“It’s okay for you to be wrong on this one, Trouble Jean.” I don’t know what she put in that bathwater, but it smells like heaven in here.

Or maybe that’s her.

I lean over and press a kiss to her jaw, loving the way her breath hitches, and also the view I get of that deep rosy nipple. “You said I’d strike out batters even if I fucked up with you and your two best girlfriends.”

“You will. You’d probably even hit a home run if you wanted to.”

I shove my pants down, belatedly remember I have a strip of condoms in my back pocket, retrieve them, and shuck the pants again. “Move over. I’m climbing into this tub and fucking your brains out.”

Her hungry eyes rake over my raging cock, and she reaches for it like it’s instinct, stroking me and squeezing and licking her lips. “Oh my god, you’re—wait. Rules.”

She drops my hard-on, which isn’t a strong enough word for what I’m sporting.

I whimper.

She starts to reach for my dick again, but grabs the side of the tub instead and leans into my face. “My life’s here, Max. When you leave for spring training, that’s it. Which is all the more reason to not tell Cooper. Just in case. Because I plan for us to stay friends, but if we can’t…”

“Mm-hmm.” Touch my cock. Let me in the bathtub. Ride me like you’ll never get dick again after I leave tonight.

She grips my cheeks instead of my furious boner. “And there’s no acting weird because we’ve seen each other naked.”

“Everyone’s seen me naked.”

“Oh, god, that should not turn me on like it does.” Her cheeks are flushed and her chest is rising and falling rapidly, and I don’t know how she’s staying in that tub if she’s half as turned on as I am right now.

She believes in me. “I’ve been hard as a rock since—”

Her fingers land on my lips. “Steel. Don’t use rock.”

That shouldn’t be funny, but it is.

And fuck.

I feel light as a damn feather. Not my cock, but my body. My spirit.

My damn soul. “I’ve been hard as steel since I walked in your front door this morning.”

Her finger trails down my chin, my neck, leaving a cool, wet path in its wake. “Whatever am I going to do about that?”

“Fuck first. Talk later.” I kick the rest of the way out of my jeans and swing a leg over into the tub.

Water sloshes everywhere, but yes.

Yes.

Naked Tillie Jean. Her breasts. Her belly. Her legs.

That sweet, sweet pussy that I would drown to devour right now.

“Oh my god, Max, we don’t fit,” she gasps on a laugh.

“Want. You. Now.”

“Okay, Growly Bear.” She pushes my chest to reverse my direction, and it doesn’t matter that she uses no more force than a snowflake would.

I’d let her do whatever she wants.

Except when I resist to capture her mouth, she doesn’t resist.

She surrenders.

I surrender.

God, her mouth. Her tongue. She’s my one salted caramel hot chocolate of the year. A cinnamon vanilla latte made with real cream. Bacon dipped in Nutella.

And those noises coming from the back of her throat—those desperate, needy whimpers and aroused moans that get deeper and faster when she tugs me to my feet, pulling me into the tub with her, the warm water coming up to my calves while I push her against the shower wall.

“Don’t slip,” she gasps.

“I got you.” I fumble one hand to the faucet and crank the bathwater on. Her skin’s pebbling in the cool air.

And then I’m kissing her again, stroking up her thighs, over her belly and breasts, back down again while she hooks one leg behind my hips.

“Protection,” she gasps.

I could tell her I’m clean—and I am—but the subtle reminder that I do this all the fucking time makes me wince.

Why?

Why do I do this all the fucking time when it doesn’t mean anything?

She ducks out of my reach, grabs the strip of condoms on the edge of the tub, and flips the knob to switch the water flow to the showerhead.

Scalding water flies out on us, but then she’s kissing me again, reaching between us, rolling a condom over my length, and fuck me, if all she ever did was stroke my cock, I’d die a happy man.

“I should take you to a bed,” I try to say against her lips as I stroke between her legs, completely helpless to keep my hands to myself when it comes to her body.

“You should fuck me hard against this wall.” She tilts her pelvis into my hand, and her eyes roll back in her head. “Oh, god, Max, more. Right there. Right. There.”

Is this why I’ve resisted?

Because I didn’t want to know she was uninhibited and hungry and liked sex?

Does it matter?

She grips my ass and squeezes while she wraps her other leg around my hips again, riding my hand while I stroke her pussy and slip two fingers up inside her, and nothing else matters.

Just this.

Tillie Jean.

Hot water.

Hot pussy.

Hot kisses.

Desperate noises.

Eager body.

And then she’s coming all over my hand, squeezing my fingers with her inner walls, head back, lids heavy, one lip caught in her teeth, her body flushed, her nipples so pert and tight and gorgeous. “Fuck, Max,” she gasps.

More.

I want more Tillie Jean. I want all of Tillie Jean.

I pull my hand away, reposition her, and I thrust into her tight pussy.

“Oh my god.”

“Want. You. So bad,” I grunt.

I know I should slow down. Take it easy. Make this last.

But she fists my hair, pulling my face back to hers, and thrusts her tongue into my mouth while her hips buck against mine.

She’s so tight. So wet.

So mine.

I pump in and out, and she squeezes me harder with those glorious thighs, riding me, meeting me halfway, even pressed against a wall, and holy fuck.

Holy fuck and a half.

She’s coming again, a groan ripping out of her throat while she fucks my mouth with her tongue, or maybe she never stopped coming, but she’s squeezing my cock with her pussy and fuck fuck fuuuuuck.

Tillie Jean Rock’s pussy is a drug, and I’m high on it.

No control.

No smooth moves.

Just my hips jerking erratically as I come so hard my vision blurs and lightning streaks through my chest and my head floats away off my neck. “Oh, fuck, no,” I groan while I shoot my load.

“Oh, god, oh, god, yes,” she gasps in my mouth. “Yes. No? Yes?”

Her pelvis grinds hard against mine, holding me inside her while she squeezes and pumps me with her inner muscles, her thighs a steel vise locked around my hips, my orgasm ripping through me like I’ll never have another in my life.

“Want—to last,” I grunt.

“Oh my god, I see stars.”

“More, TJ. More.”

“Growly Bear. Magic Max. Oh my god.”

I don’t want this to end.

I want to die still having this orgasm fifty years from now, with scalding water pounding down on me and Tillie Jean’s pussy coaxing my dick and my feet buried in lukewarm water and a slight chilly breeze drifting in to cut through the steam.