Page 143 of Passed Ball

"Why don't you find out--" My taunt is cut short when he dips his head, nipping at my shoulder.

"It only seems fair that I get a good long look, too." He takes his time, smoothing his palm down the back of his jersey until it wraps around the curve of my waist. With steady pressure between my shoulder blades, I sink lower. A hoarse groan rumbles deep in Xavier's throat, lighting me on fire like a candle burning at both ends as his thick cock drags over my ass until I'm on all fours.

The bed shifts beneath me as he takes me in.

His fingers slide under the waistband of my thong, pulling it down and leaving it stretched around my thighs. The cool air of his room hits my core. I look over my shoulder, finding his attention on my exposed pussy as his hand runs over his jaw. "This is what fantasies are made of, this cunt dripping for me. Show me how much you missed me, spread yourself for me."

Restricted by the underwear still looped around my thighs, my only option is to drop to one elbow and use my hand. My apex is slick with the evidence of how much all of this turned me on. And the thing is, I can't even pinpoint what's doing it for me--it's just him. It's always been him. He makes me feel comfortable in a way no one else could ever touch.

"It's almost criminal that you covered my jersey with the jacket. I swear, not even Wilson or the threat of fines could've kept me from you during the game if you hadn't. Do you know how many times I've dreamed of you like this, in nothing but my name and number as I slide inside you?"

"But it was your jacket," I manage with a strained laugh, my voice becoming more unsteady the longer he sits back watching me.

"Not the same thing." The roughness of his tone scraps over my skin.

"What's the difference?" I swallow, clinging to the fragments of my composure as he drags the tip of his finger over the curve where my thigh meets my ass, stopping short of where I want him.

He gives the jersey a gentle tug, making it slip free from my shoulder. "This is a symbol--validation of everything I've worked for. Seeing you in it, sitting with the other girls and holding my daughter makes me crazy. It's you claiming me. Telling the world you're mine."

Another trace of his finger along my sensitive skin has my elbow collapsing. I rest my cheek against my forearm.

"Is it?" he asks and this time it's the head of his cock running through my core that has me groaning in agreement.

"Yes. Yes. Yes," I chant.

"Did you wear this to tell everyone that I'm yours?" There's a teasing in his voice, but this doesn't feel funny. I get what seeing me in his jersey did to him--the primal instinct it brings out. That same desire is washing through me, making my head swim, and the only thing I know is I need him.

I shake my head and he shifts his hips back slightly. "I wore it because I'm yours--in every way. Your lover. Your friend. Your partner. Your biggest fan. Your future."

He pushes the jersey up and kisses a path up my spine, not stopping until his lips are at my ear and he is pressed hot and hard against me. "Are you saying you're mine to keep forever?"

"God yes." I try to grind back into him, but he holds me steady.

"Fucking finally." For a moment, he's gone, and I want to cry out in frustration. Because while we've seen each other, the last few weeks have been trying. If he's home, we're falling into bed, exhausted. Between postseason baseball and Holland teething, no one has been sleeping well, and sex has not been the priority, but that changes tonight.

Then he sinks himself deep in one claiming thrust.

"Ffuucckk. I missed this." His voice is as smooth as the snap of his hip as he fills me again and again. "I think I'm going to retire so I can do this every night."

"No, you're not." His thrusts turn my protest into a plaint moan.

"I'm not, but it's really."Thrust."Fucking."Thrust."Tempting."

The delicious build of pressure starts to take over and, like he always does, he knows exactly what I need before I can even tell him. Withdrawing, he flips me to my back, pushing the jersey off one shoulder and then the other.

"I hate to see it go, but I want all of you when I make love to you."

I want that too. Lifting my shoulders, I help him slip it off me. When he lines himself up again, his eyes are filled with a tenderness I'm not prepared for.

I'm so primed he slides right in, pulling a moan from me. There's a frantic tangle as we try to get closer, deeper, our mouths fusing and our bodies gliding together until I can't tell where he ends and I start.

With his hands in my hair and his heart pounding against my chest, he grits his teeth. "I need you to give it to me, Vivienne."

I throw my head back, grinding my hips against him, chasing. His slips his hand between us to find my needy clit and begins circling it, pressing down firmly with his thumb. "Come on, sweetheart. That's my girl. Show me how perfectly you shatter for me."

His words, the pressure, the rhythm, his hand cupping the side of my neck--all of it has me calling out his name, clinging to him as my orgasm shakes through me, taking him over with me.

There's a moment where our hearts pound in unison, still pressed close, before he shifts, rolling us gently to the side and softly captures my mouth. It's slow and sensual, the softest kiss we've ever shared, but filled with so much promise.

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