Pitching for Amalie

by Hayley Faiman

  By the end of the evening, I fall into bed and close my eyes with a smile playing on my lips. I have friends, real friends, and it feels fan-fucking-tastic.

  The rest of the week, I decide to get ready for Viva and make sure that Jarrod’s house is completely clean. I look up healthy recipes, high in lean protein and veggies, and then I stock his freezer with prepared meals, so when he does come home, we will have some quick and easy meals for the two of us to share. It is the first time I have felt so domestic, and I am enjoying having some time off to discover New York and my own kitchen talents.

  At the end of the weekend, Jarrod has officially been gone for two weeks, and it’s time for me to make my yearly trip to Las Vegas. I don’t want to go. Jarrod is worried that Eric will find me while I’m working, so he has hired two bodyguards to watch me while I’m there for the week.

  I think it’s a little over the top. But who am I to argue?

  Eric found me at the ballpark. He could easily find me in Las Vegas, especially since my picture will be posted everywhere with my schedule.

  Robert and George are my guards, and they are huge, gigantic. I am confident nobody will mess with me, especially Eric. These guys are scary. Jarrod booked us three first-class tickets and changed my hotel from one on the old strip to a new one, a villa that will hold Robert, George, and me together. Jarrod is controlling if nothing else, but I don’t even care. I accept that part of him because I know he is trying to protect me, and he isn’t trying to harm me, physically or mentally. He’s doing it because he cares, not because he gets off on making me do what he wants.

  “Sweet, I’m fine. We just landed, and we’re heading to the car now,” I say into the phone as I walk, sandwiched in between Robert and George.

  “I just worry about you, baby.” Jarrod sighs heavily.

  I know he’s extremely nervous about me being in this city without him.

  “I know you do, sweet. I will be safe. I will be with Robert and George always, and I won’t be out late. I plan on doing my appearances and then going back to the room. No parties or anything like that,” I say.

  Though I sound so very boring, I don’t even care. I just want to cuddle up with my baseball star and sleep next to his hard body.

  “You don’t have to sit around just because I’m not there, baby. Go out, and have fun.” He chuckles softly.

  “With Robert and George? They don’t seem like the type to go dancing in a club, sweet,” I say.

  We approach a man holding a sign with my name on it. Jarrod has thought of everything. The man never ceases to amaze me.

  “What about your friends there?” he asks.

  I can just picture his eyebrows pinching together and his lips going into a firm straight line.

  “What friends? The girls who model with me have their own boyfriends and friends there. Jo usually comes with me, and we party a bit but not this year—obviously,” I say sadly as I sink into the cool leather seat of the limousine.

  “Baby, that’s it. I’m finding a way to get to you sometime this week. I can’t handle you being sad.”

  I giggle and roll my eyes.

  This man. This beautiful man.

  “No. You’re working. You have games, sweet. No worries. I’m not sad.” Reluctantly, I talk Jarrod into hanging up the phone, and I ride the rest of the way to the hotel in a peaceful quiet.

  The hotel that Jarrod booked is fantastic. The room is almost larger than our apartment. I can’t believe how fantastic it all is. There is an office, living room, full kitchen, full bar, media room, and three bedrooms with attached bathrooms. It’s insane. A girl could get used to this. We also have our own butler to call when we need anything.

  The hotel has provided snacks for Robert, George, and me upon arrival. While stuffing our faces, I get to know Robert and George a little better. They are both ex-military Special Forces and work for a private security company. I’m not their first girlfriend of a celebrity that they have had to watch, but this is their first time at the Rockabilly Festival in Vegas, and I have the feeling they are excited to see all the classic cars and women. We all three eat until we don’t want to move from the dining room table.

  Later that night, I call Jarrod while I am lying in bed. He tells me about his game that afternoon and talks about a bunch of sports things I don’t understand, but I can’t seem to care because just listening to the timbre of his voice is all I need to get wet.

  “What are you wearing?” he asks, breaking his sports talk.

  “A pair of panties,” I admit. The door is locked, and I am alone.

  “Send me a picture, babe,” he growls.

  I open my legs and snap a picture of my panty-covered crotch and my bare breasts.

  “Christ,” he curses as soon as he opens the attachment.

  “I miss you,” I whisper breathy.

  “Switch to FaceTime,” he orders.

  My breath hitches. I smile as we connect via FaceTime.

  “Touch that pretty pussy. I want to see your fingers glistening with that sweet, sweet slick juice, baby.”

  I shiver at his words, propping the phone up against the footboard of the bed, and I slowly slide my panties off and spread my legs even farther apart, so his view is just of my pussy. I hear him groan as I trail my fingers down the seam of my center and slowly dip inside.

  “Fuck yeah. I can almost taste you,” he moans.

  By the look of his half-lidded stare, I know he has wrapped his big hand around his beautiful cock. I slowly swirl my finger around my clit and pinch a nipple with my other hand, moaning into the room, unable to care if George or Robert hear me.

  “Baby, I need you to make yourself come. Fuck yeah. Think about my hard cock sliding deep inside you. I need you to make my pussy come.”

  I whimper as I pump my fingers in and out of my center and then swirl them around my clit. Combined with his murmured dirty words, I come, thinking about Jarrod’s cock sliding in and out of my body.

  “Get some sleep, beautiful,” he whispers.

  I sigh, hanging up the phone. The man completely undoes me. I don’t know where I would be without him, but I wouldn’t be happy. That is for sure. I sleep with a smile plastered to my lips as thoughts of Jarrod swirl in my mind.

  The first three days of the festival are great. My postcards arrived safe and sound to replace the ones that Eric and Jo destroyed, and I’ve been a signing-and-picture-taking fool. I have had at least a hundred people ask me about Jarrod since we were photographed together at his games and while shopping around the city. I just smile and try not to say anything about us. I like to keep my private life private. Robert and George are beyond bored. The newness of the fun from the festival has worn off, they are ready to get the hell out of the hot sun and go back to the room, watch a game, and drink beer. It’s been our thing, and I do not mind it one bit. It’s relaxing after being on all day long.

  “Today is different, boys,” I call out from my room as I switch purses.

  I put on my skintight strapless white dress with the sweetheart neckline. It reaches down to my knees, and I pair it with my bright red peep-toe heels. It’s the same outfit I wore to the barbeque at Jarrod’s family’s home in Kentucky.

  “Yeah?” Robert calls.

  I walk into the room, and both men look up at me.

  George’s eyebrows reach the sky, and his face breaks out into a wide grin. “Fuck me, Amalie. Jarrod is a lucky son of a bitch,” George says with laughter in his voice.

  “You’d better not let him hear you say that. Today, boys, is runway day,” I say with a smile.

  They both look to each other and then to me for help.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” Robert barks.

  “That means that there is a fashion show today, and yours truly will be walking the catwalk, so prepare for lots of tits and ass if you plan on hangin’ with me in the back.”

  I laugh as we walk out of the room.

  “Fuck. Jarrod is going to kill
us if we see your tits or your ass,” Robert groans.

  I giggle because it’s true, and once he finds out about this, he probably will pitch a fit if I try to come back next year. This is life though. This is my life, and this is my hobby, a hobby I thoroughly enjoy.

  The day is long, hot, and stressful.

  Robert and George were excited about all the T&A for about fifteen minutes, and then they were bored as hell, which I’d expected.

  They spend the rest of the day playing on their phones and watching YouTube videos of cats or something. I don’t really know. I just assume that’s what they are doing while passing their phones back and forth between each other and laughing like teenage boys.

  Eric

  Amalie is beautiful. She always has been. She’s the tallest woman I have ever seen, and once upon a time, she was all mine. She will be again. My cock hardens as I watch her change from outfit to outfit. Those two goons that prick hired to watch her aren’t even doing their jobs properly. They are too busy playing on their cell phones to see that I am right here, in plain sight. All I need is five minutes of distraction to take her, to make her come to her fucking senses.

  Throughout the years, off and on, I have watched Amalie go on dates with joker after joker. I even watched her fuck a few of them, and I stroked my cock to the sight. When I get her back, I’m going to talk her into letting me watch other people fuck her body, and then I’ll punish her for acting like a whore.

  A smile spreads over my face while I think about marking her body with purple bruises and welts from whatever I can grab. Amalie never looked better than when that creamy skin was covered in bruises, marks only I could see.

  I walk away from the frustrating bitch I can’t have yet and make my way to Fremont Street. Maybe a little distraction provided by another pussy or two will help me to relax.

  Standing in the dark, surrounded by the twinkling lights above me, I turn to see two beautiful women smile at me. Both are brunettes, neither looking anything like the woman who distracts me to no end, and who pisses me off like no other.

  Why does she have to act like such a fucking bitch?

  I tilt my head to the side in an invitation to the two girls who are wearing next to nothing. I watch as smiles light up their pretty faces, and they teeter over to me on their hooker heels, giggling and throwing back drinks. They’ll do, and tomorrow, I’ll be gone, and they’ll be too fucked up and terrified to tell anybody shit.

  Wrapping my arms around the girls’ tiny waists, I think about my Amalie. Seven years is long e-fucking-nough for her to have her freedom. It’s time for her to come home, to make her life with me, as it always should have been. If she won’t come willingly, I will take her. It seems like with all of this time apart she has forgotten how our relationship works.

  I smile at the look of devastation that will appear on that fucker Harrison’s face when he realizes that she never loved him, that she never wanted him, and that she fucking left him. I laugh at the thought as I guide the two unsuspecting women on my arms toward their torture.

  Stupid cunts.

  Amalie

  The villa is quiet when we return, and since I’ve been strutting in five-inch high heels all day long, I’m exhausted. I just say good night to the boys and head on to the bedroom. I shower the grime, hairspray, and makeup from my body and crawl into bed, completely nude. I know Robert and George won’t dare come into my room without knocking, and I can’t muster up enough energy to dig out some pajamas. I fall face-first on the soft sheets, and I am asleep before my head even hits the pillow.

  What seems like seconds later, I’m having a delicious dream. I can feel Jarrod’s strong hands working their way from my calves to my shoulder blades, kneading every inch of me, and I sigh at the feeling of his long fingers digging into my body. I feel his hands kneading my ass, and one of his long fingers dips between my folds and into my pussy. I sigh again and then gasp. My eyes pop open, and I realize someone’s finger is really inside me. I let out a little scream and roll over to see Jarrod’s gleaming white smile invading my space.

  “Holy mother of fuck. Jesus, Jarrod. You scared the shit out of me,” I whisper harshly.

  The bastard just laughs at me.

  “Baby, I missed you,” he croons, nudging my legs open with his knees.

  I look down and realize we are both as naked as the day we were born.

  “What are you doing here?” I moan as I feel his hard length teasing my opening.

  “I missed you, Amalie,” he whispers against my ear, his breath hot and teasing.

  His hands slide up my sides to cup my breasts, massaging the flesh but not touching my sensitive nipples.

  “I missed you, too, sweet,” I moan, arching my back to press into his hands, hoping for the friction my nipples crave.

  “Do you want my cock or my mouth?” he asks.

  It makes me stop. What do I want?

  I like them both almost equally. I think about it for another minute as I watch his eyes light up with humor.

  The smug bastard.

  “I want your mouth on my tits, and I want my cock in your pussy,” I state.

  Jarrod growls his response as he slides deep inside me, and his head dives down to wrap his mouth around my hardened nipple. He begins to pump inside me and harshly suck my breast. Jarrod shows my body no mercy. It has been weeks since he has been inside me, and I am welcoming his punishing rough pace.

  I spread my legs wider and lift them higher, resting them at the sides of Jarrod’s chest. That only spurs him to slam into me even rougher. I can’t hold back one minute longer, and I feel my pussy clench all around his hard cock as I scream with my release. Jarrod doesn’t last much longer before he’s screaming a stream of curse words and collapsing on top of me.

  “Thank you for coming to me,” I whisper, rubbing circles with my fingers on his lower back.

  I will always be grateful that Jarrod has chosen me. He breathes life into me. He gives me not only courage, but also an intimacy I have never felt before in all my life. It is just more than kisses and sex. It is caring and understanding, soft touches, hugs, and sweet smiles.

  “I will always come to you, baby. I am forever yours.” He hums before he falls asleep, his leg thrown over my thighs, his arm wrapped around my breasts.

  He’s heavy, and I smile at the delicious feeling of his weight all over my body. This is the only man to ever make me feel small and precious, like a woman.

  Jarrod stays until the next afternoon, and then he is gone to Arizona to play an evening game. I know he must be tired. After all, it seemed like all we did was make love the entire time he was in Las Vegas.

  The man is perfection wrapped in perfection. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I’m not going to question it. I’m going to accept it and move on with him at my side.

  Robert, George, and I pack up to go back to the city, and as tiring and involved as the week was, I am sad that it is over. I had fun with my bodyguards. Jarrod surprised the hell out of me, and not once did I worry about Eric. All in all, it was a fantastic week.

  I know I’m going home to an empty apartment, at least for another couple of months, and it’s fairly depressing. On the plane ride, I decide that I am going to have to start inviting the girls over for lunches and cocktails on game days if I am ever going to survive the rest of the season, alone, in Jarrod’s big apartment.

  Two Months Later

  I am a stupid cliché. Poor girl meets rich and handsome professional athlete, and she gets knocked up almost immediately because poor girl is stupid and didn’t get on birth control quickly enough.

  After my blowup with Jo, Jarrod and I moved my things to his apartment in the city. He left almost immediately, and I’ve attended the few home games he’s played. It has been nothing but baseball here, and I’ve watched every single game he has been in. On the away games, I’ve invited Libby, Victoria, and Maggie over for dinner. Sometimes, if they aren’t busy, Paul and David have joined us
. They have become my closest friends. They will never replace what Jo and I had when our friendship was good, but they are down-to-earth, all-around good people.

  I made an OB appointment as soon as I was settled, and that was how I found out that I was currently six weeks pregnant.

  Paul and David are going to kill me. I have another shoot this week and then another in three months and so on. I can’t even imagine how I am going to tell them. Forget about how in the hell I am going to tell Jarrod. Our relationship is good, but it lacks the strength that it could have. I know it is because he isn’t home. I want so badly for us to be perfect, but it is hard to be alone so much. When I was in Boston, although I didn’t have a boyfriend, I always had Jo. Right now, it feels like I have neither.

  Eric hasn’t even made an attempt to contact me since I moved in with Jarrod, and neither have Jo or my brother. It makes me sad that all the people I once cared very deeply for and loved won’t even talk to me, but I have to think about myself—and now, Jarrod and our new baby. I can’t allow people in our lives who don’t truly care for our health and safety.

  So, here I am, at game seven of the World Series. This is major, something I had zero clue about. It’s at home, and security is so tight that they have asked us, the families, to sit in the owner’s box. It’s air-conditioned, and there are plenty of food and drinks laid out for all the wives and family members.

  Jarrod’s parents are here as well, watching their son possibly win the World Series. It’s exciting, but I can’t stay out of the bathroom. I’ve thrown up every hour, on the hour, all evening. I know I’m pregnant. I don’t need a test to confirm it even though the OB’s office confirmed it just this morning. I missed my period and was hoping that it was just stress and nerves, but I’ve felt bloated and tired, and now, I’m throwing up. I can only hope that Jarrod will be all right with this. We haven’t really talked about kids too much, but I know he wants a big family. I’m just not sure he wants it immediately.