“I’ll j-just get in then,” she murmurs, slinging one long leg over the edge of the hot tub, then sinking into the water, straight up to her neck, the ends of her dark hair fanning out around her. “Oh my God,” she gasps, her eyes turning dreamy. “This feels as good as it looks.”
I bet I can say the same for you.
I’m not going to last very long without touching her, but I don’t want to rush Pippa and lose a chance to gain her trust. Still, my fingers are curled into the edge of the hot tub, shaking with the need to touch. “I’ve got a deal for you, Pippa.”
Her mouth forms an O. “Another one?”
“It’s still part of the first deal.” I shift in the water. “For every three questions I answer, we give you an orgasm.”
The steam curls around her beautiful face. “But I have a lot of questions.”
“Then I guess your thighs are going to be sore from shaking, little girl.”
Just like earlier, she melts when I call her that name, her mouth turning even rosier. “They really shake when…that happens?”
“If you do it right.” I drop my right hand into the water, reaching out to grasp her by the hip and draw her toward me, settling her on my lap in a straddle, her soft sex molding around my cock. “Fuck me. I’m going to do it so right, Pippa.”
Our mouths are inhaling and exhaling right up against one another. “I believe you.”
My hands slide down into her panties, taking firm hold of her hot little backside and Christ, she is so goddamn tight and supple. “Ask your questions.”
Her eyelids flutter, her hands settling hesitantly on my shoulders, the steam wrapping around both of us, cocooning us in our own world. “Okay, so…” She rubs her lips together, an adorable line of concentration appearing between her brows. “Before you were accepted at The University of Texas at Austin…”
“Damn,” I laugh. “You know your stuff.”
“You’re famous, Mister Mulloy,” she counters primly. “Or didn’t you realize?”
“Is that one of your three questions?”
Her lips curve in a smile. “No. But nice try.”
I knead her ass firmly, rocking her up and back on my dick. “Just anxious, baby.”
She hums, her face a beautiful shade of flushed. “B-before you were accepted at the university, where did you play? Most players can trace their careers all the way back through little league and club teams, but you came out of nowhere. Just showed up for an open tryout and boom. All-star pitcher. It happened overnight.”
I swallow with some discomfort, my pulse kicking up a notch. “Yeah, uh…” I clear my throat roughly. “This ranch didn’t always belong to me. It belonged to Hank, my foster father. He’s the one who taught me how to play ball.” The memories rush back and block up my throat. “After my chores were done, we spent hours every day working on my arm. Pitching through tires in the barn. He said my talent was natural, but that’s because he hated taking credit for anything. Me? I hated anything social. He wanted me to try out for a team sooner, but…he had a heart condition. I didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone around the place while I went off and played some sport…”
I realize how long I’ve been talking and press my lips together, noticing for the first time that Pippa is watching me with big, luminous eyes, her chest rising and falling quickly. She doesn’t even seem to realize the water isn’t covering her luscious tits any more—and there’s not a hope in hell I’m going to tell her.
“Oh. Everyone has always speculated that you played in Europe or maybe Puerto Rico. Somewhere that allowed you to remain off the radar in the US. But…you were here in Texas the whole time.” She shakes her head. “A foster father. He must be a very good man…to recognize your talent and encourage it like that.”
“Yes. He was.”
“Oh.” Some of the color leaves her face. “He’s passed?”
The tightness is back in my throat. “Yeah. Beginning of the season.”
“Cort,” she breathes, her expression awash in sympathy. But not pity. Just understanding and the offer of comfort. “I’m so sorry. Is…is Hank’s passing the reason you haven’t been playing like yourself?”
“Why I’ve been in a slump, you mean?” Laughing without humor, I take my hand off her backside long enough to rake it through my hair. “Yeah. Doesn’t really feel the same, knowing he’s not in the stands watching me. He was the only one who ever cared. Really cared. The rest of the eyes on me just belong to strangers.” I grunt, unable to meet her eyes. “That was your third question.”
“I don’t want to ask any more questions,” she murmurs, cupping the side of my face in her hand, tracing my cheekbone with her thumb. “Not right now.”