Putting It to the Test Page 8

  And when she finally calmed, he looked up to see her head tilted back against the chair, her sated eyes staring at the ceiling and her chest heaving in an effort to restore her breath. He loved the sight, the look of a satisfied woman, an expression numb from climax.

  He intended to see it again.

  Rising up and bringing his lips back to one delicate ear, he smiled and whispered, “Now I can fuck you.”

  THE MERE SOUND of Matt’s voice using the very naughty and highly un-office-like phrase sent Carly climbing back up the slope of arousal all over again.

  Never in her life had she stripped for a man and stood naked before him—most definitely not in the office—but something about the way he’d looked at her, had devoured her in that chair and had savored her with his mouth, hands and eyes left her feeling bold and empowered. At that moment he could have told her to put on a wig and dance the jitterbug and she would have given it her best shot.

  She wondered if he knew he had that power over her.

  The rattle of something strange caught her attention, and she looked down to see Matt sifting through a basket of stress toys, then coming up with an object about the size of a tennis ball. He threaded a small loop on one end around his two middle fingers, allowing the ball to cradle in his palm.

  When she opened her mouth to inquire, he snapped a switch, and the resulting hum answered her impending question.

  “What is that, a vibrator?”

  “A handheld massager I’ve had ideas about for quite a while now.”

  She stifled an excited grin, not wanting to look overeager but having a hard time pulling it off. For a long time now she’d wanted sex that was exciting, so much so that she’d gone out on this limb in the belief that Matt might be the one to provide it.

  It looked as though her instincts had been correct.

  Digging through the basket, he brought out another and tossed it to her, and her excitement waned. She wasn’t sure what to do with it, and with things starting off on such a great high, she feared her inexperience would ruin it for them both.

  She’d always suspected Matt had a taste for wild and experienced women, ones who knew their way around a man’s body and the kinds of things that turned men on. Carly wasn’t that kind of woman, and if he’d expected her to be, he might be headed for disappointment.

  Swallowing a gulp of nerves, she slipped the massager around her fingers as Matt had done and waited as he pulled a condom from his wallet, tossed it on her belly, then yanked down his trousers. One thick cock sprang out, and he edged in closer and jutted his chin toward the foil pack.

  “Put it on me, babe.”

  Her eyes wide, she tried to will the jitters from her fingers. She’d never put a condom on a man before and prayed there wasn’t a trick to it, but she wasn’t about to confess that to him. She wanted to shed the Sally Sunshine image that always seemed to keep men like him away, so with the toy still cupped to one hand, she worked to tear open the foil packet while Matt held his cock in waiting.

  Tugging out the latex sheath, she let the packet drop to the floor before she unrolled the condom over his shaft without incident, feeling the tiny thrill of victory as he proceeded in obvious assumption that none of this was new to her.

  But it was. Every moment of it was. From the instant she’d climbed on his lap and sunk her tongue deep in his mouth she’d been marking new ground. She’d never been this bold, had never risked having sex in a place where she could end up caught and in trouble, had never had sex with her shoes on and most definitely had never played with toys, much less on the very first time.

  He was the man of her fantasies, all right, and just like her greatest fantasy, she ached with anticipation over what would come next.

  Flicking the switch on her massager, the light hum vibrated in her hand, and she looked to follow Matt’s lead. He slowly trailed his up her thigh, letting the smooth tickling sensation heighten her arousal. He sank it into the apex of her thigh, lightly grazed it over her mound before moving it down the other side, the vibration curling her toes and reawakening her already-sated sex.

  Guiding her hand to her thigh, he said, “Put it where it feels good,” before taking his own and massaging it around the base of his shaft and behind his balls.

  His cock jerked and his eyes rolled, and Carly followed suit, experimenting with her own vibrating ball. If Matt was sexy simply walking around the office, he was lethal in the flesh. His chiseled chest was deliciously rugged, a faint dusting of hair trickling down in a line over taut abs and disappearing around his navel. His erection drove her mad with anticipation, the deep look of pleasure on that handsome face nearly bringing her to tears. They watched each other, studying one another’s motions, before Matt nudged them to trade positions, and she guided her ball around his shaft, the hard feel of his flesh exciting her, pulsing between her legs as he lolled his head to the side and soaked in the sensation.

  “This is good,” he moaned, then edged farther between her legs until the tender tip of his shaft was positioned for entry.

  “Scoot down,” he said, and she obliged, her heart racing to see where this would lead, how he would feel inside her, and with her hips teetering on the edge of the chair, he slid inside.

  Her body stretched for him, her ball still tickling the base of his shaft, and she arched to take him in deeper, his resulting groan heating her blood and adding vigor to her moves. Between the erection stroking her core and the oscillations fluttering between them, she was headed for another hard and searing climax, and the look in Matt’s eyes said he wasn’t far behind.

  They stroked and moved together, using the balls to tantalize the area around their thighs and the space where they joined, and when Matt bent in to suckle her breasts, a rising wave began to crest between her legs.

  “I’m going to come,” she whispered, prompting him to increase the pressure of the massager between her legs.

  She squirmed and tried to move away, not wanting it to happen so fast, but he simply moved with her and took up the space.

  “Go, baby,” he said.

  “Not yet.”

  “Yes, now,” he urged, stroking his ball closer to her clit. Cupping her hand in his, he pushed her ball down under them, guiding them both to add sensation she didn’t need. She was going to boil over, and when he slipped out a curse and thrust faster, she knew he was on the cusp, too.

  “Oh,” he groaned, then he groaned it again, his breath growing heavy, his eyes closing and beads of sweat forming on his brow. He hissed in a breath; she could see him struggling to hold on. And with one more pass between them, she dropped her ball on the chair next to her and split apart.

  The climax came deep and heavy, ripping through her chest and squeezing in her throat. She bit her lip to stay quiet, but a low squeak escaped her, and when they couldn’t take more, Matt dropped his ball, closed his lips over hers and grunted his climax into her throat.

  His tongue shot into her mouth, aching moans following in its wake while he jerked and buckled against her. It seemed to go on forever, his body consuming her from head to toe, drinking her in, capturing her breath until every inch of them moved, breathed and pulsed as one.

  Pulling his lips from hers, he expelled a long, luxurious breath at the nape of her neck, and she dug her fingers into his ass and pulled him close, wanting their joining to last just a little longer.

  “You were amazing,” he said after a very long moment, his voice raspy and tired.

  She sat for a moment, staring at the ceiling, enjoying the hard feel of him over her body, the occasional twitch of his cock inside her and the heavy thump of his heart against her breast.

  “There’s plenty more to be had,” she said, already fully deciding that this wouldn’t be their only time if she had her way.

  He lifted from her grasp, stood up and pulled his pants around his waist, using a nearby box of tissue to discard the remnants of the condom before tossing it in the trash. The sated look on his face had
begun to fade as he searched for his shirt, and a sudden shift in the air had her reaching for her own clothing, the need to cover up coming over her without explanation.

  Had that not been the right thing to say?

  “Or not,” she quickly slipped in.

  He caught the snap to her tone and glanced over. His reluctant expression prompted her to dress even faster. He had Dear Jane written all over his face, and if she was going to hear that the best sex of her life had been a mistake, she would at least do it clothed.

  “Look, Carly,” he started, but she held up a hand, not interested in hearing the rest. Just the tone of those two words said it all. It was the start of a speech about what had just happened, how she shouldn’t misunderstand, how she shouldn’t read more into the situation than what it was, him being a guy like him and her a woman like her.

  No way would she listen to that.

  “Don’t wreck a great one-night stand,” she said. “I get it. I’m a big girl. Let’s just forget this happened and move on.”

  His eyes widened. “That’s not where I was going.”

  She hurriedly slipped her skirt up, but the hem got caught in her heel and she heard the dreaded sound of fabric tearing.

  Sex with her shoes on. Brilliant.

  “I’d definitely like more where that came from,” he went on as she pulled her heel from the hem and lifted her skirt to her waist. “We just need to keep this under wraps is all.”

  She stopped and stared. “What do you think I’m going to do—walk out of this room and tell everyone we just had sex?”

  He shrugged as though the answer to that question might actually have been yes.

  Her jaw dropped. “You really think I’d do that.”

  His jaw bobbed. “No…Yes…I mean, you get around.”

  She shot out a squeak. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He stared at the floor and took a long breath, and that’s when Carly stopped looking. Instead she rushed to throw together the last of her clothing before she slapped him.

  “Not what it sounded like,” he said. “I mean, you’ve got a lot of friends here, and I think it would be best if this didn’t get spread around the office.”

  Smoothing her hands over her skirt, then going to work on her hair, she held back the flames and tried to speak calmly.

  It didn’t work.

  “Trust me—I won’t be telling anyone I had sex with you.”

  Now it was his turn to gape. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Exactly how it sounded,” she snapped. “You don’t have to worry about this happening again or anyone hearing about the one time it did.” Moving to the door, she flipped open the dead bolt and reached for the handle. “As far as I’m concerned, this is already forgotten.”

  And with that, she stormed out the door.

  8

  MATT SLID ON HIS batting helmet, tightened the gloves at his wrists and flicked on the pitching machine before grasping his favorite Louisville Slugger tightly around the grip. With his eye on the machine, the distant sounds around him began to fade. Besides the thwoop-thwoop of the pitches in the neighboring cages, there was the tinny smack of a ball making contact with an aluminum bat, the constant creak of the old wood floor in the two-story warehouse and the low murmur of conversation. The sounds were old and familiar to him, comforting as a lullaby in this place that was more a home to him than the tiny boathouse he’d grown up in.

  The light on the machine turned from red to yellow, and he shifted his weight to his back leg, holding the bat well over his shoulder as he waited for the pitch.

  It came high and outside for a swing and a miss.

  He curled his lip, tapped the bat on home plate, then readied his stance for the next pitch. The scents of rubber, oil and dust filled his nostrils, and he took them in, soaking them up like a stiff shot of whiskey to calm his nerves. He’d been hanging out at the Dugout since he was old enough to make the two-mile ride on his bicycle from home. More times than he could count he’d gotten in trouble for staying here past dark, time getting away from him as he chugged back Dr Peppers and spilled his troubles to Stuey Callebrew, the Dugout’s owner.

  Since Matt was about seven, Stuey had been more of a father to him than his own dad after Matt’s parents divorced and Jeff Jacobs turned his attention to his new wife and family. Matt would be a liar if he said Stu had been an adequate standin for his own dad. There hadn’t been much Stu could do to take away the sting of being tossed out like yesterday’s news. But over the years Matt had grown to love him and had begun to consider this place his real home.

  The next pitch came tight inside, and Matt ducked and turned out of habit, nearly spinning himself off his heels.

  Someday Matt was going to buy Stu a new set of machines.

  The next two pitches were high and wide, and Matt hadn’t done more than foul-tip either one. Frustration welled in his gut. He wanted the rush, the warmth of victory when ball meets bat square in the sweet spot and goes sailing over that imaginary outfield wall. Sex was barely better than the feel of standing at home plate after hearing that special smack only home-run balls made. Not to mention the crowd holding a collective breath as they all strained to get a glimpse of a shot destined for the center-field bleachers.

  It was in those moments that Matt had won. He could do more than good enough, he’d be the best. No one could tell him how to make that shot any better because nothing was ever better than a home-run ball.

  The pitch came in over the top, and Matt tipped it into the netting, slamming his bat on home plate for not taking good advantage of a well-pitched baseball.

  “Lady trouble, huh?” Stu Callebrew spoke with a drawl even though he was born and raised in Modesto.

  Matt stepped back in the batter’s box and prepared for the pitch. “What makes you say that?”

  “You’re reaching. You always reach when the ladies get you down. You pull the ball left when your mother drives you crazy. You swing at the inside when it’s work. And when things are going well, I don’t see you at all.”

  Matt blinked, and the ball sped by, hitting the chest-high backstop with a pop. “You think you know me that well?”

  Stu slipped his fingers through the chain-link fence and smiled, his sun-worn face wrinkling up at the corners of his eyes and making ripples in his forehead. “Am I wrong?”

  No, Stu wasn’t wrong. When it came to Matt, Stu was always on the money. But Matt wasn’t in the mood to spill his guts today. After all, what would he say?

  Well, you see, Stu, I’ve got this beautiful woman I’ve been eyeing for two years now. Yesterday I got the chance to screw her silly in the project room at the office. She was every man’s fantasy and the best sex I’ve had since I can remember. Problem is, the minute it was over, I opened my mouth, said the wrong thing—and now she won’t talk to me.

  Oh, yeah, and we’re supposed to be teaming up on a project together, so I’ve messed up my career in the process, as well.

  Another day, another episode in the life of Matt Michael Jacobs, world’s best screwup.

  The pitch came up fast, and Matt stifled the impulse to swing, wanting to prove Stu wrong about his reaching theory. But when the next one came out in the same spot, he caught himself swinging.

  And Stu threw his head back and roared with laughter.

  “Glad I can entertain you,” Matt grumbled, then winced at the tone, knowing what he’d get in response.

  “Feeling sorry for ourselves today, are we?”

  “I’m not. I can’t speak for you,” he lied.

  The pitch came in low and straight, and Matt hit a high blooper back to the machine.

  He knew better than to let on that he had lost himself in pity. Stu had started his career as a coach at Fresno before opening up the Dugout in Marin, and the one thing he’d never put up with was a player feeling sorry for himself. Stu knew that if he allowed one player to whine, it would run through the club like a bad epidemic. Pity was
for losers, he’d say, and he’d meant it. He hadn’t even allowed Matt to lick his wounds when his father had skipped his college graduation or his Anaheim draft party or any of the other important events in his life because his stepmother, Barbara, wouldn’t allow it. Barbara was needy and insecure, never getting over the fact that she hadn’t given Jeff Jacobs his firstborn child. She’d spent the bulk of their marriage trying to make him forget Matt existed, and for the most part she’d succeeded.

  Back when Matt was a scrappy kid taking his rejection out on the world, Stu had had more patience, but the older Matt got, the less Stu accepted Matt’s self-defeating attitude. Matt supposed Stu was the reason he’d made as much of his life as he had. Someone had to draw the line and set boundaries. God knows his mother certainly hadn’t, the woman so embittered by her ex, she’d never given Matt so much as a stern word. But on days like today Matt just wanted to be left alone with his misery and he was quickly beginning to realize seeking solace in the Dugout might have been a bad idea.

  “Well, I’m doing good today,” Stu said, sarcastically adding, “Thanks for asking.”

  The ball came in fast and straight, and Matt stepped out of the batter’s box, letting it smack into the backstop right about at Stu’s knees. The man pulled his hands from the fence in time to avoid getting pinched.

  “Oh, sorry about that.” Matt grinned.

  “You’re a sorry one all right.”

  The easy banter between the two was already lifting Matt’s mood. He’d wanted to stop thinking about Carly, mostly because he’d accepted the fact there was nothing he could do about the situation he’d created. Despite his attempt at smoothing things over between them, she’d given him the cold shoulder all day, staying businesslike and professional but not gracing him with any pleasantries. She’d drawn a symbolic circle around herself and ordered him not to cross it, and he didn’t need to hear the words to get the hint. What they’d had was a one-time incident that wouldn’t be repeated, and just as she’d said when she left the lab the day before, she’d moved on and forgotten about it.