Forced Play for Libby (Men of Baseball #3)

by Hayley Faiman

  Without letting me rest for too long he picks me up and carries me to the shower. I watch through hazy eyes as he disposes of a condom, and together, silently, we wash our bodies and hold each other. Victoria was right, this is the most emotionally charged thing I have done with Pete, and it does make me feel so much closer to him. I can only hope that he feels the exact same way.

  “Let’s spend the rest of the day in bed, sweet baby,” Pete murmurs against my wet hair. He then turns the shower off and grabs a couple of towels to dry us off.

  “Sounds good to me. I have to go to Maggie’s parking garage sometime today and get my car, though. I drank too much and didn’t want to drive last night,” I admit. Pete just smiles before kissing my nose and agreeing. He grabs me and pulls me close to his body once we are dried off, holding me. It feels like perfection.

  “Congrats on the win last night,” I say softly against his chest as his colorful arms wrap around my body.

  “Thanks, baby. Now sleep,” he chuckles against the top of my head. I do as he says and I sleep.

  Hours later, I wake alone in bed. I roll over onto cold sheets, which tells me all I need to know. Pete hasn’t been in bed for a while. I stretch for a moment before grabbing his shirt from the floor and pulling it on over my head. My hair is a hot mess of black wavy tangles, but I don’t even care. Pete’s seen me look much shittier.

  Walking into the living room, I don’t see him immediately. He’s standing at the floor to ceiling window, looking out at the city below us from our glass tower. His favorite place to stand. It’s beautiful, but it suddenly feels cold—the large buildings surrounded by glass all around us, a true concrete jungle. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel comforted by the enclosed space of being constantly surrounded by tall huge buildings. Shuffling over to him, I wrap my hands around his waist from behind and lightly scrape his muscular abs with my nails.

  “You sleep okay, Libby?” Pete asks, his voice ragged with sleep. I hug him a bit tighter before I answer.

  “Yeah. Why aren’t you next to me?”

  “Had to get your car and bring it back.” He takes a breath before shocking me with a question I’m not quite prepared for. “Why do you love me? I’ve been a fucking asshole to you.”

  I don’t feel like rehashing this for the millionth time, but something is bothering Pete and I can’t figure out exactly what it could be. I place a soft kiss on his shoulder and duck under his arm to stand in front of him, my back pressed to the cold glass of the window.

  “What’s happened?”

  “I just… it’s hard to see you so peaceful sleeping next to me, knowing what a fucktard I was for so long. Your trust in me is so fucking beautiful, it makes it hard to breathe sometimes,” he mutters, his green eyes focused on mine. I melt. I melt into a puddle at his feet.

  “I love you so much, Pete. You’ve been so considerate of my feelings, of my needs, and my wants. I can’t explain how much it means to me that you want me beside you now. Not that you need me, but that you really want me,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his, pressing my body against his, and moaning when his tongue gently slides deep into my waiting mouth.

  A few moments later, we are interrupted by the phone ringing. Pete curses before tearing his lips from mine and walking over to answer. I watch him, my hot as shit husband, his brows furrowed. Then an expression looking familiarly like worry cross his face. It makes my stomach drop for some reason. I can sense the impending doom.

  “Tomorrow, eight in the morning. I’ll be there,” he hangs up and turns away from me, our eyes never meeting.

  “Pete?”

  “I have a meeting tomorrow morning with the suits,” he almost whispers. I can hear the worry in his voice.

  “What does this mean?”

  “Most likely? That I’ve lost my spot on the team,” he states flatly.

  I place my hand on his forearm and he shrugs me off. It stings. It fucking hurts that he doesn’t want my touch right now, when I know he is obviously hurting and worried.

  “You don’t know, don’t say that. You’ve been playing great.” I smile, but he just turns and leaves me standing alone in the living room, my bare legs on display under his shirt.

  A few minutes later, he emerges with his workout gear on. I look at him questioningly and he just shrugs.

  “Going for a run,” he announces. He's gone before I can say another word.

  I take his leaving in stride and take a quick shower before he comes back. I know his cold shoulder has nothing to do with me personally, but it still hurts no matter how much I don’t want it to. I want to talk to him, find out what he’s thinking, and just support him. By the time I am out of the shower and dressed, I hope that he’ll want to get out of the house, maybe go to dinner and forget about the phone call, if he can.

  I dress in a pair of skinny, dark washed jeans and a soft coral tank top. It has been long enough, so I go in search of him. Pete is bent at the waist, his forearms pressing against the cool granite counter in our kitchen, and his head down between his shoulders. He looks… defeated.

  “Pete,” I call out, not wanting to interrupt his moment if he needs it.

  “Yeah?” His head shoots up and his green eyes look at me with question as they rake down my body, taking in my now dressed state.

  “I liked you in my shirt better,” he deadpans. I roll my eyes and walk up to him wrapping my arms around his waist. He’s bare chested, slick with sweat, and so fucking beautiful.

  “Thought we’d go out to dinner or I could cook and we could do a movie?” I whisper against his skin, kissing his sweaty chest and tasting the salt on him.

  “I miss your cooking,” he murmurs dropping his lips to my neck and brushing them lightly across my skin.

  “Then I’ll cook for you,” I breathe heavily as my nipples tighten with desire. Jesus, just his voice and the whispered promise of his lips on my skin sends my libido into overdrive.

  “Thanks, sweet baby. I’m going to shower,” he continues to whisper, nipping my neck. I can’t help the moan that escapes my lips. My face is pressed against his chest and my eyes are taking him in. I stop at the sight of his left pectoral. He has new ink, my name—my name is on his body.

  “Pete?” I ask, my eyes unable to leave my name in scroll permanently placed on his chest.

  “Yeah?”

  “You put my name on your body,” I say, repeating the words that are swirling around in my head.

  “Yeah, Libby, did it a while back. Hooked up with a guy during that Wounded Warriors gig we did and he and I went and got some ink together. Don’t you remember?” His finger slides under my chin and he forces my head back. My eyes immediately snap to his.

  “I didn’t know you got my name on your body, Pete,” I breathe, unable to speak normally.

  “Love you, Libby Baby. I got so much ink on my body, how could I not get the most important person in my life tattooed above my heart?” My stomach drops and tears form in my eyes.

  “Pete,” I whimper before his lips touch mine.

  “Want your portrait somewhere on my body, too. Want you with me always,” he murmurs against my lips. If I didn’t already love this man, I would fall in love in with him this exact moment.

  “I love you,” I exhale. He kisses my nose before he steps away from me to go take his shower.

  “Love you too, Libby baby.”

  I admire his muscular back, glistening with sweat, and the way his shorts outline his perfect ass with each step he takes. I shiver at the beautiful sight before I turn and start to rifle through the kitchen cabinets.

  I decide on grilled chicken and pasta. I’m trying to stay healthy, and Pete always has to eat consciously. I don’t use any sauce, but instead sauté some garlic and olive oil to drizzle over the whole wheat pasta and skinless, boneless, chicken breast. I also steam some broccoli to add on top, finishing off the presentation with a small bit of freshly grated parmesan cheese. I set the table and grab a beer for Pete
and a glass of white wine for myself.

  “Fuck, baby, that smells awesome,” Pete remarks, sitting down at the table as I set his beer down in front of him.

  Pete doesn’t let me walk away once I’ve set his beer down, though. Instead, he pulls me onto his lap and nuzzles the back of my neck, inhaling deeply. While one of his hands slides up my stomach and the other wraps around my breast.

  “I’m sorry if I was short with you. I just didn’t expect a meeting with the suits until after the season was over.”

  “Let’s eat and just relax tonight. We’ll watch a movie, your pick,” he suggests, releasing my body. I begrudgingly make my way to my own seat.

  “Steel Magnolias, again?” I ask with a lifted brow.

  “Yeah, baby. Dolly Parton is funny as shit in that one,” he smiles before taking a big bite of food.

  The rest of the evening we stay cuddled on the couch, tangled in each other’s arms, just enjoying being together. There is no more talk of his meeting with the suits or anything else. We laugh and I cry during the movie. Then, when we finally haul ourselves to bed. Pete makes sweet love to me, whispering how much he loves me over, and over, again before we both tumble over the edge and cling to each other’s bodies in pure peaceful bliss.

  The owner’s office isn’t somewhere you particularly want to be—especially if you’re me, and your personal life has been splashed all over the tabloids as of late. My agent sits to my left and the owner right in front of me. The head coach and manager are leaning against opposite walls; and my publicist, Jolene, is sitting to my right. It feels like an us against them situation, and I do not feel at all prepared.

  “This has been a shit year in your personal life, McGrath,” Nick, the owner, states. I just nod in agreement. It really has.

  “That being said, you’ve played fuckin’ great.”

  My eyes widen and I think that possibly this meeting isn’t going to result in my demise on the team. Nick steeples his fingers together and presses them against his closed lips, as if thinking hard. He already knows what he’s going to say, the asshole is just trying to make me sweat.

  “I know your original contract and the circumstances surrounding that have… changed.” I close my eyes and cringe at his words.

  Fucking Joseph Montgomery.

  Fucking dick.

  “Yeah,” I admit, nodding my head.

  “I want to keep you. We all want to keep you, but I’m going to be real fuckin’ honest with you here, son…” he begins. That’s when I know—it’s over.

  My career with the Yankee’s is f-u-c-k-i-n-g—o-v-e-r.

  “Just give it to me, Nick. I’m a big boy, got a big dick, too. I can fuckin’ handle it.”

  Jolene groans at my words, and my agent barks out a laugh. Nick smiles sadly, and so does the rest of the team—the men that have molded me into the player I am. They are all looking at me with sadness, which only confirms what I thought.

  I’m done.

  “Joseph is threatening to pull his sponsorship if we keep you. Normally, I would tell someone who threatened me to shove it up his ass, but this situation is different…” he trails off and I hold up my hand.

  “It’s okay. I knew it would be a possibility when I pissed him off. No hard feelings at all,” I say softly. If I have to bow out of this position, I’m going to bow out with what little dignity I have left.

  “I’m not going to make you go out there dick swingin’, McGrath, so get that shit outta your head. As of now, you’re a free agent; and between Jolene, me, and Tom over there, we’re going to get you a bangin’ deal with another team.”

  I nod in understanding. Once the promises are made and handshakes are given, I leave and go home to my wife. Fuck. This imminent transfer means I’m going to have to uproot her from her entire world—the only city she has ever lived in, surrounded by her only friends. I close my eyes once I am parked in our complex’s garage. I’m going to take her away from her friends, but also her Grammy Lillian.

  What the fuck did I get us into? Why couldn’t I have just done what her father wanted? Because I’d still be angry, we’d still have this thing between us causing shit, and she’d have left me for sure. I know I did the right thing, but this asshole is punishing me—punishing Libby.

  I gather my bleeding vagina and take myself upstairs. It’s time to face facts. Libby and I will be moving - somewhere. She deserves to know and I won’t hide another thing from her as long as I live. Libby is my partner now.

  Walking into the apartment, I see her bent over—her delicious ass up high in the air and her forearms on the floor. Fuck. I wonder how long she can hold that position. I’d love to fuck her like this. Christ, her pussy is at the perfect height right now. My cock presses against my zipper and I almost forget about my problems as the idea of fucking Libby’s sweet pussy enters my brain.

  “Sweet baby. Stay just like that for twenty minutes or so,” I groan, sliding up behind her and lightly placing my hands on the outsides of her thighs.

  “Fuck off, Pete. I feel like I’m going to die,” she growls. It catches me off guard. I actually start laughing.

  “Libby, what the hell?” I say through my laugh.

  “This is the fucking dolphin pose. This is serious shit,” she growls again. I can’t help it, I start laughing even harder.

  “Why do you do it, then?”

  “Because it tightens and tones.”

  “But you’re miserable.”

  “Its fucking Yoga, Pete, it’s supposed to make you miserable,” she says, beginning to laugh. Then, with a few graceful dips and turns, she’s standing right in front of me, sweat streaming down her face.

  “We need to talk,” I sober up quickly.

  I want to fuck her right now—her hair a little wild, her face flushed with sweat and shining on her body—but I need to talk to her first and foremost. I have to man up, I have to accept this, and I can only hope that she’ll come with me, wherever I end up.

  “THEY FIRED YOU? JUST LIKE that?” I gasp.

  “No, sweet baby, I’m finishing the season; but your dad is a huge sponsor and this fight with me and him? He’s fighting dirty and forcing his hand. Doesn’t mean I can’t play ball, just means I can’t play for the Yankees. Nick’s gonna help me get a good deal with another team, and so will Tom and Jolene,” he says, his eyes pleading, begging for me to be okay with it. I am, but I’m still outraged.

  “But we’ll have to move?” I ask, searching his face for more answers.

  “Most likely,” he admits before his head falls back against the sofa cushions.

  I scoot closer to him on the sofa and take his face in my hands, feeling the scrape of his short beard against my skin. Touching him feels amazing, after so many years of wanting to be right where I finally am. Our situation may not be ideal, but it’s ours and I wouldn’t change our journey, not one single, tortured second of it.

  “Where do you think we’ll go?” I ask. His head snaps up, his eyes clash with mine, confusion and hope passing over him.

  “We?” His voice cracks.

  “Do you not want me to go with you?” I panic. The next second, his hands are on my waist and he’s dragging me over to straddle his hips.

  “I never want you to leave my side, Libby Baby. I didn’t think you’d want to follow me. Your life is here and we’re just starting over. I wouldn’t be mad if you didn’t want to leave your home for my career.”

  I press my lips to this stupid, stupid man’s lips and I devour them. I suck his lips into my mouth before I slide my tongue over them. When he opens his mouth, he doesn’t wait—he dives his tongue into my mouth and takes over owning me, like only he can.

  Pete lays me down on the couch, twisting our bodies, but keeping his hips between my thighs. Fuck, I can feel his hard cock pressing perfectly against my clit—these yoga pants are way too thin. I rub against him like a damn cat, feeling him, feeling his hard length through his thin slacks.

  “I need to fuck my girl
,” he mutters against my lips before his head dips and he sucks on my neck.

  I wiggle beneath him as his hands slip beneath the elastic band of my pants before he grabs handfuls of my ass, kneading my flesh. With just the touch of his hands on my bare skin, I feel my body warm, melt, and become pliant for only him.

  Pete rips the thin pants, along with my panties, down my legs and throws them somewhere behind him. Then he hastily rips off his own shirt, sending buttons flying all over the place. He yanks his pants down his hips, as I whip off of my sports bra and send the sweaty fabric flying.

  I reach out and grab Pete’s ass trying to pull him into my body, inside of me, but he hisses and grabs my wrists shoving them above my head and holding them with one hand.

  “No, touching today, baby,” he murmurs, bending his head slightly.

  I whimper when his tongue slides over my hardened nipple, arching my back ever further I shove my breast into his face. He feels so good.

  Pete’s an addiction I could never give up again. I’d hunt him down, drug him, and fuck him in his drugged out state if I had to. He’s that good.

  I think I could write a book about the beauty and power of his cock alone, never mind the combination of his cock, tongue, and hands. Gooseflesh rises over my entire body as he feasts on my breasts. Nipping, sucking, and even biting. I’ll be marked up like some fucking leopard, but my spots will be Peter made and much trendier.

  “Open your legs wide for me. Show me what’s mine, what’s always been mine, and what will always be mine,” he growls, his face serious and focused between my thighs.

  I spread my legs wide, placing one on the back of the sofa. It feels dirty, but it also feels so fucking good when Pete looks at me like I’m perfect in every way, desired above all else—needed.

  Pete’s hand pushes my wrists harder into the sofa, but it doesn’t hurt. It feels empowering to be powerless—if that makes any sense at all. I think I may actually be a little lust crazy right now. I hold my breath as he teases me with the head of his cock. I whine when he begins to slide inside of me, but then he pulls completely out with a wicked gleam in his eyes. Fucker.