“So.” He pinches his jaw with long, thick fingers. He rubs them back and forth, making a raspy sound on his stubble. “I’m ready to do you.”
What did he say?
Before I can react, he does a course correction and adds, “This. I mean. I’m ready to do this.”
A warm rush of blood and arousal races down from my center and into the slip of fabric between my legs. I double up on my squeezing and wonder again how he got the black eye, then wonder even more why it makes him even more attractive than he already was.
“We here to play or jerk off?” one of the assholes from the other team shouts as I spin around.
“Are you kidding me?” I wave to the bench and the stands, where kids from the center as young as five sit watching.
And listening.
“Watch your mouth.” Cyrus steps next to me and I swear to God he grows taller as he settles to my left, easing his body in front of mine.
My cheeks flame as my pulse thumps in my ears, both from anger but also because, oh my God. He smells so good, I start to get dizzy and I swear to Christmas, I get that little spiky pain like when you’re ovulating.
“Doesn’t look like you are much of a fighter, so you might want to check yourself,” Cyrus says as Doug, the organizer of the other team, steps our way. But this is no place for a brawl, so I reach up and grip Cyrus’s forearm and he winces, his head spinning, his dark eyes turning nearly black.
“This isn’t the time or place. Let’s take the high road and get the game going.” I wave at Doug on my biggest kiss-my-ass smile. “Let’s just get things going. We have kids here and it’s supposed to be fun.”
I hear a low rumble from Cyrus, and I feel the hard muscle in his forearm twist under my fingers as he turns with me and we work our way back toward the dugout as I wave the rest of the team in.
“We’re winning this game,” he mumbles under his breath, low and thick, and it makes me shiver in the heat. “I don’t care what we are playing for. We’re winning.”
“Well, I don’t know if you noticed but the reason I had my father recruiting me a last minute ringer is because the opposing team is made up of high-school players that just won the regional championship. Seems Doug, the other team captain, didn’t get the memo this was supposed to be fun and friendly.”
I leave out that Doug is the head of the fund raising department, and has been gunning for my job. At full salary, it would be a big step up for him. He came on board two years ago, stomping in and trying to imply I didn’t know what I was doing and I was misusing funds.
I took the high road as I usually do. People always underestimate me.
I’ve got that naive, dumb-blonde bimbo-y sort of look, but I’m none of those. Besides the blonde.
I gave him a week to settle in, get to know me, then when he tried to humiliate me in a senior staff meeting, thinking I was some delicate flower, I blasted him with both barrels. Setting him straight on exactly where I spent my budget down to the last dollar.
Let’s just say, we haven’t been rubbing noses or elbows since.
Cyrus’s brow knits together, the set of his jaw turns frightening as he points toward the youngest player on our team, Brittany. She’s one of my mentees and tutoring students as well. She’s tiny for her age, due to neglect and malnutrition, but she’s bright with wide brown eyes and wild, curly auburn hair. After two years at the center and working with me and an entire team, she is just starting to realize the world isn’t full of monsters.
“Youngest is first at bat. Then, me.” Cyrus stares at me with a determined look and heat gathers in my center as my heart thuds in my chest.
This man is the last thing that should interest me, but God, I can’t keep my eyes off him. He’s lit up something unfamiliar and wicked inside me and I remember how I fantasied about him in the shower last night.
About his tongue as it flicked at my clit. About his cock, if it was as huge and intimidating as he is…his scent is not helping as I soak my panties and try to ignore the ache in my pussy.
“Brittany.” I call to her with a smile and an encouraging wave our way. “You are going to be up first!”
“Yay!” She bounces off the bench, fist pumping the sky as I walk over and hand her a small bat, getting her tiny fingers in place.