Strike Out: Mustangs Baseball #6

by Roz Lee

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and tugged. Letting his arms slide forward, he lowered his chest to hers, groaning at the feel of her breasts absorbing his weight. Her nipples were hard little nubs, poking holes in his restraint. “You feel so damn good I could stay here all night.”

  He stroked the top of her head with both hands as his gaze searched her face. Her eyes were luminous pools, inviting him in. Her lips, swollen from his kisses, parted on a sigh. “Royce?”

  “What baby? What do you need?”

  “You said you were going to lick me all over.”

  He failed to contain a burst of laughter. Leave it to the brainiac to remind him of his promises. “I did promise you, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did. And I’ve been waiting a long time, don’t you think?”

  “Too long,” he agreed. “Way too long.”

  The swipe of his tongue from the base of her neck to her earlobe made her entire body shimmy with need. She moved her hands from his shoulders to his head, holding on tight as he moved over her chest. As he inched his way toward her breasts, she braced herself for the moment he would put his mouth on them. Nothing could have prepared her for the reality of it. At first, he teased her nipples, flicking his tongue over one then the other until they were so hard they ached.

  “Please.” If he didn’t ease the ache, she was going to die.

  “Patience.”

  She squirmed beneath him and tugged on his head, but he refused to pick up the pace. He continued to torture her breasts, nipping at the tight tips then kissing away the flair of pain with soft lips and a soothing tongue. When he finally sucked one into his mouth, she dug her fingernails into his scalp and arched her neck and back.

  “Royce!” Oh. My. God. Every pull on her breast telegraphed lightning to her womb. Her pussy clenched, and her hips seemed to have acquired a mind of their own. She ground against him, could not get close enough to him to satisfy the clawing need inside her body.

  When he released her breast, she sagged with relief, only to be thrown back into the pit of desire when he turned his attention to the other one.

  She wanted. She needed. Something nameless and powerful held her in its grip. Whatever it was, she knew without a doubt Royce Stryker was the cause of it, just like he was the only man in the world who could make it go away.

  God, he loved the way she moved underneath him, as if she wanted to crawl inside him. He couldn’t get enough of her, either. The first taste of her skin, and he’d become an addict. He had every intention of doing as he promised, licking every inch of her, but as soon as he took her breast into his mouth, felt her nipple flatten on the roof of his mouth, he knew he was doomed to failure, at least for today. He’d get around to the rest of her delectable body eventually, but for the moment, he had to taste the essence of her. Had to drink her in, had to feel her come in his mouth. Maybe after he did, he could find the patience he’d asked of her, and fulfill his promise.

  He felt sure he was going to have claw marks on his scalp, but decided it was a small price to pay for what he was going to receive in return. Tricia held on as he made his way down her torso, stopping to tease her belly button with his tongue before pausing over her mound to inhale the musk of her arousal. Shifting farther down on the bed, he urged her legs wider. She hesitated for a heartbeat then spread her thighs wider.

  If he hadn’t already been lying down, the sight of her pussy flowering open for him would have felled him. Holy Hell. He’d found the pearly gates. Moist, pink lips guarded Heaven and begged for his kiss. His cock jerked, demanding immediate access. Ignoring the discomfort in his groin, he pressed his nose into the uppermost juncture of her outer lips and drew in her scent.

  He’d turned into a caveman. His body wanted. Need hammered between his legs. His balls felt ready to explode.

  Mine. Mine. Mine.

  The mantra repeated in every cell of his body.

  As he drew his tongue over her pussy, he silently vowed to do everything he could to protect what was his.

  Tricia gasped. Her hips came off the mattress, undulating in an attempt to either get away or get closer, she wasn’t entirely sure which. With her fingers still clinging to his scalp, she crunched her abs, lifting herself. A wave of acute embarrassment washed over her. Would she ever get used to seeing his head buried between her legs? He flicked his tongue over her clitoris and thinking wasn’t an option any longer.

  Her head fell back against the bed, and she forgot all about coming up with reasons Royce Stryker should not have his face between her legs.

  He was a master with his tongue, using it in ways she wouldn’t have dreamed possible to bring her to the brink then coax her back down again, only to start the whole process over.

  She was going insane, one lick, one suck, one forbidden penetration at a time. She tugged on his hair until, without stopping his assault on her senses, he pried her fingers loose and guided her hands down to the bed on either side of her hips. Digging her fingers into the covers, she held on with a white-knuckled grip to keep from flying off the roller coaster.

  Nothing so bad had ever felt so good. Even the sounds made her crazy. There was the occasional pop when he broke suction on her clit. Then there were the wet, slurping noises—positively obscene. The worst ones seemed to originate deep in his chest and came out as grunts and moans that vibrated through her and sent tingles along every nerve ending in her body and wound her insides tight.

  “Please.” He held her on the precipice…so close. So damn close. “Please, Royce.”

  She felt his smile, thought she heard him laugh. Then he plunged two fingers inside her tight channel, and with the skill of a man who knew what he was looking for, crooked the tips upward. Two taps against her secret button, and she left the launch pad.

  As her hips rocketed skyward, Tricia dug her heels into the mattress. The muscles in her stomach and abdomen jerked, clenching and releasing in breath stealing.

  Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

  “You okay, babe?”

  Tricia opened her eyes to see Royce braced above her, a knowing smirk on his face. Tremors still racked her body from her ribcage to the tingling flesh between her legs. She didn’t trust her voice to not utter ridiculous words of love, so she nodded.

  “I’m clean, but I didn’t know about birth control, so I grabbed a condom.”

  Her mind whirled. When? How?

  He flexed his hips, bringing the head of his cock to her entrance. “I need you,” he said, nudging inside a fraction, just enough to let her feel the stretch required to take all of him. “Say something, sweetheart. Yes or no.”

  Yes! Yes! Yes! She brought her knees up to bracket his hips. He fit in the notch of her legs like a puzzle piece. She let go of the sheet and wrapped her hands over his shoulders, loving the feel of strong muscles bunched tight to keep him suspended above her. But she wanted more. She wanted all of him—his weight pressing her into the mattress, his cock filling all the empty spaces inside her. She’d never wanted anything more.

  She looped her legs around his thighs, anchoring him where she wanted him. She looked up into his face lined with strain and uncertainty, and her heart hammered against her rib cage. She opened herself to him, body and soul. When her gaze locked with his, she gave him the permission he sought. “Yes.”

  He entered her with one slow thrust, tunneling into her sweet, wet heat as carefully as possible given the voice in his head urging him to hammer into her until he went blind with his release. Lord, she was the tightest, wettest, most perfect fit ever. It took every ounce of self-control he had to deny his need. Her gaze remained locked on his, her eyes widening at first then slowly her lids dropped. A soft sigh escaped her parted lips. Her hips rose off the bed, taking more of him inside. She tipped her head back, exposing the long column of her neck in surrender.

  He bent and kissed his way from her collarbone to her jaw, silently claiming what was his while holding perfectly still inside her. She needed time to adjust to his size,
and he needed time to wrap his head around his new reality. He had to have her, and not just for a short fling. She was his, and he’d move heaven and earth to keep her.

  “Royce.”

  “You feel so good.” He covered her mouth with his, groaning when their tongues dueled. Her sexy little moan incinerated his control. Withdrawing, he slammed back into her. She made another noise that sounded like approval to his ringing ears. He pulled his lips from hers, and somehow found enough restraint to wait until she lifted her gaze to his.

  “I need you. Now. You ready?”

  “Please, Royce.” Her legs tightened around his, anchoring him in place. “Don’t make me wait another second.”

  He knew his smile was feral, but the need in her voice mirrored the desperation he felt inside. Pulling back so only the tip of his cock opened her, he held her gaze for the length of a heartbeat before he gave them both what they wanted.

  She took all of him, rising to meet his thrusts, keeping the pace he’d set. As much as she needed to feel him filling her over and over again, every time he sank deep inside her, she dug her nails into his ass in a futile effort to keep him there. Nothing had ever felt as good or as right as when their bodies fused completely.

  Emotions she had no business having filled her heart to overflowing. She closed her eyes and focused everything she had on the point where they were no longer individuals but one single entity with two hearts beating in tandem. She was probably nothing more than a sexual partner to him, but he was so much more to her. He’d tire of her soon enough, but she knew at her core there would never be another person who made her feel the way Royce did.

  His cock stroked her pussy in long, powerful movements. On an elemental level, she was his—always would be. Everywhere he touched her, her skin hummed as if awakened from a deep sleep. She wanted things with him she’d never dreamed of with anyone else. She wanted to be naughty, so he would spank her. She wanted to drop to her knees and wrap her lips around his shaft. She wanted to come for him the way she had before, kneeling at his feet or lying across his lap or beneath him, taking him inside her, giving her body to him. She wanted it all.

  “You feel so damn good.” Supporting himself on one arm, he cupped her breast in his big, rough hand then bent to take her puckered nipple into his mouth. His tongue teased the aching bud, and she arched her back, silently begging for more. He obliged, sucking hard. She knew enough about the female anatomy to know there was no direct connection between her breasts and her pussy, but it was as if his mouth clamped to her tit completed some secret circuit of nerve endings. Pleasure arced from point of contact to point of contact. Tricia cried out and gripped Royce’s ass harder. There was no stopping the orgasm rolling over her, twisting her insides before flooding her body with the most intense pleasure she’d ever felt.

  “That’s it, sweetheart. Give it to me.”

  She had no choice but to give him what he demanded. Her body wasn’t her own.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Anxiety crawled over Royce like roaches in the dark, making him twitch on the bench. The first inning had proved, unequivocally, Jason Holder’s cure for a slump wasn’t a cure at all. A person couldn’t have better sex than Royce had experienced with Tricia the night before they left on the road trip, yet he’d given up three runs to a team he should have been able to best with his eyes closed.

  Hell, maybe I should close my eyes. My pitching couldn’t get any worse than it already is.

  The Waves were using their best pitcher against the Mustangs in hopes of winning the first game of the series, and from the looks of it, their strategy would be successful. After two and two-thirds innings at bat, the Mustangs had yet to get a runner on base. Royce needed to keep them in the game by keeping the runs scored against them to a minimum. Before his divorce, the task wouldn’t have been a problem. Hell, he’d struck out every player in the Waves lineup more than once in his years on the mound. That they were hitting his pitches like kids playing T-ball was depressing. He had to find his groove again, or he’d be picking splinters out of his ass in the Minor League.

  “You okay?”

  Royce kept his gaze fixed on the field. Bentley Randolph was one of the nicest guys on the team, but Royce wasn’t in the mood for small talk. “Fine.”

  “Relax, man. You look like you’re walking a tight rope without a net beneath you out there. Loosen up. This is a game, remember?”

  Royce clenched his jaw tight, causing a nerve ending to fire in his neck. He reached up to massage the taut muscle. The left fielder smirked.

  Turning his upper body toward his teammate because the pain in his neck wouldn’t allow anything else, he asked, “What?”

  “See? You’re wired so tight, your own muscles are protesting. Do us all a favor and lighten up.” At the sound of a bat hitting the ball, both men stood in time to see Tony Ramirez be thrown out at first base, ending the top half of the inning.

  Fuck. Every inning the Mustangs didn’t score meant added pressure for him to be his best. It had been so long since he’d seen his best, he could barely remember what it looked like. Grabbing their gloves, the two men walked out on the field together. As they approached the pitching mound, Bentley laid his glove on Royce’s arm, silently asking for a second of his time. Turning, he raised an eyebrow in question.

  “I know how outside stuff fucks with your head. Whatever it is you’re strung out about, you’ll get past it. Just remember, until you do”—he swept his arm out to encompass the field—“we’ve got your back.”

  After flashing Royce a brilliant smile guaranteed to make the sportscasters wonder what they’d been talking about, Randolph jogged out to his spot in the outfield and Royce stepped up to the mound.

  For years, he’d suspected his teammate was gay, but two seasons ago when Sean Flannery joined the team at first base the attraction between the men had ended all speculation on Royce’s part. Sean had since retired, and Royce still wasn’t sure what the heck was going on between the two men.

  It wasn’t his business, he thought as he threw a warm-up pitch. He rolled his shoulders, letting out some of the tension he’d been holding in. The batter stepped into the box. Royce knew him. Batting eighth in the order, he had a low batting average and even lower on-base percentage. Like a fried chicken joint, Kiefer Reynolds had never seen an outside pitch he could pass up without trying to get a bite.

  Jason flashed the sign Royce knew was coming. Why put fancy crystal on the table when paper plates would do?

  Royce came to a set. He dropped his chin to his chest, felt for the seams of the ball until they lay against his fingers in a familiar pattern. Kicking his left leg high, he put all his strength behind the pitch. The ball sailed toward home plate, breaking low and outside at the last second. Reynolds swung and missed. Strike one.

  Unable to believe he’d actually thrown a pitch that went where it was supposed to go, he turned to the scoreboard to verify the call. Yep. One strike on the batter. Maybe he still had it after all.

  He took the sign from the catcher. Jason knew everything about every batter the Mustangs faced, so when he called for more of the same, Royce didn’t dare argue. Going through the motions again, he found the seams and launched the ball. He’d done everything the same as before, but instead of breaking in front of home plate, the pitch remained on a straight trajectory—right down the middle of the plate.

  He couldn’t have served up a better pitch to hit if he’d tried. The sound of maple colliding with cow hide rang out louder than a church bell. He didn’t even turn to watch where it went. That sound was unmistakable—he’d heard it enough in the last few months. The ball was gone. Taking a deep breath, he watched as the Waves’ fourth run trotted across home plate.

  Whatever he’d done right on the first pitch, he’d failed to do on the second. And the worst thing was, he didn’t have a fuckin’ clue how the two pitches differed.

  ***

  Tricia ignored the curses flying around the Mustan
gs’ owner’s private box. Though her heart ached for Royce, she was busy isolating the information from his last two pitches. Before the runner crossed home plate, she had the data sets side-by-side on her computer screen. They couldn’t have been more different.

  Excitement coursed through her veins. Oh God! This is real! I have something to work with!

  Keeping one eye on the game, she fed the new information into the programs designed to analyze and quantify specific data. With a little luck, she’d have something to show Royce after the game, something he could use to fix what was wrong with his pitching.

  While the programs ran in the background, she returned her attention to the data continuing to stream in. In the fourth inning, Royce struck out the lead-off batter with three beautiful pitches in a row, and a few Mustangs fans in the Waves stadium came to their feet to chant his nickname, “Strikeout! Strikeout!” After that, Royce seemed to get into a groove. He fell behind in the count less often, throwing more strikes than balls, but he was still allowing too many runners to get on base. Good defense by the other eight players on the field prevented the team from giving up even more runs.

  Royce didn’t come back out in the fifth inning, so Tricia packed up her computer and left the stadium. Though she was staying at the same hotel as the team, she hadn’t traveled with them. Getting a cab outside the stadium was easy enough, and soon she was back in her room, her computer open, running every program she had to see what, if anything, could be gleaned from the new data she’d collected.

  Something about the pitch sequence in the third inning bugged her. She’d been over it and over it, but every time she clicked away from it, she was drawn back to it, as if the data was trying to tell her something.

  In an effort to see anything new, she isolated the data from the first pitch, bringing it up on her screen in every form available to her. A knock on her door drew her away. After receiving the pot of coffee she’d ordered from room service, she poured herself a cup then returned to the small desk where she’d set up her work. As soon as she sat down, one of the colorful graphs she’d seen a dozen times before caught her eye.