Stealing Home by Tara Wyatt

Seven

“Top of the third inning and we’re all even at one run apiece as the Longhorns host the Yankees,” says Wayne Hopkins. “Dylan McCormick steps up to the plate for the first time tonight.”

“You can tell he’s been working to turn things around,” says Ron Whittaker. “Defensively, things are starting to click for him, but his timing at the plate’s still off. Let’s see if he can get anything going tonight. All he needs is one hit—breaking a streak can get a player out of his head and back into the game.”

“Here comes the pitch…and a swing and a miss for strike one.”

“That was a ninety mile an hour fastball right down the middle. If he can’t hit that, he’s in trouble.”

“The windup…and McCormick hits it right back to the pitcher who lobs it to first for an easy out. Looks like Dylan McCormick’s hitting woes continue.”

* * *

He’d gone 0-3 on the night, and they’d lost 5-3 to the Yankees, but all Dylan could think about was getting to Maggie’s place as quickly as possible. He’d turned down offers of post-game drinks and food and had showered so quickly that his skin had barely gotten wet. Anticipation throbbed through his veins as he headed to Maggie’s place, driving practically on autopilot. He wanted to kiss her, touch her, make her moan and lose himself in her body, but more than that, he wanted to see her. Talk to her. Hold her.

Get her to admit she wanted those things, too.

As he drove, he let his mind wander back to that summer they’d spent together. He’d met her at the diner one sweet, warm May evening and he’d flirted with her shamelessly, loving the way her cheeks had gone pink. He’d stayed long after his teammates had gone home, ordering more coffee and more pie until he was so full of caffeine and sugar he’d been sure he’d never sleep again. He’d stayed until the end of her shift and then had walked her to her beat up little Toyota and asked if he could call her sometime.

Sometime was the next morning, and they’d spent that entire summer falling head over heels in love with each other. They’d spent every free second together, talking, laughing, swimming, making out, and about a month into their relationship, having as much sex as they could handle. He’d loved her, fiercely and deeply, and for that one, fleeting summer, she’d made him feel like he could be more than a spoiled rich kid. She hadn’t cared about the money or his name. She’d only cared about him, and it had felt so fucking good that he’d soaked it up like sunshine.

His father hadn’t approved, and hadn’t been shy about sharing that opinion, but that hadn’t stopped him from loving Maggie. In fact, it had made him love her more. She’d given him a glimpse of who he could be, if he wanted. She was like an archaeologist, unearthing treasures inside him he hadn’t known were buried.

And then his father had made an offer to which he hadn’t been able to say no, for Maggie’s sake. It had cost him his heart in the process, but if it had guaranteed her a better future, it was worth it.

At least, that’s what he’d believed for the past ten years. But now, seeing her again, he was pretty damn sure that giving her up was the biggest mistake he’d ever made.

It was a mistake he planned to rectify.

He pulled into the same guest parking spot he’d used last time and practically sprinted up the stairs to Maggie’s apartment, took a second to catch his breath, and then knocked on her door. It swung open to reveal Maggie in nothing but a short black silk robe, open in a deep-V that barely covered her breasts, the belt tied loosely around her waist. She smiled when she saw him, heat flashing in her eyes, and backed into her apartment. He followed her, feeling like he was stalking his—very willing—prey, and closed the door behind him. With a simple tug on the belt, she let the robe fall open, revealing herself to him. His eyes feasted on all that creamy skin, on her breasts, on her soft stomach and curved hips, on the neatly trimmed triangle of hair between her shapely legs. She’d unwrapped herself like a gift, and he felt like a kid on Christmas morning, full of glee and excitement and greed. She shrugged, letting the robe slip down her shoulders and puddle on the floor at her feet.

She was insanely gorgeous, and right now, she was his. Need and possession slammed into him, tightening every muscle in his body until he knew he wouldn’t be able to think until he got his hands on her. On his Maggie.

“Mags,” he whispered, slipping his hands around her waist and hauling her against him. His cock hardened to the point of aching just at having her pressed against him, her soft curves yielding against his body. Molding to him. As though she were made for him, and him alone.

She stretched up onto her toes and nuzzled her face into his neck, breathing him in. She made a soft sound almost like a purr that made his ego grow another two sizes. “Not supposed to call me that,” she murmured, dragging her lips over his collarbone. He let out a gruff moan.

“Fine. I’ll just focus on getting you to scream my name instead.” He traced one hand down the seam of her spine, and she shivered, then looked up at him through her lashes.

“What are you waiting for?”

He grinned and cupped her ass, lifting her. Her legs wound around his waist, her arms around his neck as if they’d been doing this for years. Regret slammed into him at all the time they’d lost, and he nuzzled his nose against her cheek.

“Not a damn thing.”

He closed his mouth over hers and she let out a soft sigh, melting into him. He walked them the few feet into her bedroom and eased her down onto the bed, forcing himself to slow down. The first time they’d hooked up had been fast and sweaty and hard, and it had been exactly what he’d needed—and what she’d needed, he suspected. But tonight was different. Tonight wasn’t about a fuck to clear his head. Tonight was about Maggie and fixing what he’d so royally screwed up.

Tonight was about them, and what they could have.

He slowly kissed his way down her body, savoring the taste of her skin. She writhed beneath him, her hands shoving at his shoulders, but he didn’t let her urge him down her body. Instead, he closed his mouth over one of her nipples, flicking at it with his tongue. She rose up onto her elbows.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked again, her voice breathless and shaky.

He released her nipple, grinning at her. “I’m not waiting. I’m enjoying.” He tweaked her other nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. “This won’t be like last time, Maggie.”

She frowned, a little crease appearing between her brows. “I liked last time.”

He licked her nipple and then blew a stream of air over it, teasing it into a hard pink peak. “And you’re going to love this time.” He resumed his path down her body, trailing open-mouthed kisses over her stomach, her hips, her thighs, finally settling himself between her legs, where he could see how ready she was for him. He swept his tongue over her clit, reveling in her taste.

“Oh, shit, Dylan,” she moaned, threading her hands into his hair. He smiled against her skin, loving the sound of his name falling from her lips like that, like she was begging him and thanking him at the same time. He sucked her clit into his mouth and his cock strained against the zipper of his jeans, eager to get in on the action.

Soon enough.

He worked his mouth against her, feeling her get wetter, swollen. Her voice took on a needy tone as she moaned, her hips moving, circling against his grip. She pushed up onto her elbows again, and he met her hooded gaze, their eyes locking, his mouth still on her. He broke contact with her just long enough to yank his T-shirt off over his head, then attacked her pussy again with long, hungry sweeps of his tongue.

“Love how you look between my legs,” she panted out, still watching him. He moaned against her flesh, lapping up her arousal.

“Love how you taste,” he said between kisses. “Love how you smell. Missed this.” She’d probably take that to mean he’d missed her while he’d been on the road, and while that was true, he meant that he’d missed this. Her. For ten fucking years.

“I’m so close.” Her voice was high, breathless.

He spread her open with his fingers and licked circles around her clit, wondering if the same move would get her off the way it had when they were teenagers.

“Yes, Dylan, just like that…don’t stop…oh, God, I’m coming. Shit!” Her hands fisted in his hair as her hips bucked wildly. Satisfaction scorched through him as he licked and kissed her through her orgasm, only releasing her hips when she was still. He kissed the insides of her thighs, down her legs, all the way to her ankles. He slipped one over his shoulder and surged up over her, spreading her open wide. She bit her lip and moaned, her eyes dark with lust and pleasure. Her hips rose up to meet him as she rubbed herself against the hard ridge of his cock in his jeans.

“Naked. Now.”

He grinned wolfishly at her as he rose just enough to shove his jeans and boxer briefs down and then kick them free. Maggie reached into her nightstand drawer for a condom, and he narrowed his eyes as he watched her. Jealousy crested over him as he thought about her here, with other men. A need to claim her pounded through his veins and he took the foil wrapper from her and kissed her, hard and deep.

He’d been her first, and fuck, he wanted to be her last.

He broke the kiss just long enough to roll the condom on. A surprised breath escaped her lips when instead of coming down on top of her he laid down beside her on his side and pulled her against him, her back fitting against his chest. She turned, craning her neck to kiss him, long and deep. With his cock in his fist, he slicked himself through her folds as their mouths melded. Lining himself up with her entrance, he slid home with one slow thrust. A feeling of completeness engulfed him as he worked himself in a little deeper. He slipped his hand under her neck, giving her more support, and laced his fingers with hers. She squeezed his hand and arched her back, hooking her leg over his thrusting hips. Shifting a little, she angled her hips, and he felt the base of his cock grinding against her swollen clit with every thrust.

“How is it so good with you?” she asked, reaching back to slide her hand around his neck. He lifted his head, looking down at her. Eyes hazy with pleasure, she gazed at him with something that looked almost like awe.

Because you’re mine and always have been.

The words ricocheted around his brain like a bullet, but he didn’t say them, even though he knew right down to his bones that they were true. Instead, he bounced his eyebrows and said, “Because I’m just that good.” A tiny wave of nausea bobbed in his stomach at the idea that she was comparing him to the other men she’d slept with. He didn’t care who or how many—only that they weren’t him.

She let out a gorgeous sound, a laugh mingled with a sighing moan, and kissed him again. Together, they found a rhythm that had heat zapping down Dylan’s spine, and he picked up the speed of his thrusts, unable to hold himself back. The pull of her body, the scent of her, the slide of her skin against his—it was perfect and too much at the same time. Maggie slipped her hand between her legs, working her clit.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he ground out. He’d never seen her touch herself before, and it made his balls tighten as he watched her fingers toy with her beautifully swollen pussy.

“Keep fucking me, just like that,” she breathed, her eyes closed, sweat dotting her hairline. “You’re gonna make me come again.”

He did as he was told, not changing his rhythm or his depth, staying exactly where she needed him. He leaned forward and tugged on her earlobe with his teeth. “Does that feel good? Touching yourself with my cock filling you up like that?”

She let out a sobbing gasp and nodded, her fingers moving faster. “So good.”

“You feel amazing. You’re so wet, so tight. Nothing compares to being inside you. Fucking nothing.”

“More,” she whimpered, and he licked a path up her neck.

“I want to spend all night inside you. I want to fuck you until neither of us can walk. Until we don’t know our names or what day it is. I want to see how many times I can make that sweet pussy come for me.”

A loud moan escaped her lips, and he felt her clench around him. He grinned, loving that she loved his dirty talk.

“I wanna make you come on my mouth, on my hand, on my cock, over and over again until you beg me to stop.”

“Dylan!” She shouted his name like a curse word and came, throbbing around him and pulling him deeper into her body as she shook and clawed at the sheets. A pulsing heat took root at the base of his spine and spread through him like a raging fire, and after a few more thrusts, he came too in several long spurts, moaning her name again and again. Wrung out, he dropped his head to the pillow and traced his fingertips over her shoulder, her arm, the curve of her breast, goosebumps erupting on her skin in his wake. She glanced at him over her shoulder, her skin flushed, her eyes bright. Biting her lip, she turned, making him slip out of her body, and buried her face against his chest.

“I’m not usually like that,” she murmured. “You…you unleash something crazy in me. I can’t explain it.”

He slid his fingers under her chin, tipping her face up and forcing her to meet his gaze. He wrapped his other arm around her waist. “You’re sexy as hell, Magnolia. Don’t be embarrassed or shy with me. I love it.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What we just did wasn’t crazy. It was fucking hot because we’re good together.”

She pursed her lips, her mouth twisting to the side as though she didn’t want to agree with him. Emotions flickered across her face, gone too quickly to really see, and she tucked herself against him, her hand resting on his chest over his heart.

“Cuddling is against the rules,” she whispered, drawing circles on his skin with the tip of her finger.

He tightened his grip around her and kissed the top of her head. Something restless, something hollow and hungry deep inside him settled, and he felt a tension he hadn’t been aware of melt away, leaving his entire body limp and sated. For now. He hadn’t been playing when he’d told her he wanted to spend the night making her come again and again.

“Pfft. This isn’t cuddling.”

“It’s not?” She nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck in a way that made him want to growl with possessive satisfaction. Her scent, a warm feminine vanilla musk, wrapped itself around him.

“Nah. We’re just taking a break before the next round. Totally rule friendly.”

Her shoulders shook with soft laughter, but she didn’t pull away, and Dylan was putting that firmly in the win column.

* * *

Maggie rolled over and blinked slowly, letting her heavy eyelids open at their own pace. Morning sunshine filtered in around the window shade, bathing her bedroom in a gentle yellow glow. She felt gloriously relaxed, her muscles soft with exertion and pleasure. Dylan had kept his dirty promise; he’d spent the night making her have so many orgasms she’d nearly lost count. What that man could do with this mouth and his fingers was probably illegal in most states. They’d also had sex twice more, and she was pretty sure she hadn’t slept much, but she didn’t feel tired. She felt more awake than she had in a long time. Her entire body was buzzing.

She sat up and arched her arms overhead, her sore muscles protesting. She froze when she saw Dylan’s T-shirt on the floor, exactly in the spot where he’d tossed it last night.

Come to think of it, why did her apartment smell like maple syrup and coffee?

She rubbed a hand over her face, trying to rein in the panic rising up inside her. The quiet clink of dishes reached her from the kitchen and she groaned.

Well, shit. He’d spent the night. She’d assumed that he’d let himself out once he was finished with her, since sleepovers were clearly against their agreed upon rules.

“No no no no no,” she whispered, throwing the covers back and searching for something to wear. With a sigh, she grabbed Dylan’s T-shirt, slipping it on over her head. Her heart gave a little lurch as his scent hit her. Maybe this was her fault for letting him hold her. She’d set the rule-breaking precedent. All of those mind-blowing orgasms had literally blown her mind, disconnecting her brain from the rest of her body.

Cautiously, she peeked around the corner and then padded barefoot into the hallway. After a few steps, Dylan came into view, standing in front of her stove with nothing but his jeans on. She watched the muscles in his back flex as he flipped a pancake in the frying pan.

“Dylan? What are you…?” She eyed him warily as she stepped into the kitchen, hugging herself and wishing she’d picked something other than his T-shirt to wear.

“How many pancakes you want?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder and sending her a smile that would’ve melted her panties had she been wearing any. He lifted the frying pan off the stove and slid four perfect pancakes onto a plate. She couldn’t help but notice that while he’d put on his jeans, he hadn’t done them up, giving her a tantalizing glimpse of the dark brown fuzz below his belly button. A flutter of lust and excitement mingled together in her stomach, so she stopped and leaned against the wall, not trusting what she might do if she got closer to him.

“I thought we agreed no sleepovers.”

“But you did agree to a night of orgasms.” He shrugged, grinning. “I felt like that superseded any pre-existing agreement.”

She blushed, opening and closing her mouth because she didn’t know what to say. A confusing jumble of emotions were taking their turns with her, twisting her inside out. Did she hate that he was here? No. Did she like that he’d stayed over? Also no.

“We set boundaries for a reason,” she said, allowing herself one small step into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down on one of her little bistro chairs. It looked comically small with his muscled frame perched on it. He took a sip and motioned for her to sit down across from him. Two plates with pancakes and fruit salad sat on the table. She felt like she was approaching a lion’s den as she neared the table, tugging his T-shirt under her butt before she sat down.

“I know,” he finally said. “But by the time you fell asleep, it was like four in the morning, and I was exhausted.” He winked at her. “You wore me out.”

Heat crept up her neck, and she shoveled in a mouthful of fruit. Her stomach rumbled appreciatively, and she dug in to the pancakes, which she had to admit tasted amazing. After a couple of bites, she set her fork down.

“And cooking me breakfast feels…” She frowned, searching for the right word. “Datey. And we’re not dating.”

Dylan leaned back and crossed his arms, a contemplative expression on his face. “Hmm. You know, I think you’re right. Well, we can fix that.” Her plate disappeared from in front of her as he whisked it away.

“Hey, wait!” She followed him as he moved toward her garbage can under the sink. He turned, a cocky smirk that made her want to kiss him and smack him at the same time tugging up his gorgeous lips.

“I’m just trying to follow your rules, Magnolia.”

Something sweet tried to unfurl in her chest at his use of her full name, but she squashed it down and grabbed on to the anger simmering in her blood instead. She took the plate back from him and set it on the counter, wheeling to face him.

“They’re not my rules; they’re our rules, first of all. And second, don’t make me out to be a bitch for having boundaries.”

All the cockiness vanished from his face, his expression softening. He ducked his head and nodded. “You’re right. You’re right. And I never meant to make you feel like you were being a bitch. You’re not, Mags. Not at all. I was just teasing. And…I mean, I stayed because I like hanging out with you. Is that so awful?”

She bit her lip, turning his words over in her mind. The half-apology. The use of the forbidden nickname. The admission he liked spending time with her. All they did was wind the knot of confusion sitting right in the center of her chest a bit tighter.

“I don’t know what to think,” she said, picking up a strawberry from her plate and popping it in her mouth.

“I have a crazy idea.”

She pressed her lips together, feeling as though the ground were shifting beneath her and she couldn’t quite get her footing. Dylan had always been able to put her off-balance. Always. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

He leaned toward her, a conspiratorial smile on his face. “Let’s be friends.”

“But the rules—”

He cut her off with a shake of his head. “The rules don’t say anything about not being friends. We’re still talkin’ night-time hook-ups, booty calls, no romance, all of that. Okay, yeah, I slept over. I was tired. No big deal, right? I meant it when I said that I wanted to be friends with benefits.” He took a step closer to her and snagged a blueberry off her plate. “And the truth is, while I knew you ten years ago, I don’t know you real well now. But I want to.” He took another step closer, caging her in against the corner of the counter. “Don’t you want to know me, too?”

She sucked in an unsteady breath. Could she be friends with Dylan McCormick? Reply hazy, try again. Crossing her arms over her chest, she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I did know you, Dylan. And you broke my heart.”

Pain flashed across his face, and she could tell that her words had cut deep. Good. At least that was something. For several long seconds, he didn’t say anything, and then finally, he shook his head.

“I was a stupid kid. I know that’s not much of an excuse, but I am sorry I hurt you. I’ve always regretted it.”

“You have?”

“The last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you. Then, or now.” He hesitated slightly before continuing. “That’s why I told you no when you first suggested we hook up.”

She wanted so badly to believe him, but she couldn’t stop thinking about that rainy night when he’d discarded her and everything they’d had. An entire future. All that possibility and goodness, washed away like mud into a river. If the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, why had he done it?

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

“I’m bein’ genuine with you here. Promise.” He laid his hand over his heart, his eyes big and gleaming with sincerity.

Maybe, just maybe, if they were going to be friends in the present—and nothing more than friends, because she’d learned her lesson where Dylan was concerned—the past didn’t matter. What had happened between them felt like a lifetime ago. They’d both been different people. To be friends, all that really mattered was who they were now. And Dylan was right. They didn’t really know each other now, as adults. And yet, she couldn’t ignore the worry tugging at her.

“This whole thing was supposed to be about closure and being friends…I dunno. It feels like opening something up, not putting a final punctuation mark on it.”

“I mean, yeah. I guess it would be kind of a new beginning in a way. I don’t really know what kind of closure you’re looking for, but you could gain a friend in the process, is all I’m sayin’.”

“I…” She sighed and stared at him, weighing her words. “I don’t know if I know how to be friends with you.”

He smiled, his expression warm and gentle. “I promise I don’t bite.” He leaned in and tugged on her earlobe with his teeth. “Unless you ask nicely.”

A half-giggle, half-moan escaped her lips. She arched up onto her toes, aiming for his mouth when her stomach rumbled loudly, ruining the moment. They both laughed, and Dylan handed her plate back to her.

“C’mon, let’s eat before it’s cold.”

They sat back down at the table and she watched him as she took another bite of her pancakes. “Just a friendly breakfast between two half-naked friends who spent the night boinking like bunnies,” she observed wryly, hoping that if she could find the humor in the situation, everything wouldn’t feel so laden with meaning. She wanted to cling to the idea that he was an asshole for breaking their rule about sleeping over, but he was here cooking her breakfast and telling her he wanted to be her friend. Pretty non-assholish, in her book. And what if he’d driven home in the wee hours of the morning, bleary-eyed and exhausted and something had happened? Her throat constricted a little, and she pushed the thought away.

Dylan arched an eyebrow at her as he chewed. “Boinking? What are you, twelve?”

She stuck her tongue out at him and he winked at her. Flutters erupted in her tummy, combined with a warm, sunny feeling, one she hadn’t been expecting to feel around Dylan. “How would you describe it?”

Heat flashed in his eyes and he licked a stray drop of maple syrup off his lip. Maggie rubbed her thighs together, a tiny ache taking root between her legs. “I’d say we spent the night fucking each other senseless.”

Her lips parted, and she sucked in a breath, her heart picking up speed. Their eyes locked, electricity snapping in the air between them. Dylan threw his fork down, and they both pushed up out of their chairs at the same time. Half a second later, she was in his arms, her body pressed against his, his hands in her hair as he kissed her, deep and sweet. He broke the kiss to pull the shirt off over her head and shove his jeans down, and then he lifted her onto her bistro table, spread her legs and dropped to his knees in front of her.

Maybe being friends with Dylan McCormick wouldn’t be so bad.