Pitcher Perfect, page 13
Her eyelids fluttered, those lips parting but no sound coming out.
“Was that too much?” he asked after a full ten seconds of silence.
“I guess not.” She drew the word out, followed by a swallow. “Because here I am, trying to mentally rearrange some things in my planner so we have more time.”
Robbie exhaled. “Attagirl.”
Skylar sat up slowly, seeming a little disoriented, and his gaze was drawn several places at once. Her dark hair, flattened on one side, haywire on the other. So stinking cute that a knot formed behind his Adam’s apple. Then . . . oh Jesus. The plushness of her mouth after sleep. Her braless tits swayed inside the twisted tank top, nipples stiff and poking the cotton, which he decided to take as a compliment toward his dirty talk.
All of him needed all of her.
Badly.
Was she even remotely on the same page?
“Can you give it to me?”
Go time.
Robbie got to his knees, already wetting his lips. “Now? I thought you’d never ask—”
“About my planner? Sorry, can you hand it to me? It’s on the dresser.”
“Oh. Yeah.” He crossed a forearm over his erection, attempting to hide it and push the goddamn thing down at the same time. With his free hand, he swiped the little white planner off the dresser and settled it in her lap, which, incidentally, is where he wanted his face. “Here you go.”
Resigned to the agony, Robbie propped his chin on a fist and watched Skylar leaf through her planner, finding the sound and structure of her days incredibly soothing, despite the situation in his sweatpants. When she found the little, lined box containing a list of the day’s activities, he leaned forward to read them.
Pitch (1 hr)
Breakfast
Shower
Rock climbing challenge
MOP
Dinner with Eve
Misc. notes: Robbie spending night in Boston (practice). Borrowing my car.
“Hey. I’m in there.” He couldn’t control the grin that spread his mouth. Their schedules were intertwined. “When did you write that?”
“You told me on the ride here, so I wrote it in when we arrived.”
“Cool. You’re still okay with my using your car?”
“Yes.”
“Great.” He jerked his chin at the tiny book. “I assume MOP stands for making out practice. How much time will we have?”
“It depends when you’re leaving to reach Boston.”
“Around four, I’d say.”
“Oooh. We might have to reschedule MOP.”
“No. We’re not rescheduling MOP. We’re MOP’ing.”
A corner of her mouth wiggled. Almost like she was pleased to know he wanted to make out with her. Did this girl own a fucking mirror, or what? Any man worth his salt would kill for a shot. “We’re only going to have about twenty minutes between getting back from rock climbing and you leaving for practice.”
Robbie scoffed. “I can make magic happen in half that time, Rocket.”
“Really? Maybe I should be calling you Rocket.”
“Nah, you’re going to be calling me Big Daddy later,” Robbie boasted, forgetting all about his erection and standing up while scratching his chest hair. At least, he forgot about it until Skylar’s eyes grew three times in size. “Shit.” He turned to face the opposite direction and glanced down to get an accurate picture of what she’d seen. Good God, he looked like he had a torpedo in his pants. “Sorry about that.”
“I-I . . .” She struggled for words. “When did it get like that?”
“I woke up like this.”
“And you were just carrying on a normal conversation with it?”
“Uh, yeah. It’s a skill we’re all required to learn during puberty, Skylar. These things have a mind of their own.”
“Well . . .” Was she breathing harder than before? “What are you planning to do about it?”
“Honestly?” He looked back at Skylar over his shoulder, inordinately pleased to find her attention locked on his ass. “Wait until you go out to pitch, then . . .”
Two beats of silence passed. “Then what?”
That whispered question had Robbie’s forehead wrinkling, his gaze seeking her out once again over his shoulder, his cock thickening that final, painful degree when she looked flushed and . . . interested? Excited? “You want details?”
Her nod was slight, but it was there.
Pulses were firing at the speed of light all over his body. Wrists, neck, chest. His dick had been hard so long without being attended to, his stomach was beginning to hurt from keeping the weight of his sex hoisted. From keeping the pressure locked inside, not letting it out. And so he gave in to the need, gritting his teeth and gripping himself through his sweatpants, heat prickling up his spine at the sound of her gasp.
“Details . . .” he muttered thickly, sweat beads beginning to pop up on his chest, upper lip. “I was going to lock your door, track down some tissue, lie back down. Spit on my palm a couple of times and . . . try and not grunt too loudly while I stroke one out.”
Her pupils dilated. “You grunt when you do it?”
“Yeah.” He raked the heel of his hand down to the thickened ridge, cupping his balls and jostling them lightly, before massaging back up to the tip. Ahhh, fuck. So good. Ten times better than usual because Skylar was in the room while he did it, her voice the soundtrack to his lust. “I think so. I’m not really focused on the sounds I’m making.”
“Oh.”
“Oh what?”
“I don’t know. When I watch . . . porn?” Her voice was slightly muffled, as if she’d covered her face. “That’s my favorite part. When the guy groans.”
Damn, he was learning some invaluable lessons about her this morning. A treasure trove of Skylar-isms that he would put to incredible use, if and when he was afforded the opportunity. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess . . . the girl always seems to be faking it, but the guy . . . when he groans, he seems to be authentically enjoying himself. It’s hot.”
Robbie’s chest was heaving like he’d just swum the Potomac. “You wouldn’t be fake moaning with me. I’d probably have to cover your mouth to keep you quiet.”
A shuddering breath from Skylar.
Fuck it.
She’d given him this opening. He wasn’t going to pass it up.
“Do you want to watch me fuck myself, Skylar?”
An audible swallow. “Yeah. Yes, please.”
Oh my God. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me.”
Actually, that might physically kill him. Messing up the bond they were building.
“I’m sur—”
“Great. Good.” He turned, his knees almost losing power at the way her attention zeroed in on his cock, her eyelids sagging, fingers digging into the bedding. And when he sat down on the left edge of the mattress, leaned back onto his left elbow, took out his dick in his right fist, and settled it against his abdomen, her mouth formed an O that did remarkable things for his ego. “I’m going to spit on my hand now.”
She nodded, cheeks bloomed with pink spots.
Robbie spat in his palm.
Before he could bring the natural lubricant where it needed to go, Skylar snagged his wrist, brought his hand to her mouth . . . and spit in his palm. All while looking him in the eye.
Coming without touching himself became a very distinct possibility in that moment.
“Christ,” he said hoarsely, fisting his cock before he could humiliate himself. One slide of his clenched fingers was like throwing a match into a puddle of kerosene, though, and he just went for broke, groaning behind his gritted teeth, watching her face while he masturbated. “You like having your spit on my dick, baby?”
Son of a bitch, she was mesmerized. “Yes.”
“Ohhh. Fuck.” He pumped his fist faster. “No one’s ever watched me do this before.”
“Really?” Her smile was drowsy, horny. “I’m the first?”
First girl he could fall in love with, too.
Don’t say that out loud.
Don’t even think it. So dangerous.
“What are you fantasizing about?” she asked. Closer than before? Was that her breath on his shoulder? Lord. “While you do it.”
“I don’t have to fantasize about anything,” he said in stops and starts, the pleasure beginning to hit an overwhelming high. “Not when you’re lying there with no bra. Your fucking thighs . . .”
She shifted the legs in question, rasping them on the sheets. “My thighs?”
Too close now. Filter gone. “I’m thinking of my spit all over them. How I’ll lick it on there to help my hips slide when I’m riding you into the goddamn ground.”
A hitched moan from Skylar was the absolute end of him. His balls tightened, wrenching a groan from the pit of his stomach, and he got off in his frenzied hand, his thighs jerking against the edge of the mattress, his head tipped back, mouth wide, while he captured as much moisture as possible in his moving fist, the rest of it seeping out around his knuckles. During what he thought was that final wave of pleasure, he looked over at Skylar’s perked-up nipples and blew another hard rope, then another, his whole body collapsing back onto the bed, gasping for fucking air.
Whoa.
Whoa, what the hell?
Sex had never been so . . . satisfying. And she hadn’t even touched him.
Okay. Yeah. I’m in deep-ass trouble here.
Robbie shook himself free of the lingering bliss of relief and studied Skylar, trying to figure out where she was landing on all this. Was she regretting the intimacy? Was she still processing what happened? What? Her eyes were glazed and glued to a spot in the near distance, those sexy nipples still in perfect peaks. Thus, his brain said horny.
Deciding to trust that assessment, Robbie leaned over and brushed their lips together, that zing of connection winging around his chest like a majestic bald eagle only driving home the fact that, yeah, he was screwed. “Do you want me to take care of you?” Entranced by those chips of gold in her eyes, he cupped the side of her face with his clean hand, keeping their lips close. So close. “No fake moans with me. With us.”
Us.
That word visibly grabbed her attention. In a good or bad way, he couldn’t tell.
Not right away.
But when she bounded off the bed and crouched down in front of her suitcase, pulling out clothes and backing toward the door? He concluded . . . bad.
She didn’t want an us.
She wanted Skylar and Madden.
Not Skylar and Robbie.
“Hey, listen,” he said, voice gravelly as he yanked his sweatpants up to cover himself. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine. I just need to pitch. I’m late to pitch.”
He swallowed a handful of tacks. “Okay. I’ll see you after.”
And then she was gone, leaving Robbie to stare at the closed door.
Chapter Sixteen
Skylar stared at her parents as they gave instructions for the rock climbing challenge. Doug’s mouth was moving, expounding on his journey to becoming a certified climber while everyone else baked bread during Covid, but Skylar was only catching every seventh or eighth word. Ever since Robbie . . . did that. On her bed. Just did it right there. A low, horny hum had been taking up most of her ear function.
She’d gone through the motions while harnessing up and preparing for the climb, her brain moving at half the usual speed. Slogging. Making robot beeps. Could anyone blame her? How was she supposed to live with that mental imagery?
Look. She’d shared a bathroom with her brother starting at age twelve. As she’d reached later teenhood, that period of time in their respective youths when he’d taken forty-five-minute showers had made a lot more sense.
Unfortunately, by then, it had been too late to start hiding her loofa, but she digressed. Male masturbation wasn’t some exotic idea. She knew it occurred with great frequency. Had even overheard her brother’s friends talking about it from time to time. She’d just never expected to see someone doing it two feet away.
And enjoying it so much.
Talking to her—about her—while he enjoyed it so much.
Time to face facts. Robbie’s hotness was beginning to be a problem. Madden was standing ten yards to her left, reconnoitering with Elton about strategy for the challenge, and Skylar could focus on nothing but the memory of Robbie’s corded forearm shifting and flexing while he stroked himself. The way his neck strained. The glazed quality of his eyes.
The way he’d lifted his hips on a particularly thorough stroke, making a choked sound. Panting.
How he’d reached completion to thoughts of them. Together.
I’m thinking of my spit all over them. How I’ll lick it on there to help my hips slide when I’m riding you into the goddamn ground.
Brain cells were pouring out of her nostrils at this point.
Panicked, she zoned out and attempted to picture Madden in the same position on the edge of her childhood bed, pleasuring himself while she watched . . . and she couldn’t even imagine it. Madden would never speak to her like that, would he? Had he spent too many years thinking of her as Elton’s little sister to be that . . . blunt and unabashed and sexual in her presence?
Because . . . oof. She liked it.
A lot.
Robbie gave her a subtle nudge in the ribs. “Look alive, Rocket.”
“I’m alive. I’m ready.”
“You’re as red as my hair.”
“It’s . . . the preclimb adrenaline. It’s beginning to surge—”
“Right.” Sighing, he faced his thick body toward Skylar, leaning down to whisper in the hair above her ear, the action blowing a warm shiver down her spine. An even more heightened sense of awareness than before. One that she really didn’t want. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have done that in front of you.”
“I asked you to do it.” God, her voice sounded husky.
“Maybe so, but we deviated from your schedule. I knew better than to do that. You told me we were sticking to the plan.” He slid her a glance. “Now you look like you’ve just returned from an alien encounter.”
“That’s not so far off.” She cut him off before he could respond. “Don’t you dare make a joke about the Milky Way.”
“How?” He stared. “How did you know?”
She pursed her lips at him. “I told you, I played on the boys’ team in middle school. Fluid jokes are part of the deal.”
“You never told me the boys were being inappropriate, Skylar,” Vivica said, coming up behind them unexpectedly, dismay written all over her face. “I would have said something to the coach.”
“It’s okay, Mom.” Skylar waved off her mother’s concern, even though it felt nice to have Vivica focus on her feelings. A rarity. “The guys probably would have just laid it on thicker.”
Robbie choked. Turned white from holding his breath.
Vivica didn’t seem to notice. “That kind of thing can really affect someone’s performance.” She rolled an irritable shoulder. “They’re lucky it didn’t.”
“Right.” Skylar exhaled. “My performance is what matters most.”
“Hell, yeah, it is,” Elton said, hands on hips, staring up at the rock face. “Ask the scout from Brown.”
Three members of her family snorted, passing a knowing look among their trio. Even if her mother frowned after only a few seconds of mirth and gave the men a reproving look, Skylar still felt that comment in the deepest pit of her stomach.
“Honey.” Doug sent his wife a tight smile. “Wasn’t it Mark Twain that said, ‘The two most important days in your life are the day you were born and the day you find out why’?”
“Yes, it was,” Vivica confirmed with a squeeze of Skylar’s shoulder. “Words to live by. And she does, to the best of her ability. That is all any parent could ask for.”
“Thanks,” Skylar said with a fleeting smile, just wanting the conversation to be over, please, for the love of everything holy. When Vivica walked away to go consult with Doug, Skylar let out the breath she’d been holding and all at once, became aware of Robbie’s bewildered scrutiny.
“Holy shit, that was unhinged. Are you good?” Robbie asked, seeing way more than was comfortable. How had this man been a part of her life so briefly and already knew her triggers? The tension with her family regarding her shortcomings. Her scheduling quirks. He’d picked up on her so fast.
It was as comforting as it was scary.
“Yeah.” When he raised an eyebrow at her, his concern obvious, Skylar repeated herself, quieter this time, grateful for his presence despite her growing concern that she and Robbie were getting too close, too fast. “Yes.”
After a moment of scrutiny, he nodded. “Great. Because I’ve got two things to say. One. Nothing is ever going to be more important than you, regardless of how you perform. Got that?”
“Yes,” she managed, pulse tripping.
“Good.” He studied her for a moment, as if to confirm, before bracing. “And two . . . I can’t even look at that rock wall without getting sick.”
Still flustered from the first part of that statement, she worked to recover. “Just stick to the plan.”
“The plan is not foolproof.”
“It’s the best we’ve got.”
His mouth flattened into a grim line, signs of seasickness beginning to creep into his complexion. Such a range of moods in one morning. Worry. Humor. Apprehension. Sensuality . . . with a mesmerizing side of helplessness at the end. When his muscles tensed up and his shaft darkened and he’d groaned, that fist picking up speed—
“Skylar,” Robbie said, his laugh more like a scrape.
“What?”
“Have I ever told you that whatever you’re thinking shows on your face?”
Impossible. She was a pitcher. A poker face was essential, and she’d sharpened the skill like a knife over the last decade. Dina remarked on it all the time. Was it possible that Robbie alone could discern her thoughts so easily without a word? No. Absolutely not. “What am I thinking about?”
