by Vanessa Vale
I was in trouble here.
When she started to move, I was a goner. She used her hands to brace herself, but she rode me, slow at first, then faster, following her pleasure. I watched her. The way her tits swayed and bounced, her perfect ass slapped against my thighs. Her inner walls practically milked the cum from my balls.
I wasn’t going to last, and I usually lasted a hell of a lot longer than this. But she was too perfect. Too real. I licked the pad of my thumb, then reached between us and found that hard pearl and circled it.
Her eyes met mine, flared wide and then went blurry. She came on a low moan, her head tipping back so her hair tickled my thighs. Her pussy clenched down and practically strangled my dick as she came.
I couldn’t hold off a second longer, just grabbed her hips, lifted her up, dropped her down hard. Once, twice. Then I spurted hot and thick. Long as fuck. I went blind. Lost brain cells. The world could explode, and I’d never know, but I had, because as I came back to myself, I realized the woman sprawled across my chest had changed me.
The one thing I knew, that sure as fuck hadn’t been fake.
12
ASTRID
I woke up, as usual, at four. At first, I was completely confused where I was, then had a moment of panic when I felt the arm over my waist and cupping my breast. It all came back in a flash. My parents’ house. The wedding. Thatcher. Thatcher’s thorough obsession with my boobs. Even in his sleep, he was touching one.
Dawn was approaching, but there wasn’t yet a hint of pink in the sky. Only the early start of the birds chirping indicated I wasn’t late waking up. Except I didn’t have to bake. I wasn’t even in The Bend.
But I was wide awake. Not only because I’d trained myself to get up at this ridiculous hour, but because I was in bed with Thatcher Manning.
Naked.
I’d kicked off my cowgirl boots when he’d gone to the bathroom to ditch the condom. Then he’d pulled me into his arms and I remembered nothing after.
His dick was pressed against my lower back and even unconscious, the guy sported wood. Carefully, I slid from the bed and slipped on Thatcher’s shirt and snapped it closed on the way to the kitchen. I dug through the fridge for something to eat, but my mother didn’t cook, and they didn’t consider leftovers an option. Amy only ate salads and drank smoothies so there wasn’t even an egg to scramble.
I shut the fridge door and stifled a scream. Thatcher stood there, arms crossed over his bare chest. He was only in his boxers. His hair was a mess—thanks to me. I’d flipped on the undercabinet lights when I’d come in so the room was lit, but not brightly. Every hard plane of Thatcher’s chiseled body stood out in relief. The six-pack abs. The sturdy thighs. The thick bulge in his boxers.
“Sweets, what the hell are you doing up?” His voice was raspy from sleep and his whiskers were dark.
After what we’d done earlier, I didn’t hesitate to run my fingers over them to discover they were soft, but raspy.
“This is when I usually wake up.”
His gaze dipped to his shirt. “Looks better on you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, but I liked wearing his shirt. And nothing else.
“I’ve got something we can do to pass the time. You game?”
Was I game for more sex with Thatcher? Um, yeah.
“You got your fantasy earlier,” he murmured. “My turn?”
I licked my lips at the possibilities. I knew Thatcher liked my body. He’d liked it when I was on top. But beyond that…
“Your turn,” I whispered, my hand pressing against his chest and then sliding down. Lower and lower still.
“You good with me taking control?” he asked.
Amy and my parents were asleep in their rooms. They could come down at any time, although I couldn’t imagine them waking at this time of night. Or morning.
“Sure.”
“Good girl. Then bend over the counter.”
My eyes flared, then flicked to the huge center island. This was his fantasy? Here?
He must have sensed my concern because he asked, “Think I’d do anything to hurt you? That all I want to do is get you to come all over my dick?”
He’d seen the people I’d grown up with. He had a pretty good idea of what I’d gone through growing up. One thing I couldn’t stand was being humiliated or degraded. Thatcher wouldn’t do that to me. A thrill shot through me, and it wasn’t panic.
It was need.
I turned and set my palms on the cool granite, then leaned forward.
He didn’t wait but nudged my feet wider apart with one of his knees. His hands slid up the backs of my thighs and pushed his shirt up to my waist.
“I love this ass.”
“It’s big.”
“You want me to spank you here in your parents’ kitchen?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
The idea of him spanking me made me clench my butt cheeks in anticipation.
“You like that idea.”
“Not here.”
His hand caressed over my butt. “No, not here.”
I heard the sound of a condom wrapper, then a pause where I turned to watch him slide the protection down his length.
He reached around me, gripped the front of his shirt I wore and tugged the snaps open.
My breasts spilled out and he cupped them as he thrust deep.
I moaned, then bit my lip.
“Shh,” he murmured in my ear. “You don’t want your parents to know you’re getting fake fucked by your fake boyfriend.”
He took me hard as he played with my breasts, tugged on my nipples. Whispered dirty words. With his other hand, he coiled my hair around his fingers and pulled. Gently, but still. I’d never had it tugged before and it was hot as hell. Especially when it arched my back and he groaned when my breasts thrust out.
I’d never met a guy who was so much of a breast man.
Reaching between us, I rubbed my clit. I needed to come. And now because I was so worked up. It was like I craved Thatcher, craved what he could do with his dick. I could barely move. Between my hips trapped between the granite and Thatcher, my hair snagged… I couldn’t do anything but feel. I’d think about how quick I orgasmed with him another time. I just gave over to the feel of him surrounding me, pounding me, taking what he wanted from my body while I came on a whimper, my glasses practically falling off my face.
He followed me, thrusting deep and slapping a hand on the granite by my head.
Our ragged breathing was the only sound in the house.
“Thank you,” I finally whispered.
“For what?” he asked, his voice rough as he pulled out. “Fucking you? Sweets, I do that gladly.”
“Well, for that too, I guess. I’ll never think of this kitchen in the same way again.”
I felt his smile against my skin. “Same goes for my shirt. Come on, back to bed.”
Later, when we woke up for the softball game, I didn’t panic when I thought about being late. I had an answer planned for my sister. But it was long and hard, and I really didn’t want to share.
13
THATCHER
She panicked because we were late, fidgeting in the van as she pointed the way to the high school ball fields. She was in running shorts which showed off her legs in ways I hadn’t seen before and a bakery t-shirt. Of course, I envisioned her tits in all their bare glory. Her hair was pulled back in a long ponytail. And that made me remember how I’d gripped it in the middle of the night. I hadn’t expected to fuck her over the kitchen counter, but it wasn’t something I would forget. Ever. Taking her so roughly, so carnally. And it had all been fake.
Right. We may have been calling everything we’d been doing fake, but my dick was the smart one and knew that the hot clamp of her pussy when she’d come had been anything but pretend.
“There they are.” She pointed, although it was obvious where we were going since there were two fields, one of them empty.
I pulled into a spot between a C
utthroat police SUV and a six-figure convertible that only came out to play for about three months a year.
Before she hopped out, I grabbed her arm. She looked over her shoulder at me, surprised. “Do I need to give you another fake orgasm so you’re relaxed?”
She blushed, pushed her glasses up. “Seventh inning stretch?” A sly smile spread across her face when I had to adjust myself.
She hopped out and I met her by the hood. Through the chain link fence that separated the playing field from the parking lot, I took in the group.
Astrid’s mother, Amy, Michael. Bea. Bunky and Lynn. The former president. Eddie. The wedding planner, Kit, who must have been roped into this. A few others I hadn’t met before.
“Can your mother play softball?” I wondered. While Astrid’s mom couldn’t be more than fifty-five, I figured the only thing she ran to was a shoe sale. She was in black ankle pants and a fuschia blouse. A blouse. To play softball.
“No. But she wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
“But your dad would?” I didn’t see him anywhere.
“Last night there was liquor,” she said.
I mentally added and hookers.
“I’m sure he’s at the hospital. He’ll be at the rehearsal dinner tonight. I’m sorry I never asked if you were okay with this.”
“Softball?” I shrugged. “What can go wrong?”
I should have known with this crowd, probably a hell of a lot.
We walked onto the field and joined the group by one of the dugouts. Patricia turned to us, her assessing gaze raking over us. “There you are.”
“We’re here!” Astrid replied brightly.
Michael came over, gave me a head nod. I’d learned the night before he was an accountant and I’d played against his high school football team back in the day. Out of the guys I’d met, he was as decent as Astrid had said. He wore gym shorts and an old college t-shirt, far from the others in their designer athleisure-wear. Bunky was dressed for the links, not right field. Eddie’s sneakers cost more than a fancy saddle. I didn’t even look at any of the women in their skin-tight leggings and crop tops.
“We’ve already chosen teams,” Michael said. “Amy and I are team captains. You and Astrid are with me, Edward, Bea, Bunky, Kit and her boyfriend, Nix.”
I only nodded because being stuck with Eddie and Bunky? Fucking awful.
“Batter up!” Patricia shouted from behind home plate.
I glanced at Michael, who frowned. “She’s the umpire.”
Astrid came over in a ball cap, the words “Groom’s Team” embroidered on the front. She handed one to me, another to Michael. “Here.”
I looked at it, sighed, and put it on. I’d left my Stetson in Astrid’s room.
“Hey, I’m Nix Knight.” We shook hands. “I know your brother, Huck.”
“Oh?”
“The police SUV’s mine. I’m a Cutthroat detective and I’ve worked with Huck on a case or two. My girl, Kit, asked me to come to even out the teams.”
Michael handed me a glove and pushed me toward left field. “Nice to meet you,” I called to Nix as he cut to first base.
Since there weren’t enough players to round out full teams, I stayed in close and was expected to be a mix of outfield, shortstop and third base.
Amy was up first, followed by four others. They made it as far as second base before they had three outs. Astrid, as catcher, easily caught a fly ball to finish off the top of the inning. Either they were all hungover from the party the night before or they just sucked.
Bunky joined me as I walked back to the dugout. “Surprised to see you here, Manning,” he said.
“Why, Bunky? After what Charles said, I thought you’d be at the casino today.”
He hated that nickname when he was in The Bend. I had to assume he went by Thomas here in Cutthroat.
“I figured you more for a guy looking for a hot piece of ass instead of a hot bank account,” he replied. “Maybe I was wrong about you.”
The only guy who could think of Astrid as a hot piece of ass was me. While Bunky’s words were meant to rile me, I only saw them as an attack on Astrid.
“Your nose is looking better. What did you tell Lynn happened last weekend?” I raised my hand and waved in his wife’s direction even though she wasn’t looking our way.
Sawyer had punched him in the nose when he’d learned Bunky was the ex who’d lied to Kelsey about being married, and about being in love with her.
His jaw clenched as if he could crack the back molars and his cheeks flushed. He grabbed a bat and stormed off, which was great because now he was out of my face.
Astrid came into the dugout and sat her borrowed glove on the bench then grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler. She eyed me but didn’t approach. She knew I had a beef with Bunky.
Michael bat first, got a double and kissed Amy who was playing second base.
Bunky was up next.
“You good?” I asked Astrid.
She gave me a quick smile, left the dugout with a bat and said over her shoulder. “Oh yeah. I got this.”
She was on deck and I missed Bunky strike out because of her swinging a bat for warmup. Her t-shirt went taut over her tits when she swung. I’d sucked on those luscious globes. Cupped them. Watched them sway as we fucked.
I had to look away because my shorts didn’t hide a hard on.
Fortunately, Bunky stomped back to the dugout, which was the best thing to make my dick go down. He swore to himself as Astrid settled in behind home plate to wait for the pitch. Did she even play softball? Had she played sports as a kid? I didn’t see her as big on field hockey or ballet. Too frou frou for her. I figured—
Holy shit. She launched that ball into outer space on the first swing. It easily cleared the fence.
I watched as she ran the bases, a perfect soft smile on her face as she did. Michael ran home and waited for her to follow, then gave her a high five. The rest of us on the team came out of the dugout to join him, gave her high fives as well.
I gave her one plus a fake kiss. A really fucking good one. “I think I’m going to call you Slugger from now on.”
She grinned and it wasn’t fake at all. “Softball scholarship to USC.”
“Impressive,” I said, taking her hand and sitting beside her in the dugout.
Eddie followed her and struck out. I went after, hit a line drive and got a single. Another bridesmaid who introduced herself as Tara, followed, but also struck out.
It became very clear who had played ball before.
After collecting our mitts, we headed back to the outfield. Eddie caught up to me.
“You missed the real bachelor party last night.”
“Oh?”
Watching Astrid straddling me and taking my dick for a ride was better than seeing any strip show a hooker could offer.
“Three strippers. They were incredible.” Eddie cupped his hands in front of his chest. “Sandra, the one with the big titties and the bare pussy did things that had to be illegal.”
“Huh,” I added, taking off my Groom’s Team hat and wiping my forehead.
“I mean, a girlfriend’s fine and all, but will they suck your dick like a Hoover? Astrid never—”
I held up my hand. “Don’t finish that sentence,” I warned.
He smiled at me. “Come on, you know Astrid like I do. She’ll never get down and dirty like any of those strippers. You need to think of the Sandras out there in order to get off when she’s beneath you.”
That was it. There on the Cutthroat High School softball field, I lost my shit. I didn’t give a fuck if someone trash talked me. Hell, I heard it all the time from drunks at the bar.
But no one… no one, bad mouthed Astrid.
I pushed him in the arm, which knocked him off balance. His mitt fell to the grass.
“What the fuck?”
I narrowed my eyes. Snarled. “I said to shut the fuck up.”
“You’re only between her thighs for her mon
ey. Trust me, a frigid pussy’s a hefty price for a bank account like hers.”
I punched him. Like Astrid and her home run, I only needed one swing. His nose crunched beneath my knuckles and I felt a thrill of satisfaction when blood spurted. He grabbed his nose and bent at the waist.
“Dude, what the fuck?” Eddie shouted. Blood slid down his face, dripped off his chin.
I stood there, fists clenched, practically daring him to say more.
“Whoa, what’s going on here?” Michael asked. He put his arms out as if he were a ref separating two rowdy hockey players. I took a step back, then another.
“He shared some things that were better off left unsaid,” I replied, trying to be diplomatic.
Astrid came over, stood beside me. She went up on her tiptoes, whispered in my ear. “I’ve wanted to do that for years.”
I looked down at her, took in those green eyes behind her glasses. The mischief in them. “Yeah, it felt damned good,” I whispered back.
Amy ran up, got in Eddie’s face.
“You told him?” Amy waved her arms, eyes wild. Eddie could barely see her around his hand. Blood was staining his fucking golf shirt. “How could you tell him?”
Everyone came over, circled around so we were all in the middle of the outfield.
“Tell him what?” Eddie asked her, playing dumb.
“Do you know what she’s talking about?” Astrid murmured.
Eddie wasn’t in a relationship with anyone as far as I knew, or at least not anyone who’d been invited to the wedding festivities. He could fuck Sandra the Hooker until his dick fell off from an STD for all I cared, but I doubted he wanted to share that with the group.
I had no idea what Amy was talking about, nor why she was freaking out.
“That broken nose says you did,” Amy went on. “I can’t believe you.”
“No idea,” I replied to Astrid. We were low-talking so we didn’t interrupt the soap opera in front of us. My money was on Amy.
“I assume you punched him in the nose for a reason,” Astrid murmured.
“Oh yeah.”
“And Amy knows why?”