Foul Ball

Macey stood in front of her closed front door, standing a small half a step higher than me. Her body was still so close to mine that I had to resist the painful desire to reach my hands out and place them on either side of her hips, to feel her movements beneath me, the soft curve of her ass. I couldn't even be around her without that desire lighting a fire in the pit of my groin. I had a hard enough time not thinking about fucking her when she was around, but that wasn't the worst of it. I liked her a lot, and that was still slightly unfamiliar to me. I'd always loved girls, sure, but nobody had impacted me like Macey Britton did. The things we spoke about, the jokes we made, the flow of our conversations, the way it was all so...easy.

Had it always been this easy? With every girl I'd ever known?

"Macey," I said again and then stepped up in front of her, bumping her back slightly with my waist as I joined her on the step. "I would love to."

With a smile that could have been either anxiousness or excitement, Macey turned to unlock the door, then I followed her through into the living room, taking in the cute little place where she and her roommate lived.

"It's not much," Macey said, tossing her phone down on the breakfast bar in the kitchen. "It used to belong to just me, but rent went up, and I had to find a roommate." She sighed, following my eyes to the framed photos on the wall and the cozy throws draped over the couch, to the live flowers in a vase sitting on the kitchen table to the modest flatscreen TV sitting on a black lacquered shelf. "I miss living alone," she continued. "My uncle says I'm an empath, and that's why I like to be alone so much, so I can recharge."

"Your uncle sounds like he knows what he's talking about," I said, running my fingers over the beautiful oak breakfast bar. For a tiny two-bedroom apartment, Macey had kept it nice. "He does. He knows more about me than even my parents, I think. Or at least, he does now that I'm older."

"You're not close to them?" I turned back towards Macey, sliding into one of the kitchen barstools as she went to the fridge for two beers. She handed me one before opening her own. "Close enough," she said with a shrug, throwing her head back to take a long drink, exposing the curvy lines of her neck. She shrugged off her jacket and draped it over the chair, and even though she was only wearing a loose t-shirt, it didn't matter. I was mesmerized by her, pulled into a world that only existed when I was with her, with Macey. A world I knew nothing about and was just barely coming to understand.

I swallowed and glanced away to take another drink as my prick started to harden under my pants.

"Tell me about them," I said softly, forcing myself to focus on the realness of the situation, the secrets she was willing to tell me. I wanted to know. I wanted to know everything I possibly could about this girl.

“It's...messy,” Macey said with a sigh, tossing the beer bottle cap onto the counter. For a moment, I didn't think she'd tell me about it, and I almost opened my mouth to beg, but after a beat, she spoke again. "My sister Melanie was killed in a car accident four years ago," she said. "And I was driving."

My fingers tightened around the bottle of beer in front of me as Macey spoke about her loss. I was hyperaware of the hurt in her voice, the way the devastation that stirred up these nightmare memories haunted her. I wanted to hold her, but more than just physically. I wanted to hold her and whisper in her ear and somehow, magically, take away any pain and angst that might remain. I would sacrifice my happiness, my life, for hers.

"It wasn't my fault," Macey continued, but even as the words spilled out of her mouth, I could tell that somewhere deep inside of that false confidence, hiding between self-doubt and grief, no one blamed Macey Britton more than she did. "Some jerk ran a stop light and blindsided us. Melanie was killed on impact. We were sixteen."

"Both of you?"

"Yes. Twins." "Jesus."

"Yeah." Macey swallowed and took a small breath, but I heard her voice catch with emotion. "We were really close. Mel was my best friend. It was...hard. Hard for all of us but especially difficult for my mother. Ever since that night, it feels like she's conflicted when it comes to her feelings toward me. I know she loves me, but on the one hand, she's terrified, afraid that she'll somehow lose her only remaining child someday, and on the other hand, I think she always secretly blamed me for the accident."

"But it wasn't your fault," I said. "I hope you know that."

Macey fell silent, her bright eyes claiming a faraway look suddenly that set me on edge. She doubted herself, of course. She probably always would, and I hated that. My fingers wanted to reach out and curl around her hand to pull her into me, to help her fight off the memories of her past, the trauma of her childhood, the demons that would always, for as long as she lived, haunt her.

"Maybe," she said quietly. "But maybe not." She half-shrugged, her lips resting on the tip of the beer bottle, just hovering there. She was beautiful, even amidst her darkest recollections.

"I didn't have the pleasure of knowing your sister, Mace, but it doesn't sound like she would have blamed you, either."

Macey smiled then, but it was barely a smile. Still, the edges of her lips curled up just slightly, and I knew that my words had been accurate.

"Mel was my other half," Macey said softly. "My better half, I suppose. She really brought happiness to a lot of people." She cleared her throat and looked away, tipping the bottle up to take another long drink. When she set it down, she looked at me again. "Anyway, things were tense around the house before I turned eighteen and left. My mom and I fell apart, and my dad just kind of shut down."

"I'm sorry," I said, and I meant it. I hated seeing her like this. I hated knowing that through her strong, unflinching demeanor as my close friend and now girlfriend, she was dying inside with memories that consumed her. And yet, you'd never know. Nobody would.

Macey sighed and reached one hand up to gently prod at a muscle in her neck, flinching. "But even after all that time, living under the same roof with people who might as well have hated me, they were livid when I wanted to move away from Michigan to go to school here."

"Why?"

"A multitude of reasons, I'm sure. Abandonment, fear, resentment. I don't know." Macey finally took a sip from the bottle, her tongue flicking out to clean the drop of beer from her red lips. I adjusted where I sat on the stool, taking another long drink. It didn't seem to matter where we were, what we were doing, or who we were talking about my fascination with her didn't waver.

"Do you think that maybe your mother's anger was more over knowing that she was losing you, too, and less over blaming you for Melanie?" I asked.

Macey puckered her lips, mulling this over, and I ached to touch her. "I spent a lot of time with my mom's brother during that time after Mel's death," she said. "And I don't think that helped whatever relationship we had left to salvage. Whatever or however my mom was feeling, she was still pushing me away, even if she didn't realize it. But my uncle never blamed me for Melanie's death. Not for a single second. And that's all I needed, you know?" I did know.

"Of course."

"My mom and my Uncle Hansen aren't close," she said. "Erik, I mean. She and Erik aren't close."

"Erik Hansen? The firefighter?"

Macey nodded, then came around the kitchen bar to sit down on the empty stool next to me. Her leg touched mine as she leaned forward on the counter and began to peel the wrapper from her bottle of beer. "After Mel died, he was my shoulder to cry on. It was Hansen and me. He's from Michigan, too, but moved here years ago. We had fun rock climbing and hiking and just being...real together."

I smiled, enjoying the light that lit in Macey's eyes when she spoke of her uncle and all the adventures they'd had. She was fond of him, I could tell, and I couldn't blame her. I'd never met the man personally, but he was big stuff around here. Everyone liked him, and there was a multitude of reasons why.

"She was absolutely livid when she found out I'd be coming to Denver to study medicine," Macey continued. "She was afraid to let me go. Afraid that she would no longer be able to control me. She was even angrier that I chose to move here with Hansen. As kids, my grandparents were never really around for my mom and Hansen. I think my mom felt responsible for him. She never really got to be a kid, you know? And I think it truly messed her up. Now she resents anything that frightens her."

"No offense to your mom, but hiking and rock climbing sounds like more fun to me than moping around and feeling bitter," I said with a shrug.

"See," Macey said, throwing her hands in the air. "That's what I'm sayin'." She shook her head and smiled again, but this time it was a smile of relief. I knew what it was for; she'd just spilled her guts to me, told me something she probably hardly ever talked about, and that was okay.

It was better than okay. It was just what I'd been waiting for.

"So, there's my screwed-up family dynamic," she said sheepishly, finishing off her beer. Before she could get up to get another, I rose from the stool and went to the fridge, grabbing a second for both of us.

"Screwed up?" I repeated, popping the top on hers before doing mine. I handed her bottle over, and we clinked over the counter. "Macey, my douchebag father walked out on my mother and me when I was ten years old. It was the most devastating moment of my life, but I was raised by an amazing single mother who lifted me up when she could barely lift herself. I think it's safe to say that I'm what one would consider a mama's boy with daddy issues."

Macey grinned at this, that adorable dimple appearing on her left cheek. "A girl could do far worse than a mama's boy," she said softly, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth to nibble on it. She looked shyly away, a pink tint rising to her neck and cheeks. I took a final drink of my beer and slid it aside, then turned my body towards hers, reaching for her, skimming two fingers up her thigh and then down again. Macey shivered with pleasure and closed her eyes, tongue flicking out to wet her lips, unconsciously craving me. Craving me like I craved her with every fiber of my being.

Macey leaned forward, and I met her halfway, meeting my lips against hers with a small groan. Her tongue slipped between my lips, and her ass slid off the seat of the stool and onto my lap as she wrapped her luscious legs around my lower back and kissed me, kissed me harder than I'd been kissed in a long, long time.

With Macey's legs still around me, I stood from the stool and began to make my way back to where I assumed the bedrooms were, but we only got halfway before the burning, fierce desire I had for her consumed me completely. Macey's feet worked my pants down until they slid to my ankles, and I pushed her up against the wall, and she gasped, her head falling back, that stunning braid rolling gently over her shoulder. I took her lip between my teeth and pulled, and she moaned, slipping her tongue between my lips with unyielding desire.

"Wait," she whispered, breathless and trembling against me. "We need protection. My bedroom."

"Well, aren't you a sly minx," I murmured, once again leveraging Macey's legs around my waist as I pulled her off the wall and proceeded to her bedroom. Slamming the door shut with my foot behind us, Macey and I fell onto the bed, still molded together, tongues exploring each other. Our mouths. Our lips. Necks. I couldn't stop kissing her. It was bordering painful, but only the kind of pain that was worth it in the end; such desire, such antagonistic need that consumed one's body mentally, physically, and emotionally.

It was everything at once but really nothing at all.

It was just...perfectly us.

"Top drawer," Macey gasped. Still kissing her, I pulled Macey over with me, lips planted firmly on hers as I reached for the top drawer, yanked it open, and blindly fished around for a condom. Feeling one between my fingers, I grabbed it and pulled it out, but before I could open it myself, Macey yanked it from my hand and smiled at me, bringing the foil to her lips to slowly rip it open as my body pulsated on top of hers. I'd left my pants back in the living room, and the only thing standing between Macey and me was the thin fabric of my boxers and her lacy underwear. So, as I hovered over her, my body almost, just barely, pressing into hers, she slipped off my boxers with her feet, then reached her hand down and rolled the condom onto my prick. I grabbed Macey's undies, kissing her from her lips and down as I pulled them off. Her neck, her chest, her stomach, further down until my lips pressed against her sex. Macey moaned, and her hips shot in the air as if begging me.

I flicked my tongue out and braced Macey's thighs with my hands, lowering my head between her legs as her knees bent, and I forced them apart, hungry for her, ravenous.

"Oh, Jesus," Macey whimpered, and one hand shot down to tangle fingers in my hair. Her grip tightened, but I didn't mind. It only drove me further into her as Macey's gasps became controlled screams, and then she let loose, throwing her head back against the pillow in an overwhelming moment of release.

We lay there panting for a moment, looking into each other's eyes. Macey's cheeks were flushed red, skin subtly frosted with a glimmer of sweat, strands of wild hairs falling out of her braid.

"Wow," she said, wiping her hand across her forehead. Grinning, I kissed her, allowing Macey to taste herself on my lips, savoring in the moments afterward that we didn't want to lose. As I started to close my eyes, Macey trailed her lips down my neck and then my abdomen, rolling her tongue over me. "Thanks for that," she whispered. "But now it's your turn."