Fastball (Wilde Players Dirty Romance) by A.M. Hargrove, Terri E. Laine Page B

Gina.”
    Stubborn as I am, I close my lips together to silence the words from spilling free. His hand leaves my breast and flits across my stomach. His touch is so light, I quiver. Then he stops tapping and circles my nub, but doesn’t touch it.
    “Fuck you, Ryder. It’s yours,” I spit.
    His smirk precedes him hooking my leg at the knee and pulling me forward. He kneels before me, hiking my butt off the mattress as he plunges into me. A cry escapes my throat. The angle we are at is perfect. I’m so fucking close, I lock my eyes onto his, daring him to deny me again.
    Just as things get to the verge of tumbling over, I issue another command as I guide his hand to my throat.
    “Squeeze.”
    His eyes widen in alarm. Just by that, I know he’s never done this before. But I need him to now.
    “Just do it. I won’t die if you let go before I pass out.”
    He shakes his head.
    “Don’t be such a pansy. You’re going to make me lose it,” I complain.
    The pansy comment did it. His fingers close around my throat, but not tight enough.
    “Tighter, so I can’t speak.”
    Hesitantly he does it, but he’s lost his rhythm some.
    “Fuck me hard like a real man,” I manage to choke out.
    His eyes darken, and his thrusts become punishing. His hand bears down and squeezes more to silence me. And not too much longer before stars burst into focus. I relish the leap over into the abyss. His hand leaves my throat, and I suck in air as he takes a few more strokes. Then he grunts his way over the finish line.
    He collapses next to me. After catching my breath, I roll over to my side. I’m about to cup his face and kiss him, to say how incredible it was. But the look on his face stops me. My hand in midair drops to my side.
    “What’s wrong?”
    Scrubbing a hand over his face, he says, “I don’t think I can do that again.”
    I fall to my back and stare at the ceiling. “Why?” I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer.
    “It felt wrong, like I was hurting you.”
    Blowing air from my lungs, defeat consumes me. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I like it rough. I warned you from the beginning we weren’t compatible.”
    “Maybe not,” he admits.
    His words feel like a cleaver has been impaled in my chest. “Why do you need that anyway? Has someone hurt you in the past?”
    Yes, but not in the ways he’s thinking. So why does his condemnation make me feel dirty?
    Pissed off, I say smartly, “I just need it. You’ll never understand. And it’s cool if it’s not your thing.”
    He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, and I know he’s leaving. I almost ask him to take off his shirt, which he never did, just so I can see his fantastic abs one last time.
    “You’re right. It’s not my thing. It’s obvious that you don’t want to be treated right. I sent you gifts, and you couldn’t bother to thank me. Yet, I bet you would thank me now for choking you.”
    He shakes his head. And without another word, he gets his pants from my floor and leaves my bedroom. I can hear the fabric as he pulls it up. Then it’s his feet stepping across the floor. I know he’s about to open the door.
    “Ryder.” He doesn’t answer, and that kills me inside. Still, I say what I should have said. “Thank you for the thoughtful gifts.”
    No you’re welcome comes, just the sound of the door closing as he exits my life. Tears spill from my eyes, and I can’t recall the last time I cried like this. Why did him leaving hurt so much? I barely know the man. Then again, some people make an impression in your life. When Cassie came up to me in grade school and declared we were going to be friends, there was never any doubt.
    The only thing I doubt now is that I might have let the best man who ever entered my life, even over my old man who gave me life and nothing more, walk out my door.

 
    RYDER
     
     
    Disorientation smacks me in the face when I wake up the next morning. It takes me a few minutes to