Forced Play for Libby (Men of Baseball #3)

by Hayley Faiman

  “Call your publicist and the teams. Set up a meeting. I know they all tried to run Maggie over during the sex video scandal, but I think we can spin this a totally different way with the right press release,” I say, my mind going a million miles an hour.

  “Does this mean we’re going to put the bullshit behind us?” He asks, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his contacts.

  “Yes, Pete. It also means that we’re going to come out on top. Set those up.” I almost snap but I stop myself.

  “You were going to snap at me weren’t you?” He asks, a sexy grin on his lips.

  “Just call,” I murmur. He throws back his head, laughing as he holds the phone up to his ear. I see his dimples peeking out and it makes my pussy quiver.

  God.

  Stupid beautiful man.

  I decide to change my barely there dress into something more comfortable. I start to stand, but Pete grabs me by the waist and pulls me onto his lap while he quietly talks to Jolene, his publicist. Pete’s hand wraps around my exposed upper thigh and his thumb makes soft circles on my skin, sending chills over my entire body. I lie my head back in the crook of his neck and enjoy the sensual brush of his thumb and the deep timbre of his voice as it vibrates in his neck and chest against my cheek and body.

  “It’s all set, sweetheart. Meeting is tomorrow morning, since we aren’t playing. All the suits will be in the office,” he murmurs. I moan my response before kissing the warm skin of his neck.

  “Now I need to make good on my promise,” he says. I raise my head and look at him, completely confused.

  “I’m going to lick your pussy until you’re screaming and crying out my name. Then I’m going to fuck you nice and slow and make you come all over my cock. Maybe I’ll have you ride me. Would you like that?” he whispers against my skin.

  Pete’s hand drifts from my thigh to between my legs. Lightly, he starts stroking my center as his lips touch my neck soft and sweet.

  “Pete,” I gasp, arching my chest and letting my head fall backward again, giving him more access.

  “Yeah, sweet baby? You’d like all that wouldn’t you?” he groans. I purr as my response and spread my legs even wider.

  Pete doesn’t hesitate to move my body where he wants to, and he gently lifts and places me on the bed, legs spread wide for him. I watch through hooded lids as he lowers to the ground, onto his knees before me. His tattooed hands spread my thighs wider and I watch in fascination as his colored skin rests against my pale white. The letters spelling out Cock Shot on his knuckles.

  “What does it mean?” I ask.

  I have always been curious, but never felt comfortable enough to ask him. Pete’s eyes look up to mine in question and I take my finger and run it over his inked knuckles, across the letters displayed against my thighs.

  “It’s a type of fastball, a high fastball, and the sweetest kind. My favorite one. I got this ink when I hit my first World Series cock shot. It earned me my first homerun during the World Series,” he explains.

  I bite my lip at his horrible grammar but decide to ignore it, especially since he’s seconds from using that glorious tongue of his for more than just talking.

  “Can I lick your sweet pussy now, sweetheart?”

  I roll my eyes and laugh before I gasp as his tongue slides through my already wet center.

  My arms shoot out and try to find purchase on the sofa’s cushions, trying to brace myself against the beauty that is taking place between my legs. Pete’s tongue takes one long swipe through my center before swirling around my aching clit. Then he flicks it once and draws it between his lips. I sigh when one of his hands leave my legs to tug on my nipple and the other slides beneath his mouth and between my legs.

  Gasping, I feel his finger slide inside my pussy. Instead of the usual deep, hard, thrusts of his fingers that I am starting to become accustomed to, he gently slides in and out of me. My body feels as if it is slowly heating and melting all at the same time with each pump. I don’t know whether I want to scream, cry, or dig my nails into the messy strip of hair down the center of his head and pull.

  “Pete, I need more, please—oh god,” I pant, arching my hips as his tongue flicks my clit over and over.

  I screw my eyes closed tightly when he adds a second finger inside of me with one swift motion, curling them in just the right way. I explode into a million tiny pieces.

  Pete slowly pulls his fingers out of me and places a kiss on my lower belly before standing. His hands grasp my waist and he yanks my body closer to his before bending down and placing a soft kiss on my lips. I trace my tongue over his lips and taste myself on him, it turns me on even more, because it is a combination of us. He picks me up and carries me over to the bed, settling his hips between my thighs.

  Without speaking a word, I feel Pete enter my body. His cock feels huge sliding into my swollen pussy. I wrench my lips from his and cry out as he stretches me. I inhale sharply when he is fully seated inside of me and I chew on my bottom lip. He tugs my lip down with his thumb before rubbing it as his eyes stare deeply into mine. The green seems to swirl with something deep and profound on his mind, but instead of sharing what he’s thinking, he just smirks and pulls out of me before gently thrusting back inside. His movements are slow, soft, and tender even. I am made breathless by the beauty of the moment. Wrapping my legs around his hips, I try to meet his strokes.

  “My sweet baby,” he mumbles, burying his face in my neck as his hands slide up my back and fist my hair.

  “Pete,” I moan, my hips moving faster and harder.

  I am unable to control myself. His body feels so good pressed into mine, and his cock—god I could see myself becoming obsessed with his thick cock. For a fleeting moment I think about all the years we’ve missed having this, being together like this, how I could have been obsessing over this cock all that time.

  “Don’t think about the past,” Pete mumbles into my neck. The words are muffled, but I understand them easily.

  “I…” I can’t finish my thought because he’s right. Pete tugs my hair and I feel the burn in my scalp as my eyes catch his.

  “I love you. That shit is over. The past is over. I was a dick and you should leave me,” he says, sincerity in his eyes. I feel his thumb press against my clit as he begins to thrust a bit harder. “I won’t let you leave now, though. You’re fuckin’ stuck with me, Libby.”

  I come on a cry as tears prick my eyes. A few wild glides of his hips later and Pete fills my body with a roar as his back arches. He gathers me in his arms and picks me up, still buried inside of me, and rolls us over so that he is underneath me and I am sprawled over his chest. Pete’s hands lazily run up and down my back, through my hair and down to just above my ass.

  “I won’t be a different person overnight, Libby,” he finally says.

  I stiffen in his hold and he shakes me slightly before finishing his thought.

  “I don’t want anybody else, don’t worry about that. Don’t ever worry about that, not anymore. I just want you to know that my personality, it isn’t going to just change.” He blows out a puff of air and I giggle above him and prop my chin on his chest.

  “What? You’re not going to stop brooding and being a total asshole before the playoffs? You aren’t going to turn into a romantic and skip in the fields with me?”

  Pete’s hand sharply taps my ass with a quick spank and he shakes his head.

  “I don’t brood and I’ll never be romantic. I don’t even know how to be. I’ll always be an asshole during playoffs and the series, and I doubt that will ever change. And sweetheart, I wouldn’t skip through a field even if I was paid to. But I can promise I’ll always consider your feelings before I do something, and I’ll be yours—forever faithful to you, sweet baby. Only to you.

  “I fucked up so much, but one thing was always consistent. I have always, always wanted you. Even though I was a dick, I have always loved you. I just didn’t know how to deal with all that other shit and I made
the worst fucking decisions on how to deal with it. No matter how guilty or shitty I felt, I didn’t know how to stop. I felt like I was sinking.”

  His admissions do something to me. They free a part of me. All these years, I thought he hated me, but he didn’t—not really. He hated his situation, he hated how he felt, and he thought I was in on it with my father. He hated that. But me? He never hated me, and I can’t help but feel relieved.

  Grammy Lillian is right. There is a chance for happiness here. I am not going to dwell on the past, because I want the gorgeous happiness that I think Pete can offer me.

  “I want to completely forgive you; I want to forget everything, but I can’t. I do, however, want to start anew. From today on, I think we can explore each other. We are not the same twenty-year-old kids that got married seven years ago. We’ve grown and we’ve changed,” I say softly as I trace the shell of his ear with my finger, landing on his huge diamond stud. “You have bigger diamonds than I do,” I state, causing Pete to chuckle.

  “Starting over. That works for me. I swear to Christ, baby, you’ll never regret it—not a day in your life.” His lips capture mine in a sweet kiss, ignoring my comment about his earrings, before he speaks again.

  “I’ll upgrade your ice, sweetheart.” He touches my wedding ring with his finger. It is bigger than most people would ever dream of, but it’s tainted and I can’t help but feel giddy at the whole idea of starting over.

  I close my eyes as my body remains pressed to Pete’s strong chest. His big hands gently stroking my back, and my hair as he lulls me to sleep. I am content. I am not perfect and I don’t expect Pete to be either. For the first time in my life, I love the fact that we aren’t perfect. It’s freeing.

  The past we share is ugly and could easily be judged by others. They could call me stupid—once a cheater always a cheater—and our circumstances are full of betrayal, hurt and pure immaturity. My father dangled something that seemed so bright, shiny, and unattainable at a starving boy and he snatched it up without taking anything else into consideration, like how it would make him feel in the light of day.

  How would any man feel by being handed something rather than earning it? For Pete, it was simple, he felt like a fake. He felt worthless and he lashed out by withholding affection from me and seeking attention elsewhere.

  It was wrong. I think he if could go back to twenty-year-old Pete and explain shit to him, our lives could have been supremely different; but that’s the thing with growing older and wiser, you learn too late to fix past mistakes. All you can do is try to rectify them for the present and future.

  I could easily wash my hands of him and be done. He wouldn’t fight me and I know it, but I wouldn’t be happy, either. Pete has held my heart, for whatever reason, since I was just a girl in college. I have no doubt that if my father hadn’t dangled that contract in front of him, we would have still gotten married anyway. Granted, we would have been much happier, but wishing and hoping for shit that cannot be changed is pointless.

  Tomorrow will be the beginning of a new day for us, and a new life.

  THE SOUND OF RINGING STARTLES me from a dead sleep, but I can’t open my eyes—they just won’t freaking work. Pete groans next to me. I roll over and snuggle into his side, enjoying the warmth of his naked body against mine. His arm drapes over my waist and I relish in the heaviness of his body against me. I can feel his chest rumbling under my cheek, but I am too content to care what he’s talking about or to whom.

  “Fuck, are you serious with me right now?” My body is propelled to the side and I almost roll off of the bed as Pete sits straight up.

  He fumbles around on the nightstand, reaching for the remote before he flicks on the television. He quickly punches in some buttons and it lands on a celebrity gossip channel. I look from him to the television and suddenly I feel sick.

  There, on the television for millions of people to see, is a photo of me, Pete, and the whore from the kissing picture that sent me over the edge. Pete throws the phone down and turns up the volume while I sit in shocked silence, the sheet wrapped around my naked chest.

  “Stay tuned. Tomorrow we’ll have an exclusive interview for you with the mistress of sexy Yankee, Pete McGrath. News broke yesterday that the star shortstop and homerun champion was cheating on his wife with the woman pictured. Her name has yet to be released to the public, but I will have that for you tomorrow, along with her exclusive interview on what really happened between her and the hot baseball star. I think we’re all feeling a bit sorry for the rail thin but gorgeous heiress, Elizabeth Montgomery-McGrath, right about now.”

  The gossip anchor pouts dramatically, her cherry red lipstick shining in the lights surrounding the camera before the show breaks for commercial. I narrow my eyes on the television and then turn to Pete.

  “Our meetings been moved up. Be ready in thirty minutes.” He throws the covers back and stands.

  “I need at least an hour and a half Pete,” I screech. He whirls around and his eyes narrow on me. I try to keep my gaze level with his instead of falling down to drool at his naked chest, or farther below.

  “You’ll be ready in thirty minutes, Libby,” he snaps.

  “I cannot be ready in thirty minutes, Peter,” I bark back at him. Pete leans forward and presses his fists into the bed, his face inches from mine.

  “Get. The. Fuck. Up. We. Leave. In. Thirty.” He sounds and looks fucking livid, so I decide that I can be ready in thirty minutes. I might look a disaster, but I can do it. I nod once and slide out of the bed. I start to rush by him to take a shower, but his hands around my waist stop me.

  “Pete, I have to get ready,” I whine, trying to push him off. The man is built like a fucking brick wall.

  “I’m sorry, Libby. I’m just really pissed—but not at you, not at all,” he says gently. I nod and look up, focusing my eyes on his.

  “Mean it, my sweet baby. Not pissed at you at all.” His voice softens even more as he dips his head down and places a kiss on my neck. One of his hands travels down and palms my ass.

  “Pete,” I gasp, feeling heat pool in my belly as my thighs start to quake.

  “Go get dressed, yeah?”

  “Yeah, okay,” I say softly. I turn to walk away, intent on being ready for him on time.

  A quick shower eats up eight of my thirty minutes, and my makeup another ten. I throw my hair into a bun on top of my head, which takes at least five minutes, and then I rush into the closet to find an outfit. I send a prayer up above that the moving company I hired also unpacked for me.

  I grab a plain, black, tight, knee length wrap dress. Usually, I would wear a camisole underneath, because it is extremely low cut, but I don’t have time to think about that today. I throw it on, praying my breasts stay where they are supposed to. Quickly, I snatch up my favorite black Christian Louboutin, five-inch heel pumps—with the gold studded accents on the heel. They are kick ass shoes and I feel like I could use the extra bit of confidence.

  My wedding ring catches my eye and I can’t help but smile at the huge diamond on my finger. It used to feel so heavy, so foreboding, but now I can hardly feel it. Maybe it is just me that feels lighter?

  “Pete, I’m ready,” I call out as I slowly stroll out of the bedroom and into the living room, where Pete should be.

  Pete went into his room to shower and change while I was getting ready in my own bedroom. Offhandedly, I decide that I need to rectify our living arrangements soon. I arrive in the living room and Pete is standing at the window, looking out over the city. It’s how he thinks, when he isn’t out hitting balls or working out in the gym.

  “Pete,” I call out again when he doesn’t turn around. He’s so lost in thought, he doesn’t even respond to the clicking of my heels on the floor. I hear a faint sound, like a grunt, and I continue to walk up to him, standing at his side as I face him.

  “We need to leave, Pete.” I say as I gently place my hand on his bicep. Slowly, he turns around. He doesn’t try to hide o
r mask the pain in his eyes as he looks down at me.

  “Why don’t you leave me, Libby? All this shit, it’s going to get so much worse. You should just go. Love or not, this publicity is going to eat us alive. They’re going to put shit out there that are lies, and then they’ll be truths mixed in there, too. I’m not a saint. I haven’t been a saint; all that could come out and, fuck, baby, it’s going to hurt when it does.”

  I grasp his hand in mine and place it on my chest, over my heart, so that he can feel its rapid pace inside of me. My heart beats and burns for him alone. My other hand cups his cheek and I stare into those moss green eyes, the same ones that captured me all those years ago—eyes that show the depth and pain he has endured, the mistakes he’s made, and the guilt he’s felt.

  “My heart beats for you, Pete. We’re going to go out there and we are going to stand together—united. If Maggie and Jackson can overcome a sex tape that exposed them, coming out of that stronger than ever, then we can get a handle on this before it becomes a media frenzy shit storm. I am not going to leave you, so let’s stop rehashing that shit to death. Put your balls back between your legs and let’s make this shit our bitch.” I smile sweetly and he blinks once before he throws his head back in laughter. I grin back at him as we walk toward the front door.

  Pete’s heavy arm drapes around my shoulders as we stroll into the elevator together. Once inside, he looks down on me, shifting his arm down around my middle. He pulls me closer to his side, pressing his lips against my temple.

  “You look beautiful, by the way.” His words are a soft murmur and I find I enjoy them almost as much as his usual gruffness.