Page 24 of Pitcher Perfect (Big Shots #4)

muscles, before her fingers curled inward and her touch dropped away entirely. Leaving him sick. “Sorry, if you want to go,

I won’t stop—”

Robbie dropped his bag and spun around in one swift movement, catching her face in between his hands, his mouth coming down

on hers, their lips barely meeting before opening for each other, his tongue dipping into her mouth and stroking slowly, a

breathy sound falling from both of them. One of uncertainty and hunger, all rolled into one.

He wanted to back her up, make her lose her balance onto the bed.

Get on top of her.

Kiss her until she forgot her name and location and started begging him to fuck.

He could do it. He could cover her mouth and bang her rough as hell, right under her father’s roof, make her squeal into his

palm. Christ, he needed to know what her pussy felt like. How fast it dampened and how tight it clenched when she got excited. How well his cock

would fit. Whether or not she liked to be pinned and flipped over and manhandled.

Making out was a far cry from sex, though.

Get yourself together.

She had asked to be taught. Not debauched.

“Come here,” he growled, breaking the kiss and leading her over to the dresser, turning her around so she could look in the

mirror, Robbie looming behind her. That ass tucked into his lap like a motherfucking dream and although he tilted his hips

slightly to get his dick tight between those ass cheeks, he grit his teeth and ignored the urge to yank down her yoga pants

and panties, the way he wanted. “Look at yourself. In the mirror.”

“What?” Her neck seemed to lack power suddenly, her head briefly lolling to the right, before straightening up. “O-oh. Okay.”

“You told me before that sex happens too quickly, right? That you never get time to find a rhythm.” He fisted her hair and

pulled to the left, exposing her neck, his open mouth dragging up the full length, not stopping until he reached her ear and

groaned against the smooth shell of it. “We’re working on foreplay, Rocket. That’s the purpose of making out. You can demand

what you need. You can ask for the things that will get you ready.”

Already, her eyes were glassy, her tits rising and shuddering back down in the neckline of her tank top. “I can ask. Demand.”

“That’s right.” Never breaking eye contact, he planted his lips on the side of her neck, suctioning, razing his teeth and

lapping at the spot almost crudely, all while his hand kept a firm grip on her hair. In charge of her, yeah. In charge of

the situation, most definitely. But most importantly, impressing on her that she had a right to speak out loud. To express

what she needed.

Express it with me.

Temporarily.

Robbie fought through the steep drop of his stomach. “Do you like that?”

“Yes,” she said, lips barely moving. “Yeah, I like it.”

“Then ask for more.”

“More,” she gasped, her mouth falling wide when he bit the spot that connected her shoulder and neck, raking his teeth up

to her ear and breathing hard there. Yanking her hips up and tighter to his lap, looking her in the eye while he humped her

once, twice, three times, rattling the dresser. “More, more, more,” she said, teeth chattering.

Robbie whirled Skylar around to face him, unsurprised when her thighs wound around his waist like vines around a pole, their

frenzied mouths meeting to fuck, tongues and lips and teeth clashing in the most sensual battle, his hands finding and massaging

her juicy ass, squeezing until she whimpered and let her head fall back, giving him her neck again, shaking in his arms when

he attacked it, laving and sucking and kissing.

“That’s what you need, isn’t it?” He cracked his palm against the right cheek of her backside, baring his teeth against her

mouth as she gasped. “Yeah, it is. Tell me that college girl pussy isn’t getting wet right now.” Her thigh muscles rippled

around him, her stomach hollowing, lust and censure warring in her eyes, though lust was clearly winning. “That’s how it is,

Skylar. I talk fucking dirty.”

“I like it,” she managed.

“I know you like it or you wouldn’t be rubbing your cunt on my lap.”

“ Robbie. ”

He pressed a wicked grin against her mouth, snagging a hard kiss. “If only it was Thursday, right? I’d have your knees over

my fucking shoulders by now.”

God. God.

This wasn’t making out. This was more.

Everything between them felt like more .

He walked her backward until he had her flattened against the door, his hips pumping once out of pure desperation to connect to her, to Skylar, to imprint her body with his, to leave a fucking mark. To own her. Give her ownership over him—

No. No, she didn’t want that. You’re screwing yourself, Corrigan.

Slow down, slow down, slow down.

“Slow down,” he said thickly against her mouth. “Too fast. Too much.”

I’m at the point of no return.

“Please keep kissing me.”

Fuck it. A little longer.

“Okay, baby. Okay.” A slanting of lips, followed by the slowest, most perfect twist of hard on soft, an unbelievable rush

of surprise and pleasure inside of him over how they anticipated each other’s movements, rough for rough, savoring for savoring.

The taste and texture and scent of her broke into his brain like a burglar and ransacked the place, his heart thumping crazily

in his rib cage. I could kiss you for the rest of my life.

That was the thought that had Robbie breaking away, struggling for breath.

Struggling not to look at her and start their engines again, mauling her mouth until tomorrow came and went, Robbie ordered

himself to let her down carefully, both of them panting as he backed up, putting distance between them that he hated as much

as he needed, purely for his own self-preservation.

“That’s enough... for now.”

She blew a piece of hair out of her face and his heart turned over. “Huh.”

Leaving Skylar breathing hard, dazed and flushed against the door, was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life, including

NHL training camp, but he managed to pick up his bag and get out the door with his heart still inside of his chest.

“Bye, Skylar,” he rasped, unable to resist kissing her temple on the way into the hall.

“Bye, Robbie.”

It only took him half a mile to realize he’d been dead wrong. His heart—and apparently all his common sense—had been left

behind in Rhode Island.

What the hell did he do now?