by Celia Aaron
Contents
Cleat Catcher - Title Page
Copyright
Quote
Chapter One - Nikki
Chapter Two - Braden
Chapter Three - Nikki
Chapter Four - Braden
Chapter Five - Nikki
Chapter Six - Braden
Chapter Seven - Nikki
Chapter Eight - Braden
Chapter Nine - Nikki
Chatper Ten - Braden
Chapter Eleven - Nikki
Chapter Twelve - Braden
Chapter Thirteen - Nikki
Chapter Fourteen - Braden
Chapter Fifteen - Nikki
Chapter Sixteen - Braden
Chapter Seventeen - Nikki
Chapter Eighteen - Braden
Chapter Nineteen - Nikki
Chapter Twenty - Braden
Chapter Twenty-One - Braden
Chapter Twenty-Two - Nikki
Epilogue - Nikki
Other Works by Celia
Other Works by Sloane
Bonus - Pirate Version Alternate Ending
Cleat Chaser - Title Page
Copyright
Quote
Chapter One - Kyrie
Chapter Two - Easton
Chapter Three - Kyrie
Chapter Four - Easton
Chapter Five - Kyrie
Chapter Six - Easton
Chapter Seven - Kyrie
Chapter Eight - Easton
Chapter Nine - Kyrie
Chapter Ten - Kyrie
Chapter Eleven - Easton
Chapter Twelve - Kyrie
Chapter Thirteen - Easton
Chapter Fourteen - Kyrie
Chapter Fifteen - Kyrie
Chapter Sixteen - Easton
Chapter Seventeen - Kyrie
Chapter Eighteen - Easton
Chapter Nineteen - Kyrie
Celia Aaron
Sloane Howell
Celia Aaron & Sloane Howell
Copyright © 2016 Celia Aaron & Sloane Howell
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Celia Aaron. Please do not participate in piracy of books or other creative works.
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
WARNING: This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Please store your files wisely, away from under-aged readers.
“I hit big or I miss big. I like to live as big as I can.” - George Herman Ruth
NIKKI
THIS LINGERIE SHOULD have come with instructions. The black top criss-crossed across the front and back with several straps, which looked beyond cute on the model at the shop. Of course, at home, I’d managed to turn it into some sort of bondage get-up. It was supposed to be airy and light with skin showing through in an elegant tease. Instead, I appeared to have been trussed up and made to squeal like a pig.
“Damn!” I stripped it off my head and tried again.
“Nik, you okay in there?” Braden’s voice filtered through the door.
“I’m good. You’re really going to love it.”
“I love you naked. Anything else is extra. I’m hard as a rock in here.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just be patient.”
“I’m patient.” He groaned. “But my dick’s not. How much longer?”
“Just a minute. Shush, momma’s busy!”
Focus. Separating the strips of material, I slid the lingerie over my head, careful to put the front straps in front and the back in back. Once it was in place, I checked it in the mirror over the sink. Success. Something about just a little fabric always seemed sexier to me than full skin, though Braden would disagree. Ever since I’d moved in a month ago, he’d been trying to convince me that there should be a “home is where the clothes aren’t” rule. Though I’d refused to strip when I walked in the door every evening, he certainly did his best to make sure I was naked and beneath him as much as possible. And I didn’t mind it one bit.
I smiled at myself in the mirror and primped my blonde curls. It was our six-month anniversary, so I wanted to do something extra memorable. Super spicy sexy-times was the logical choice. And the lingerie I’d picked definitely fit the bill. It was slinky, sexy, and super slutty—in other words, it was perfect.
All I needed to complete the look was the black thong.
“Nik, my balls are turning a beautiful blue out here. You should see them. No, actually you should taste them. Really get the blueberry flavor.”
“Almost done!”
My feet slapped across the warm marble tile to the walk-in closet. I snagged the thong from the top of the hamper and gave myself another inspection in the full-length mirror along the back wall.
“What the fuck?” I stepped closer and glanced down to a single patch of blonde hair on my pussy. My usual waxing lady had been out earlier in the day, so my appointment had been with the aptly-named Helga. Her uni-brow was a thing of legend. But her waxing skills were not.
“No, no, no.” I shook my head. The tuft of hair was along the right side, completely out of place. Not a landing strip, more of a crash site. It had to go.
Braden wouldn’t care. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even notice. But I wanted everything to be perfect for our anniversary. I could fix it. I darted back into the bathroom and yanked out a drawer in the wide vanity. Digging around, I seized the self-waxing strips I’d bought when I’d feared I was sprouting a mustache. Turned out it was just a bit of smudged gelato on my upper lip.
I skimmed the instructions. “Blah blah blah, skin irritation, discomfort blah. Rip strip IMMEDIATELY after applying or risk chemical burn blah blah.” I set the box down and pulled out a pair of waxing strips, the adhesive parts stuck together.
Braden’s laugh rolled through the door.
“What?” I called and warmed the wax strips between my palms.
“Easton sent me a pic of Kasey’s face. She must have gotten trashed last night. He’s drawn the most anatomically correct dick on her cheek, and it really looks like the tip’s in her mouth. He put a caption: ‘Kasey’s First Blowie.’ There’s drool and everything.”
Easton, Braden’s best friend and teammate, had a sister who’d groped me countless times since the day we met. She was crude, hilarious, and beyond deserving of a deftly-drawn dick on the side of her face. I quirked a smile, but didn’t laugh. I was on a mission, after all.
I pulled the wax strips apart and dashed back to the full-length mirror. Raising my right leg, I positioned it on one of the shelves along the side of the closet. The patch of hair mocked me. I peeled the strips apart, so that I had two, each of them sticky on one side. This will be easy.
I tried to put one of the strips down on top of the drawers, because I realized I only needed one to get the job done. But the thin plastic flipped up and it became stuck on the back of my fingers.
“Shit.” I glanced to the strip in my free hand. If I put it down, it could get stuck, too, and then I’d have to start all over again. Instead, I spread my leg wider and smoothed the strip onto the patch of hair. It went on easy, and my skin tingled just a little. I tried to grab it with my right hand and hold the skin tight with my lef
t, but the fingers on my right hand were glued together from the spare strip.
Shaking my head at myself in the mirror, I put my leg down, and the edge of the plastic strip affixed to my pussy poked into my thigh. I crab-walked back to the bathroom and held the wax-stripped hand under the warm water. It loosened enough to where I could pull it off, but it left a gooey residue on my fingers. I sniffed it. It definitely did not smell like the organic wax used at Madame Muff’s House of Hairlessness.
I turned the water to a hotter setting and tried again, but the goo didn’t budge. I grabbed the yellow hand towel hanging next to my sink to try and wipe my fingers off. The towel got stuck, but with more than a little effort, I was able to scrape it across my fingers and wipe the gunk off. By that time, the hairy spot on my pussy was on fire.
“Nik, if you aren’t out here and on my dick in sixty seconds, I’m going to come in there and get you.”
“I’m coming.”
I ran back to the mirror and hiked my leg.
“No, you aren’t, not yet.” Oh, God, his voice was getting closer.
“Just a minute.”
“You don’t have a minute.”
“Braden!” I put my left fingers on the skin beside the strip, drawing it tight, and grabbed the plastic with my right. Taking a deep breath, I ripped it free.
I yelped. Searing pain radiated up my body, bringing tears to my eyes and sending me to my knees. “Oh no, oh no.”
Braden’s feet pounded the floor behind me, and he ran around to my front. I pressed one hand to the burning spot on my pussy.
“What is it? Are you okay?”
I whipped my head up to answer him, and his rock-hard cock poked me in the eye. I squeaked at the sting.
“Oh, shit!” Braden jumped away, but it was too late.
My eye watered, thanks to the jab from his cock. I fell back, one hand on my pussy, the other clapped over my eye. My cries were more of a yowl as Braden dropped to his knees next to me.
I rocked back and forth on the cool wood floor of the closet, tears streaming down to my ears.
“Nik, babe, I’m so sorry. Let me see it.” He peeled my fingers from my face and examined my eye. I squinted at the closet light.
“It just looks a little red.”
“Your cock goes in my pussy, not my eye.” I choked out through the tears.
“I know, baby.” He pulled me into a sitting position and held me against his chest. “It sure does.”
I kept my hand over the angry spot of skin between my legs, too afraid to look at the damage I’d done.
“What’s this?” He ran his hand down my arm and rested it on my thigh.
“I-I- Nothing.”
He pulled me away and stared at me with his hazel eyes. “Come on, Nik. What happened? Let me see.”
“No!” I clamped my legs together, but it didn’t do much good. My hips were wide enough for me to have the thigh gap—usually a blessing, but at this point, more of a curse.
“Move your hand.” He lowered his voice, the tone of command thrilling me and petrifying me all at once.
“It’s fine. Just go back to bed—”
His brows pinched together until they formed a ‘W’. “Nik, now.”
I wiped my eyes with my free hand and peered down. Pulling my hand away, I cringed at the angry red patch left behind. There wasn’t any hair, and barely any skin.
“Jeez, babe. What did you do to yourself?” He leaned over to inspect it, his face inches from my pussy, but not in a good way.
I began to cry more.
He leaned back up to my face and smoothed his thumbs along my cheeks, wiping my tears. “Does it hurt bad? I’m sorry. I’ve got some cortisone. It’ll make it feel better in a hurry.” He hopped to his feet and jogged to the bathroom, his muscled ass flexing with each step.
I wasn’t crying because it hurt, though it did. I’d ruined our six-month anniversary over a patch of hair the size of a nickel. More tears flowed as Braden returned and dabbed some cream on my pussy—definitely not the sort of cream I’d envisioned for our night together.
When he was done, he tossed the tube of ointment on the floor and scooped me into his arms. Before long, he’d laid me on the bed and pulled me to him.
“Don’t cry, baby. I know it hurts.”
“It’s not that.” I sniffled. “I mean, that hurts, but I’ve ruined our anniversary.” I sobbed a little harder. Just hearing the words made it worse.
He shook against me, and I stopped crying for a moment to lift my head up to see what was wrong. A big grin spread across his face. He was laughing at me.
My sadness turned to anger. “Braden!” I beat on his chest, but he only laughed and pulled me closer.
“Don’t be silly. Nothing is ruined. You’re here with me where you belong, burned pussy and all.” His laughter grew louder, breaking up his words.
The phone on his nightstand chimed again, Easton probably regaling him with some more dick drawing tales. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to scratch Braden or kiss him. I dug my nails into his ribs and he tensed, but took it. He deserved it.
He stroked his hand through my hair as his other arm held me tight. His shaking subsided and he kissed the crown of my head. “I love you, Nik. As long as you’re with me, we’re good, okay? My balls can stay blue until tomorrow or whenever you’re better. Maybe the blueberry taste will be even sweeter by then. I don’t know.”
I dug my nails in harder and then released him. His words were too mushy for me to stay mad. “I love you, too.”
“I know.” He sighed. “What did you even do to yourself down there?”
I nipped at his chest. “There was this little patch that the waxing lady missed, so I figured I’d get it myself—”
He started shaking again. My nails dug back into his side. “I’m sorry, Nik. Sorry. Continue. I won’t laugh.”
“Well, that’s pretty much the end of it. I tried to make it perfect—”
“It was already perfect long before you went to get it waxed.”
I snuggled into his chest. “Why do you always say the right thing?”
“Hmm, I think I usually say the wrong thing.”
“Not to me.” I draped my arm over his back and just let him hold me for a while. Our breathing evened out and the sting in my crotch began to fade.
“How does it feel now?” He ran his hand up and down my side.
“Better.”
“Good. Want to see something to cheer you up?”
I snorted. “Kasey eating a dick?”
“You know me so well.” He rolled onto his back and reached out with his tanned, muscled arm to snag his phone. Swiping across the screen, the image immediately popped up. He’d set it as his wallpaper.
“Easton really is an artist.” The dick, hard and with a nice set of balls and pubic hair, was drawn along her cheek, the tip in her open, drooling mouth. I had to laugh. Kasey was smart, beautiful, and hated dick. “It’s perfect.”
My phone beeped, the notification light blinking blue. I sighed and reached for it. After all, my singed kitty wasn’t getting any play tonight. It lit up when I grabbed it. There was a message from my mother.
“I’m typing back to him that he needs to add some conditioner or something on her face, like it’s jizz, you know she’ll really—”
“Oh my God!” I smiled and turned to Braden. He was still in the middle of typing his crude, juvenile, and admittedly funny conditioner idea to Easton. “Mom and Dad are having a dinner and they’ve invited us. Both of us.”
My parents hadn’t invited a boyfriend for dinner in years, likely because I'd never settled down with one guy. Not until Braden. Like everyone else, they thought he was just another man in my long career of cleat chasing. But he wasn’t. Braden was something different, something special—the man I loved. Finally, Mom and Dad understood.
He stopped typing and swallowed hard. Laying his phone on his chest, he ran a hand through his short chestnut brown hair. “So me
meeting your parents, that’s a good thing?”
I grinned and crawled on top of him, careful to keep my poisoned pussy patch from making contact. “It’s the best thing. I can’t wait to show you off.” Leaning down, I kissed him. After a moment, he returned it. Braden was a lot of things—star athlete, decent dresser, funny, smart, hot as fuck—but far and away his best attribute was his kissing ability. You’ve never been kissed until you’ve been kissed by Braden Bradford. And that’s too bad, because he only kisses me.
His tongue swooped inside my mouth, and he put a hand at the back of my neck, directing the kiss. I was more than happy to be turned whichever way suited him. I moaned into his mouth, my pussy heating up despite the spot of scorched earth. He ran his other hand to my ass, but when he pushed me down against his cock, I squeaked at the sting and pulled away.
“Shit, I’m sorry. I forgot because—” he glanced down to his raging erection “—he made me forget.”
I rolled off and sat next to him. “It’s okay.”
He put both hands to his temples, his biceps flexing. “So, your parents?”
“Yes.” I lay down and snuggled into his side. “They’ll love you.”
“You sure?”
“More than sure. Now, go to sleep. This pussy will feel better in the morning, and I want you to make it feel even better. Got me?”
His lips curled in a devious smile as he tossed his phone back to the nightstand next to mine. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And don’t worry.” I yawned. “My father’s only ever shot one of my boyfriends.”
BRADEN
I RAN THE show. I faced the opposite direction of all the other players, and I was the only one that had a view of the entire field. I was the leader—the goddamn shot caller, and these whores needed to get their shit together.
“Time!” I held my hand up to the ump as the crowd fell nearly silent.
We were up one run, with a runner on first in the top of the ninth, two outs. Gladden was on the mound. I shook my head. Fucking rookies. He'd thrown a hell of a game so far, but he was showing all the signs of fatigue—leaving pitches up in the zone, arm hanging, loss of velocity.