Forced Play for Libby (Men of Baseball #3)

by Hayley Faiman

  “This pussy has only ever been yours, Pete,” I hiss as he slides two fingers inside of my aching center.

  “You piss me off. You’re entitled, smart assed, fowl mouthed, and you have the fucking biggest temper I have ever seen,” he groans, slowly filling me with his fingers. I open my mouth to try and defend myself, even though he’s fairly spot on about my personality traits.

  I personally think they’re just lovely, but not everybody loves them back.

  “And, fuck me, sweetheart but I love it all,” he murmurs. His fingers slide out of my body and, suddenly, his hard cock drives deep inside of me as his hands grab my thighs, lifting me from the ground. I wrap my legs around his bare waist as his cock stretches me, filling me to the point of pain. It’s fucking perfect.

  “Someone will see,” I gasp quietly. Pete just shakes his head and kisses right behind my ear as he lazily, slowly, pumps in and out of me.

  “Let them look. Let all of those assholes watch as I fuck my insanely hot, gorgeous wife. I hope they’re jealous as shit,” he mutters into my neck. I moan, letting his words wash over me. Pete’s hands grab my hips tilting me so that he hits inside at a different angle. A perfect angle at that.

  “Pete,” I cry digging my fingernails into his shoulders.

  “Yeah, Libby Baby. Fuck, your cunt is so tight, so goddamned perfect,” he growls as his pace quickens and his force intensifies. My thighs shake around his hips and my arms start to lose whatever strength they once held as I hang against his body.

  “Take it, Libby, fuckin’ take my cock, sweetheart,” he orders.

  My body no longer has the stamina to keep up with his brutal thrusts and I bury my face in the curve of his neck, inhaling the scent of his favorite soap, Irish Spring. Strong and unwavering, just like him.

  One of Pete’s hands slides from my ass as he presses my back against the locker a bit harder. I can feel every centimeter his fingers touch as if they are lighting a fire on my skin. I shiver beneath him my skin soaked with sweat. When his thumb presses against my clit and rubs a circle, I arch my back and cry out in pleasure.

  Jesus.

  I come hard, my whole body spasming around him, my pussy pulsing as he continues to press his thumb against me. His cock drives in and out, never slowing his pace or his power. I drag my nails down his back, causing him to hiss, the action making him fuck me harder. My back is going to be bruised from the metal behind me, and my pussy is going to ache for days. But I don’t care. I can’t, All I care about is how unbelievable he feels inside of me and how he can’t control himself because of me.

  I feel powerful for the first time in my life and I love it.

  “I’m going to come in your hot, wet, cunt, Libby Baby,” he groans his warning. I feel his cock grow harder and finally twitch as his release fills my body. I take in his gorgeous thick neck as his head falls back and he grunts, his hips moving as he empties inside of me.

  I slowly gain control of my breathing only to hear a loud applause around us. My head pops up and my eyes dart around but I don’t see anybody, I just hear laughter, clapping and hollering. My face heats bright red and I scramble down from being wrapped around Pete’s strong body. I steady myself as I pull my scrap of a dress down over my ass.

  “Fuck me, sweet baby,” Pete murmurs, leaning down to place a soft kiss on my lips. He captures my bottom lip between his teeth and lightly tugs.

  “Pete, everybody heard,” I whisper, looking up at him, pleading for him to do something. What, I don’t know, but I need him to do something.

  “Fuck yeah, they did,” he grunts grabbing his jeans and pulling them on, commando. I shiver with hazy lust as I watch him zip them over his lean hips.

  Pete grabs a plain navy blue shirt and pulls it on, then grabs a Yankees ball cap and pulls it over his head. Sliding into a pair of beat up chucks, he slams his locker door and wraps his warm hand around mine. I pull back on his hand, halting him from walking us into the rest of the room.

  “Pete, they heard. They’re all going to be staring at me.” My voice is shaking with fear.

  Pete shakes his head and takes a piece of my hair, tugging lightly so that my neck arches and my face is tilted back—my eyes on his.

  “They heard me fuck my beautiful wife, so what? A few guys got a hard-on listening to the way my wife came around my cock? I’m not embarrassed or ashamed, Libby. Neither should you be. They didn’t see any part of your body and they never will. They’re all respectful enough not to watch, but they can’t turn their ears off, babe, and you weren’t exactly quiet.”

  “Pete,” I cry out in surprise. His hand grabs my ass and hauls me against his hard body.

  “Your body is mine and I took it, they know that. You can’t be ashamed, Libby. You need to get over that shit right now. You’re mine—my woman and my wife. Buckle up, sweet baby, because you wanted this with me. I tried to walk away but you’re going to get all of me now, every single piece. The good, the bad, and the really fuckin’ bad. Now, let’s go home so I can lick that cunt properly and make you come all over my mouth.”

  I shiver at the memories of him licking me last night and I can honestly say that I’m looking forward to more, much more of that—immediately. Pete drapes his arm lazily around my shoulders and tucks me into his side as we walk through the still busy locker room.

  I avoid eye contact with every single person we walk past, wrapping my arms around Pete’s middle. I’m hoping that if I shrink enough into his side, I might just melt into his skin, and nobody will see me or my beet red face.

  We’re almost in the clear, nobody saying a word to us; but when we reach the door, the whole locker room erupts in raucous applause.

  “Get it, McGrath.”

  “Fuck yeah. Take care of your girl, bro, or someone else will.”

  Pete is shaking next to me in laughter as we walk out of the room. The voices fade behind us as the door closes. I playfully slap his chest and try to hide the smile curving on my lips at the situation. The embarrassment is gone, and so is the shame. He’s right. What we did was sexy and hot as hell. As long as nobody saw anything, why should I be embarrassed for having sex with my own husband?

  I know for a fact Amalie screwed Jarrod while most of the guys listened after her sexy photos were leaked on the jumbotron at a game, just after they first got together. Then she did it again at the first World Series after-party in the bathroom. I heard that, live-and-in-action, and it was hot as hell. I had to go home and use my trusty bullet vibrator later that night.

  Marcus suddenly appears at my side and slips the handles of my bag into my hand before winking and turning away from us. Pete raises a brow but doesn’t say anything as we continue to his car.

  “What kind of car is this? I’ve never asked you,” I ask as I slide into the passenger seat of one of Pete’s three cars.

  “An Enzo Ferrari. Jarrod bought one in red and I fell in love with it so I ordered one in black,” he says.

  The car is gorgeous and Pete tells me all about its features as we drive toward our building. Apparently, it is one of 349 ever made. I’m sure that means the price tag was insane.

  “My father wouldn’t ever let me have anything that wasn’t from one of his dealerships. I really love this car,” I admit, turning to look out the window and wondering where the hell my parents have been during this whole fiasco.

  “What kind of car would you want if you could choose for yourself?” He asks. The question is daunting, because there are so many, but I know exactly what I would want.

  “A BMW, 700 series, black,” I admit, chewing on my bottom lip with nervousness. Pete just chuckles as we pull into the garage beneath our building.

  “So we’re really going to do this, then? Be a real us? Be committed to only each other?” I ask.

  Pete’s eyebrows furrow and he reaches across to take my hands in his, his green eyes never leaving mine. Then he proceeds to rock my world.

  “I fucked up, big time, Libby. The shit I pu
t you through wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right. I thought you knew it all. I thought you were a spoiled little rich girl getting what she wanted, and it pissed me off that I allowed my own greed to get in the way of my own hard work and determination. I acted out and, unfortunately, I did it with other women and I emotionally hurt you in the process of my childish behavior and antics. I am looking at this with eyes wide open now, baby. I could get traded or fired starting next season because I told your dad to shove the contract up his ass. I don’t give a shit about it anymore, only you—only us.

  “What I’m going to do is try my hardest to make up for what I did during the past seven years to you. Don’t go easy on me. I deserve everything you could possibly throw my way and I’ll take it, gladly, if it means that I start and end my days at your side and deep inside of your sweet cunt.”

  I can’t help myself and the tears fall from my eyes at his words, minus the cunt part. Pete has never given me sweet words and this is all too much. With his hands wrapped around mine, I lean forward and place a chaste kiss on his lips.

  “I’ll try not to crucify you too badly, Pete. I want this to work, too. I have always wanted this to work. It just feels like at any moment I’ll wake up and your feelings will change and you’ll be gone. It’s easier for me to push you away than be hurt again.” Admitting that he still has the potential to destroy me is terrifying, but the thought of not having him at all is even more so.

  Hand-in-hand we walk into our apartment, blissfully unaware of anything but ourselves and our desires.

  MY MOUTH GOES DRY AND all thoughts of Pete’s lips, tongue, and teeth on any part of me disappear—as any girls would when she finds her living room full of people. And not just any people, but her family. My father and mother are sitting together on our sofa, several feet apart. My father is lazing with his ankle crossed over his knee, and my mother is sitting as stiff as a board, perfectly poised.

  My sister and her pretentious prick of a husband are sitting on our love seat, looking anything but in love. My sister’s hair is blonde to my black, and her brown eyes are dull and lifeless as she sits with her ankles crossed in an extremely appropriate Chanel suit. She looks like a carbon copy of our mother. Even though she is only twenty-eight years old, she looks like she could be in her late thirties. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a tight bun at the back of her head and her makeup is thick and flawless. Her lips seem to be permanently turned down these days, and her sensible shoes make me cringe. I may dress a little demure for my age, but I always have kick ass shoes. A girl needs to feel sexy and pretty, and shoes single-handedly accomplish that task. Thank you, Grammy Lillian, for stellar shoe advice over the years.

  “What are you all doing here?” I question, setting my purse down on our entry table. I don’t miss the disapproving look my mother gives me at the way I toss my purse on the table without properly putting it away in its place, hidden from sight.

  “The doorman let us in. So you’re obviously as crazy as the gossip columns claim, judging by your ensemble today,” Annette, my sister, remarks, flicking her perfectly red polished nail in my direction. Pete wraps his hand around my waist and pulls me closer to his side, slightly behind him, as if to shield me from her venomous words.

  “What are you talking about?” I question, looking from my parents to Annette.

  “Why don’t you sit down dear,” my mother suggests. She doesn’t look me in the eye, too focused on her sensible footwear.

  “Tell me,” I demand, my confidence is stripped from me.

  “Sit down, honey,” my mother says, more firmly this time. Nevertheless, I’m rooted to my spot and I weakly shake my head at her request.

  “Oh, for fucks sake, stop coddling the girl. Paul Rodriguez wrote an article about your recent marital problems. Here.” My dad thrusts a newspaper at me and I reach for it only to gasp at what is written.

  Heiress wife of Yankee’s starting short-stop and go to homerun champ, spends days in posh suite at The Plaza.

  Is there trouble in paradise?

  Elizabeth Lillian Montgomery-McGrath, wife of one of our favorite star short-stops and king of the bat, Peter McGrath, spends several nights in a posh suite at The Plaza. Details have not officially been released by the family, and Publicists are keeping the situation quiet, but the proof is in the pictures. Hours after a racy photo of McGrath surface wife, Elizabeth, hires a moving company to remove all personal effects from their shared apartment.

  I can’t look at anymore of the paper. I throw it on the ground as my body starts to shake. What the fuck is wrong with people? That picture was supposed to be hidden and buried forever, never to resurface. What the hell happened? My father grunts and my eyes narrow on him. I decide this is all of his fault.

  “You,” I point at him. “You did this. You fucked me up and you fucked up my life with your stupid contract,” I scream. My father steps up to me with anger that I haven’t seen in years glittering in his black eyes.

  Before I can move, my father grabs me by my throat and hauls me over to him, our noses almost touching and my feet just skimming the floor. I claw at his hands, gasping for air.

  “You are nothing but trash, made by gutter trash, so I sold you to trash. You’re worthless and you’re cut off,” he growls in my face. Then, as suddenly and as quickly as he was upon me, he’s gone and on the ground.

  “Touch my wife again and I’ll kill you,” Pete threatens, hovering above my father who is on his back, holding his cheek. Pete’s voice is low but menacing and I don’t miss the flash of fear that crosses over my father’s face.

  “No more money for either of you. You’re cut off. See how that goes. I’ll be informing my friends that our contract is null and void.” My father stands, straightening his suit and wiping the non-existent dust off, trying to reclaim some dignity.

  “Why are you repeating yourself? This is nothing new Joseph,” Pete barks out a harsh laugh.

  “Daddy, isn’t that a bit harsh?” Annette pipes up from the loveseat, unaffected by my father’s physical abuse. The fact that she still calls the man daddy to his face grates on my nerves. What grown ass, married woman calls her father Daddy?

  “No. This little bitch isn’t even my daughter. I don’t owe you shit,” he yells, pointing a finger in my direction. I blink at his words and stumble backward as Pete wraps his arms around my waist to hold me up.

  “Out. All of you. Get the fuck out of my house,” Pete roars. I watch as my mother and sister pale. My father and Christopher, my brother-in-law, look bored and, without ceremony, they leave us alone.

  In just weeks, my world has been rocked, shattered, destroyed and now obliterated. My father isn’t my father, which means my mother had an affair. For some sick reason, I smile at that. Seems the asshole couldn’t control everything she did. I should be scared that he’s cut me off, but I’m not. Grammy Lillian has more money than my father and she wouldn’t cut me off. She loves me unconditionally. Aside from all of that, I have an education I can go out and work for my money if I need to.

  “Libby, are you okay?” Pete’s eyes scan my throat and I place my hand on his cheek to stop him from his assessment.

  “I think I am. That was a lot to take in,” I admit. He nods, his face twisting in agony.

  “Can we talk for a minute?” He asks. I nod and allow him to walk us to my room, where we settle next to each other on my small chaise lounge.

  “I refuse to hide anything from you again,” he begins. I close my eyes, bracing for what I know will be even more devastating than the news I have just received; but I don’t want us to hide anything from each other again either.

  “When you left and I was looking for you, I went to your father’s office. I was so angry—angry at myself for doing what I did, and angry at your father for giving him the power to make me feel that way, making me feel powerless. I went to him and he told me about your paternity. Apparently, your mother had a short affair with a driver they had.” He blows out a breath of a
ir and rubs his hands on his face before continuing.

  “That’s when I told him to shove his contract up his ass and he informed me he was going to cut you off. I also told him not to ever contact you again. I didn’t think having someone so hateful in your life was needed.”

  I stare at Pete, stunned—completely and totally stunned beyond belief. This means he could lose his dream. That realization hits me like a ton of bricks. He could be traded or, if whoever knew about the contract felt like being an asshole, he could be ousted and blackballed. The media would have a field day with the whole debacle. Just the thought of the media brings up emotions about the article that lays haphazardly on the floor somewhere in the living room.

  “The article, there will be blowback,” I point out.

  “Don’t give a shit, Libby Baby. I care about two things in this life. I care about you and I care about baseball. I’ve put baseball before you for far too long. If it ain’t in the cards for me from now on, then that’s the way it is. We have plenty of money, so we’ll never have to worry, even if we never see a penny from Grammy Lillian. I’ve invested every dime I’ve ever made. It’s time to focus on us.”

  There’s that word again – us. It fills me with fear and excitement simultaneously.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I admit.

  “Say you’ll put all this bullshit behind us and we’ll move forward, together.”

  I nod. I don’t want to beat a dead horse. If we sat around and rehashed our fucked up seven year marriage, we would only be hurting each other over and over again.

  It would do neither of us any good.

  If Pete somehow loses his formal contract with the team, it will devastate him. Although he’s telling me he doesn’t care, I know that he does. He wouldn’t have stayed with me for seven years, feeling the way he felt, had his career meant nothing. I won’t let him lose his spot on the team, a spot I know for sure he has earned through blood, sweat, and tears. I am going to stand next to my man and we are going to weather this storm and fight the media the only way we can—by being blissfully happy and ignoring them.