Forced Play for Libby (Men of Baseball #3)

by Hayley Faiman

  Libby’s body softens as I slowly glide in and out, enjoying the feel of the lazy thrusts after such a hard release.

  “Pete,” she finally murmurs. I look into her blue eyes and take her in.

  Vulnerable.

  Gorgeous.

  Mine.

  “Liked that you moved in here, baby,” I whisper.

  “That’s what all this was about? Me moving my clothes into your closet?” Her voice raises slightly and I can’t help but smile. Fucking adorable.

  “No, sweet baby. This was because I couldn’t stop thinking about this sweet cunt all morning and I had to have it. Then I come home and you’re all soapy and wet in the tub, your tits floating like a fucking beacon,” I admit, sliding out of her and stepping out of the tub to shed my wet clothes. I grab a towel and wrap her soaking wet body up so that she doesn’t get sick.

  “You’re horrible. You know that, don’t you?” she asks. I just smile before picking her up and carrying her to the bed. I lay her down in the middle and climb in next to her.

  “Let’s just lie in bed and fuck all day long,” I suggest. She giggles. She’s so damned pretty when she smiles.

  “I can’t. Grammy Lillian is hosting a family dinner tonight and I promised her I would endure my parents with her,” she admits on a sigh.

  “I thought you were done with your father? I don’t want you seeing that man, ever.” I say as I trace her lips with my index finger.

  “I miss my mother and, I guess, even my sister, a little. Maybe things have died down and my father can be civil?”

  I growl in frustration.

  “Fine. I’m going with you,” I concede. If she’s going, there’s no way in fuck I’m letting that man anywhere near her without being right by her side.

  “You’ve never gone before, Pete. Just because we’re working on us, that doesn’t mean you have to endure a family dinner.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. This fucking crazy woman.

  “I’m your husband. I’m going,” I bark. She jumps slightly but then wraps her arms around my middle and hugs me. Immediately, all of my frustration melts away.

  “Thank you, baby. Please don’t punch my dad out,” she begs. I chuckle.

  “I’ll try, but that fuckhead pisses me off,” I admit.

  Libby doesn’t respond. Instead, she places a kiss on my chest and then crawls up and places another soft one on my lips, my cheek, and then she sucks my diamond studded earring between her lips.

  “I’ll give you whatever you want if you promise not to get into a fight tonight,” she whispers sweetly. I shiver from the implications.

  “What if I said I wanted to fuck that sweet ass of yours, baby?” I ask, expecting her to tell me to go to hell.

  “You’d make it feel good, right?” she asks, her eyes wide and so innocent looking.

  I practically choke at her answer. I’ve wanted that ass since the second I met her, but Libby was a virgin. Even now, her experience is completely limited to what we’ve done; and though I’ve pounded that sweet pussy of hers pretty fucking hard a few times, I don’t know if she’d be capable of taking me in her ass, yet.

  “That interest you, Libby?” I ask, my heart pounding like a jackhammer in my chest.

  “I… yeah it does. Is it wrong?” Her blue eyes widen and she chews on her bottom lip with anxiety. I take her head in my hands and lightly brush my lips over hers.

  “No, sweet baby. Nothing we do in this bed, or anywhere else, is wrong. Ever. I’ll take you there. Fuck, it would be a goddamned honor that you’d give that to me. You really want to do that, then we’ll prepare you for it.”

  “Prepare?” she asks, her voice laced with confusion. It’s so damn cute. I wipe her bottom lip with the pad on my thumb, enjoying the way her eyes melt a bit at the touch.

  “Yeah, baby. We’ll use some toys and stretch you a little. I don’t want to hurt you,” I say. She shivers and I don’t know whether it’s from fear or excitement. Maybe it’s from both—hopefully.

  “Okay,” she whispers.

  “How about when we come home tonight, we’ll play a little?”

  “Play?”

  “You’ll like it,” I whisper, sliding my hands down to cup her ass.

  “Oh, okay, yeah,” she grins. I lightly slide my finger through her crack, massaging her sweet ass.

  “That’s, wow…” She blows out a breath and pushes back against my finger.

  “No, I’m not going inside there just yet. Tonight.” I lightly crack my palm on her ass and roll out from beneath her.

  “You’re mean,” she huffs, sitting up on the bed. Her tits sit proud and her nipples are hard as hell, driving me insane. I don’t even think she realizes just how much.

  “You’re the fucking devil dressed up in a sinful package,” I say. She narrows her eyes before she smiles.

  “Let’s get ready,” she grins. Together we walk into our closet and begin to get dressed to have a family dinner with her father—a man I truly despise.

  MY MICHAEL KORS FIT AND flare dress feels like it weighs a hundred pounds as I zip it up in the back. It is beautiful, one hundred percent silk, and made in Italy. The dark, hot pink color looks flawless with my creamy pale skin and dark hair. It is sleeveless and so high cut on the neck, a necklace wouldn’t work even if I wanted one. It fits snug from top to waist and then has a dramatic pleated flair that ends at just a few inches above my knees.

  I feel like a little girl in it, even when I slide my feet into the gold metallic, high back collared, Christian Louboutin, five inch heels. I leave my hair down and slightly wild with curls. My makeup is classic evening—heavier than a normal daytime wear, but not too flashy. I’m dressed like the little dolly my family expects and nothing like the woman I have been transforming into lately. Happy, healthy, casual, fun, and loved.

  “What are these?” Pete asks from the closet, walking out with the dresses I recently purchased from the clubwear store.

  “Dresses I decided to buy on a whim the other day in the Bronx,” I answer matter-of-factly as I switch from my daytime purse to a sweet little Alexander McQueen clutch. I love McQueen clutches. They are so badass.

  “Then why are you wearing that ugly ass shit when you have these sexy things hanging in your closet?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowed as if he truly cannot understand why I wouldn’t wear a dress my ass and tits literally fall out of to a family dinner.

  “Pete, those are clubbing dresses. A dress I would wear to a World Series party or something, not a family dinner,” I gasp.

  “Then we’ll go clubbing after dinner.”

  I gape at him. He is completely, dead, freaking serious, and I can’t fathom why on earth he would think that clubwear would be even remotely appropriate to wear to Grammy Lillian’s mansion for a five course dinner—complete with proper utensils.

  “Pete, I cannot wear those to Grammy Lillian’s. It’s not appropriate,” I try to explain.

  Pete doesn’t listen to me. He studies the dresses and puts them all away, except for a royal blue, skin tight bandage dress that I can’t even wear with panties. I don’t deny it would look hot as shit with these shoes, but I can’t possibly wear that to a family dinner. I would look like… well… I would look slutty.

  “Grammy Lillian would love it if you wore what you wanted to her house. The only people that would give a shit would be your dad and that weasel brother-in-law, who I’ve caught one to many times staring at your tits.”

  “Pete, you’re insane. Christopher doesn’t look at me. He’s so far up my sister’s ass, it isn’t even funny,” I say, still staring at the dress. Apparently, just looking at it isn’t good enough because Pete walks behind me and starts to unzip the Kors, sliding it off of my body. I shiver when his thumbs hook in the waist of my panties, dragging them down my thighs. It’s as if he knows the dress will be so tight that panties aren’t an option.

  “He isn’t anywhere near your sisters ass, Libby Baby. My guess is, he’s fucking his
secretary behind her back because your sister will only lie in the missionary position. She’s fucking frigid as shit.”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say, Pete,” I reprimand, trying to hide my smile as I step into the dress. Pete helps shimmy it up my body.

  “It’s the truth. Those people have more pent up sexual tension than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

  I turn and raise a brow in question and he grins shaking his head.

  “Except for us, when we were denying what we both wanted,” he pauses for a second and then he whistles. “Fuck, sweet baby, you look so goddamned hot in that dress. I don’t want to traumatize Grammy Lillian, but I might have to find a dark corner and fuck that sweet pussy sometime between courses.”

  I throw my head back laughing and smile at the crazy man. Pete doesn’t laugh, though. Instead, he stares at me with dark heated green eyes as he buttons up his light gray shirt. I shiver after he tucks it into his charcoal slacks and buckles his belt.

  Fuck, but my husband is hot as shit. He has a little gel in his faux hawk, instead of the usual mess he sports. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, and his tattoos seem brighter against the light gray of his shirt, the colors swirling round and popping.

  “I- I bought you something, baby,” he whispers shyly, taking something out of his pocket.

  I gasp when he suddenly falls down to one knee and pops open a ring box. Nestled inside is a ring—no, it’s more than just a ring. It’s a statement and it’s unfuckingbelievable. It is at least a five carat, emerald cut, pink diamond in a rose gold setting. Large diamonds wrap halfway down the band, off either side of the center, and there's a rose gold wedding band, with large pink diamonds that wrap completely around. It is the most beautiful set of rings I have ever seen in my entire life. They are both unique and so very gorgeous.

  “Oh, my God, Peter. It’s so beautiful,” I mutter, unable to take my eyes off of the beautiful jewelry.

  Pete grabs my hand and pulls my original ring off, almost angrily throwing it onto the floor, before sliding the new ones on my finger. He lowers his head and lightly kisses the set before standing up and wrapping his hands in the back of my hair. His lips lightly brush mine once, twice, and then his tongue sweeps across the seam of my mouth. I slowly open up for him, and then his tongue slides deep inside of my mouth and lazily circles mine. I moan when one of his hands slides down my back and beneath my dress to lightly caress the crack of my ass.

  “I love you, Libby Baby. You want to renew our vows, I’ll do it. Whatever you want, baby, it’s all yours.” He exhales as his forehead rests against mine, his hand clutching my bare ass.

  “I just want you. I want this. I want us. Happy and together,” I admit, closing my eyes.

  “You have it, baby. You have my heart. You have everything of mine in the palm of your hands. Soon, your belly will be full of my baby, too,” he continues. This isn’t the first time he’s mentioned children, and it makes me feel warm and happy.

  “Let’s go to dinner,” I murmur. Unable to properly communicate the emotions swirling inside of me, I avoid them all together for the moment.

  “Yeah, cause then I’m taking my sweet baby out on the town. I’ll probably even fuck you somewhere indecent,” he grins as he steps back and winks at me.

  “In an indecent physical location, or an indecent place on my body?” I ask, arching a brow as I gather my purse off of the bed and shimmy my dress back down over my ass.

  “All of the above, Libby Baby. Haven’t you figured out what kind of dirty old man you have yet?”

  We laugh as we step onto the elevator and I wrap my arm around his middle, cuddling closer to my dirty old man.

  He is dirty, too.

  A dirty talker.

  A dirty fucker, who likes other people to hear me scream his name when I come.

  The things he does and wants to do to me…

  I shiver.

  Fuck, but I love his dirty ass.

  Grammy Lillian’s home is exactly as Pete described it—a mansion, complete with staff. Yet, I am more comfortable here, in her mansion, than I have ever been in my own parents’ home. I wonder, off handedly, if I’ll be like her when I’m older, with a staff full of people to take care of all of my affairs. I hope not. I enjoy cooking and cleaning our apartment; though, a three story mansion with a dozen rooms would probably be too much for me to actually enjoy on the cleaning front.

  I walk straight to the bar in the sitting room, knowing my parents and sister have already arrived as their cars were parked in the circular drive when we pulled up. I need a cocktail.

  “Would you like a whiskey, Pete?” I call out when he returns from putting our coats and my purse away.

  “Yeah, baby, that’d be good,” he says softly. I finish pouring a 7 and 7 for myself and then pour his Whiskey—neat.

  “Should you be drinking while on your medications?” My father asks.

  Father. After finding out he isn’t my biological father, I wonder if should still think of him as a parent. He’s always been a firm disciplinarian, but he’s never been affectionate, warm, or caring toward me. I used to think it was my fault; now I know it is because I’m not his own flesh and blood.

  “I’m actually doing very well and haven’t needed any anti-depressants and sleeping pills for a few weeks. Dr. Kramer lowered and eventually took me off of them. I'm medication free,” I say, holding up my drink. I take a sip before handing Pete his cocktail.

  “What happens when you think your life has fallen apart again, Elizabeth? Do you slit your wrists next time instead of just uprooting yourself and running away?” he asks, his eyes stone cold.

  “That’s enough, Joseph. Libby is doing fantastic. This is exactly the kind of shit she doesn’t need,” Pete barks, wrapping his hand around my neck.

  “But she needs a man who fucks around on her? She needs to look like his whore?”

  I want to be surprised that my father has pulled the whore card so early in the evening, but I’m not—not really. I wish I could be disappointed, but it’s normal for him—to point out flaws in all people. I want scream that I’m not the only person that has been stepped out on and that at least Pete didn’t bring home his love child for me to raise, but I don’t say that. Voicing those truths would just hurt my mother; and aside from all of the bullshit, I love my mother deeply.

  “No, she doesn’t, and that’s why I’m committed to changing—to being one hundred percent faithful and trying this marriage, truly trying. If you ever call Libby a whore again, I’ll flatten your ass, consequences be damned. She looks like a normal twenty-seven-year-old woman, is what she looks like— not some freaky grown up doll you tried to make her. She looks like my fucking wife.”

  My father stands speechless and dumbfounded while Pete grabs my hand and marches us out of the sitting room and toward the receiving room, where the rest of the family is. Annette and Christopher are sitting about six inches apart on the love seat. No part of them is touching each other, and their backs are ramrod straight. My mother is in a chair with her ankles crossed, looking as poised as ever in a peach colored pantsuit. Grammy Lillian is relaxing in the corner of the sofa, taking everybody in with a scowl on her face while wearing Chanel—as usual.

  “Darling. You look fantastic,” Grammy says, standing up and wrapping me in her warm embrace.

  “Thank you, Grammy,” I murmur in her ear.

  “Peter, you’ve done well with our girl. She looks happy,” I overhear Grammy whisper to Pete as she hugs him as well.

  “Elizabeth,” my sister nods coolly. I want to roll my eyes, but I smile instead.

  “Christopher,” I greet. I then watch as his eyes roam up and down my body, pausing at my breasts, just as Pete said he would. I put my hand over my mouth to hide my smile.

  “Told you he stares at your tits,” Pete whispers in my ear, causing me to giggle.

  “Hey, Christopher, doesn’t Libby look fuckin’ gorgeous tonight? We’re going out clubbing af
ter dinner, you guys should join us,” Pete offers. I pinch his side, trying to hold in my laughter.

  Christopher looks down at his feet and my sister gapes at Pete.

  “We aren’t children anymore, Peter. We can’t just go clubbing,” my sister says, her eyes wide with disbelief that a couple with no children, in their late-twenties, would want to go clubbing.

  “We aren’t going to a strip club, Annette, pull the stick outta your ass,” Pete mumbles.

  My sister gasps while I begin to laugh, unable to hide it any longer. My sister really does have a stick up her ass.

  “Dinner time,” Grammy Lillian cries. Suddenly, all conversation is shelved while we walk into the gigantic dining room.

  Pete and I sit next to each other and across from Annette and Christopher. My parents sit across from each other, my mother next to me, and my father next to Annette. Grammy Lillian has taken her rightful place at the head of the table, and I’m sure my father is seething that he isn’t offered the spot, being he’s the eldest man in the room.

  “So, tell me, Elizabeth, what have you been up to? I’m sorry I haven’t called as much as I should have. I wanted to give you and Peter time to adjust,” my mother says softly.

  “I’ve started doing Yoga; and I’ve just been relaxing and enjoying spending time with friends, and Pete,” I say, taking a sip of soup. When Pete hears his name, he slides his hand to the inside of my thigh and up the middle of my legs. I suppress the urge to groan when his hand cups my pussy.

  “Oh, how lovely. I have been wanting to do Yoga. Can we take a class together? It would be so much fun. Maybe Annette could join us,” my mother practically squeals. I smile through clenched teeth as Pete dips one finger, inside of me.

  “Oh, yes, I must get in on this. I have been doing Yoga the past six months and I am adoring it,” Grammy Lillian pipes up.