by Maya Banks
“I don’t really know. Several. Two hold my legs apart and I look down to see one step between my legs and he just thrusts. It’s so wicked. He fucks me down and dirty and hard and then he moves and another guy takes his place.”
“I’d like that one if you were on your belly so I could fuck your mouth while they’re fucking your pussy,” he said thoughtfully.
She rolled her eyes. “Trust you to turn my fantasy into yours. I’m more comfortable on my back. I don’t want to have to do any work, and giving you head is work.”
He grinned. “Are you saying I’m a chore?”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “It takes concentration to suck you off. You’re not exactly small.”
“Poor baby,” he murmured. “Would it surprise you to know I’m not very small right now at all?”
She glanced down to see that he was indeed very erect again.
“Holy hell. You trying to set a record?”
“It wasn’t intentional. I fully intended to retire him for the evening after going two rounds with you, but all this fantasy talk has him revved up and ready to take off again.”
“As long as I don’t have to do the work this time,” she teased. “I’m tired!”
He rolled over onto her, parting her thighs and settling between them. He leaned down to kiss her.
“Don’t worry. All you have to do is lay there.”
CHAPTER | TWO
Zoe whipped into the parking lot—or what served as the parking lot—for the community baseball and softball fields. The town of Cypress had banded together a few years back to build the fields for the Little Leaguers, but in the fall, the adults used them for mini leagues.
She’d barely had time to get home after her shift in the ER and change and get to the ball field before the game started.
Today the guys from the Cypress fire station played the EMTs and paramedics from the ambulance service. The winner got to play the sheriff’s department in the next game.
She hopped out of her sporty mini SUV and bent down to tie the laces of her tennis shoes. She eyed the bleachers and saw that a large number of supporters had shown up for both sides. She smiled. Good times followed by beer and barbecue. Life didn’t get much better in the South.
Toni Andrews drove up and parked beside Zoe, and Zoe got a glimpse of the toddler in the car seat. Little Samantha was as cute as a button wearing her MY DADDY’S A FIREMAN shirt.
“Hey Toni,” she called when Toni got out of her car.
“Hey Zoe. You just get off work?”
“Yeah, busy shift. Almost didn’t get out in time. I’d hate to miss the game.”
Toni walked around to get Samantha out of her car seat, and Zoe smiled and blew kisses at the grinning baby.
“Is Simon playing today?” Zoe asked.
Toni wrinkled her nose. “No, but Matt and A. J. are. Simon’s working. I couldn’t miss the two boneheads, and plus Sam loves her uncles to pieces.”
Zoe walked toward the bleachers with Toni, but her thoughts drifted. She hadn’t been able to get last night’s fantasy conversation with Chase out of her mind. An idea had taken root and now it refused to go away.
She shook her head, wondering how she’d manage to pull this off.
She was about to take a seat with some of the other wives and girlfriends when she heard her name. She looked up, holding a hand over her eyes to shield the sun.
Brody stepped out of the dugout and loped over to where she stood.
“Hey, glad you made it. We need you to play shortstop.”
“Where’s Chase?” she asked. She turned to the parking lot. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen his truck when she pulled up.
“He was called in. Captain has one out sick. We drew straws. He lost.”
Zoe rolled her eyes. “How badly did you and Tate cheat?”
Brody gave her an innocent look, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. Before she knew what was happening, he was tugging her toward the dugout.
“Brody, wait! I can’t play.” She glanced down at her tank top and denim shorts. “I’m not dressed, for God’s sake.”
Brody paused long enough to send an assessing look down her body that had heat climbing over her ears.
“You’re perfect! Besides, if we start losing, we can use you for distraction purposes.”
She glared at him.
“Come on, Zoe. You’re a kick-ass shortstop. We need you.”
Tate Winslow stuck his head out of the dugout. “Come on guys, we’re taking the field.”
She eyeballed her two best friends in exasperation. “You could have called so I could have at least worn a decent top.”
“Why the hell would we do that?” Tate asked.
She walked toward him, and Brody grinned because he knew she’d caved.
“If I come out of this top, I’m going to kill both of you,” she muttered.
Brody smirked down at her as they rounded the corner to duck into the dugout. “Honey, if you come out of that top, we’ll be your slaves for life. And so will the rest of the team, no doubt.”
The other firemen held up their hands to high-five Zoe as she made her way by. Tate tossed her an extra glove.
“Head to short, short stuff.”
“Kiss my ass,” she grumbled as she shoved past him onto the field.
She squinted as she trotted toward shortstop. Damn sun was killer today. Before she could turn around to take position, a cap settled roughly over her head, and a firm hand shoved the brim over her eyes.
She tipped the bill back up to see Brody slap her on the ass as he walked past to left field.
“Thanks,” she called.
She repositioned the cap until she was satisfied with the result, and she took position as the first batter came up.
The first three innings went quick. Lots of fun and laughter and plenty of horseplay. It was obvious neither team took the competition very seriously. Until one of the paramedics bet the firemen’s team captain a case of beer that the paramedics would wipe the field with the firemen in the last three innings.
“Oh it’s fucking on,” Mike Sanders growled as the firemen returned to the dugout at the bottom of the sixth inning.
The score was tied four to four, and the firemen had last bat. They only needed one run. The problem? Zoe was up in the batting order.
No pressure. None at all.
“Come on, Zoe,” Matt Langston called as she selected her bat.
“Just get on base, darlin’,” A. J. Spinelli said. “We’ll bring you home.”
Brody and Tate walked out of the dugout with her, and they flanked her as she stood in the on-deck circle waiting for the catcher for the paramedics to come out of his dugout.
“Right field’s weak, and they’re playing you shallow, Zoe,” Tate murmured. “Sail it over his head and you’ve got a double at least.”
She fidgeted, transferring the bat from hand to hand. “Shit, guys, you know how long it’s been since I played?”
Brody put his hand on her shoulder. “You can do it. Oh, and show a little more cleavage. They’ll be too busy staring at your tits to watch the ball.”
“Asshole.”
Tate snickered. “He’d be the first one out of the dugout to throw a shirt over you if you had a wardrobe malfunction, and you know it. Unlike me, who’d get an eyeful and then throw something over you.”
“What a pal,” she muttered.
“Batter up!”
Brody patted her on the ass. “Come on, Zoe girl. You can do this. Piece of cake.”
She drew her shoulders up, then let them fall as she walked toward the plate. Oh well, it was only a case of beer, right? Only she’d known the fire crew to murder for less. This was all Chase’s fault for not being here. He was their strongest bat by far. And he had a competitive streak that bordered on vicious. The firemen would have never gotten away with fucking around in the first three innings if Chase had been there hounding them.
She fouled
the first one back, which was just as well. She hadn’t liked her swing and had been too indecisive. She turned inward just a bit and lined up, ready for the second pitch. Tate was right. They were playing her shallow, and the right fielder was a hefty guy who would never have the speed to run back for something over his head.
The pitch came in perfect. Slightly low and down the middle. She connected with a sweet smacking noise, and the ball drilled hard over the right fielder’s head. She took off running, trying to ignore the way she bounced in her tank top. She’d wanted to look good and show off her tan. She hadn’t planned on exerting herself.
She toed first base and shot to second, determined to get at least a double. When she got to second, Tate, the third base coach, held her up.
She stopped and bent over to catch her breath while the firemen and their bleachers cheered loudly.
“Come see me, sweetheart!” Tate called from third base.
She held up her thumb, and the dugout roared in approval.
Matt Langston was up next and flied out to center. His team-mates groaned and ribbed him as he returned to the bench. Mike Sanders was up next and hit a hard ball between third and shortstop into left field, enabling Zoe to get to third while Mike held up at first.
“We’ve only got one out, so stay put on the fly,” Tate reminded her. “Anything out of the infield, get your ass home.”
Brody went up to bat and Zoe mentally cheered. He’d get her home, no doubt.
He let the first pitch go by only to get ribbing from the opposing team. The second went off his bat with a solid crack and Zoe took off, head down.
“Slide! Slide!”
She vaguely heard Tate hollering behind her, and she lined up for her slide. The catcher stood in front of the plate, his glove out to make the catch.
It all happened so fast she still wasn’t sure what the hell happened. One minute she was about to slide, the next the catcher initiated a flying tackle, nailing her in the jaw with his glove.
They both went flying. The catcher landed on top of her, knocking the breath from her chest. Her foot skidded across the plate and through the buzz in her ear, she heard, “She’s safe! Catcher dropped the ball!”
She tried to get up, but the damn catcher was still struggling on top of her. Then suddenly he was yanked up by an irate Brody.
“What the fuck, man?”
Brody shoved him back until he hit the fence, and suddenly Tate was there, every bit as angry as Brody.
“There was no call for that shit,” Tate bellowed. “This is a friendly goddamn game. You could have seriously injured her. You don’t tackle a woman like that.”
The dugouts emptied, and the firemen and paramedics alike pulled Brody and Tate off the catcher. Tate knelt on the ground, his green eyes worried as he ran his hands over her body.
“You okay, Zoe? You hurt anywhere?”
“I’m good,” she wheezed. “Seriously. Just need to catch my breath.”
“Son of a bitch,” Brody bit out. “I’m going to kick his dumb ass for that stunt. What did he think this was, a freaking wrestling match?”
“Help me up and quit planning the poor guy’s funeral.”
She extended her hand up, but Tate curled his arms underneath her and lifted.
Several of the paramedics came over to ask her if she was okay, and she waved them off. “I’m fine. Really. Put me down, Tate.”
He let her slide down until she was on her own two feet again. Mercifully she could draw a full breath now even if her head was spinning.
“Christ, Zoe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard, I swear.”
She looked up to see the very contrite catcher standing in front of her, his glove still on.
“It’s okay, Mac. Really. I’m okay. And hey, we won. You dropped the ball.”
“Don’t remind me,” he grumbled. He reached over and ruffled her hair, which earned him a growl from Brody. “Sorry, kiddo. I forgot you weren’t one of the guys.”
She smiled and nodded, then promptly groaned at the pain that splintered her skull.
Tate swore. “Come on, Zoe. We need to get you home and get some ice on that head.”
“And miss the beer?” she asked in mock horror.
“I’ll make Brody buy a six-pack on his way home.”
“Why do I get stuck buying the beer?” Brody protested.
“I hate to remind you but it’s your turn to cook too,” Zoe said.
Brody looked at them with a hopeful expression. “I don’t suppose you guys are up for a grilled cheese?”
Both Zoe and Tate eyed him balefully.
“No? Damn. All right, all right. I’ll make a run by the grocery store and meet you guys at home.”
Tate squeezed her shoulder. “Come on, I’ll follow you home if you think you’re okay to drive.”
She looked at him in exasperation. “Tate, I’m fine. Let’s go. I look like I’ve gone three rounds and lost.” Then she looked down at her tank top that was most definitely not covering everything it should. “Shit. Did I flash everyone?”
“Huh? Sorry, baby. I wasn’t looking at your tits. I was too worried about other parts of your body.”
“I’m strangely insulted by that.”
He laughed and smacked her ass. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Zoe pulled up in front of Tate and got out of her car. Not waiting for him to catch up, she headed into the house, anxious for a shower to wash off the layer of dirt caked to her body.
Fifteen minutes later, she walked into the living room in a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt to find Tate waiting for her with an ice pack.
“I’m good, Tate.”
He ignored her and sat next to her on the couch, tilting the bag of ice over her head. After a few seconds he removed it and then started thumbing through her hair.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Wanted to make sure you weren’t bleeding or something.”
“And?”
“No blood, but you have a hell of a lump.”
He stuck the bag back on her head and held it there while they sat on the couch. He reached for the remote with his other hand and turned on the TV.
“College football, bass fishing, or a movie?”
“Football,” she said. “LSU is playing this evening.”
“Don’t see your fixation with LSU,” he grumbled. “Have you no loyalty to Texas teams?”
“I might if they didn’t suck,” she said sweetly.
“Oh, damn, that hurt.”
She laughed and he grinned good-naturedly. Tate was a lot of fun. Laid back, playful. Sun-streaked, muddy blond hair that was more brown than blond in winter and more blond than brown during the summer. He had playful green eyes and a killer tan, and he lived in cutoff jeans and bare feet.