“Here until spring training, babe.”
“Really?” she asks on a moan, her head falling back.
My jaw clenches as I feel the early signs of her orgasm closing around my cock. “Yes. Working with the guys during the off-season. I’m all yours, babe.”
“Oh God, Lincoln,” she cries out, her grip tightening. “I’m going to come.”
“Me . . . too.” Everything around me turns to black, and all I do is feel.
Feel her.
Feel us.
NEW YEAR’S EVE
“Would you like any more wieners?” Mom asks Indie, holding out a platter of pigs in a blanket to her.
Indie holds up her hand with a smile. “Good on the wieners. Thank you though. I might have another one of these penis cookies.” Indie picks up a colorful cookie that Mom spent a lot of time decorating this morning.
“Aren’t they delicious?”
“Really good.” Indie takes a bite and then says, “I wish our New Year’s Eve was a celebration of penises growing up.”
“Not everyone can be like my moms,” I say on a sigh.
Yup, you heard that right: a celebration of penises. Growing up, every New Year’s Eve has been dedicated to the male phallus. My moms felt bad that it was a two-to-one ratio when it came to vaginas and penises in the house, so to make me feel included—I really didn’t need this—they dedicated New Year’s Eve to the penis and said even though they didn’t prefer them, they still think they’re a great addition to society that we should celebrate. Hence the ten-year-old penis garlands strung around the house and the phallic-shaped food my moms prepared for tonight.
“So have you made a decision about what you’re doing after college?” Mama asks, sucking on a cock-pop. Truly, nothing fazes me anymore.
Indie looks at me and smiles. I’ve spent the past few months with the boys at Brentwood. Deacon’s room has been free, since he’s been staying with his girl, so that’s worked out perfectly. I didn’t want to fall into a deep hole with Indie, knowing I was leaving again and so was she, and staying at her place would have done that. I’ve driven back and forth to my moms’ home, spending time with them as well, but at least once a week, I’ve spent a few hours between Indie’s legs, listening to the sweet sounds of her pleasure. It’s been perfect.
Just what both of us needed. A refresher, especially after it felt like she was pulling away. But we haven’t talked about anything of substance. I haven’t mentioned her parents or what she’s doing after college, and she hasn’t asked me how I’m doing with my pursuit of the majors. It’s as if we’ve both put up an emotional wall to avoid another tearful goodbye and have just been working out and fucking.
That’s it.
I don’t even stay the night at her place.
It’s too much. And we both realize that, because even though it would be easy to fall back into old habits, our situation is still the same: we’re going down different paths.
“I actually, uh, signed with the Texas Comets the other day,” she answers.
“What?” I ask, pulling away to look her in the eyes. “As in, you’re going pro?” She nods. “Indie . . . why the fuck didn’t you tell me? That’s amazing.”
She shrugs. “It’s not a big moment like you had. It’s just—”
“Don’t ever compare your accomplishments to someone else’s. What you achieve truly matters and this is huge, Indie. Massive.”
“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” she says, looking down at her cookie.
“Oh, fuck that. Mom, let’s open the champagne early. We have things to celebrate.”
“Lincoln . . .”
I grip her chin and force her to look at me. “Indie, this is a huge accomplishment. Let’s celebrate.”
Sighing, she leans back and then smiles at me. “Fine, you can celebrate.”
I clap my hands and then pull her into a hug. With my lips against her ear, I say, “And tomorrow, when we’re back at Brentwood, I’m going to eat that sweet pussy of yours as a congratulations, too.”
She pokes my side when I pull away, but I see the desire in her eyes.
That’s a future promise.
FEBRUARY
“Oh my God, oh . . . my . . . God. Lincoln!” Indie stiffens and then screams my name while her hands fall into my hair. Her hips ride against my tongue and she spasms beneath me.
Her hand falls over her eyes, spent, and I spend the next couple seconds pressing my tongue against her clit, extracting every ounce of pleasure until she’s completely done.
Lifting up, I smile at her, loving how flushed and exhausted her body is. I leave for spring training tomorrow, and we decided to have a fuck fest before I left. She’s on orgasm number five for the night.
“I don’t think I can go any longer,” she breathes out. “That last one nearly killed me.”
“You’re still breathing. Not dead yet, babe.” I move up her body and press a kiss to her jaw and then lie next to her, naked, my dick half hard, still recuperating from taking her about five minutes ago from behind.
“This was a great idea,” she says, looking over at me. She rolls to her side and places her hand on my chest. “We should have done this the last time you had to leave. Just kept fucking.”
“We fucked last time,” I say.
“Not like this. Last time felt sad. This feels more like a celebration,” she says, sounding completely normal.
Even though I feel sick to my stomach, knowing I have to say goodbye again.
Yeah, I wish she’d have opened up more with me, but I also get it. I’ve only seen Indie truly cry twice: when she told me about her parents’ divorce and when she said goodbye to me. She’s not one to be emotional and she keeps her feelings at bay, so knowing I was in and out of Brentwood, she kept me at a distance. I wasn’t super happy about it, but I can’t be mad because she’s simply making sure she doesn’t get too attached.
Hell, I should have done the same thing. But here I am, the night before I leave again, and I’m trying to soak up as much of her as I can. I don’t feel unaffected by this time together. The connection we had before is even stronger, as if the time apart made it clearer that we’re a good fit. Not that Indie seems to think so.
“So, your first spring training. Are you nervous?”
“Nah, I’m cool. It’ll be pretty fucking awesome to play with the big-league guys. I don’t think I have a shot at being called up yet, but the experience will be great. Maddox though, hell. He might be ready.”
“He fits the description of a Rebel, that’s for sure.”
“Are you crushing on him, Indie?”
“And if I was?” she says with a sly smile.
“Uh, we’d have a big issue,” I say, climbing on top of her and moving my lips over hers. She sighs into my kiss and strokes my hair.
“Can I ask you something?”
“I don’t know. Is it going to piss me off?”
“Maybe,” she says. “But I really want to know.”
“Okay. Hit me.”