Page 20 of Pitcher Perfect (Big Shots #4)

Robbie woke up with the hard-on of the century.

Not exactly newsworthy—that’s how he woke up most mornings, but he was usually in the privacy of his own apartment, not on

the floor of his fake girlfriend’s idyllic childhood home. He reached under the blanket and wrapped his fist around his dick,

anyway, trying to judge the appropriateness of beating himself off while Skylar slept a few feet away.

Relieving himself right here and now would definitely cross a boundary.

Wow. Look at me, all ethical and whatnot.

Skylar rolled over in bed, one of her bare thighs coming into view above, all smooth and toned and kissed by the beginnings

of the sunrise. Christ, he would give up jerking off for a year for the privilege of licking her knee to pussy, spreading

her legs wide on the bed, and just going to motherfucking town on her with his tongue. Last night, she’d made it clear she

could use some sexual attention, if not verbally, then by how she’d reacted to his hand on her thigh. Squirming and blushing

in the booth of the Cheesecake Factory, staring at his mouth and throat and forearms. Pulse erratic at the base of her neck.

She needed something Robbie knew how to give—and give good.

No wonder he was stiffer than a flagpole in January.

But having a painful erection was a hell of a lot better than having his chest ache, the way it had throughout their “date” last night.

Wasn’t it? Even though they’d technically been on one date already, back in Boston, he’d still underestimated how fulfilling it would be to sit with her in a restaurant, arm around her shoulders. .. and talk.

Skylar had worried about being a good date? Making small talk?

What she had to offer was so much better than that. She was passionate and honest and insightful. She listened, offered valuable

opinions. Sitting in that booth, surrounded by hundreds of diners, he’d sworn they were on their own deserted island. A place

where they could say anything and not be judged, only understood. He’d told her about his grandfather’s kite. No one knew

how much that three feet of yellow nylon being stuck in the tree bothered him. Only her. And that shame felt so safe in her

hands, he wanted Skylar to store all his insecurities and secrets and fears now.

The sound of her yawning and stretching made Robbie close his eyes, picturing himself in the bed beside her, instead of lying

on the floor. He’d sip her upper lip, followed by the bottom one, while his fingertips slowly teased her nipples, keeping

up the treatment until her thighs started to squirm, wordlessly asking for pressure, friction, a more intimate touch, and

he’d slide his hand into her panties, hitting her with a deep kiss at the same time. Grip her pussy hard to let her know he’d

heard that plea loud and clear. He’d work it in his palm and whisper for permission to finger fuck—

“You awake?” she asked through a second yawn.

“Huh? Yeah,” he rasped into the stillness, visions of them still vivid and glorious on the backs of his eyelids. “Happy making

out day, Rocket.”

She hummed. “Don’t get any ideas, Redbeard. I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

Robbie smiled through the pain. There was no one else like her, huh? No games. No pretense. Just real and earnest. “Do you

mind me asking when this make out session will take place? Like, before or after I humiliate myself at the rock climbing wall?”

“Maybe we should wait until after you’ve been humbled. I’ll be less intimidated.”

Robbie sat up immediately, propping his chin on his hands on the edge of the mattress. “Intimidated?”

She turned on her side, half her face nestled into the pillow. That thigh was still exposed in the sheets, though, and his

dick was extremely aware of that spot where thigh turned into hip. His palm itched to span the entirety of that curve, squeeze

it, drag his thumb along the slope of her hip bone. Eventually, he’d slide his hand around to that ass, hold it steady while

he—

Robbie severed his own train of thought when he noticed the tips of her ears darken while she tried to come up with an explanation

for him.

She truly expected to be intimidated. This bothered her.

Why did it suddenly feel like elves were sawing his jugular?

I don’t like when things bother her.

“You’re going to think I’m... stiff,” Skylar said, finally. “No, I am stiff in those situations.”

He made a skeptical face. “No, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be the stiff one.”

“You know what I mean.”

Yeah, he did. Her worry didn’t make sense to him, though.

“Skylar, when I kissed you yesterday in the front yard, you fucking melted. You weren’t stiff whatsoever.

” She blinked, appearing to think back to the prior morning.

“If you really think you’re stiff with men, maybe it’s something they’re doing wrong, not you. ”

“Both of them?”

“Both of what?”

“Both guys I’ve... hooked up with.”

“You’ve only hooked up with two guys? Ever? ”

“Can you yell it a little louder so my parents and brother hear you?”

“Sorry, I just... sorry.” Encountering the alarming, sudden urge to weep, Robbie briefly pressed his face into the mattress,

before lifting his head again. “Honey. I was probably awkward the first eight times I was with a woman. You’ve only been in the situation twice.”

Brown eyes narrowed. “Keep talking.”

“I’d rather you keep talking. Tell me what you didn’t like about it.”

Skylar shifted a little, as if to get more comfortable in the sheets. Did she like talking to him, too? Was he not totally

blowing this cool sleepover moment? “It moved too fast. I didn’t even have a chance to get used to the foreplay. I wasn’t

given any time to find my rhythm. It was just a sweaty, frantic mess.”

“So, you didn’t...”

“Didn’t what?”

“Orgasm.”

“Oh. God, no. They didn’t even call me afterward.”

“I mean, I’m not defending them, but they probably didn’t call because they were embarrassed. If you’d hooked up with me when

I was eighteen, I could have easily been a sweaty, frantic guy. It takes us a while to figure out what the fuck we’re doing.”

“And now you know.”

“Yes, Skylar. I know.” His cock was deeply, deeply invested in this conversation, having turned uncomfortably heavy in his sweatpants. “I hear what you’re saying. You want to take your time. You want... a man to take his time.”

“That doesn’t seem like a lot to ask.”

“It’s not.” His abs were starting to burn from being flexed too long, just to combat the rough pull of need in his balls.

Deep breaths. “When we practice making out—or anything else on the calendar, for that matter—you’ll get all the time you need. If you just

want to kiss, that’s what we’ll do.” Robbie gave in to the impulse to reach up and trace the outside of her thigh with a single

fingertip, trailing it from hip to knee, then back, listening to the acceleration of her breath in the quiet room. “If you

want to tease me through my clothes, I’ll do my best to live through it. Or you could find out...”

He shut his unholy speech down before it went out of bounds, but she didn’t seem happy about it. “Or I could find out what?”

A slow blink. “Don’t censor yourself with me. Just say it. I could find out what?”

“How it feels to have your cunt eaten by a man who gets it dripping first.”

Her eyelids fluttered, those lips parting but no sound coming out.

“Was that too much?” he asked after a full ten seconds of silence.

“I guess not.” She drew the word out, followed by a swallow. “Because here I am, trying to mentally rearrange some things

in my planner so we have more time.”

Robbie exhaled. “Attagirl.”

Skylar sat up slowly, seeming a little disoriented, and his gaze was drawn several places at once.

Her dark hair, flattened on one side, haywire on the other.

So stinking cute that a knot formed behind his Adam’s apple.

Then... oh Jesus. The plushness of her mouth after sleep.

Her braless tits swayed inside the twisted tank top, nipples stiff and poking the cotton, which he decided to take as a compliment toward his dirty talk.

All of him needed all of her.

Badly.

Was she even remotely on the same page?

“Can you give it to me?”

Go time.

Robbie got to his knees, already wetting his lips. “Now? I thought you’d never ask—”

“About my planner? Sorry, can you hand it to me? It’s on the dresser.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He crossed a forearm over his erection, attempting to hide it and push the goddamn thing down at the same time.

With his free hand, he swiped the little white planner off the dresser and settled it in her lap, which, incidentally, is

where he wanted his face. “Here you go.”

Resigned to the agony, Robbie propped his chin on a fist and watched Skylar leaf through her planner, finding the sound and

structure of her days incredibly soothing, despite the situation in his sweatpants. When she found the little, lined box containing

a list of the day’s activities, he leaned forward to read them.

Pitch (1 hr)

Breakfast

Shower

Rock climbing challenge

MOP

Dinner with Eve

Misc. notes: Robbie spending night in Boston (practice). Borrowing my car.

“Hey. I’m in there.” He couldn’t control the grin that spread his mouth. Their schedules were intertwined. “When did you write that?”

“You told me on the ride here, so I wrote it in when we arrived.”

“Cool. You’re still okay with my using your car?”

“Yes.”

“Great.” He jerked his chin at the tiny book. “I assume MOP stands for making out practice. How much time will we have?”

“It depends when you’re leaving to reach Boston.”

“Around four, I’d say.”

“Oooh. We might have to reschedule MOP.”

“No. We’re not rescheduling MOP. We’re MOP’ing.”

A corner of her mouth wiggled. Almost like she was pleased to know he wanted to make out with her. Did this girl own a fucking

mirror, or what? Any man worth his salt would kill for a shot. “We’re only going to have about twenty minutes between getting

back from rock climbing and you leaving for practice.”