Page 65 of Saving The Shortstop

That’s the good thing about my parents living close; I can go there whenever I feel like it. And right now, the thought of her in that bathtub, the jets on, making her tits jiggle in the water?

Yeah … now I have a semi.

She flips onto her stomach, tapping a pen against her lips thoughtfully. She wants to say yes—I know she does. But she’s also trying not to get distracted, I’m sure.

“You’re just trying to invite yourself into my bath, aren’t you, QB?” she accuses, narrowing her eyes. “You think you can distract me from tutoring you with promises of your parents’ sweet jacuzzi tub.”

I lean back, propping myself up on my elbow and looking down at her.

“Oh, if you’re naked and wet in there, fuck yes, I’m coming in too.” I wink, but when I’m met with an aggravated stare, I sigh. “Fine. What if … I get all my work done? Then will you let me take you to my parents’ house?” I lean down, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll be a good boy and work hard, I promise.”

Something about my words has her pupils dilating and her lips parting slightly.

“Fine,” she utters, biting down on her bottom lip. “But if you don’t lock in and take this seriously, no bathtub for you. And no sex.”

“You have a deal,” I say, quickly sitting up and opening my laptop. “Let’s get working. Jesus, what’s taking you so long.”

She smacks my back and shakes her head at my smartass comment. The last thing I want to do right now is type an assignment when images of her in the bathtub are assaulting my brain. But here I go. Knowing as stubborn as she is, she means what she said. I have to get my work done.

TWENTY-EIGHT

HAVEN

I sit on the end of the bed, with the large plush robe on that Dallas gave me when we got here. In the bathroom, the water runs, filling a tub that is even bigger than the one my parents have, which is saying something because my mom is a ho for big bathtubs. This has actually been a running joke between our parents for years. My dad went out and picked out a giant-ass bathtub when they built their house. At the time, it was one of the biggest and most lavish. Yet, years later, when Lane and Memphis moved here, theirs was even larger.

I have some things I want to talk to Dallas about, but I’m a little worried that he’ll take it the wrong way. After watching him for weeks working on his assignments, it’s more and more apparent that something is going on that’s stopping him from reaching his full potential. I don’t mind at all helping him with his work, but he’s a grade below me. So, when he’s a senior, I won’t be around to hold his hand through his classes when he’s struggling. But if he had accommodations—if he qualified for them, that is—that would help so much. With a guy like Dallas though, he’s already so self-conscious when it comes to learning. The last thing I want to do is make him feel stupid, when that’s the furthest thing from the truth.

In fact, it’s been very cool to watch his approach to assignments. He thinks outside the box, which is such a great thing and shows how smart he really is. He just doesn’t learn the same way as everyone else. Then again, who does?

Walking into the bedroom, Dallas jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “It’s ready. Salt and smelly shit and all.”

It’s moments like these when I become shy. Taking a bath together is so intimate. And while he’s still clothed, I know that if I’m naked, my clit throbbing the way it is right now at the sight of him alone, I’m going to pull him into that tub with me. I don’t have enough self-control not to.

Standing up, my shaky legs walk toward him. He stands off to the side, not blocking my way, but when I pass him and our hands brush, electric shocks wash over my body, and I swallow roughly.

Before I can walk through the open door, his hand wraps around my wrist, and he pushes me gently against the wall. “Even though my cock is so hard I can’t think straight, I’m going to let you enjoy your bath—alone.”

When he leans down, gripping my chin and bringing his mouth closer to mine, I suck in a breath quickly, and a squeak comes from my throat.

“Why?” I breath out.

His lips aren’t even an inch from mine, and with his body crowding my own against the wall, my head is spinning.

“Because your body is sore. If I get in with you, I’m not going to be able to hold back.” He kisses me, sliding his hand down closer to my neck. “So I’ll give you a little while to relax, Short. But after that, your pussy”—he slides a finger across my bottom lip—“and this mouth are all mine.” His eyes narrow, dancing between mine. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” The words come in one rushed breath as I bob my head up and down eagerly. “Yes … sir.”

I don’t know why I said that, and right after the word comes out, I cringe slightly.

“Careful,” he warns. “Talking like that may send the wrong idea.” He kisses me again, pulling my bottom lip between his teeth. “The idea that maybe you’d like a chance to submit to whatever I want,” he growls lowly. “A chance to worship my cock however the fuck I tell you to.”

“Yes …” I pant when one hand pushes past the opening in the robe, gripping my waist.

“Go get nice and wet in the bathtub, Haven,” he murmurs against my lips. “You’re going to need it.”

Leaving my back to the wall, he turns away and walks out of the bathroom. With my head dizzy and my legs feeling like a newborn deer, it takes me a moment or two to gather myself up enough to walk into the bathroom. And when I see the massive bubbles and the sweet scents of whatever soap he used hit my nose, I should be aching to get in there and soak my sore muscles.

Instead, I’m just aching for him to come in and order me around like his own personal fuck toy.