Forced Play for Libby (Men of Baseball #3)

by Hayley Faiman

  “You’re the only man I want,” I moan as my body climbs closer toward an explosion.

  “Fuck yeah, I am, Libby. You’re my sweet baby, aren’t you?” He mutters as his body continues his torturing pace; hard and ruthless; perfect and beautiful.

  “Yes,” I cry, right before I tumble over and come—screaming yes over and over again.

  Pete falls over the edge soon after I do, but he doesn’t move from above my body. Instead, he stays planted deep inside, his lips caressing my neck. I love it.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I assure him softly. He only grunts his response.

  “That guy gets out of line again, you’ll just kick his ass again, baby,” I continue.

  Pete starts to laugh, which causes him to slide out of me, and then he rolls to his back, bringing me with him. He positions me against his chest with our legs tangled together.

  “He gets out of hand, I’ll end up in jail and he’ll be in a hospital bed. Bad news all the way around.” His voice is soft as his fingers comb through my hair, making me purr and snuggle closer to his body.

  “My sweet baby,” he whispers, placing a kiss against the top of my head.

  “Yours, always,” I say softly, earning me a very manly grunt. “It’ll all work out, Pete. We’ll be far enough away from the drama of my family, but still close to our friends and Grammy Lillian, in case she needs me.”

  “Yeah. They offered me a shit ton of money, too—so there’s that,” he admits. I squeeze his middle, holding him tighter, knowing this isn’t what he wanted at all; but he’ll still be playing the game, and that is what’s important.

  “Maybe that guy will apologize now that you’re going to be teammates,” I suggest. Pete just laughs.

  “Fucking doubtful, Libby Baby. He better just pretend he never said that shit. That would be his best bet.”

  “Was it that bad, Pete?” I ask, knowing that it had to have been. He became so angry, he used his fists to try and solve the issue.

  “Yeah, it was. We’ll deal, though, baby. We’ve been through worse,” he says sadly. I nod my agreement.

  We have been through worse; so much worse that this is a freaking cakewalk. We will move and Pete will play the game he loves, with teammates he doesn’t care for. Eventually, I hope that he can get along with the new team and that he’ll be happy—that we’ll be happy.

  We both deserve happiness in our lives, especially with all we have been through in this life.

  We deserve a fucking break.

  “I ever tell you about my real parents?” He asks me randomly.

  “No,” I whisper, afraid to move a muscle. Pete’s never opened up to me about his family, and I’m shocked he’s choosing right now to do it. It must be because he’s been drinking.

  Pete spends the next hour telling me about his parents, about his life before foster care. The abuse, the neglect, and the addiction that surrounded the little boy he was. I can’t hold back the tears as I hear his story. No wonder he jumped at the chance my father gave him. I don’t blame him, not for one minute, not anymore.

  Since he married me, he hasn’t had to worry about food or a roof over his head. I understand him better now, his situation and his reasoning. I feel like this is the closure I needed on our past relationship. Just knowing what he’s been through and understanding him makes me fall even more in love with the man he is today.

  PAPARAZZI SURROUND ME AS I try to navigate my way through the crowd. I welcome them, though. They aren’t prying into my personal life, this time. No, they are asking about the sudden trade of Pete to Boston, his team’s current and long-time rival.

  Pete’s publicist, agent, and owner knew what they were doing. This is a public relations wet dream. Speculations are flying and publicity is off the chain, not only for Pete, but for both teams, as well. You can’t buy this kind of exposure.

  Next year, all eyes are going to be on both teams, even more than usual when they play each other. Pete is also playing like a fucking demon, and it’s just jacking him up, boosting his career further. He’s enjoying the shit out of it. It’s like a drug and he’s addicted.

  “So, you guys accepted the trade, then?” Amalie asks, eyes wide as I sit down with the group for one of the last games we’ll ever attend together.

  “We did. It was… difficult for him to accept,” I say cautiously, trying to avoid the topic of Pete’s drunk tantrum and then our hard fuck-fest.

  “Because Pete kicked the ass of the team’s catcher?” Victoria quips.

  “Pretty much,” I agree.

  “Well, they’ll either accept him or he’ll have to kick all their asses,” Maggie says with a big fake smile.

  “I’m going to miss you bitches,” I finally say as tears well up in my eyes.

  “Don’t you dare fucking cry,” Amalie growls. I can’t help myself as tears pour from my eyes and down my cheeks.

  The four of us cry silently throughout the entire game. I’m glad that Alana and Carrie keep their slut holes shut, because I wouldn’t be able to keep from possibly physically harming them at this point.

  “God, they sucked today,” Victoria points out, expressing the obvious.

  They did suck.

  They were terrible, and I know it has to do with emotions running high in regards to Pete’s sudden departure. The girls and I wait for the men to come out of the locker room. We’re all sullen and a bit on edge from the loss. These men take this completely seriously. They’ll be miserable fucks tonight and we’ll have to be there to coddle them like babies. It’s actually better on us wives when they lose out of town instead of home; they have a few days to cool off and move on from a loss before we have to see them.

  One-by-one, the men file out and solemnly walk to their wives, cleat chasers, or just alone to their cars. Bringing up the rear is Pete, and I watch him. He looks so freaking miserable, sad, and plain depressed. His cap is pulled low on his forehead, covering his eyes. His tight blue shirt and perfectly fitted jeans aren’t even enough to distract me from the obvious sadness surrounding him.

  “Hey, baby,” I mutter. He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he wraps me in his arms and buries his head in my neck, breathing me in like without me he wouldn’t live.

  “Fuck, this game was horrible,” he grunts. I don’t say another word as his hand wraps around mine and we walk together toward the car, paparazzi’s flashing cameras all around us.

  The apartment is almost as depressing as Pete when we arrive. I urge him to go lie down and sleep the sadness off. He doesn’t argue. He’s beat the hell up, and I don’t blame him. I like day games because there’s time for a home cooked dinner afterward, and this evening is no different. I get started cooking a meal that I hope will help Pete relax a bit.

  A knock on the door startles me just as I am slipping Ziti into the oven. I wipe my hands and make my way toward the door. Without looking in the peephole, I answer and come face-to-face with my father, again.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, not inviting him inside. He can fuck himself.

  “I came to see you. I’ve been an asshole,” he announces. I nod in agreement, but he’s still not coming into my apartment.

  “Okay…”

  “I have been very angry about your mother’s infidelity and I’ve taken it out on you for far too long,” he admits. My eyes narrow. He’s up to something.

  “What do you want?” I ask cautiously.

  “Fine,” he bites out before continuing, “The Chevy Corporation doesn’t want to cut ties with Pete’s sponsorship,” he grinds out through a clenched jaw.

  My mouth drops and I cannot—can.not.—believe this man. He isn’t here because he knows he’s been wrong. No, he’s here because, once again, it’s all about business. Well, he did this to Pete and he can suffer whatever backlash that comes from his decisions like an adult.

  “How is this my problem? You’ve terminated the contract and made sure his place on the team was eliminated,” I point out, assigning t
he true blame.

  “Yeah, I was angry, I didn’t think,” he admits. I want to believe that he’s truly sorry, but I know he isn’t. He’s just sorry that it backfired.

  “Well, tough shit. Pete’s signed the contract with Boston and we’ve already set up home viewings.”

  “You don’t want to leave the city, and I know he doesn’t want to play for Boston, not really. Let’s make this beneficial for both of us. I’ll recant my threat of pulling sponsorship from the team if Pete agrees to stay the spokesperson for Chevy,” he offers. I almost laugh in his face.

  “No, I really do want to leave the city. I honestly don’t care that your plan backfired.”

  “I’ll double your trust fund,” he says, grasping at straws. I know he must be in seriously deep shit, but I’m not sure I care all that much.

  “I don’t care about the money. I never did,” I admit without going into detail. He wouldn’t care—not really.

  “Use your brain, Elizabeth. This could work for everybody involved. Don’t cut your nose off to spite your face.” His face is serious and he’s trying to use his fatherly voice; but the funny thing is, he isn’t my father. He’s been the one to point that out time and time again since telling me the truth.

  “You heard her, Joseph. You need to go and stay gone, or I’ll be calling the police for harassment. None of us are beholden to you, not anymore,” Pete says, sneaking up behind me and wrapping his arm around my waist.

  “You’re trash, the both of you. Immature and pathetic,” he spits.

  Pete opens the door to slide himself in front of me—protecting me. He’s shirtless, wearing only his boxer briefs. He must have heard voices and came straight out of bed to see who was here.

  I love him.

  I love him for protecting me in all aspects of our new life together.

  “Only trash I see here is a desperate businessman who fucked up. Now get the fuck out of my building. This is the last time I’ll warn you off, Joseph. I see your face again anywhere near this apartment, or wherever we end up in Boston, I’ll forget that you’re technically my father-in-law and I’ll take care of you the way I see fit,” Pete grunts, keeping is voice low and menacing.

  “You’ll be sorry, you sack of shit,” my father calls out as he backs away from us.

  “Fucking doubtful,” Pete responds, backing up and slamming the door so hard that the pictures on the wall rattle.

  “Christ, your dad is a fucking dick,” Pete roars tipping his head back.

  “He isn’t my dad,” I remark with a sad smile.

  “Thank fuck you aren’t blood related to that prick,” he says softer.

  Regardless, the words still ache a bit. He didn’t mean them to hurt, but they do. I’m still struggling with the fact that I don’t know my real father, and the man I thought was hates me.

  “Come here, sweet baby,” Pete coos, and I do. I wrap my arms around his middle and burrow into his chest.

  “I’m sorry about this whole fucking thing,” he whispers. I tip my head back and smile sadly.

  “Me too,” I sigh before we kiss.

  It isn’t a hard passionate kiss, it’s more beautiful than that. It is a slow burning kiss with no tongue, but our lips press sweetly against each other and our arms wrap around each other. I fall in love with Pete all over again in the middle of that kiss. I fall in love with him all over again almost every single day.

  “This place is breathtaking,” I gasp as we pull up to the acre property, nestled in the beautiful suburb of Boston called Wellesley.

  The house is a light blue, colonial style home. It is a mansion. Seven thousand square feet of monstrous home on an acre of land with a circular drive.

  Grammy Lillian will love it.

  It was built just one year ago and has been very well taken care of by the owners. Hardwood floors, granite countertops throughout, a full home theater, and so many other amenities, it borders on ridiculous.

  I love it.

  “It really is the perfect home for a family. The master bedroom is even large enough to have plenty of room for a bassinet,” our relator remarks. I think to myself—for the size of the house, the master better be big enough to hold gymnastics competitions.

  “I love the white bathroom,” I say offhandedly. The whole home is light and airy; so soft and feminine, yet simply and tastefully decorated, without a hint of floral or other girlie things.

  “May we have a moment?” Pete asks. The realtor dips her head before leaving us alone.

  “What do you think?” I ask nervously. I freaking love this place. I have liked the other mansions we’ve looked at, but this one feels different, calmer and homier.

  “I think that if we buy this place, I better put a baby inside of you, because this is officially the suburbs,” Pete grumbles. Then he grins at me and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me up against his chest.

  “I love it,” I whisper, looking up into his bright green eyes.

  “Then it’s yours, sweet baby,” he whispers back at me, his voice deep but low.

  “Yeah?”

  “Fuck yeah. And I’m serious about the baby thing, Libby Baby.” His lips crash down on mine and his tongue slides deep inside of my mouth, causing me to moan as soon as it swirls inside of me. Wet and wild, just like my Pete.

  “I gotta stop or I’ll fuck you right here. While I would get off on the realtor hearing you scream, I really want this house and I don’t want to freak her the fuck out,” he chuckles, making me laugh.

  We put an offer in on the home immediately—cash, with a thirty day escrow. Then it hits me. This is real. All of it. I am giddy and scared and nervous all rolled into one, but there is something that doesn’t waiver. My love for Pete. One look into his bright green eyes sends me into a lusty haze; one brush of his lips, and my heart skips a beat.

  Who would have ever thought that I would fall madly, deeply, crazily in love with my husband?

  I watch as my wife washes her hair in the shower. Christ, I’m a creep. Seriously, I’m like a Peeping Tom when it comes to her. I can’t keep my eyes off of her, no matter where we are. We’re supposed to be relaxing in our hotel before I take her out to dinner in the city. Amalie gave us a list to restaurants to try in Boston, so we’re going to one in a few hours.

  Today was amazing, looking at property, and Libby has been amazing since this whole trade bullshit came about. I don’t want to leave my brothers in New York, but I still need to play ball.

  I want to give Libby everything she deserves. I don’t know that it could happen in the city, with that contract and our past looming over us. This is a complete fresh start. A new life for us, building on what we’ve been creating.

  My eyes stay glued to her as she dries her body off with a fluffy hotel towel. She looks up and smirks when she sees me staring. Neither of us speaks as she drops the towel and prowls toward me. Her body is fuller, and I watch as she sways her hips with each step.

  Fucking gorgeous.

  “Pete,” she breathes. I don’t let her say another word. I need her too badly. I need to know that she’s still with me, that she’ll always be with me. I wrap my hands around her waist and bring her to me, forcing her knees on either side of my hips and into the bed.

  “Ride me, Libby Baby,” I murmur.

  “Yes,” she sighs. I don’t look away from her bright blue eyes as her hands quickly unbuckle my pants and she wraps her cool fingers around my already hard cock.

  “Now, sweet baby,” I groan.

  “I love you,” she whispers as she lifts her hips and sinks down on my cock.

  “Always, sweet baby. You and me,” I mutter before wrapping my lips around her hard nipple.

  I gently trail my fingers up her spine and bury them into her still wet hair while I feast on her gorgeous tits. These moments with her, while she’s vulnerable and soft, these are what I live for. I don’t say another word as she continues to ride me. I don’t need to. I’m enjoying the soft, sweet, sounds she’s
making as she fucks me--taking what she needs and what she wants from me—from my body.

  “Oh, shit,” she mumbles as she grinds hard against me. She’s close. I can feel her pussy swell and tighten around me. It’s so perfect—she’s so perfect. I gently bite one of her nipples and pull her hair tighter right before she explodes around me in a silent scream.

  I want to pound into her with all of my strength, but I don’t. I let her ride out her orgasm instead. Her pussy is like a glove around me--warm and wet, hugging me and pulling me in deep. I kiss up her neck and capture her lips with mine as I begin to thrust my hips up from the bed. It’s not the most comfortable position for me, but I don’t care. She’s happy and sated—she’s all that matters.

  “Come inside of me, Pete,” she whispers against my lips, her voice sweet. I pull my head away and look into her soft eyes, still glazed over from her climax.

  “Yeah, sweet baby,” I grunt as I start to thrust a bit harder inside of her. My eyes stay on hers until I feel my balls tighten and I finally come. Libby moans as soon as the first shot of my cum fills her, as if it’s as satisfying for her as it is for me.

  I love this woman.

  THE SEASON IS OFFICIALLY OVER. In just two-weeks, we will be moving into our colonial suburban mansion. It’s ridiculous but so freaking beautiful. I can’t imagine living anywhere else now that I’ve seen it. Pete and I walk hand-in-hand into Jarrod and Amalie’s apartment, where all of our friends are gathered with giant fake as shit smiles on their faces, and cocktails, virgin and regular, in their hands. Paul and David are even here.

  “You’re going to be missed, and I know we’re all supposed to hate you because Pete’s going to be playing for the devil’s team, but you will both always be welcome in our home, in our lives and as a part of our family. We love you,” Amalie toasts. The tears that had just been on the verge of falling when I walked in, they spill over dramatically. Obviously, I don’t do subtle.

  “To our brother. You will always be a Yankee, no matter what uniform you wear. Deep down you, bleed blue,” Jarrod says, his voice deep but thick and on the verge of his own tears.