CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

New York, evening . . .

As 50,000 fans erupted in cheers, Bryan's phone rang. The shortstop had just whacked a three-run home run to put the Yankees ahead in the bottom of the eighth. Bryan was ecstatic; he hadn't been to Yankee Stadium in nearly a year. He couldn't complain about his prolonged absence as a spectator-he had his two beautiful daughters to thank for keeping him from sporting events, and he wouldn't trade them for the world. But being here tonight with his wife while his team was winning was an absolute high.

"Man, you don't even want to know what you're missing," he said to Nate as he answered the call.

"I know. Just got an update on my ESPN app."

"It was a thing of beauty," Bryan said and then recounted every detail of the home run as if he were a play-by-play sports announcer.

"That's awesome," Nate said, but hardly seemed interested in the game. He cleared his throat. "Hey, Bryan. Remember that time nine or ten years ago when you stayed at my house for two weeks the summer after business school, and fell in love with my sister and didn't tell me about it?"

Bryan furrowed his brow. Of course he remembered falling in love with Kat. But he couldn't fathom why Nate would bring it up now. "Yeah. Of course I do."

"Good. I hate to dig up the past, but I hope the fact that I was never an ass about you dating my sister behind my back will make this hurt less."

"Okay," Bryan said, nervously looking around the luxury suite. Both Casey and Kat glanced up from their seats by the window. His wife's curious expression seemed to say who are you talking to and why on earth are you taking a phone call in the middle of us celebrating a home run? He moved away from them, walking up the three steps to the back of the enclosed suite. "What's going on, man?"

"I need you to leave," Nate said bluntly.

"Shit." Bryan's shoulders sagged. "You can't be serious?"

"'Fraid so. I'm sorry, but I'm also not sorry. I hope you understand. Tell my sister I'll make it up to her and I'll babysit next time. I'll be there in five minutes. You and Kat will need to go then."

Bryan ended the call and shook his head. Damn. His wife was going to be pissed. She'd been looking forward to this night out for some time.

True to his promise, five minutes later Nate opened the door to the private suite. Three pairs of eyes landed on him but he only looked at one person.

Casey stood, her heartbeat speeding to NASCAR levels, her skin heating up.

He was the last person she'd expected to see. He was supposed to be in D.C. for the night.

His eyes raked over her. He had that hungry look in them-the look that melted her in seconds. She wore a blue tank top with the Yankees logo on the front, a short jean skirt, and blue Converse sneakers. She never wore sandals to Yankee Stadium; too many people, too many pairs of feet that could step on her toes.

Bryan was whispering to Kat, whose eyes widened as she glanced from Nate to Casey. Then she quickly gathered her purse, hugged Casey and simply said, "See you later."

If Casey had been processing what was happening she probably would've asked "Why? Where are you going? What's going on?"

But she wasn't processing anything except the way she felt. For the last several hours, she'd swallowed the disappointment from the night before. Because when he'd told her about his day turned upside down she'd felt so bad that she'd doubted him.

She simply hoped that he wasn't still mad at her.

As soon as Bryan and Kat left, Nate shut the door, then locked it. She glanced quickly behind her at the window that provided a view of the sea of rabid fans. The stadium shook with excitement. Cheers from the crowd vibrated throughout the house of Ruth. Nate stalked down the three steps separating them. When he reached her, a vein twitched in his neck. His mouth was a ruler-straight line. His jaw was set hard. His stare undressed her.

"I was wrong," he said. Each word possessed a hard edge.

"Wrong about what?" Was he talking about the dress? Or about wanting to be her teacher? God, she prayed he wasn't backing out.

"I was wrong about tonight's lesson. It's not spanking."

"What is it?"

"It's role-playing." His voice was hot and rough. His dark eyes prowled over her body.

"What kind of role playing?" She didn't even bother to hide her nerves, but the nerves also excited her. Or maybe he was simply the one who excited her. It seemed whatever he did turned her on. The fact that he was standing here, a solid mass of muscle and strength, of extreme and utter sexiness, sent shivers across her skin. She drank him in: the wavy mess of his golden brown hair, the stubble lining his jaw, the exposed patch of skin on his chest where the top two buttons of his white shirt were undone. All of it, all of him, made her tremble with want.

He took one step closer, and reflexively she backed up so her spine hit the wall behind her. She was caged in, and against her better judgment, she liked it. She liked the fact that it was starkly quiet inside the suite, and that it was intensely noisy outside, a white noise that masked all that she was feeling.

"I'm going to be playing the role of the jealous lover," he said, his voice still laced with the same frustration she'd picked up on earlier. Was he annoyed with her?

"What do you mean?"

"I'm the jealous lover who can't stand the thought of his woman wearing a gorgeous, stunning, absolutely fucking breathtaking dress on a date with another man."

A wild thrill rushed through her veins from his words and what they meant. "But I thought you didn't like the dress?" she asked, coyly, playing along.

He lifted his hand and brushed the tips of his fingers against her wrist. She shuddered from that one subtle touch. Her body begged for more, and she was almost ashamed at how much desire flowed through her bloodstream right now. She hadn't been completely aware of how very much she had wanted to see him tonight, of how truly disappointed she had been for the first eight innings that he wasn't here by her side. Now that he was here, she wasn't sure how she'd survived the game without him.

He brushed his fingers along her arm, across the crook of her elbow, and up to her shoulder. Goosebumps rose in his wake.

"I don't like the dress if you wear it for another man," he said, keeping his eyes locked on hers the whole time. "And sometimes that means I'm going to act like a dick and tell you I don't like the dress at all." He brought his hands to her hair and she wanted to cry out because it felt so fucking good to be touched by him like this, with hands that were both tender and completely possessive. He speared his fingers into her hair. "But what I really don't like is the idea that another man might look at you in it, and want to touch you the way I touch you."

He leaned into her neck, and pressed his lips against her skin. There was nothing gentle in the kiss. His lips were hot and angry, and she felt his teeth nip her skin. A sting of pain raced through her, but it was a good pain, a pain that made her long for more.

"I didn't mean to make you so jealous," she said, playing along, sounding contrite, sliding into the roles they'd assumed. She raised her hand to his chest, and trailed it up to the top buttons that were undone. His breath caught in his throat as she spread her fingers over his warm skin.

He looked her in the eyes. His seemed to be on fire. "It made me crazy. Absolutely fucking insane. Sometimes a man is wildly jealous when he thinks other men are looking at his woman." He dropped his hand to her waist, gripping her hip, and digging his fingers into her bones. "His woman," he repeated.

She nodded. "His," she said, like she was in a trance.

"And sometimes a man has to touch her, and mark her," he said, returning to her neck to trace the faint imprint of his teeth, "to make it clear she belongs to him, and to remind her that he's the only one allowed to touch her."

His words were heady. They hypnotized her. She was so used to handling everything, to devising the plans, giving the sign-off, managing and making all the final decisions. Here, with him, she didn't have to think. She only had to feel.

He cupped her face, grasping her. "I can't stand the thought of anyone else touching you," he said, his gaze pinned on hers, his warm breath painting her skin.

She swallowed dryly, tried to speak, but could only manage a few words. "I can't either."

She wasn't sure if they were playing roles. If he was talking as himself, as the jealous lover, or as someone else. And honestly, she didn't care.

She ached.

All over.

She ached for him everywhere. Her lips longed to be kissed. Her hair craved to have his fingers threaded through it. Her skin begged for contact. Her body needed to be filled. The desire for him was profound. It dug trenches all throughout her mind and heart.

"And I want to remind you that you're mine. That's why I came back for you," he said, his hands tighter now on her face. He could have squeezed her, could have hurt her, but he didn't. She was safe with him. Always.

"I wanted you to come back," she whispered, her chin tipped up as she kept her eyes on him. She couldn't look away. The spell he'd woven was too strong.

"I couldn't take it. I can't have you send me pictures of clothes you're going to wear for someone else."

She shook her head. "I won't. I won't wear it for anyone else. I'll wear it for you."

"Wear it for me," he said, and inched his face closer. God, he needed to kiss her soon. He needed to touch her. She was about to go up in flames.

"Do you remember what I told you I'd do the next time I saw you?"

She nodded as a rush of sparks tore through her body, making her hot and damp between her legs. Her underwear was fast becoming useless.

"Yes."

He dragged a finger along her jawline, and she hitched in a breath. "You said," she began, but words were so hard right now, especially as his fingers reached the hollow of her throat and he lowered his head, kissing her there next. Her eyes floated closed. She was comprised of nothing but raw feelings; she was reduced to only red-hot want and pulsing need for him. For this man.

"What did I say?"

"You said you'd be fucking me," she whispered on a moan, vaguely aware that the inning was ending, that the noise in the stadium signaled a fresh round of cheers.

He brought his hand to her chin, lifted it up, forcing her to open her eyes and look at him. "Do you think I'm a man of my word?"

She nodded, breathless.

"I am," he said, staring at her with hunger and unabashed lust. "Now, do you want me to keep my promise?"

"I do," she said instantly, her voice breathy. "I swear I do. I swear I need you right now."

"I need you so much, and I'm completely sorry I didn't send you a picture last night. I hope you can let me show you how sorry I am," he said, taking her hand and guiding her to one of the leather chairs that overlooked the glass windows in the skybox. It was the top of the ninth now. The other team was at bat. Nate sank down into the chair, unzipped his pants, and slid them down to his knees. His beautifully erect cock greeted her, snapping to attention against his flat stomach. Her mouth watered as she stared at him. She couldn't stop looking. He was so fucking beautiful.

"Come here," he whispered, as he held out his hands for her. She was about to straddle him, when he stopped her to dip his thumbs into her panties and skim them down her legs. She helped him when she reached her sneakers, tugging them over her Converses and tucking them into the back pocket of her jean skirt. She was thinking ahead to when she'd need them again as they walked out of here. She stopped thinking ahead when he dipped a hand into his pocket and produced a condom.

Perhaps the condom was the line in the sand. Perhaps it was the symbol of the before and after. Or perhaps it was simply the means to the end. That end was something she desperately wanted. She straddled him, her legs on either side of his strong thighs as he rolled it on his hard, steely length. He brought a hand through her hair, lacing his fingers into her blond strands, then whispering, "Come closer, Casey."

She reached for him, rubbing the head of his dick against her slick flesh. The feel of him was astonishing. The wild thrill that charged through her body from the very first touch of him, of his hardness against her heat, was a mere sign of what was to come.

"All the way now."

She moaned as she lowered herself onto him. Her natural reaction was to close her eyes because the pleasure was so intense. But she fought the instinct, because she wanted to watch him and witness the look in his eyes change from hunger to passion.

She swore she saw something else there too. Something deeper, a longing for more. Something she was afraid to name. But something that touched her heart, and made her want to be closer. Even closer.

She settled on to him, savoring the feel of him all the way inside her. With his hands on her hips, he began moving. Slowly, taking his time, he guided her up and down his shaft. She shuddered all over as pleasure ignited in her, like the start of bright fireworks that only grow more brilliant until they lit up the sky. Hot tingles raced across her skin. She roped her hands around his neck, then up into his hair. He leaned his head back against her hands, groaning deeply as if he savored her every touch. His fingers dug into her hips as he thrust into her, penetrating her to her very depths. Here at Yankee Stadium, in front of 50,000 people, who didn't have a clue what was happening in one of the luxury suites, she took him and he took her.

They took each other. Because nothing about their connection felt like role-playing, or a game, or submission.

Control was not given or taken. There were no power plays. There was only him holding tightly to her hips, drawing her up on his long, hard cock, then lowering her back down and filling her completely, touching her so far inside that she knew it wouldn't take her long.

There was only her, loving every second of the way he felt.

Right now, the only roles they were "playing" were of lovers, coming together for the first time. The only thing that existed between them was a deep and dark desire to be consumed by each other.

As he grasped her harder, moving faster, he dipped his head to her neck, kissing her. He was always kissing her. He mapped a path to her ear and whispered, "Tell me, Casey. Tell me who your jealous lover is."

"You are, Nate," she said in between breaths, as the ripples of pleasure slammed into her and she cried out, squeezing her eyes shut because the feelings were too intense to take.

"Tell me who's about to make you come," he growled into her ear.

"You are," she said as he drove into her, his cock filling her to the hilt.

"Do you have any idea how much I wanted to be with you today?" he said, and his voice was stripped bare. She looked into his eyes, and he was gazing at her as if she was a marvel to him.

She shook her head. "How much?"

"You were all I thought of," he said, his breathing wildly erratic. He was narrowing in on the apex of pleasure too. Watching him near the edge flipped a switch in her body. She went from grasping for the sweet release there in the distance to feeling the start of it, deep inside her, in her belly, in her bones, in all the distant corners of her body and far into her mind. He was taking her there and there was no turning back from this intensity. She dropped her mouth to his lips and kissed him relentlessly as she rode him to the edge of pleasure.

"Say my name," he commanded, breaking the kiss, his voice rough and needy and so damn hungry for her.

"Nate," she moaned, as he gripped her hips.

"Say it again. Say my name as you come. Tell me who's fucking you."

"You are, Nate. You are. You're fucking me. You're touching me. You're making me feel this way. You," she said, grasping his shoulders to hold onto as she rocked wildly against his cock, as wave after endless wave rocketed through her, electric desire sweeping across every cell in her body and bathing her brain in endless bliss. He chased her there, thrusting powerfully once more into her, his hands digging into her hair, gripping her head as he groaned and grunted, and then called out her name as he came.

Minutes later she was still wrapped around him, not wanting to let go, when she became aware of the white noise of cheers and claps from behind the glass. She tensed for a moment, thinking, even though it was crazy, that everyone at the ballpark was aware of what they had done. But when she craned her neck and looked out the window she simply saw that the game had ended and the Yankees had won. She turned back to Nate and the look in his eyes was one she hadn't seen before.

She couldn't pinpoint what that emotion was exactly. But it matched the way he'd looked at her earlier, when she'd first sunk down on him. She feathered her hand against his chest, wishing she could capture that emotion, study it, and know what to do with it.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Hi."

"I'm glad you came back."

"Me too. How was it?" he asked, gesturing from him to her.

"Are you really asking me?" She tilted her head to the side. "Wasn't it obvious?"

He nodded and smiled broadly, a big satisfied grin on his gorgeous face. "It was obvious. I still want to hear it from you."

She dropped a quick kiss on his lips. "It was amazing. You're going to ruin me for anyone else."