Page 98 of Stealing Home

I lean down, pressing my chest against her back so I can whisper in her ear. “I want you to remember I love you. Remember you’re my everything, my soul mate, lover, and—”

“Your slut. I remember.”

Without warning her, I push my entire length inside of her in one long, hard thrust. She groans, and pushes back against me. We’re wild as we take each other. She’s not passive, but meeting me thrust for thrust. Our hips slam together. The apartment fills with the sound of our skin slapping together and our combined grunts and groans.

“When can you get off birth control?”

“Why?” she asks, nearly breathless.

“I want you pregnant with my child, my ring on your finger. Every tie that a person can have to another, I want to have with you.” I don’t know what in the hell is pulling all of this out of me now, but it’s true. I’m desperate for a future with her.

“My next appointment is in six weeks,” she replies.

“Skip it,” I say. It sounds like a demand, but it’s not. I’d never force her to do something she didn’t want to do.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“Low, I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life than wanting to make a family with you.”

“Then, I’ll skip it,” she says.

My cock swells, and I rail her hard. Her pussy squeezes my cock, and she shudders with her orgasm. The contractions of her cunt milk my dick. I bury myself as deep as I can and hold inside of her while my hot cum covers the inside of her pussy. “Take it all, just like you will when I bend you over a couple months from now to breed this tight pussy.”

“You are so dirty,” she moans.

“I’ve got to be to keep up with such a dirty slut,” I tell her and slap her ass as I pull my spent cock free.

I watch as some of my cum leaks from her cunt and start shoving it back in. “Let’s go take a shower,” I tell her as I put the last of my seed back where it belongs.

34

Scott

I’ll admit,after checking the scores of the game, I feel a little guilty for how my old team is doing, even a few days later. A final score of fifteen to three is more than disappointing, especially considering we were undefeated until I was pushed off the team. It never would have stayed that way, it never does, but we’d have won more games than we lost.

Another week like the last few and they’ll have lost as many games as we won while I was still on the team, not to mention the chance at the championship. We had so much hope at the beginning of the season, but that was nothing more than a house of cards built by the shaky hands of Coach Fernando Rivera.

I try and shove thoughts of the team out of my mind. The fact is, I didn’t quit the team, so my feelings of guilt are unfounded. What is important is spending time with Harlow. If that means I need to spend more time on campus so I can get things done during the day, then that’s what I have to do. My days of spending my evenings studying are over, but I can’t say I miss them.

There’s one negative to hanging out on campus during the day though, it means I end up running into people I’d rather not see. Not because I dislike them, well not all of them. Running into my old teammates is hard, even if I’m not responsible for their losses. I’m sure some of them don’t see it the same way.

I don’t regret loving Harlow, but facing them, knowing they think I let them down, is hard. Monday afternoon when Quinn Shaw, center fielder for the team, pushes his tray down the line of the cafeteria next to mine, I try and think of a way to make the conversation short without being rude.

“Hey, Scott. It’s been a long time,” he says.

“It’s only been a couple of weeks,” I tell him and put a protein bowl on my tray. I’m not exactly projecting “stand around and talk to me.”

“Losing the last several games makes it feel a lot longer,” he complains as he grabs food for himself.

We’re silent for a moment as we follow the line around the counter, then he turns to me and asks, “Are you really not coming back to the team?” I wince. Gotta give it to Quinn, he gets straight to the point.

Joaquin catches up to us at the register, and I groan inwardly. With him involved I’m definitely looking at a long and uncomfortable lunch. So much for getting some studying done.

Joaquin reacts to Quinn’s question by putting his hands up like he’s praying. “Please say you are. We’re dying out there.”

I shrug. “I don’t think that is up to me. There’s no way Rivera will let me back on the team,” I say and hand my meal card over to the cashier.

They follow me to my table where I left my text books scattered. Flipping through a few scenarios, I can’t come up with an easy way to excuse myself from having to have lunch with them. With my books open it’s pretty clear I’d been planning to do some studying. Not that they’ll care much about that. I think they’re both majoring in underwater basket weaving, or something as equally rigorous.

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