbye.”

“Is that how you say goodbye to all the guys?”

“Fuck you, Linc.”

I follow her out into the hallway as she slams the button for the elevator. “How did we go from my cum dripping down your leg to you never wanting to see me again?”

“I told you this was just sex, but as usual, you don’t listen. Guys like you never do.”

“Hold the fucking phone with the ‘guys like me’ bullshit. I made you a goddamn dinner, and now I’m literally standing here with my dick in hand. I didn’t exactly propose. What did I do that was so wrong?” I may not have my cock in my hand, but it’s hanging in the breeze right now as the elevator doors open, and she disappears inside.

“I didn’t want dinner. I don’t want some fake shit about how you’ll be a reformed man and won’t still fuck everything with a pulse. Let’s be realistic, you’re a player, and I enjoyed the game, but I’m done.”

“I promised you nothing, but I’m standing here offering you something, and you’re making excuses not to give me a chance. I’ve never been a cheater, and I fucking resent the implication. Can you say the same thing, Diana?”

“Go fuck yourself, Linc.” Tears well in her eyes as the doors close, and I have no fucking idea what just happened.

“Too late, you already did that for me.” As the familiar whirring of the elevator springs into action, the faint sound of her voice—cursing me out—echoes as I stand shellshocked and buck naked outside my front door. I wore my heart on my sleeve tonight, taking a chance on something more for the first time, and it bit me in the bare naked ass.

I won’t be doing it again any time soon.

Chapter Nine

DIANA

“Can you grab the steaks out the fridge, Dee?”

Brooke has been trying her hand at cooking since she shacked up with lover boy. Most of the time it’s a disaster, but how bad can it be frying a steak? Ever since I turned up at her door a few weeks ago looking disheveled and thoroughly fucked, she knows something’s up.

“Earth to Dee. The steaks.”

I grab the raw meat from the refrigerator, and the smell is overpowering. “I think they might be off.” I hold the plate as far away from my nostrils as possible, urging her to take them. “Seriously, take a whiff.”

She lifts them right up to her face, making me gag at the sight. “They don’t smell like anything. I got them fresh from the butcher earlier today.”

I pour us both a glass of wine while she starts prepping the stinky steaks, but when I bring it to my lips, another wave of nausea washes over me. Setting it down, I pull up a barstool at the end of the kitchen island, propping myself up on my elbows.

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