Team Mom

By Cassidy Storm

Bridget’s son is struggling to make the roster for the local minor-league baseball team. Kelsi, the team’s overworked trainer and assistant, has an idea. If Bridget would be willing to volunteer to help the Cougars, they just might be able to pull a few strings and get Jeremy a spot on the roster.

Bridget eagerly agrees, signing the contract without a second thought and accepting the role. It’s a win-win scenario. She’ll be there to cheer on her son — not to mention the opportunity to flirt with a few young, sexy athletes. At thirty-seven, curvy Bridget still has it “going on,” although her online dating profile hasn’t seen much action lately.

Opening Day arrives. As expected, the new Team Mom fields her share of ogles and innuendos. At one point, she even overhears a rather explicit conversation between two of the players, with her as the topic. Boys being boys.

But then, there’s Jeff. Second baseman, team MVP... talented, confident... and sexy. He shows up at Bridget’s house soon after the game, and things quickly get hot and heavy. The next day, after another victory, Jeff shows up again for an even steamier encore in the Team Mom’s shower.

Bridget — or “BJ,” as she’s now been nicknamed — is quickly realizing that her new “duties” consist of more than handing out Gatorade and tallying scorecards. As Team Mom, she’s also expected to maintain team morale — at all costs. Does BJ have what it takes to motivate the Cougars to the championship?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cassidy Storm
• Release date: May 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463047651

Cassidy Storm

I’m a longtime reader of romance, erotica, sci-fi and horror. My first release, Girl Talk, is a feel-good #lesfic romance, largely about coming of age and finding oneself! My second book, Awakening, was quite a bit darker. Although it also falls under the #lesfic category, readers looking for the warm-hearted “feel good” atmosphere of Girl Talk won’t find that here. You’ll travel with me into a dank BDSM dungeon where you’ll endure a delicious nightmare — all the while unsure of whether it’s real, or just a dream! My third book, Game Night, releases on Valentines Day 2019 — a year to the day after Girl Talk! It’s #lesfic as well (yes, I know you’re seeing a pattern!) and it’s the tale of a raunchy poker game including Alyssa and her “crush,” Mia. Other than my sister, who is my best friend in the world, my family doesn’t know I write — manuscripts of Girl Talk and especially, Awakening would probably not be well-received at Easter Brunch. Same holds true with the “day-job” profession I’m in — so I keep those circles at arm’s length when it comes to my writing. When I’m not writing, I enjoy playing board and card games — the real, physical ones. Although my sister Allison and I do play Words With Friends and I even let her win a few. I love to travel, and in May I made a trip to historic Wrigley Field to watch my beloved Marlins get trounced — all in the name of research for another of my upcoming books. One hundred percent tax-deductible research, of course! I also like to cook, often prompted by seeing something delicious posted on social media. I’m deathly afraid of heights and won’t go near the railing at the mall, but I’ve actually jumped out of an airplane. So go figure. I look forward to taking my readers on a journey!

Book preview

Part One

Lead Off

First Pitch

Let’s go, Cougars, I cheered as the team took the field. I thought about adding in a few whoops and whistles but reminded myself I didn’t want to embarrass Jeremy. It had been somewhat awkward ever since I’d told him about volunteering to be the Team Mom, so I wanted to keep it low-key. I also didn’t want him to find out he was on the team mainly because of my volunteering — this wouldn’t bode well for his self-esteem, and right now he needed to be confident.

Thankfully, he hadn’t been near the concession stand earlier when the team had come out. Many of the players had fawned over me — boys being boys, of course — and a couple had even hugged me. Jeremy certainly wouldn’t have appreciated that. I thought it was a little over the top as well, but then again, part of me glowed at the attention.

Jeremy wasn’t in the game, and that mother hen part of me began wondering if this might get to him. I resisted the urge to say or do anything to embarrass him further — him being an adult now, and all. I did make it to the fourth inning before sauntering over to the dugout.

How’s it going? I asked him.

It’s going… okay. He still looked rather uncomfortable.

Thankfully, we were interrupted. Jordan! the manager barked. Jeremy’s head snapped in that direction. Right field.

Got it! He scrambled for his glove. Gotta go, Mom.

"Hey, that’s great, I bubbled, grinning foolishly. I did manage to bite off a Go get ‘em, tiger!", which would have been disastrous. I turned to make my way back to the bleachers.

Hey, BJ! One of the players was waving to me through the chain link of the dugout. Again, I got that feeling of being snickered at by some of the others, although I was probably imagining it. Can I get a Gatorade?

What am I, your go-fer? A flippant reply rose to my lips, but I checked it.

Me too, echoed one of the reserve catchers.

I’ll take one too, added the closing pitcher.

A few others also chimed in. I surveyed their faces and realized they weren’t being chauvinistic or rude. This must be one of the Team Mom duties, I thought, reminding myself that I needed to take a look at the contract I’d signed.

Sure, coming right up. I smiled, taking a count. A few minutes later found me in the concession stand line, fretting about the prices. GATORADE — $2.50, the whiteboard next to the cash box proclaimed. I did the math — $2.50 times 9 equals Bridget’s going to be living out of her car, really quick…

As I gathered the cold bottles, I reminded myself to ask Kelsi if I’d get reimbursed for such expenses.

Hey, BJ! Speak of the devil, there was Kelsi on her way back from the ladies’ room. Need a hand?

I did. The nine Gatorades and I were engaged in an awkward hug, and a few of them were threatening to slip and fall.

Gatorade run, huh?

What gave it away? I kept my flippant remark to myself, not knowing Kelsi well enough yet to subject her to my trademark sarcasm.

Yeah, the guys are getting thirsty, I guess.

They treating you good? Here, I’ll take a few of those.

Yeah, they’re fine.

Kelsi had four of the bottles. She eyed me, giving a low whistle. Damn. I see where you could have stowed two or three of these. I followed her gaze and blushed. It was a warm day, so I’d worn a light T-shirt. The neck didn’t have a scandalous cut, but I’m a double-D cup, so there was a fair amount of cleavage on display.

I giggled. Yeah, the boys would like that, I’m sure!

I’m sure they would.

Anyway. We, uh, better, uh, get them their Gatorade. I readjusted the five remaining bottles, but being flustered as I was, I let one slip out of my grasp. It bounced off the asphalt and then rolled to a stop at Kelsi’s feet.

Oops. I got it. Cradling her own bottles in one arm, she crouched to scoop up the errant Gatorade. Following her own earlier suggestion, she planted it neatly in my cleavage.

"Oooooooh," I exclaimed, partially shocked and partially surprised by the ice-cold feeling between my breasts.

"There. Nice…"

Um… okay.

Come on. Let’s get them their stuff.

But… I can’t… My eyes darted toward the plastic jug nestled between my jugs. I couldn’t really move it without dropping the rest of the bottles.

Nonsense. You just got done saying the guys would like it. And isn’t one of your Team Mom duties to keep morale up?

At this point, I had no earthly idea what my duties might be, but I nodded.

Okay, come on.

I followed, hoping Jeremy wouldn’t be in the dugout. He’d die of humiliation at the sight of his mom carrying refreshments between her boobs. Luck was with me in that regard — the team was still in the outfield, save for the benchwarmers in the dugout. Numerous sets of eyes focused on the lucky Gatorade bottle nestled down my shirt, until the nearest guy plucked it away.

Thanks.

Mmm hmm. I was now blushing bright red. Kelsi started handing out her share of the drink bottles, and I bashfully followed suit.

One of the players hesitated when I offered the Gatorade. Why can’t mine be between those? he lamented, staring transfixed at my boobs.

Yeah, Shaun, Kelsi teased him. "We all know what you’d like to have between them." Just when I thought my cheeks couldn’t blush any hotter…

Thanks, BJ, Shaun said, finally taking his drink. Most of the rest of the guys echoed their gratitude, complete with several claps on the back.

Then the dugout was applauding, along with the scattered fans in our bleachers. We’d gotten the third out, and the players were heading back to the bench. I decided to make a quick exit — if Jeremy were to witness these guys fawning over me, he’d be super embarrassed. Or super pissed. Or probably both — and I didn’t want him jeopardizing his shot on this team.

Kelsi followed. I think the guys like you, BJ.

I didn’t particularly care for the nickname she’d given me but decided I’d save that for later. Instead, I changed the subject back to the Gatorade, and my looming financial crisis.

"Wait. You bought those from the concession?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Noooooo. We have a cooler of them in the clubhouse. She laughed. I thought those bottles looked smaller. Come on, I’ll show you where they are."

Relieved — and feeling a little dumb — I followed.

How much did those cost you?

I told her.

Damn. Talk about highway robbery! Come on.

She led me into the locker room. Along one wall was a collapsible table with a large white cooler. Kelsi flipped it open to show me. Immersed in the ice were several different flavors of Gatorade — the bigger jugs, unlike the shameful ones in the concession stand.

You might want to bring a few up with you every time you come down here. Guys will get thirsty.

Sure. I looked around. It wasn’t lost on me that in an hour or so, this room would be filled with sweaty, naked, athletic men half my age. The thought sent a tiny thrill through my body — until I reminded myself that my son would be among them, which damped the thrill somewhat. Well… thanks, Kelsi.

Anytime, BJ.

Yeah, about my pet name… Um, Kelsi?

She was surveying the lockers and abruptly snapped her fingers. Oh, that reminds me. Did you put the towels out?

Towels?

Oh, that’s right. I have to keep reminding myself that you’re new. Sorry. She opened a door marked TRAINER and pulled out a wheeled laundry basket filled with fresh white towels. Gathering a stack, she handed them to me. Each locker gets one.

Is this a Team Mom thing?

Yep. One of your many duties!

Well… okay. It’s just that…

What?

I smiled uneasily. I’m just… well… not so sure I should… you know, be in here…

"Why not? It’s not like they are, she pointed out. And even if they were… well, you look like you could handle it," she winked.

I wasn’t sure whether to feel complimented or insulted. Shrugging, I went with the former. Thanks.

She gathered up a few Gatorades. I’ll take a few of these up. Grab some when you’re done here, and we should be good. Then she was gone.

Sighing, I got to work, opening each locker and placing one towel neatly on the shelf. When I was about halfway finished, though, I was interrupted by voices — from outside but getting louder. Someone was coming into the clubhouse.

The game can’t be finished yet, can it? It had only been the fourth or fifth inning when I’d followed Kelsi down here.

But the game wasn’t over. Two of the players had merely returned to the locker room. I was on the other side of a bank of lockers, and they hadn’t seen me. Based upon the conversation, I quickly ascertained that this was a routine bathroom break. Still, I remained in the other row, unseen — players bumping into the Team Mom would probably be awkward. On both sides.

Hurry up, would you?

Chill. It’s not our part of the order.

Yeah, but there was already one out. Inning might be almost over.

We should have time.

That new kid’s batting. What’s his name? Jacobson?

Jordan.

Yeah, him. He sucks. That’s a quick strikeout.

I snorted quietly. They were talking about my Jeremy.

Yeah, what a way to build your teammate up, guys. Classy. Seeking to embarrass them, I prepared to step out from behind the row of lockers — but stopped in my tracks as their banter took an unexpected turn. "Did you see his mom, though?"

Yeah. The Team Mom?

A laugh. More like Team MILF.

Frozen noiselessly behind the row of lockers, I listened, shocked, as they talked about me.

You see those tits?

I unconsciously adjusted my shirt.

Hell yeah. I’d love to motorboat those.

Hell, I’d just love to fuck them.

I pressed a towel against my mouth, stifling my gasp. Boys will be boys, I tried to remind myself. Although I wondered what these boys might think — or do — if they realized that the topic of their inappropriate conversation was cowering behind a locker not ten feet away.

They’re fucking huge. They can’t be real.

I bit into the towel to prevent myself from screaming "Fuck yes, they’re real! Not that you’ll ever find out!" I’m proud of my girls, and nobody’s going to talk smack about them, you know.

Sure, they’re real, the other guy responded.

Okay, I’m liking this guy a little better. Even if he wants to jack himself off with my tits.

No way. Those are fake. Idly, I wondered if the genius had ever actually seen a boob in his life, outside of Pornhub.

Nah. Dude, watch her… next time she’s over there cheering, watch how they bounce everywhere. Fake ones don’t do that.

Blushing, I made a mental note to wear a less revealing, looser shirt for the next game. And maybe a sports bra. Or two.

The impromptu Boobs 101 session continued as both guys hit the bathroom, then tapered off as they finished up the business they’d come here for.

I peered cautiously around the bank of lockers, watching them leave the clubhouse. Once I was sure they were gone, I finished with the towels, still quite flustered at overhearing the two young men talking about me in that way. And, if we’re being perfectly honest, just a tad excited, although that would have to wait for later.

I closed the last locker. Before leaving, I suddenly remembered the Gatorade. A quick search turned up a roll of translucent wastebasket trash bags, and I opened one up and loaded several bottles into it — much easier than carrying them in my hands or between my boobs — plus these were bigger than the ones I’d previously carried.

Miraculously, our team was still at bat when I came back up. My Jeremy was actually standing at second base. Well, how about that? I guess he didn’t suck so much after all, I thought protectively.

Most of the players were hanging around the dugout — including the clueless one and his slightly less clueless friend whom I’d just been eavesdropping on.

"Oh, shit! Less Clueless said in a panicked, hushed whisper to his friend. Dude, she was in the locker room!"

Clueless rolled his eyes and scoffed. No, she wasn’t.

Dude—

With Jeremy not in the dugout, I spied my opportunity to give these cretins a little grief for their crass remarks.

Here you go, boys, I interrupted their little pow-wow, walking up to them and holding out two of the Gatorade bottles. "A couple of nice… big jugs for you."

Um… Clueless muttered, his mouth agape.

"Do you think you can handle these?"

He was totally flustered. Uh… I think…

"You think? I needled. You don’t know?"

Uh…

I shook the Gatorades. Droplets of condensation dripped down onto the floor of the dugout. Finally, they took them.

Um…, stammered Clueless.

Uh… thanks, Less Clueless added.

"You’re quite welcome. And yes, I offered a parting shot as I exited the dugout. They’re one hundred percent real."

Both boys’ jaws dropped. "Dude, I told you," Less Clueless whispered.

"Referring, of course, to the Gatorades," I clarified.

Kelsi showed up before I could figure out more ways to embarrass the sad duo. She had a few more go-fer duties for me, so I took my leave of the dugout.

It didn’t take too long, and I got back to the bleachers just in time for Jeremy’s next at-bat, as it turned out. It went well, and he got a base hit, driving in a runner from third.

And, as I jumped up and down cheering, I glanced over toward the dugout just in time to catch my two clueless boob friends eyeing my chest intently.

Ah, fuck it, I thought, bouncing a little more. Way to go, Jeremy!

The game wound down, and we ended up winning 11-4. The players exchanged high fives in the dugout, then some of them milled around while others headed for the clubhouse. Kelsi began gathering up stray equipment, so I figured I’d help out — plus, it was probably one of my Team Mom duties, I guessed. There were a few discarded water and Gatorade bottles, plus other miscellaneous trash, littering the dugout. Boys will be boys — and that includes failing to clean up after themselves.

How has your first day been? Kelsi queried as we worked. Everyone treating you all right?

It was okay for the most part, I replied. Naturally, this led her to inquire as to which part wasn’t okay. I reluctantly told her about the locker room conversation I’d overheard, leaving out the sordid parts.

She immediately took interest, pressing me for details about what I’d heard. I elaborated a bit, although still feeling uneasy about making waves on my first day.

And what did they say then? Kelsi was grilling me further.

About my… um… my chest…

Your breasts?

Yeah.

Well, what did they say specifically?

This was embarrassing. I thought back, telling her about the motorboating remark.

And what about the other guy?

My cheeks were burning now. He… uh, he wanted to do more…

Apparently, she got it, and left it at that. I quietly breathed a sigh of relief.

I’ll talk to both of them. We can’t have them scaring our Team Mom away on her first day, now, can we?

They won’t scare me away, I assured her. Again, I found myself worried about creating problems for her. Kelsi? You don’t need to talk to them. I can take care of myself.

You sure?

Yeah.

Okay, if you say so. She patted my shoulder. Actually, I can’t say I’m too surprised with this bunch. Like I told you at tryouts, they can be a little… raw at times. Boys, you know.

I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ve had to put up with your share.

Uh uh, not me. She giggled, sweeping her hand over her chest. Mosquito bites. Nobody’s exactly lining up to put their dick between these.

My face flushed again. I’d been speaking more in general and hadn’t expected her to be so forward.

"I’m sure you, on the other hand, get a lot of… requests like that."

Like?

You know. Titty fucking. Her eyes were on my breasts, and she giggled like a high school girl as the words came out of her mouth. You… enjoy that?

Not particularly, I admitted. I was surprised at the raunchy, intimate turn in the conversation. It seemed as if the boys on our team weren’t the only ones who could be a little raw at times. I’m no prude, but Kelsi and I still didn’t know each other that well yet.

But she had gotten Jeremy onto the team… and she was quite likable. So, I went with it. It’s sort of… well, demeaning, in a way. I mean, I’ll do it, if it’s like, a part of… you know, the whole thing. I hoped I was making sense. But, I mean, like—

You’re not just a conquest, Kelsi finished brightly.

Yes! Exactly, I agreed. Well, at least, my boobs aren’t. Because there was something to be said for having a man take charge — and take me. Some of the best orgasms of my life have come — pardon the pun — with my wrists firmly pinned to the mattress, or my hair being forcefully pulled, or a rough hand putting pressure on my throat. If it’s a partner I trust.

But I wasn’t going to go there with someone I’d just met, especially with Kelsi being more or less in charge of me.

Kelsi got it, though, I think. She nodded thoughtfully, and the conversation trailed off as we continued cleaning up the dugouts.

She briefly revived it again. BJ, speaking of second base, can you go collect the bags for me?

I bit my lip with a shy, bashful grin. Ah. I see what you did there.

Yeah, that was cool, huh?

Nice play on words. I laughed as I trudged onto the diamond to collect the bases. When I’d gotten them, she directed me to a storage room next to the concession stand. I stowed them and then made my way back to the field.

I think we’re in good shape, BJ. She smiled, taking one last quick look around. Thanks for the help.

Sure, no problem.

Some of the players were still hanging around. Although, I noted ruefully, they’d all been conspicuously absent when it had been time to clean up after themselves. Kelsi introduced me to one of them, whom I recognized as the second baseman. BJ, this is Jeff Chambers. He was the game MVP.

I nodded his way. Good game out there. Jeff had gotten three hits, including a three-run homer while the game was still somewhat in doubt.

Thanks. And thanks for volunteering as the Team Mom. He regarded me with a cool, direct gaze that went right through me. I’ll be coming over later.

You mean, to the house?

Yeah. If that’s okay.

Um… yeah. Sure! It was definitely okay. Jeremy had typically been socially awkward, so it was always good to see him making new friends.

Not to mention the secretive thrill I got at the thought of having this sexy guy under my roof.

Bridget! For God’s sake, he’s half your age! He’s your son’s age!

But there was no harm in looking, was there? And look, I did. My eyes following his sculpted, athletic body all the way back to the clubhouse. Something told me my evening plans might involve the contents of the special drawer in my nightstand.

My illicit fantasizing was interrupted by my son. Hey, Mom.

Hey, Jeremy. Good game today! I hoped he couldn’t tell how flustered I was.

Well, thanks for coming out. I gotta go get cleaned up.

Sounds good. Hey, I met Jeff. He said he’s coming over?

He frowned, looking uncomfortable. Uh, yeah, he mumbled.

I’ll get home and clean up a little bit.

Uh… okay.

Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you, I said, smiling.

Mom! Come on, this is awkward enough, he complained, then stomped away.

I looked after him, mystified. An odd character, that son of mine…

The MVP

I spent about half an hour cleaning up the house, then set out some nacho chips, pretzels, and a few other snacks. I’d considered making dinner for Jeremy and his friend, but he’d seemed to be in a bit of a mood, so I didn’t want to be perceived as being a mother hen any more than I already was. I figured they’d probably busy themselves with playing Call of Duty or Madden or some sort of game would be on, and I’d make myself scarce.

Once the house was done, I cleaned myself up, brushing my hair and then slipping into a low-cut blouse.

Old enough to be Jeff’s mother! Act your age, I chided myself, removing the blouse and returning it to its hanger. I shrugged into a regular oversized T-shirt, then added my favorite black-floral capri leggings. I did freshen up with some fire-engine red lip gloss. Acting my age didn’t mean being frumpy, did it?

The doorbell chimed. What the hell, Jeremy? Did you forget your key again?

I opened the front door. It wasn’t my son, though. It was Jeff. He’d changed into a dressy black shirt and a pair of jeans. Rather tight, scrumptious jeans. I willed myself not to ogle at the package in the front, instead forcing myself to make eye contact.

Oh, hi, Jeff. Come on in. I looked outside, but Jeremy’s car wasn’t here yet. I shut the door and invited Jeff to take a seat on the couch. Can I get you a drink?

Sure. A beer?

I raised an eyebrow. Are you twenty-one, Jeff?

Well, yes, BJ. Of course!

I’m just giving you a hard time. I laughed to ease my nervousness. I’d spent most of the last couple of hours entertaining some rather wicked fantasies about my son’s friend but found myself somewhat tense with him here in the flesh. Especially with Jeremy running late.

I disappeared to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a beer. Here ya go.

Thanks, BJ. He frowned. Aren’t you having one?

Uh… sure. I went and grabbed a second beer, then took a seat opposite him on the couch. The easy chair probably would have been more appropriate, but the coffee table was in front of the couch, and I needed a place to set my drink, didn’t I? Yeah, we’ll go with that, Bridget, I thought.

Act your age. That more rational part of my brain made a last-ditch effort to talk some sense into me.

His hazel eyes were again studying me intently. I bit my lip nervously, my fingers toying with the neck of my bottle. Finally, he broke the silence, raising his own beer. So. How about a toast?

I lifted my bottle. To… baseball.

To Cougars, he amended with a slight smile as he looked directly at me. It didn’t escape me that he’d left the definite article out of his toast. With the tiniest tremble, I brushed it aside, trying to convince myself he was referring to just the team.

Nevertheless, I kept my bottle raised. To the Cougars, I agreed, taking care to enunciate the second word.

He didn’t seem to notice. And, he added, his piercing gaze never faltering, especially to their Team Mom, BJ.

I blushed. And to their most valuable player!

I’ll drink to that, too! He slid closer to me so that we could clink our bottles together, and then we drank. I didn’t miss the fact that he didn’t bother scooting back to his end of the couch. Furtively, I looked toward the front door again. If Jeremy were to come in and find his mom more or less flirting with his teammate…

I broke the ice with some conversation. So. How do you like being on the Cougars?

It’s fun. I’m especially enjoying it at the moment, he added, his gaze sweeping down my body and then back up, undressing me with his eyes. My vivid imagination pictured him doing the same but with his hands. On my breasts… then pushing my thighs apart… Now I could feel myself beginning to get wet. I squirmed uncomfortably, took another gulp of my beer, and wondered just what was keeping Jeremy. One thing was certain — as soon as he got home, I’d be leaving them to their video games, or ESPN, or whatever, and locking myself in my bedroom. Just keep playing Grand Theft Auto. Don’t mind that buzzing sound, boys.

Jeff took another drink as well, and another silence ensued.

I’m… not sure what’s keeping Jeremy, I said apologetically.

Jeff’s response was cool and nonchalant. Oh, he went for pizza with the rest of the guys.

He’s not coming? Then what are you doing here? My heart was pounding faster. Had Jeff come over here thinking he had a chance to get lucky with the new Team Mom?

He’s a kid! You’re old enough to be his mother, Bridget!

But Jeff just kept looking at me, calm and collected — the complete counterpoint to the turmoil and arousal I felt.

Another long swig, and he’d killed his beer.

Would you… uh, like another one?

No, thanks.

Okay. It was time to break this up. Whatever this was. Okay. Well, you’re welcome to wait for Jeremy. I’m not sure why he…

I moved to get up, but he put his hand on my leg, just above the knee, stopping me. I felt a jolt of heat between my legs. His other hand took the beer bottle from my grasp, setting it neatly on the coffee table.

He’s going to try to kiss me, I thought. If he does, I’m going to let him. I straightened, trying to get a grip on myself but losing the battle. He bided his time, just continuing to look at me, melting me with his eyes. It took everything I had not to lean over and kiss him.

Half your age, I reminded myself.

Consenting adult! the naughty part of me — the part I knew would ultimately win — argued back.

I took a breath and slid back a few inches, enough to gently disengage his hand from my knee.

I think… you should go get pizza with your teammates, Jeff. Okay, I didn’t really think that, but there was propriety to think about. And I had to at least go through the motions, right?

I’m not hungry, he said firmly.

Too bad, I thought naughtily, it’s been forever since I had a thorough tongue lashing. But I wasn’t quite that bold.

He was, though. Enough for the both of us. Again, his fingers were brushing carefully against my upper leg. His touch felt like electricity surging through me, and this time I made no effort to move away or remove his hand.

I bit my lip again. What can I do for you, Jeff? I asked lightly.

His gaze never broke, and he spoke coolly, confidently. You can wrap those lips around my cock, BJ.

My mouth gaped. I beg your pardon? I hadn’t been quite expecting that.

He didn’t answer. He was busy unbuckling his belt. If there had been any question I’d heard him incorrectly, he was laying rest to