Listen, Pitch (There's No Crying in Baseball 3)

I felt my belly tighten. “Uh-oh.”

I hoped he wasn’t getting sick.

“I’ll be fine. The nutritionist has been pouring vitamin C down my gullet every chance she gets. And I don’t feel bad other than a few aches and pains…but those could be because I had a long ass flight, sat still for hours, and had a long ass night before that.”

That was true.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and pressed the Facetime button. It took him less than a second to answer it, and then his beautiful, tired face was filling up the screen.

He was shirtless and laying on his bed, but that was all I could see other than the white sheets underneath him.

I found myself grinning despite telling myself not to.

“What?” he asked, looking sweet, comfortable, and tired.

His chest had a sheen of moisture that denoted he’d just gotten out of the shower, and I wondered idly whether he was wearing anything at all.

“I was just wondering…” I hesitated.

I was still so new at this stuff.

“Wondering…” he hesitated.

“I was wondering if you were wearing anything,” I blurted.

His smile lit up his face.

“God, I love you.”

I felt my heart stutter.

He’d said those words before, but every time they came out of his mouth, it still felt like the first time.

Then, before I could respond to his words, he turned the phone.

I was immediately disappointed. He was wearing a pair of black sweatpants—ones that I’d packed for him—and socks.

“Darn it,” I murmured. “I was hoping you’d be naked and I could have my first sexual experience over the phone.”

Before I could so much as tell him I was joking, he started to remove his pants.

He left the socks, though.

And his cock, my God, it was already hard.

I licked my dry lips.

“I’m torn,” I whispered.

“Torn between what?” he rumbled from behind the phone.

He turned the phone, and then I could see his face, and watch his eyes.

“Torn between wanting to see your face, and wanting to see your other attributes,” I murmured.

It was a habit of mine, making sure that I could read people’s every facial expression. Something that I’d been doing for so long that it was ingrained—something that had to happen for me to feel like I wasn’t missing anything.

And having the phone pointed away from his face, without me being able to control it and look at his cock—well, that kind of upset me.

Not enough that I would complain about what I was doing, but enough that I had no problem telling him what I was feeling.

Rhys grinned, then moved. I could see the room swirling around him as he walked somewhere—and then he placed the phone down, and I had an up close and personal view of his penis.

His pretty, hard, delectable, I-want-to-lick-it-now penis.

Then there were his balls. They were hanging low between his legs, and I wanted nothing more than to cup them in my hand and do things to them that were likely illegal in third world countries.

“That look,” he growled as he backed away.

As he did, the long length of his cock swayed with the movement, and I bit back a groan.

There was nothing more torturous in this world than to see something that you want, yet you’re unable to have it.

“All those moans and groans, honey.” He laughed.

I looked for a place to prop the phone up on my end and decided that the headboard would do. I’d just lay on the bed backward.

Which I did moments later, stripping down to nothing before laying on the bed just like he’d done moments before.

The moment he saw me, he fisted his cock and squeezed it hard.

At one point in our relationship, I would’ve questioned his roughness. But now, I knew him so well that it wasn’t surprising to see him do it. The move meant he was trying not to come.

I worked my bottom lip with my top teeth.

I loved making him feel good.

Loved. It.

My hand slipped down my chest, and I felt my nipples pucker.

He groaned, and I saw his knuckles go white as he tried to contain his need.

“God, I wish that you were here right now,” he whispered gruffly.

I did, too.

Oh, boy, did I.

Because I was soaked just by watching him squeeze his cock.

I had no doubt in my mind, had he been here with me, I’d be riding his cock to orgasm.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered.

I didn’t hesitate.

Moments after my hand started to travel downward, he let his cock go and brought both of his hands up to rest underneath his head.

Any other woman might look at him and see him getting comfortable. I knew better. He was taut and ready to blow.

He was just trying to gather enough control.

“Oh, fuck,” he said once I touched my clit with one finger. “Don’t.”

I didn’t listen to him. He didn’t want me to touch my clit yet, but with just one brush of my fingers, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. I was already too far gone.