Forced Play for Libby (Men of Baseball #3)

by Hayley Faiman

  “Don’t stop, baby—please, don’t stop,” Pete begs beneath me, his voice nothing but husk and sensuality.

  I do exactly as be pleads. I don’t stop. Even when his finger slides deep inside of me, somewhere new and forbidden—unexpected, but not unwanted, I don’t stop. Pete’s tongue fucks my pussy while his finger fucks my ass, and I purr, then moan with fucking delight. I want his cock, though. Christ, do I want his cock deep inside of me—right now.

  “I need your cock,” I groan.

  Pete doesn’t say a word. He slowly slides up from under my body and into a seated position, never taking his finger out from behind me. Then holds my hip with his free hand as I glide down on his hard cock. I don’t know when he stripped his pants, but I don’t care. Right now, this is fucking bliss. I close my eyes and sit down fully on his hard cock. With his finger deep inside of my ass, I am so full, I can hardly breathe.

  “You good, sweet baby?” He rasps, his breath hot and heavy against my collarbone.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” I murmur back before lifting up and sliding back down on his perfect cock.

  Pete takes that as his cue to gain back his control. I can’t deny that it is one of the things I love about him, how he plays my body to perfection every single time he’s inside of me. I whimper when he thrusts up, deep inside of me, and slams his finger inside from behind at the same time.

  God its good—hurts so damn good.

  “I’m going to stretch you a little more, baby, can you handle it?” He growls, never letting up on his deep hard thrusts from both angles.

  “Yeah. Fuck, yeah,” I moan in a voice that doesn’t even sound like my own. Deep and raspy. Sexy as shit, too.

  Pete slides another finger in my ass. Once the pain from the stretch subsides, I can’t help the desire that takes over. Jesus, I have to fuck him. I can’t stand his slow punishing thrusts. I place my hands on his chest and I ride him, hard. It doesn’t take long before I’m coming. My whole body tense, pulsing, clenching tight… everywhere.

  Pete must feel it—too tight—too everything. He gasps as his eyes widen and he comes hard and long inside of me, as if it took him by surprise. Our eyes lock and, once our bodies are spent, he slides his fingers out from behind me a lies down, pulling me onto his chest, his cock still buried inside of me.

  “Love you, sweet baby,” he whispers against my hair.

  Exhausted from the evening, my parents, multiple orgasms, the stupid little waitress, and Michelle, I slip into a deep sleep against my husband’s colorful, broad chest. Never happier, never healthier, never safer.

  “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?” VICTORIA asks as we sit at the pedicure stations in the spa.

  I’m supremely uncomfortable. Pete was serious when he said he was going to take my ass, and he purchased a few butt plugs. Yeah, butt plugs. At least he bought pretty ones that are jeweled, so if I get into a car accident, my ass will be pretty when they have to rip my clothes off and perform surgery.

  I’m currently wearing the middle sized one, and tonight he said he wanted me to graduate to the largest size. They have a big game and he’ll be home tomorrow, prepared to celebrate a victory. If he doesn’t win, I hope he doesn’t try to take his frustrations out on my ass. Though, at this point—I might actually like that.

  “I have a butt plug in,” I murmur. If anybody will understand, it will be Victoria. She always bitches that she has to give Carlos anal, but I know the dirty bitch loves it.

  “Is Pete going to take your ass, or are you just playing?” She asks, arching an eyebrow.

  “He’s going to take it,” I say with a grin.

  “You dirty bitch,” she laughs, which in turn makes me laugh. Before we know it, tears are leaking out of both of our eyes.

  “Seriously, though, is your relationship solid? That’s a very emotional thing to do.” Her face sobers and she smiles softly. I love how much she loves me.

  “We’re good. I’m good. I’ve been seeing Dr. Kramer, my psychiatrist, and I’m off all of my medication. I have been happy and healthy, if you couldn’t tell,” I point to my stomach and the now fifteen pounds I have gained.

  “You look good, girl, always have—even when you were skeletor,” she smiles widely.

  “How’s Maggie doing? Is she going to be at the game cocktail party tonight?” I ask changing the subject.

  Maggie has been sick, really sick, with her pregnancy. Amalie called a few days ago and said that she was in the hospital with dehydration. I’ve been wanting to visit her; but every time I call her, she’s too tired to even answer the phone, so I’ve given her space. I know that when I feel like shit, I don’t want a bunch of people hovering over me. Pete told me that Jackson confided in him last night. He’s worried that she’s going to lose the baby. She doesn’t eat and hardly drinks anything because everything that passes her lips makes her violently ill.

  “Amalie said she’d be there, even if we had break in at do it in her bedroom. I feel really badly for her. I don’t know what it’s like to be so sick. Both of my pregnancies were fairly easy. Amalie’s the same; a little morning sickness but nothing like poor Maggie’s been dealing with.”

  Once we leave the salon, I decide to get a little pick me up for Maggie and part ways with Victoria, promising to see her later this evening for the game. Since only David, Paul, and I will be able to drink cocktails, I’m going to pick up some delicious virgin drinks for the preggie and breastfeeding girls.

  I walk into a little baby boutique, which sends a pang of desperate need to my uterus as soon as I glide through the doors. It is all light blues, pinks, and creams. I want to get Maggie, Amalie, and Victoria a little something. I’m, of course, going to get Maggie and Amalie a big baby gift once their bundles arrive, but I like to shower my only friends with love and stuff, lots of stuff.

  “How can I help you?” The woman behind the counter asks.

  “I need to get a few baby gifts for some friends of mine.”

  “Do you know the gender of the babies?” She asks coolly, arching a brow. Crap. I don’t. I have no freaking clue, except for Victoria’s new baby boy. I don’t think Maggie knows yet, but Amalie hasn’t mentioned. I must look frightened or pale because the woman just smiles warmly.

  “We have plenty of gender neutral things. Come with me.”

  The saleswoman takes me to a section of the room that is so neutral, it looks like a pottery barn catalogue. I’m all about the pops of color—the fun, the exciting—and this shit looks like a sea of beige. Gross. I wrinkle my nose and turn to her, showing my distaste for the items.

  “You want some flash, maybe?” She asks. I nod my agreement.

  I follow behind her to a different part of the store and my eye catches a gorgeous navy blanket with little white anchors adorned all over it. The backside is the softest, red, minky dot fabric I have ever touched, and the whole blanket is trimmed with red satin. I die. I grab it and run my hands over the soft furry fabric.

  “That could be neutral,” the saleswoman suggests. I know that Amalie will love it. She’s rockabilly, and this just fits with her fifties pinup style.

  I spy a few adorable anchor onesies that could be paired with skirts or pants and grab those for her, too. Victoria is all about animal prints, so I grab a zebra print, soft, minky fabric blanket that is lined with turquoise and trimmed with turquoise satin all the way around. I hope Carlos doesn’t kill me, but turquoise is boy-ish right? I find complimenting onesies for that, too—solid zebra and leopard.

  It’s harder for Maggie, because she doesn’t have a particular style. She’s soft and gentle, and if I knew what she were having, it would be so easy to pick something out. I make my way toward the section of the store that is the same color as mashed potatoes, and know that Maggie will love the simplicity of the whites and creams. The blanket I find for her is a soft, plush, white blanket with white satin trim, nothing loud or flashy and all her. I pick out a few cream footie pajamas and then get some silver rattles, pretty pa
cifiers, and a silver spoon for each new baby.

  Every baby should be born with a silver spoon in their mouth, no matter their parent’s income.

  Dressed in a pair of dark rinse skinny jeans and a simple black, loose tank top, I slide into my bright red Jimmy Choo heels and grab the packages that I wrapped neatly in pretty paper, ready to leave for Maggie’s apartment for the game. While trying to juggle the packages and keys, my phone starts to buzz in my hand. Without looking at the name on the screen, I answer.

  “Elizabeth.” My father’s curt voice rings in my ear and makes me cringe.

  I lock my door and walk to the elevator, hoping against all hopes that the phone cuts out and I can blame it on bad reception. Unfortunately, it doesn’t. Without waiting for a response, my father continues.

  “As you know, I’ve cut you out of my money, but you’ll still be getting money from Lillian’s family. I couldn’t change that, unfortunately.” He slurs. My father drinks daily, but he doesn’t get drunk too often, unless he’s stressed.

  “Why do you hate me so much?” I ask, interrupting him, my heart beating hard against my chest.

  “Your mother fell in love with him and you are a product of that,” he says without emotion in his voice. I wonder if he holds any emotions at all.

  “I don’t want your money. Who was he? Does he know about me?” I ask. Though, I’m not sure why I’m even asking him, maybe because I know he’ll tell me the truth.

  “Our driver, for a while. He knew about you. Tried to talk your mother into leaving, but she wouldn’t go anywhere. She likes her time at the club and her expensive clothes too much to be a chauffer’s wife,” he snorts.

  I try to hold back the tears. I want to believe that my mother isn’t that shallow, but honestly, she probably is. My mother has never been without money; and although she receives a trust from Grammy Lillian’s parents, it isn’t enough to keep her dripping in diamonds and vacation homes all over the country and Europe. It would be enough for any other person on earth, but for her, she thrives on being the center of it all. She and Annette are very much alike. I’m suddenly extremely thankful that I am more like Grammy Lillian.

  “So this is it? You aren’t my dad anymore? All because I know the truth now?”

  My father barks a harsh laugh.

  “I’ve never really cared about you, Elizabeth. I needed you to be perfect to make me look good for the public. When you were off to college, I was ecstatic; but you weren’t dating and you were almost finished. No way in hell did I want you back in my house, and I didn’t want to pay for you anymore. I saw my opportunity when you brought that white trash thug home. A boy like him, he would have been happy to just be given the opportunity to have money, so I gave it to him. It killed two birds with one stone, and now it all works out even better in my favor.”

  I should be shocked. I should be hurt. I should be a lot of things, but I’m not. I’m numb. He has hurt me for so many years, with his sharp tongue and critical words, that I’m not even surprised he has never wanted anything to do with me. He doesn’t love me, and has seen me as nothing but a thorn in his side since the day I was born.

  “Please, don’t contact me again, Joseph,” I say, using his first name for the first time. It sounds foreign and bitter on my tongue, but I ignore it.

  “I need you to sign some documents at my attorney’s office Monday morning,” he demands.

  “I will be there,” I say before hanging up the phone on him.

  I drive to Maggie’s apartment in a daze. Once I am in the parking garage, I wake the hell up. Does it hurt that the only father I have ever known doesn’t love or want me? Hell yes, it does. Am I going to be depressed and upset about it? Maybe for a minute. Am I going to move on and survive? Hell yes.

  I have Pete and his love to guide me through all of this; but most importantly, I have wine in my purse and my girls along with Paul and David, are waiting for me.

  David opens the door with a grin and a hug, taking the packages from my hands. I adore how he and Paul are always at our girlie events. They always make them so much fun. I chuckle, thinking back to the World Series party last season when I watched them do a strip tease and get nasty on a table. It was sexy hot. So hot, in fact, I had to use my bullet vibrator when I got home later that night.

  “Maggie is sharing her saltines with us for appetizers,” Paul says, widening his eyes to show his disapproval without hurting Maggie’s feelings. The poor girl is lying on the couch looking pea soup green.

  “Well, that’s sweet. But not to worry. I came bearing wine and vodka for us non-preggies, and virgin drinks for the extremely non-virgins. I also put in an order for some delivery,” I say with a wide smile. I am immediately met with cheers.

  Paul snatches the booze and virgin drinks from me and marches off to the kitchen to get started as our bartender. I pass out the baby gifts to the new mommies and they all look at me with surprise. Then Maggie starts to cry. I used to hate criers, but the funny thing is, I’m becoming one of them now. Once the girls open the gifts, they oohh, aahh, and all tear up a little bit more, making me feel extremely happy and yet a little uncomfortable.

  Luckily, the food arrives, and so do Paul and David from the kitchen with cocktails. I am saved by booze and food. The rest of the evening we spend just talking, laughing, drinking, enjoying each other and our friendship. I love these girls and boys. Without them, this world of mine would be extremely lonely and sad. I love how we complement each other and take care of one another. I wouldn’t have survived without the people that surround me. I don’t need my father, not when I have all of these people that truly love and care for me.

  I used to wonder how Pete could survive without having a family, and now I know. He’s as close to the guys on his team as I am to this group of people. Family doesn’t mean you’re related by blood to somebody; it’s a bond that you have with a group of people, and these people are our family.

  Watching the game, I hold my breath and wait for the bottom of the ninth. The guys need to win because, honestly, as many days as I’ve been wearing this butt plug in my ass, I need some damn relief.

  Nobody told me it was going to be a constant turn on.

  We all cheer when our men are the victors. I take a cab home and promise to have Pete bring me by sometime the next evening to pick up my abandoned car. Right now, I need to go home and prepare to see my man again. He should arrive by mid-morning, and I know he’ll be anxious to celebrate.

  “OH, FUCK,” I BREATHE PUSHING my ass into Pete’s hands. He’s fucking me with the butt plug that I had left in, per his instructions—all night long.

  Pete came home about ten minutes ago and I was still asleep in bed. He didn’t utter a word to me. Instead, he began kissing me, pulling my panties to the side before sliding his delicious tongue through the folds of my pussy, waking me up in the most perfect way—ever. Then he started slowly fucking me with that damn plug, sending me spiraling out of control.

  “Do you want my cock in this perfect little ass, sweet baby?” Pete asks, his voice deep, husky, and so damn needy.

  “Please,” I whisper, unable to control myself.

  Pete bites the inside of my thigh and grabs my hips, pulling me up as he slowly takes the plug completely out of me. I hear him rustling around behind me and then feel cool liquid sliding through the crack of my ass. His hands spread the liquid around and his fingers separate my cheeks. I feel like I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. I’m too fucking horny to feel shame at this point.

  “Fuck, your ass is so pretty,” he groans. “Relax, Libby Baby. Just take me in. If it hurts, I’ll stop. I never want to hurt you.”

  I feel the tip of his cock nudging my tight hole and I want to tense up, but I force myself to relax. Once he begins pushing inside, and he’s past the point of no return, I bear down and shift my hips backward grinding my teeth to the discomfort.

  “So good, so tight. Fucking hell, baby. Are you okay?” he asks, his teeth grindi
ng behind me. I nod unable to speak.

  “I need you to talk to me, Libby,” he orders.

  “I’m okay,” I mutter, holding on by a damn thread.

  Pete slides deep inside of me, completely, and bites my shoulder while his lower half is still. He’s all the way inside of my body, but it doesn’t hurt. The sensation is different, and it is uncomfortable, but there isn’t the pain I expected. I need more from him, though. I need so much more, but I don’t know how to say it. I feel his fingers sliding over my clit, working me, petting and pleasing. I can’t help myself, I have to move, and the rhythm is set by his thrumming fingers.

  “I need more, baby,” I whimper, pushing my ass into him, taking him deeper and harder with each thrust. I thought he was completely inside of me, but I was so wrong.

  “Does your sweet pussy need my fingers baby?” He whispers against my neck.

  “Please,” I cry, unable to concentrate on his words, or anything else happening, other than his cock inside of my ass. He slams two fingers inside of my pussy while his palm grinds against my clit, and I scream with pleasure.

  Christ, he feels so good.

  So dirty.

  So fucking wrong.

  So fucking perfect.

  “You’re so tight, sweet baby. I can’t hold on much longer,” he groans as his hips meet my ass with long, gentle but firm strokes.

  “Oh, yes, Pete. Fuck me, all of me,” I cry, unable to keep my mouth shut. It’s too much.

  Wildly, Pete fucks me, hard—probably too hard, but I can’t tell with the amount of adrenaline that is pumping through me. When I come, my body coils tightly and my screams fill the room. It doesn’t take long for Pete to crumple into a hot sweaty mess of bliss behind me, on top of me, inside of me, and surrounding me.

  “Christ, baby,” he whispers against my hair before slowly pulling out of my body.