Demon Bound

He leaned in, pressing her heavily against the tree with the bulk of his weight. His hips ground in wide circles. It’d feel deep and rough, but there was more rolling than in-and-out. Good for him, because just thinking of baseball wasn’t going to keep him sane, and he’d be rubbing up against her clit once he got her pelvis tilted at the right angle.
    Her fingers caught on his collar. He vanished his shirt, and instantly regretted it when her teeth dug into his shoulder, biting him. Her tongue worked frantically against his skin. Oh, fuck fuck. Her mouth was as hot and wet as the rest of her, and now he was thinking of his cock inside her instead of trying to forget that he had one.
    Angles, he reminded himself, desperate. She was pinned against the tree, so he let go of her hips and reached back. Her boots were still laced up to her shins, her silk stockings covered her knees and were held up by a ribbon tied around her lower thigh. His balls tightened as his fingers found the edges of her stockings, and beyond that, warm smooth skin—
    Oh, Jesus. Mickey Mantle’s career batting average was two ninety-eight. DiMaggio, three twenty-five. Willie Shoemaker’s was . . . was . . .
    Shit, oh shit. Shoemaker was a jockey. He rode—
    No. No thinking about riding anything here. He needed to focus. Or not focus. Christ, he couldn’t think.
    He filled his hands with her bare ass. Lifted her higher, until her lower back curved and the base of his cock ground against her clitoris.
    Alice cried out, panted. She bit and licked his neck. Baseball wasn’t going to work anymore. Jake blanked his mind. That didn’t do it. He tried to imagine what was happening to the jeans he’d left with Sir Pup.
    That helped, a little.
    So did Alice, when her legs began trembling and tightened. When the erratic push of her hips told him she was close. When she stiffened, reaching for orgasm. Her head fell back, and she strained and dug her nails into his arms, and he thanked God and began to fuck her as she’d wanted, as he’d wanted, long, deep strokes that made the leaves shiver and clink.
    Until she made another sound, of disappointment and loss. He saw her frown in confusion, felt the tension leave her muscles.
    Oh, no. No, no, no.
    He tried to push it back, began to grind again, to bring her up with him again. He buried his face in her neck, felt the warmth of her skin through her thin silk collar. But it was like holding back the ocean; though he clenched his teeth and stopped moving, it boiled up through him, spilled over.
    Shock and horror held him motionless, until Alice dropped her legs from around his waist, pushed at his shoulders. The hitch of her breath tore at him. He pulled back, and the sheen of tears in her eyes ripped out his heart.
    He’d fix it. Jesus, please let him fix it.
    He fell to his knees. Gathered the skirts bunched at her waist in his fists. She batted sharply at his hands, yanked the silk from his grip.
    And walked away.
    Jake stared at the twisting roots in front of him, the cracked pavers. Somehow, his blood wasn’t all over them. There was a hole in his chest, but somehow, that marble was still white.
    He turned. To beg, maybe. She’d reached her doors, but he caught the shattered look she sent after him. That wasn’t disappointment.
    That was failure.
    That was the same damn thing he was feeling. But why the hell was she—
    God. Because she hadn’t come?
    And he’d bet anything that was why she’d swatted him away; she was afraid it would happen again. That she’d get close and lose it a second time.
    Stupid, both of them. Fucking stupid. She hadn’t had sex in a century, and he’d been jerking off to pinups for more than a decade. What’d she think, that he just had to stick it in and she’d get off? Did he think he could stick it in and not ? It was a miracle he hadn’t blown his load the second she’d touched him.
    That hadn’t been a fuckup, and he was damn well going to get a next time.
    Alice closed her doors.
    Jake took two steps, and jumped.

    She walked right into him. Jake cupped her face in his hands and had his mouth over hers before she could say a word. His thumbs wiped the tears she’d allowed to fall. She sagged against him. She’d begun buckling, he realized, the moment she’d shut her doors.
    When her lips opened beneath his, he jumped again.

    The air was humid and perfumed by strawberry, but the sweet psychic flavor once permeating this chamber had faded.