Authors: Roz Lee
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Sports, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Short Stories, #Holidays, #holiday novella, #baseball romance, #Christmas story, #erotic romance, #contemporary romance
Present - Thanksgiving Day
Jake popped the frozen tray into the microwave then leaned against the counter to wait for his Thanksgiving dinner to nuke. The Cowboys’ game played silently on the big-screen TV in the den, visible through the arched kitchen doorway.
He’d come back to Dallas with the intention of spending this holiday, and every other one in the future, with Siobhan. But he’d fucked up—again. What in heaven’s name had possessed him to tell her she’d been nothing but a good fuck?
“Idiot.” He cringed at the sound of his own voice. Other than a trip to the grocery store for essentials, he hadn’t left his house since what was supposed to have been the day his life changed for the better. But instead of improving his lot, he’d sent it spiraling down the crapper.
“You really fucked it up this time.”
The microwave dinged. Turning, he picked up the discarded box to read the instructions again. After stirring the crystallized meal then resetting the timer, he crossed the room to stare out the window overlooking the backyard. The grass was mostly brown with a few patches of mottled green. The gray sky reflecting off the black-bottomed pool mirrored his mood—gloomy and desolate.
He’d spent a month in Colorado, coming up with reasons he shouldn’t or couldn’t be with Siobhan. Near the top of the list was their age difference. In retrospect, the fifteen years between them had been the armor he’d used to keep her at a distance when they’d been together. It had also been the reason he’d ended their relationship.
Being truthful with himself, he had imagined introducing Siobhan to his daughter more than once, but each time he’d conjured up the scenario, he’d seen himself as some sort of pervert. So, he ran. Just like he’d done a dozen other times in the past with women he had no intention of bringing into his private life.
He chuckled. At the sound of the microwave buzzer, he turned to remove his solitary dinner from the oven. Sitting at the breakfast bar, all alone with his plastic tray of steaming holiday food, he paused to absorb the feeling. He’d been alone more times than he could count over the years. A professional baseball player’s lifestyle wasn’t conducive to relationships—he’d learned that early on. Over the years, he’d used that knowledge like a get-out-of-jail-free card, pulling it whenever a woman got too close.
Rearranging his sorry meal with his fork, he thought about where his stupidity had gotten him. He was alone by choice, lonely due to the fact he was an idiot.
“I thought of you as just another good fuck.” Spearing a precisely formed piece of limp turkey, he shook his head. “I don’t know what is more pathetic, this meal or you, Tulleson.”
Chewing, he tried to focus on the football game flickering across the screen. An annual tradition on Thanksgiving, it usually held his attention no matter where he was. For the last twenty-something years, he’d watched the game with his family. Every other year, he’d brought his best girl with him to show off.
This year, he’d talked to his parents earlier in the day, assured them everything was fine, he’d be spending the day with friends. His daughter, Kelly had been full of questions he’d dodged with questions of his own. “What do you want for Christmas? What’s this I hear about you wanting to study abroad next year?”
God, she was growing up so fast. No. Make that had grown up. His little girl was twenty, with two years of college behind her, but older and wiser than him by decades. She’d been the one to notice his mood, to probe him with inquiries until he told her the truth. He’d expected her to hate him for falling in love with a woman just five years older than her, but he’d underestimated his daughter, which was nothing new. She’d been outsmarting him since the day she was born—and he couldn’t be prouder of that fact.
Her mother had done a fantastic job raising her, and he’d done a fantastic job of letting her. They’d been too young, too stupid, to get married, much less have a kid, so they’d compromised, passed on the marriage, but kept the kid. Before Kelly was born, he’d gone off to the Minor League. It wasn’t long after that he’d been called up to the Majors. They’d worked out a deal where he had Kelly in the off-season, but that meant living nearby so his daughter wouldn’t have to change schools or disrupt her routine any more than necessary. Rotating holidays with both their families developed naturally over the years.
He was a lucky man. Though he’d never loved his daughter’s mother the way a man should love the mother of his child, the two of them had managed to work things out so she had the best both her parents could offer. She’d never wanted for anything financially, had received love and guidance from both their families. His heart warmed just thinking about the special person his daughter had grown to be.
It was because of her he’d returned to Dallas. Instead of thinking her father was a perv when he told her about Siobhan, she’d helped him pack his suitcase, admonishing him not to come back until he could bring the woman he loved with him.
Forcing another bite of processed turkey down his throat, he feared he’d never see the rest of his family again if he followed Kelly’s instructions to the letter. For a few weeks, he’d had it all, he’d just been too stupid to see it.
Two months earlier - September 12th
He’d died a thousand deaths waiting for Siobhan to give him the green light to proceed. If she’d said no, he would have driven her home to Bentley’s house, but for reasons he couldn’t explain, he knew he would have hated doing it. Siobhan loved her brother enough to spend months caring for him. Given what he suspected about Sean Flannery’s sexual orientation, her love was unconditional.
Another turn sent her panties swaying again. Cool air blowing from a center vent acted like a diffuser, carrying Siobhan’s scent throughout the car, especially when he took a curve. Inhaling deeply, he committed her bouquet to memory. He couldn’t wait to bury his face between her legs so he could taste her. She’d be as sweet as honey and as intoxicating as twenty-year-old whiskey.
Hell, she couldn’t be much more than twenty years old, herself. Too young for him, but old enough to consent. He’d have her tonight then send her back to her babysitter. He smirked, remembering Bentley’s admonishing tone. Sean might not know what his little sister was up to, but Bentley did, and he wasn’t thrilled about it.
One night, Bent. That’s all I want. I’ll send your pet home well used, but unharmed. I promise.
“Are you old enough to drink,” he asked, leading the way into the den where he kept a decently stocked bar.
He nodded, popping the stopper on a bottle of scotch that was older than her.
He poured two fingers into two glasses, handing her one. “I’m beginning to feel like a pervert.”
She took a sip of the dark amber liquid, swallowed then smiled her appreciation for the libation. “This is good. I grew up on Jamison’s.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Grew up on it?”
“Rumor has it my grandfather on my dad’s side put it in my baby bottle. I have my doubts about the truth of the story, but my mom claims she rubbed it on my gums when I was teething. Warning—don’t cough in the Flannery household or you’ll have a cup of tea, liberally spiked, in your hand before you know it.”
“Sounds very practical to me.”
“It’s not exactly modern medicine, but it works.” Her words died off. Maybe she realized how trivial the conversation was in light of why she was drinking whiskey in his den while he had her panties in his pocket. She sipped again—for courage, perhaps—and asked, “How old are you?”
“Forty-one in a few months.”
Ancient. Old enough to be her father. Too old for an angel like her.
“You don’t look it. I would have thought thirty-five, tops.”
“Thanks, I think.” He swirled the liquid in his glass, watching it rise and fall around the sides of the crystal tumbler. “Why are you here?”
She finished her drink in one last gulp. “I thought that was obvious. I’m attracted to you. I want to sleep with you.”
He smiled. “Hon, there won’t be much sleeping in my bed tonight.” Not if he could help it, or stay awake for it. Getting old was a bitch.
She helped herself to his whiskey decanter, pouring three fingers into her glass. “You know what I meant. Are you trying to scare me away by being crude?”
“Hell, no,” he said, meaning it. “I told you I don’t play games. I needed to hear you say it, just so we both know what’s going to happen. I don’t want you leaving here in the morning thinking things went too far.”
“As best as I can tell, they haven’t gone anywhere, except you have my panties, and I’m in danger of getting soused on your liquor.”
He set his unfinished drink on the nearest flat surface then crossed the room to stand toe-to-toe with her. She lifted her face. Their gazes met. Damn, she looked a lot younger than twenty-five, but she was of legal age for everything he had in mind. That was all that mattered.
“Let me see if I can get you intoxicated some other way.” He was already half drunk on her scent, and he’d yet to do more than hold her hand and glance at her snatch. It wasn’t fair such a little girl had that kind of effect on him. She made him feel old and young all at the same time, and he didn’t have a clue what to do about it.
Her lips were plump, stung from the strong spirits. Without touching her anywhere else, he lowered his head, covering her mouth with his. Soft. Warm. Perfect. He tasted the whiskey on her tongue, but there was something underneath, something unique and more intoxicating. He angled his head to get a better fit then she did the same. They came together like animals mating. Sucking, biting, taking, giving, tasting and feasting. He’d kissed plenty of women since his adolescent days, but none of them had stolen his sanity the way this one did. It was one kiss!
He’d meant to seduce but found himself surrendering to the passion growing between them. She wasn’t innocent, but he could tell she was learning as she went, taking everything he did, turning it back on him until he was no longer sure who was seducing whom. Sweet God, her mouth was made for kissing—and so much more.
Reluctantly breaking the kiss, he stepped back. He took the glass from her hand. Carrying the drink, he led her to the stairs with his free hand on her ass. God, he loved firm women. He couldn’t wait to get her out of her dress. Her sundress looked like one of those no bra things—a marvel of modern technology if he’d ever seen one. One zipper then, if he was correct, she’d be naked.
She remained silent as he set her drink on his nightstand then removed his clothes. He took good care of himself. Years of having to do so in order to play baseball had ingrained on his life. He worked out every morning as religiously as he showered and brushed his teeth. The gym wasn’t a fountain of youth, but it kept him lean, his muscles hard. Tonight, the hardest part of him sprang free as he shoved his boxers to his ankles. His dick wasn’t enormous, but he had plenty to offer. No one had ever complained and, from the look on Siobhan’s face, she was suitably impressed. At her age, she couldn’t have seen all that many, but still, her approval filled him with pride.
“Can I,” she asked, reaching for him.
“It’s all yours.” He thought she only wanted to touch him, but when she sat on the edge of the bed, motioning him forward, he knew better. She spread her legs. He stepped between them. His cock bobbed against her lips, sending shock waves of pleasure up his spine. She wrapped one hand around the base—reached for her whiskey glass with the other. He watched helplessly as she turned her head, tilted the tumbler to her lips, and drank.
Her whiskey-soaked tongue swirled around the head of his dick, spreading liquid fire across the sensitive skin. He hissed at the jolt to his nervous system. It was all he could do to remain upright. Then she closed her lips over him, taking his cock in, one fiery inch at a time.
“Christ almighty!” He fisted his hands in her hair. Holding on for dear life, he prayed he wouldn’t collapse. Her mouth was wicked, wet heat searing his flesh. Killing him. He was on fire inside and out. As she worked the length of his shaft, igniting flames then dowsing them with cool air over and over again, he clung to her for support. He should put a stop to it before she ruined him, but he couldn’t. Even if his life depended on it, he couldn’t.
His dick popped free. For a second he thanked God he’d survived, but she’d only paused to take another drink. Holding his cock high, she dipped her head. Her tongue swiped across his balls. He saw stars. Before he could stop her, she swallowed his dick again. Her wicked tongue swirled around his girth. Her cheeks hollowed, applying the most devastating suction he’d ever felt. It was like someone strapped a jet pack to his genitals then lit the fuse. He rocketed straight to the stratosphere.
He couldn’t stop from coming. His hips jerked. His testicles were fireballs burning through his groin. Cum jetted from him in a hot stream that scalded his insides and fried every synapse in his brain.
Two months earlier - September 12th
Siobhan dropped to the bed, her arms flung wide, Jake Tulleson on the floor between her legs. The back of his head rested against her aching pussy—a first for her. She could hear him breathing, so she knew he was alive. She’d read about the trick with the whiskey, somewhere, and had always wanted to try it, never believing it would produce such positive results.
She licked her lips. Running her tongue around the inside of her mouth, she savored every last trace of his orgasm. For the first time in her limited sexual experience, she felt powerful. She wanted to tell the whole world of her triumph. She, little Siobhan Flannery, had knocked the knees out from under a real man. Despite Jake’s present state, he was all man—a seasoned veteran on the baseball field and in bed. Yet, he lay crumpled at her feet, panting as if he’d beat out a throw to third base for a stand-up triple.
“You okay?” She reached down to run her fingers through his hair. In better lighting, indoors, she noticed more than a touch of gray throughout, but not a bald spot in sight. Like everyone in the Mustangs’ organization from the coaching staff on up, he wore his hair in a traditional cut, which, in her opinion, added to his sophisticated air.
“Alive. Barely.” His deep voice was every bit as intoxicating as his excellent whiskey. Getting drunk on his words would be easy. Good thing he didn’t talk much.
She rose up on her elbows as he shifted to his knees, facing her. Lord, he was handsome—and way out of her league. She attracted her fair share of nice-looking guys, but they’d all been baby-faced boys, playing at being men compared to Jake. Instead of making him look old, the lines on his face added character. Looking into his eyes, she got the feeling he’d experienced far more than anyone knew. There were secrets buried beneath those blue lakes.
Whatever those secrets were, they hadn’t prevented him from enjoying life. Laugh lines radiated from the corners of his eyes, highlighting the smile breaking across his face.
“My turn. Take the dress off. I want to see you.”
She lifted the flimsy garment over her head, dropping it to the floor. Her nipples tightened to hard peaks under his scrutiny.
“Beautiful.” He weighed her breasts in his palms. His thumbs stroked the aching nubs, sending jolts of electricity to her pussy. She groaned, arching into his touch.
Reaching for the glass on the nightstand, he brought it to his lips. He took a sip, swallowed then sipped again. He swirled the last around in his mouth before swallowing it down, too. She almost came off the bed when he sucked her left breast into his mouth. The whiskey burned, but it was his tongue igniting an entirely different fire that did her in. Wrapping her arms around his head, she held him fast.
“Like that?” he asked, taking another swig from the glass.
Yes. Oh my God, yes.
He gave the other breast the same thorough attention. Fire licked her insides, stealing her inhibitions. She moaned and writhed, holding his head close. When he released her nipple then sat back on his heels, she closed her eyes. A groan slipped past her lips.
“Not done yet, sweetheart.”
His hands closed over her ankles, slid up to her knees. Slipping beneath her legs, he caressed the sensitive skin where her legs hinged. Applying insistent pressure, he lifted, spreading her thighs wide. She flung her hands behind her to keep from toppling over.
When he fixed his gaze on her pussy, a thrill shot through her body. No one had ever looked at her the way he was—like he’d been wandering in the desert for a week and she was a fresh-water spring.
“Don’t move.” He reached for the tumbler, filled his mouth with the fiery elixir. Clenching the comforter in both fists, she watched as he lowered his head between her legs. His open mouth pressed to her swollen flesh ignited a wildfire. Flames radiated from her core to the tips of her extremities.
“Jake! Oh my God!”
Collapsing onto the bed, she closed her eyes in order to focus inward. The man had skills. Whiskey, whiskers, and the flat of his tongue conspired to scramble what little sanity his teeth and lips didn’t obliterate. He knew things about her anatomy she didn’t. He knew when to be gentle, where being a bit rough would add an edge to her pleasure.
Desperate for release, she arched her back in an effort to get closer to the source of the unrelenting pleasure. She would have closed her legs around him, trapped him to her, if he hadn’t held her legs in his iron grip. With each stroke of his tongue, each nip of his teeth, each caress of his lips, he wound the coil of tension inside her until she quivered like a bowstring drawn tight.
“Please.” Her mouth formed the word, but she couldn’t be sure the sound passed her lips. Everything within her was tuned to one spot low in her abdomen where pain of denied pleasure threatened to consume her.
Her plea might have reached his ears, she’d never know. Without breaking contact, he shoved her legs higher, tilting her ass in the air. He leaned into her, devouring her like she was the last thing he’d taste on earth. Sounds vibrated through his lips to her pussy, words she couldn’t comprehend.
She stilled—a moment frozen in time as if her body stood on a precipice between two equal chasms. On one side was death. On the other, life so brilliant it blinded. For a heartbeat, she hovered over the crater of death. He moved his mouth against her. She felt rather than heard his command. Come.
So simple. So pure. So right. His voice tugged at her consciousness. She swayed away from death toward the brilliance of life. The lock imprisoning her pleasure snapped. She was free-falling toward the light. Pleasure so sharp it wounded, wracked her body.
Tears of joy spilled from her eyes as wave after wave of ecstasy carried her on invisible currents.
She was safe. Strong arms held her, protected her from crashing to the bottom. As the first headlong rush eased to a gentle soaring, she dared to open her eyes.
“Jake,” she breathed.
He smiled down at her—a beautiful, triumphant smile she answered with a weak one of her own.
“You are so damn beautiful.”
She was mush. A big puddle of sexually satisfied goo. He lifted her easily, sliding her up on the bed. In a moment, he sheathed himself. He moved over her, his cock stretching her, filling her, completing her.
When he was as deep as he could go, he paused, looking down at her. His eyes mirrored everything she felt. Wonder. Lust. Fear. Love.
He began to move inside her. His eyelids dropped, denying the feelings she’d seen so clearly in his eyes. Her pussy grasped at his cock in a vain attempt to bind him to her. He wouldn’t be imprisoned. Retreating then thrusting hard, he repeatedly dared her to claim him.
Her heart cried out for its answering beat, though she could hear it, there was no answer. He’d shuttered himself away from her.
Relentlessly, his body demanded a response from hers. As much as she wanted to scream, to plead for him to give as much as he was asking, she was powerless when it came to her own body. He demanded she give him all. She gave him everything. She gave her body, her heart, her soul.
Her second orgasm was nothing the first one had been. Instead of feeling loved and cherished like before, this time she felt alone and forsaken.
As he took his own pleasure from her, tears came again—not for her loss, but for his. She’d glimpsed what could be between them. She was ready to embrace it, would have walked into the future with him without any doubts, but he’d shut that door with an unshakable finality.
When the last shudders of his orgasm subsided, she shoved against his shoulders until he rolled away from her. She ran to the adjoining bathroom. Slamming the door, she sank to the floor—a trembling mass of misery.