The Secret Hook-Up

It’s happening again.

I’m falling head over heels for Duncan.

But this time, I know he’s serious about me. This time, I know I’m in it because I’m serious about him.

This time, I’m not afraid.

This time, everything feels right.

We land back in Copper Valley late on a Sunday night after our final road trip of the season. We have one more home series, and we’re still hanging on by a thread in hopes of getting into the wild card race to make the playoffs.

It’s coming down to the wire this year.

Can’t say we’re not giving our fans all of the excitement.

And the more tense things get, the more relaxed I get.

My new therapist says it’s because I’m facing my fears instead of treating them like strengths of their own. That sometimes, the act of choosing bravery is the biggest hurdle. Of admitting that I’ve told myself lies to keep myself safe, and in believing those lies, I’ve actually kept myself from living my best life.

She and I still have lots of work to do to fully conquer all of my fears—I’m in a honeymoon phase of believing in myself, and I know I’ll have setbacks and doubts in this process—but I’ve never felt more connected to the team, to my fellow coaches, and to the baseball diamond itself.

And to Duncan.

I’ve let myself tell him things about my past, about my family, about friends and romantic relationships and professional failures and sabotage that I’ve admitted to so few people in my life.

He’s in town for two nights before his first road trip for the preseason, and he’s waiting at my apartment when I get there.

Since my place is closer to Mink Arena than his house, it’s logical for us to stay there.

I let myself in quietly, expecting him to be asleep in my bedroom.

Instead, there’s a grunt and a sharp inhale from my couch.

“Duncan?” I whisper.

“You’re home.”

“What are you doing?”

“Fell asleep watching the game.”

A light flickers on, and he blinks at me with sleepy green eyes that take my breath away. His hair is mushed on one side and there’s a line across his stubbled cheek from one of the throw pillows.

“You are too perfect for words,” I whisper.

He rubs the line on his cheek and smiles at me. “Says the most gorgeous woman in the world.”

I hold out a hand. “I’m going to bed. You coming?”

For a guy who’s sounded exhausted every time I’ve seen him or talked to him on the phone for the past month, he’s remarkably quick at tossing me over his shoulder and carrying me to my bedroom. He strips me out of my polo and slacks and bra and panties and shoes and socks—not in that order—while kissing and licking and stroking every exposed inch of my skin.

“I missed this nipple.” He sucks on one of my breasts while I stand between his knees at the edge of the bed. “And this one too,” he adds, switching to the other, while his hands roam my ass, tracing the line of my butt crack, teasing the curls hiding my pussy.

He pushes me onto my back on the bed, spreads my legs, and does new tricks with his tongue on my clit while sliding his fingers in and out of my vagina, making my hips buck off the bed when I come.

I see fireworks.

My heart nearly bursts.

And I push him onto his back, straddle him, and take his thick, hard cock deep inside of me, my swollen, satisfied flesh giving way to desperate need once again as I ride him.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” He keeps saying it.

And the tears are coming again.

Not from fear.

But from belief.

I believe him. He makes me feel beautiful. Cherished. Worshipped.

He rolls my nipples between his finger and thumb as that hot spiral of pending release builds inside me again.

“I love watching you come,” he says while making love to me.

“You’re so strong and it’s fucking beautiful,” he says.

“God, I love your breasts.”

“Your pussy is so hot and slick and perfect.”

“Ride me harder, Addie. Ride me harder.”

“Yes, my angel. That’s it, baby. Right there. Fuck, yes, right there.”

His voice fills my soul, and that aching need between my thighs keeps growing, tighter and hotter and wetter, until he’s panting through all of his praise, the cords in his neck straining.

“Come for me, Addie. Come for me now.”

My body obeys, and if I thought my first orgasm was fireworks, this one is supernova.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

My pussy clenches so hard around his cock that I feel it all the way down my thighs and up into the pit of my stomach. The spasms overtake everything, and I strain into the feeling, sitting high on him while he grinds his pelvis into mine, groaning out his release with my name on his lips, his cock pulsating hard and thick inside me.

My toes curl.

My calves cramp.

My arms shake.

And I come hard and wet and messy all over his magnificent erection until I’m spent and collapse on top of him, gasping for breath.

He’s panting beneath me too.

“So…much…better…than sexts,” I gasp out.

He half chuckles, then loops one arm around my back. “Yes.”

We lay together catching our breath, and eventually I shiver under the breeze of the ceiling fan. He helps me clean up in the bathroom, and then we return to bed.

Exhausted.

But so glad to be here.

He spoons me, murmuring soft questions about the game tonight, about when I have to leave in the morning, about if we can say screw the world and go get a little beach hut in Mexico and spend every day like this.

And just as I’m about to drift off with a smile on my face, he lifts his head.

“Mm?” I say.

He pulls away. “Thought I heard my phone.”

“What’s that?” I’m so tired, I’m loopy.

But I register the sag and shift of the mattress as he climbs out of bed. Hear the pad of his feet on the wood floor. Know that he’s nearby and coming back.

I’m still smiling and nearly asleep when he sucks in a sharp breath and mutters a very strong, “Fuck.”

I sit up. “Duncan?”

“Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t hear my phone. Where are you? Are you okay? Shoot, Paisley, I’m sorry. I—yeah. Yeah. I’ll be right there. Don’t move.”

My heart freezes in my chest.

Not sleepy anymore.

Something’s wrong.