Sparks of Love Page 8

  “About a seven.” He wore a tank top and a pair of gym shorts. He kicked his flip-flops off.

  “Have you been doing anything more than what we talked about?”

  “I accidentally did a little more with my arm than I should’ve.”

  That wasn’t good. I needed him to be a model client, so he could get back to playing.

  “Have a seat. All right, out with it. What did you do?”

  I could tell he was trying not to smile, but the edge of his perfect mouth kept lifting.

  “I had a special lady friend over last night, and well, she has very strong legs.”

  I blushed, remembering the way he held me down.

  “Just be careful, Cala… Jason.”

  He chuckled. “I promise to take more care.”

  “You promised.” I poked his good shoulder.

  “I'm perfectly professional. Trust me.” He put his hand over his chest. “I didn’t say what I wanted to say, and I was telling you the truth. Would you prefer I lie?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. All right.” I blushed again. “Thank you for not lying. Let’s start with some stretches.”

  Just like that, I was completely entranced by his body, in a completely professional way, and he seemed to be right there with me. I was focused on his damaged muscles, trying to work through the stretches, paying attention to his reactions. Was he in more pain than he was leading on? We fell into a natural rhythm, and it was as if neither of us had seen each other naked. The session went by quickly, like most of them did when we stayed on target and got through everything.

  Jason kept his word. He didn’t even check me out. Or maybe the thrill was over him. He’d gotten me naked and got me off. Not that he wasn’t generous, but maybe he was ready to move onto someone else.

  I walked him out. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I managed a professional smile, wondering if my next appointment and the receptionist in the waiting room could tell there was something more between us.

  “See you soon.” He flashed me a wink and one of his natural, genuine smiles. Watching him walk out, I admired his well-muscled and strong backside.

  After a couple more clients, it was time for my break. Grabbing my cell phone, I went into the back. I had a few text messages. I read through Allison’s first. There was one from my stepmom. And then one from Jason.

  Jason: My rehab therapist told me I have to take it easy on my arm. So, it might be best if I tied you up to keep your legs open when I’m eating you out.

  Blaze: She sounds like a smart woman. Why do you need me to be held down?

  Jason: Because I’m in control.

  Blaze: Clearly, your therapist is in control.

  Jason: She’s in control in her office, yes.

  Blaze: And you’re in control in the bedroom.

  Jason: From your mouth…

  Blaze: To your cock?

  Jason: You going to come over tonight?

  Blaze: I don’t know. You planning on tying me to the bed?

  Jason: You opposed?

  Blaze: Not necessarily. But doesn’t a whole lot of trust need to be involved? And a safe word or something?

  Jason: You don’t trust me?

  Blaze: We’ll see.

  Jason: You could always tie me down.

  Blaze: Hmm.

  Jason: I’m waiting.

  Blaze: We’ll have to see. I should go. My break is over.

  Jason: You didn’t answer my question.

  Blaze: Let a girl have a little mystery, Calaveras.

  Jason: Don’t wear panties when you come over tonight.

  Blaze: What makes you think I’m coming over tonight?

  Jason: You know you want to.

  I put my phone away, trying not to picture all the dirty things Jason was putting in my head. I still had a few more clients and had to get through the day without masturbating in my office. Jason certainly knew how to set my libido on fire.

  I got home, took a shower, and stood in front of my closet staring at my wardrobe. “We meet again,” I muttered at my closet. Why did I always end up here? If I was just going out with Allison, it would be easy to dress. Maybe that’s the approach I needed to take. Let myself be comfortable.

  My phone rattled loudly on my nightstand—a text.

  Jason: You coming over?

  Blaze: You’ve got me thinking like a girl. I’m not sure what I should wear.

  Jason: What are you wearing now?

  Blaze: Towel.

  Jason: Fuck. You’re making me hard with just one word.

  Blaze: You’re ridiculous.

  Jason: It seems like you want a dick pic.

  Blaze: Ew.

  Jason: If you’re already practically naked, maybe I should come over there. Save you the trouble.

  Blaze: I’ll manage something.

  Jason: You don’t have to impress me. I already like you. You’re hot, Blaze. Wet dream, walking around with a hard-on, hot.

  Blaze: You don’t get out much, do you?

  Jason: Give me your address.

  Blaze: No. I’ll be over in twenty minutes.

  Jason: Stopwatch is going.

  I quickly blow-dried my hair, put on mascara and a little eye shadow, then just went with a jean skirt, a Meadowlark baseball shirt, and my black Chuck Taylor’s.

  He opened the door before I even reached for the bell.

  “Hey.” His voice was low, and his eyes were already hooded with arousal.

  This boded well. There wouldn’t be any chit chat. We could get to the good stuff, and I could get back home and act as though everything in my life was perfectly normal and I wasn’t fucking a hot baseball player who was in the middle of a temporary insanity spell.

  “Hi.” I stepped past him into the house.

  There was a very strong fragrance of well-prepared food being cooked. My stomach rumbled accordingly. I’d gone with a granola bar a couple of hours ago for dinner and opted to wait until I left his house to eat again. My stomach had been twisted with nerves, and I hadn’t felt very hungry.

  “Come on, you’re going to help me make tortillas.” He grabbed my hand and led me toward the kitchen.

  “Tor-what now?”

  “You have to know what a tortilla is.”

  “Sure do. They come in flat circular shapes of floury goodness from the grocery store. You know how to make them?”

  The kitchen was overloaded with all kinds of amazing smells—spicy, garlic, and flour. The place looked like he’d been cooking for days.

  “Is there a dish left in the cupboard?” I teased.

  “Yeah, my foster mom always hated when I cooked. She said I used every dish in the house.”

  I smiled. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

  “Not a lot.” He pointed at the sink. “Wash your hands.” He watched me go to the sink. “I had a Mexican foster mom for about a year when I was fifteen. She taught me a bunch of stuff. She figured it was up to her to teach me some stuff about my heritage.” He waved me over to him as I dried my hands.

  Going over to him, he guided me to stand in front of him. He poured oil, water, and flour into the mixing bowl in front of me. “All right, put your hands in there and mix it up.”

  “Um… okay.” At first, it felt awful, but quickly the ingredient mushed together into a dough.

  “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re good with your hands.”

  “Why did you only stay with her for only a year?”

  Jason sighed.

  “That’s enough mixing. Start making balls like this.” He leaned into me, his chest pressed into my back, his crotch into my ass, and reached around me to grab a chunk of dough. He rolled it around in his hands until it was a little ball. I mimicked his actions.

  “I screwed up. I did a small stint in juvie. It was one of the biggest mistakes I made. Alondra was probably the best thing that had ever happened to me, and because I screwed up, they sent me to a group home after juvie. I never saw her again. But it was the last time I
screwed up. I worked my ass off, got good grades, and focused on baseball.”

  He remained lightly pressed against me as we worked.

  “You ever think about finding her?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Okay, now,”—he handed me a beer bottle—“rub some flour on this and roll out the dough into a tortilla shape.”

  I held the bottle and lifted my brow at him.

  “I don’t have a rolling pin. Beer bottle does in a pinch. Wine bottles are good for bigger projects.”

  “Fair enough.” I rolled them flat, then he showed me how to cook them on the griddle.

  “That’s hot!” I cried, yanking my hand away.

  “You get used to it after a while.” He chuckled and took over, using his fingers to flip them. “You work with your hands, but they’re still all soft and dainty,” he teased.

  I inhaled deeply as another yummy aroma mingled in the air. “Oh my god, they smell amazing.”

  With the tortillas complete, we just needed to put everything together. We made some tacos and he grabbed a couple of full beers from the fridge, gesturing to the bar.

  I took a bite and closed my eyes and groaned. “Oh my god, Calaveras. This is amazing.”

  He grunted. “Keep making noises like that and we aren’t going to make it through this meal.”

  I took another bite, ignoring him, then took a pull from my beer bottle.

  “This is a new form of seduction,” I said. “You know I was pretty much a sure thing.”

  “I don’t like cooking for myself. With you coming over, I had a reason to cook one of my favorite meals.”

  Maybe it was in my imagination, but I felt like he wanted to share something with me.

  He pulled out his phone and put on music as he started cleaning up. I got up and started helping. We moved around the kitchen together, easily and in silence. It was comfortable, even fun. He found little ways to touch and brush up against me. With the chore complete, he grabbed a couple more beers and gestured with his chin toward the living room.

  “Tell me something about yourself. You said your mom got you into baseball?”

  “Yeah,” I nodded as I took the bottle from him. “She loved to go to Coyote games. We went as often as we could during the spring and summer.”

  “You’ve seen some of the best Meadowlarks come out of here, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah. I still can’t believe I got to see Jared Ross and Derek Gedder play before they were Meadowlarks.” I sat down on the sofa next to him, leaving a little space. I tried to sit like a lady, but the jean skirt and angle weren’t making it easy. But I managed to keep my thighs together, so I wasn’t flashing him. A benefit of not having a thigh gap. Not that I supposed he would mind.

  Music floated into the room, drifting in around the silence. My gaze met Jason’s and found he was already looking at me, lifting a hand toward me, his index finger tracing along my jaw.

  “I thought it would be difficult being in your office today. I didn’t think I would be able to stop picturing you naked, screaming my name.”

  His words went straight to my pussy, which I was more than a little aware was completely stripped of any barriers between the skirt and going commando.

  “And it wasn’t?” My voice was trembling again.

  “You’re very good at your job. I couldn’t stop thinking about my shoulder and how you’re making it better, and all the work I have to do to make it better.”

  “You’re making it better; I’m just showing you how and helping with some stretching and massages.” Nerves and excitement created shiver through me.

  “It’s pretty awesome the work you do. I asked Margot about you the night we met. She told me about all the work you do.”

  “It’s nothing.” I looked away.

  “Don’t belittle what you do. It’s not nothing. It’s amazing.” He put his hand over mine and squeezed. “But I’m curious…”

  “Yeah?” I took another drink of my beer.

  “Do you ever let anyone take care of you?”

  I took one of the pillows out from behind me and put it in my lap, wrapping my arm around it like it was a teddy bear.

  “Take care of me, how?”

  “Do you ever get a massage?”

  “I used to.” I sighed wistfully. “I’ve just found less and less time to do that.”

  “I thought, maybe you would let me massage you.”

  I chuckled. “Massage me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jason…”

  “I’m serious.”

  Why would he want to do that? He was generous in the sack, I’d give him that, but a massage? It was ludicrous.

  “You’ll trust me to fuck you, but not give you a massage.”

  I squeezed the pillow against my stomach.

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Then come on. Now, I don’t have your touch by any means, but I think I’ll be able to get the job done right. I’m not talking like lying on the table, full body massage. Let me work on your shoulders. Get you to relax.”

  “I am relaxed, and I’ve been drinking.”

  Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Really?” He tugged on the pillow. I held it.

  “What?”

  “Come on, Blaze. Turn around.”

  Swallowing hard, I set my beer down and stood up to reposition on the couch, still holding the pillow. I sat back down and felt him move behind me, his big hands coming down on my shoulders. His touch was light and slow. I closed my eyes and let myself drift—it had been a long time since I’d let someone take care of me.

  His hands worked through the tension I carried in my shoulders and back. Slowly, I let myself ease into his touch and really let myself go. It was hard to give up control and let someone else be in charge, but I found it freeing. It was sweet he wanted to do something so thoughtful for me.

  Even as his hands moved down the front of my shoulders almost down to my ample cleavage, he kept it PG, going back to the top of my shoulders and down my arms. I don’t know how long he massaged me, but it felt amazing. Once the stress seemed to be completely subverted and woven out of my muscles, even temporarily, my body started to react differently. I leaned into his touch, a moan escaping from me.

  He let out another one of those grunts, almost sounding like a growl.

  “You’ll forgive me if I’m not as professional as you are?” His voice was low and rumbling.

  I wasn’t sure how to answer that. There was nothing professional going on here as far as I was concerned, but letting things move to the next step grew intense for me.

  He worked his hands down my back, then they slid around me, slowly moving up, cupping my breasts over my shirt and bra. My lips parted, and I moaned.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’” He pulled me back against him as he continued to massage my chest. “I’ve been dying to know all night.” One of his hands slid down my torso to the hem of my skirt. The denim was tight across my thighs the way I was sitting. He dipped his hand beneath the skirt, his fingers barely touching me, but enough he could tell.

  “You skipped the panties. Fuck. I knew you would.” He sounded so pleased and turned on, it made me buzz with arousal. He brought his hand back up to the hem of my shirt, gripping the material in his big hands, and he dragged it upward.

  “Raise your arms.”

  I obeyed as he pulled it over my head and tossed it aside. His expert fingers unhooked my bra. and It fell slack around my shoulders, and I quickly did away with it. I wanted to feel him against my bare skin. He didn’t waste any time. His hands came up and groped my breasts again, his fingers tugging and toying with my nipples.

  “Straddle me.”

  Getting up, my legs felt wobbly, but I didn’t care. I turned and stood in front of him, pausing a moment, concerned about my weight and sitting on him. He leaned forward and slapped his hands onto my hips, pulling me forward. My worries went up in smoke as I hiked my skirt up and slid onto his lap, spreading my l
egs to straddle his large, muscular thighs.

  “How do you feel?” His hands glided up and down my bare thighs, over my bunched-up skirt, then over my torso to my breasts.

  I felt heavy with arousal and completely relaxed aside from my core, where I was wound tight with desire and need.

  “Horny. You have good hands.”

  He spread his legs more, slumping down into the couch, putting my pussy on display for him.

  “You’re dripping. I see I’m not the only one who wasn’t having professional thoughts.”

  Why did he make that sound so fucking hot?

  “We’re not in the office, and you’re not a professional.”

  His hand slid up my thigh, his fingers skimming the edges of my pussy. I strained my hips toward his fingers, wanting him to touch me.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  I swallowed hard around the nerves bubbling back up. I didn’t talk about what I wanted. It usually didn’t get me anywhere.

  “Blaze, I’m not going to touch you until you tell me what you want.” His voice was low, demanding, and on edge. Like he needed me to tell him what I needed. Like he craved it.

  “I want…” I shifted my gaze to his and swallowed around the lump in my throat. “I want you to keep making me feel good.”

  “Oh, I’m going to make you feel good. But what do you want from me?”

  I chewed on my lip.

  His fingers dug into my flesh.

  “I want you to command me.”

  His lips curved. “Do you want me to tie you up?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. Do you want to come on my hand, my face, or my cock?”

  “Your hand. Then your cock.”

  “Do you want it rough?”

  I shifted my hips against him. “Yes.” The word came out as a moan.

  He grinned. “Kiss me.”

  8

  Blaze

  I leaned down and kissed him. He kept it slow and teasing, making me swoon with desire. I just wanted him to feel how much I wanted him. As we kissed, I opened my mouth under his, and he dipped his tongue inside, sliding his finger into my pussy as his tongue dominated my mouth. His free hand went to my breast.

  Then he kissed down my neck, over my collar bone, down the slope of my breast. His tongue flicked over my nipple, and my hips bucked hard against him. He pulled my nipple into his mouth, his teeth scraping along the flesh. He pushed another finger inside me, his movements growing faster, his breath a little more ragged. His digits fucked in and out of me roughly, my hips rocking in motion, trying to keep up.