Page 44 of Sideline Play

“So beautiful, baby girl,” he coos. “So perfect.” Sitting up, his hand moving faster, he asks, “Are you ready for Daddy?”

“Yes,” I cry.

“Say please.”

“Please, give me your cum. I want your baby,” I plead.

“So sweet. Move your hand, baby.”

Quick to comply, I slip my fingers out and move them to spread myself for him. The first shot of his cum is hot andthick, the feeling so euphoric, I’m leaning forward and plunging my tongue into his mouth as more comes, his sounds and mine getting lost between.

Pulling back as he starts to pant, Remington brings our foreheads together, the both of us looking down at the mess we’ve made.

Kissing my cheek as he huffs out another breath and says, “You’re fuckin’ perfect you know that, Scarlet? God, that was the hottest thing I've ever done. You’re gonna ruin me.”

Seeing the first drop hit the tile and start to wash away, I pout.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

Not answering, I scoop my fingers over my sensitive cunt and as he’s about to protest, I push it inside me, whispering, “For safekeeping,” before lowering my foot and placing my knees on either side of him. Sitting back on his thighs so his dick rests between us, I drape my arms around his neck and lazily kiss him along his hairline, jaw, and down to his neck where I bite and murmur, “Mine.”

“Yeah baby girl, all yours,” he chuckles, pulling me in closer. “All yours.”

NINETEEN

REMINGTON

My adult lifehas been marked by a number of surreal moments. Signing my first contract with the Nighthawks, my extension, and then my second contract; winning the World Series, then winning it again; the day Ma was diagnosed with cancer, when she passed, and every day after leading into her funeral. Another one is laying here on the back deck with Scar as she rolls her eyes and angrily types away on her laptop, her textbooks and journals scattered around us, the fading sun enhancing the glow she’s been floating around with since our shower.

Somehow she’s made what should have been the worst moment of my career something I’m thankful for. These weeks of recovery are the highlight of my whole year. Without it, I wouldn’t have the unfettered access to her that I do. I wouldn’t get to see all the little moments of playfulness and goofiness she exhibits throughout the day, like when she hides after I leave the room and attempts to scare me upon my return only to give herself away by giggling. The cute way she dances whenever she takes a bite of her favorite foods or the way her eyes grow wide in excitement with a sip of coffee that has a little extra kick offlavored syrup. The random moments when she starts singing mid-song, punching the air and bobbing her head around before resuming whatever task she was previously hyper-focused on. All these small facets of her that are carefully kept under lock and key when exposed to the world that make me fall just a little more each day.

Slowly yet all at once, things with her have gone from a possibility to an inevitability. Her time, her words, her thoughts, her touch, every second of it I covet. Possessively latching on to each one, wanting to hold and savor it, until I can be gifted with the next. Everything has shifted since living with Scarlet—my priorities, my goals, my entire world—all of it falling apart to reshape and rebuild around her.

Piece by piece, layer by layer, day by day, I fall more in love with not just the idea of her but the reality. I love the fractures in her sunshiny disposition. How they make her wake up andchooseto be happy and see the world for what it could be instead of what it is. The way that at twenty-one she is already so unapologetically herself, refusing to accept anything in her life but what makes her happy and fulfilled. I love how she’s shy and timid but assertive when and where it counts, taking charge to remove the blockades between her and what she wants. That she’s soft, gentle, and delicate but without sacrificing an ounce of strength, will, and resilience. And I love how fiercely she loves her family. The way she makes them the center of her world and views nothing as sacrifice when it comes to them.

She’s it. She’s the one. The one who comes before baseball. The one I think of first. The one who the very idea of being without leaves me feeling hollow. The one I want to marry, to raise a family with. The one I want to think of last before I die. She’s the one I love.

I love her.

I’m in love with her.

Sitting up with a start, I look at Scarlet, her tongue pushing her cheek out as she glares at her computer, and the realization hits me again. I’m in love with her. It’s no longer inevitable. I’m no longer falling. I’m there; I’m in love with her. I’m sitting across from the woman I’m going to marry. The woman who will be the mother of my children. The woman who makes it all make sense and worthwhile.

I’m in love with her.

Putting her Kindle with the hot as fuck book I’ve been reading aside, I lean forward and slowly begin to close her laptop. When her blue eyes pop up to mine, the little wrinkle in her brow relaxes, and that soft smile she only ever gives me and makes my breath catch takes over her face.

“Hi,” she breathes, removing her fingers from the keyboard.

Closing her computer the rest of the way, I lift it from her lap and deposit it on the coffee table, quietly returning, “Hi.”

As I rise to my knees, her eyes catch on what her books and most especially my revelation have done to me. Instead of concealing the bulge of my hardening dick, my sweatpants draw attention to it, the material tenting and providing no restraint as I come fully to attention for her.

Scarlet’s teeth sink into her glossy lip as her smile grows and she begins to open her legs. Legs that are covered in the most innocently arousing gray, knitted socks that stretch over her knees and have little pink velvet bows at the back. My own vision is transfixed between her toned thighs, watching the hem of her matching pink sweater push up to pool around her hips and expose the sweetest little white lace thong. It’s already so sheer it provides a perfectly unobstructed view of her pussy, but as wetness blooms, it becomes nearly translucent.

Wetting my lips, I swallow back a groan, the want and need to bury my face in her and taste every part of her from clit to ass visceral. Lowering myself over her, I murmur, “I think you needa break,” before licking her exposed shoulder and up her neck, her resulting keen sending Winnie scampering inside for safety.

“I take it my interest in certain things is lining up with your own,” she hums, hooking her feet to the inside of my knees as I settle into the cradle she’s created for me.

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