Damn Anniston and her gloating. She’d already pissed me off by choosing Cade for her teammate.
“You’ll be fine. Don’t be a crybaby,” she said.
A crybaby? Ha! I am not a crybaby. I just didn’t want Thad’s slow ass on my fucking team.
And how dare she tell Cade to block me. That sort of dirty play deserves punishment. It got me completely hard watching her blonde tresses whip around her shoulders like angry tentacles so that it is exactly what she is going to get. Punishment.
Driving that car with precision and skill thickened my cock within the first ten seconds of racing. When she threw it in gear and gunned that last quarter mile?
Had. Me. Rock. Hard.
Her gloating? Yeah, that sealed the fucking deal. I’m going to fuck that victory dance out of her right here on the hood of her car. Let Cade and Thad get their fill. Fuckers.
I see them eyeing her. I see their disguised looks, their overeagerness to help her with anything. Well, not today boys.
This is what Dr. McCallister likes: dirty, filthy, rough, and violent victories. And I aim to please. Watch and learn, gentlemen.
I smash her body against the hood. She’s smirking at me, taunting me. My anger and jealousy simmer under the surface, waiting for the green light.
“Do it, Teddy,” she goads, trailing her finger over the lace lining her breasts.
Deep breath, Theo. Do not allow her the upper hand.
Her hands continue to move across the lace, caressing each junction of fabric. She moves one hand slowly down the ridges of her toned stomach toward her heat.
Fuck.
I’m losing control. She knows it, too, because my eyes follow that hand farther down of their own accord. Her fingers dance inside the black scrap of fabric until her eyes close. A breathy moan starts deep in her throat, climbing until she gasps it out in the air between us.
She’s about to come already. I know that face. And as she furiously moves her fingers under those panties, I realize she will alleviate this ache with or without me.
Jumping into motion, I snatch her hand and flip her onto her stomach, the force of her impact making a loud thud. “Did I fucking tell you that you could do that?”
She turns her head, goading me some more. “I figured you’d forgotten how. I was just guiding you.”
That mouth. That fucking mouth makes me want to do dangerous things.
Restraining her hands behind her back like she’s some kind of criminal, I yank her panties down, her body slick with sweat, catching the fabric at her thighs. A hard tug, and I free them enough to get them to her knees.
Hastily, I unzip my jumpsuit and free my hardened cock. It springs to life, eager to get this show on the road. I force myself between Anniston’s legs, spreading her wide across the hood.
Grazing my finger over her soaked slit, I whisper, “Scream when you can’t take any more.”
Her tongue sweeps across her smiling lips, accentuating the triumphant gleam in her eyes. With a firm squeeze, she traps me between her legs and whispers, “No.”
Adrenaline spikes as she challenges me for control. I fucking revel in the sickness of this game we play.
“I’m going to be rough with you, Anniston. I’m not going to stop until you’re hoarse, begging for mercy. But there will be none, not for you. You’re mine, and when you’re limping back to the car, Cade and Thad will know it, too.”
“You, promise?”
I yank her up by the wrists, forcing her face-first into the hood. I don’t need to check if she’s ready for me. I can still feel the wetness she left on my stomach as she squeezed me to her, holding me captive. Anniston’s chest heaves against the cool metal, her anticipation growing evident in her ragged breaths.
“You want me to fuck you, Ans? You want to feel what you do to me?”
Switching to one hand, I keep her pinned, weaving my hands through her thick, sweaty tresses.
She laughs.
She fucking laughs at me.
“I wish you would and shut up and fuck me with some urgency.”
My adrenaline peeks, my body humming in pure, unfiltered desire. A ferocious growl erupts from my chest as I snatch her head back and plunge into her tight, wet pussy. I fuck her violently, pounding those hips ruthlessly against the unforgiving metal. Over and over, I pound scream after scream from her throat, her voice quivering with the need for release.
“How bout now, beautiful? How’s that silence treating you?”
She grunts, grinding against me, chasing her high. I’m a bastard, holding her tight, keeping her from reaching that coveted spot she desperately craves.
Another tug of hair. “Tell me. Tell me, what I want to hear!”
“Please. Please, Theo.”
Without further bullshit, I pound us into oblivion, giving in to our unbridled needs. Deep then shallow, my strokes become wild and chaotic, fucking us into a frenzy of madness until finally we can’t stand anymore. Her walls contract, choking me as she milks the very essence from my soul.
A screeching sound blares throughout the room, jolting me from a deep sleep. Hell yeah. I managed to actually sleep in Suck-Ass-Washington. Granted, it’s because I’m with Ans.
Now, as I roll over, reaching for her side of the bed, I realize she’s already up. The clock says it’s seven. She’s probably been up a couple of hours.
Scrubbing a hand down my face, clearing the sleep from my eyes, I yank the plug from the wall, because, well… I’m an asshole and can’t be bothered with finding the off button to shut up the annoying music, screaming about “shaking it off.” Couldn’t she use her phone like a normal person?
Enjoying the feeling of a restful night’s sleep, I stretch out, covering the entire bed. Pans bang in the kitchen, interrupting my peace, probably Thad ass-kissing Ans by making her breakfast. Douche. She hardly eats breakfast. She’s a shake kind of girl.
I have to be at the field to train today at nine. Ugh. At least Ans is going with me. Some days it’s almost unbearable, I want to quit so bad. Thad says it’s not time, that I need to grow my investments more to ensure I will be financially sound should I not work for a while.
At this point, I don’t give a fuck. I just want to go back home to Georgia. The traveling, the hotel rooms, the practice, the coaches up my ass, the nutritionist in my face about a damn cookie can all go fuck themselves. I don’t want this life anymore.
It sounded cool in college, anything to not go work for my father, but now… now I want something else. And that something fell asleep drooling on my arm last night.
Realizing I need to get up and motivated, I stretch one last time then dig my toes in the plush carpet. I probably should put some clothes on since I have guests but, nah, it’s my house. I’m the king of this fucking castle.
I stroll into the kitchen clad only in my boxers and frown. Thad is making a fucking mess in my kitchen. “What the fuck dude? You are cleaning all this shit up.”
He spears me with a glare. “You’re welcome.”
What? I’m welcome? Why am I thankful?
“I made you breakfast, douche. Anniston and Cade went for a run and decided they would stop by that smoothie place she likes for breakfast. She said she would meet you at the field.”
No, she didn’t.
“Our smoothie place?” I clarify with a cough.
He gives me a curt nod.
I feel my blood pressure rising. You know when the tingling starts in your hands and moves to your chest? Your head becomes cloudy and then you either pass out or run. Yeah. That’s where I’m at. I shake out my hands and will myself to breathe.
She took Cade to our spot. Fuck me.
Cade is fucking dead.
Thad looks at me with pity in his eyes.
“Don’t fucking look at me like that!” I snap bitterly. I don’t want his damn pity. Cade is not a threat.
Thad sets two plates down at the bar. Eggs. A tad bit of guilt creeps in. “Let’s eat. I’ll give you a ride.”
Yep. It’s guilt I’m feeling. Raking a frustrated hand through my hair, I say, “I’m sorry.”
He gives me a chin lift in acceptance. He’s a better man than me. In his place, I would have taken the opportunity to rub my face in my apology or pointed out that another dude was moving in on my girl. But he doesn’t. Instead, he plays the dutiful brother by making me a consolation breakfast.
We eat in silence. His cooking is actually decent, but I push the food around on my plate, caught up in my own self-pity.
“Hurry up,” he says, rising. “You can’t be late again.”
I push away from the table and toss my plate in the sink. It shatters against the stainless steel, but I don’t care.
Thad sighs, and I stomp to my room to change in anticipation of this nightmare of a day.
“Hey, Von Bremen. Did Anniston finally grow a brain and dump your sorry ass?”
Drew Michaels is shit-starting this morning. I’m not in the mood. I continue to dress, slinging everything I can in my locker with force.
Anniston showed up a few minutes ago looking fresh-faced and gorgeous in her little spandex shorts that barely cover her ass. Needless to say, everyone takes notice when she is here.
“Yeah, I saw her with that big dude. Did he scare you off, pretty boy?” Freeman echoes the taunts being thrown my way.
I take a couple of deep breaths, reigning in my fury. They’re just trying to get a rise out of you. Ignore them.
“Shake it off, dude. Neither of them can get any pussy,” Brody whispers. He squeezes my shoulder. It helps but doesn’t ease my tension.
“Lady in the house!”
Speak of the fucking devil.
“Oh, come on Lewis! Gimme a break. You don’t need two hands to cover your package. I’ve seen that itty-bitty thing.” Anniston struts into the locker room like she owns this motherfucker.
The guys howl in laughter right before she locks eyes with me and winks, Cade trailing behind her like the good little lap dog he is. Her black shorts flex with her muscles as she wades through the mass of guys, hurling insults as she goes.
She swats Brody’s ass when she reaches us. “How’s it hanging, bro?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “It’s hanging nicely, Dr. McCallister. Good to have you back.”
He hugs her awkwardly and makes an excuse to leave. Yeah. He fucking knows better.
“Ans,” I drawl. “So glad you could finally join me.”
She smirks, catching onto my pettiness. “And here I thought you didn’t miss me.”
I leer and grab my hat from the bench. “Come on,” and tug her through the crowd of teammates, toward the exit. In hindsight, we should have let Cade go first; the crowd gives him a wide berth.
“Hey, McCallister!”
Dammit. We were almost out.
“How bout you let me take you out tonight?”
Anniston turns and addresses Michaels, who currently has a death wish.
Unlocking our fingers, Anniston gives me a smile. Oh, shit. Good luck, Michaels. She saunters toward him, her hips swaying to a silent beat.
Michaels licks his lips while palming his dick. “Yeah, sweetheart. Lemme show you a good time.”
Cade moves forward with a low growl. “Just wait,” I encourage, touching his shoulder.
He gives me a curt nod and takes his glare back to Michaels.
“Aww… How cute,” she says in a singsong voice. She brushes Michaels’ hair off his forehead and leans in close, suddenly grabbing his balls in a tight grip.
Michaels makes a squeaking noise just as his knees buckle.
“But I have to admit, Drew, I don’t fuck anyone with OBP lower than 400.”
Her grip tightens on his balls and he sinks lower to the ground.
“And if you so much as insult me again I will make sure that you taste spunk for a solid week.”
Another squeeze.
In a squeaky voice, Michaels apologizes and agrees to be on his best behavior before Anniston gives him a shove into his buddies.
She flips her hair with a devilish smile and mutters, “Pussy,” as she struts back to me.
“Come on, Von Bremen. It’s your turn.”
“You’re releasing too late!”
“No, I’m not!” I shout back, wiping the sweat from my brow. I’m tired and short-tempered, snapping at anyone who dares offer me advice. This shit sucks. I was ready to leave an hour ago.
Anniston is perched behind Brody, my catcher for today, critiquing my curveball, which subsequently is too far outside. I think it’s a finger adjustment. She thinks it’s a timing issue. One of us is wrong and I am pretty certain it’s her.
A small crowd has gathered to watch her unique coaching strategy. Unique as in, she threatens and throws shit at me when I don’t do it like she says. Even Bellamy is enjoying my torture, flashing me a shit-eating grin while Ans reams my ass six ways from Sunday. Michaels is amongst the crowd, sending me hate glares as often as he possibly can. It’s a damn miracle that I am able to focus.
“Come on, T.” Brody’s encouragement is severely lacking in confidence but highly appreciated, nonetheless.
“Theo!” Anniston grabs the ball from Brody and marches toward me. “Release it a half-second earlier. Do what I am fucking telling you!”
On a huff, I snatch the ball from her outstretched hand, pound it over and over in my glove. It’s times like this that I want to launch this damn ball into space and give all these fuckers a “deuces,” but no, I have to be an adult. Be responsible they say. Fuck that.
Anniston retakes her position behind Brody, leaning over his shoulder for a perfect view of the plate. He gives me the signal, adjusting his crouch to the corner and opens his glove, providing my target.
I double-clutch the ball, rubbing the laces in a clockwork pattern. It’s a habit and has no effect on how the pitch is thrown. Most of the guys on the team have some kind of tick. Maybe they open and close the Velcro on their batting glove each time they step out of the batter’s box. The movement creates a beat of time in which the batter can gather his thoughts, take a deep breath and anticipate the pitch. It’s strategy. It’s a mindfuck. Either way, we all do it to buy time.
Once I finish my ceremonious rubbing, I wind, bringing my knee to my chest, pulling my fingers apart, and release the ball at the hip. It’s too far outside. Again.
“A fucking kindergartner could have hit that!” Her frustration is palpable as she yells at me mid-pace to the mound. In her current state, anything is possible, so in an effort to calm her fury I reach back into the bucket of balls behind me, grabbing another, and set up before she can reach me.
“I bet you couldn’t hit it.” The voice that irks me on a daily basis spills out of Michaels’ mouth from the first baseline. What could possess a human to be that stupid? It’s like he said, “Today, I want to die.” I realize he’s still a little butthurt about Anniston’s remark in the locker room but now he’s just being petty.
Baseball players typically are nonaggressive players. Unlike football, baseball players use sneaky maneuvers like having their pitcher pitch to the far inside or flat out throw a fastball into a nonlethal body part. They don’t just haul off and fight. No, we’re catty bitches and like to be passive-aggressive until it’s your turn to bat.
My head snaps up just in time to see Michaels smirk at a pissed off Ans. Again, what an idiot.
My eyes track to Ans, her lips thinning into a straight line.
“Give me the bat,” she demands Liam, my relief pitcher.
He looks at me, then at her, his head mirroring a dog tracking a treat. I’m not a good people reader but the expression on his face is pretty clear. He’s fucking terrified.
The thought that Ans inspires fear in my teammates curls a smile onto my lips.
Seriously, Liam, she doesn’t work for the team. What could she possibly do to you?
But that’s the thing about fear…it’s the unknown that really gets to you. If you knew the worst that could happen then you wouldn’t be as scared.
“Give. Me. A. Bat,” she repeats slowly, approaching Liam like a hungry lioness.
Liam hands over a bat with unsteady hands, quickly halting her strides toward him. Okay, someone has to stop this madness. She can’t really be out here hitting my pitches, not that she hasn’t before. She’s hit many of my pitches but I usually slow them down and make sure she is geared up properly.
“Come on, Ans,” I plead.
She’s being stubborn and downright unreasonable now. Ignoring my plea, she steps up to the plate in her little shorts and tank and digs in.
“Paint me a corner.” She takes a practice swing, cutting the bat up high then leveling it at chest height.
“Come on, Ans, you don’t even have a helmet.”
I look to Bellamy for help. Don’t get me wrong, I like her crazy, but this is serious stuff. She went to school for ten years for shit’s sake. What if the ball hits her in the head and causes brain damage or something? I love her but I’m not sure I’m ready to take the step of wiping her ass for the rest of my life.
“Dr. McCallister, I have to insist that you don’t do this.”
Thank you, Bellamy. Finally, someone of authority tries talking sense into her.
“Come on, Commander.”
As much as Cade’s voice grates on my last nerve, I’m actually relieved to hear him speak up. Maybe she’ll listen to his dumbass.
Nope. Anniston takes another swing, keeping her eyes on me, totally ignoring the “please” and “common sense” being asked of her.
“Throw the fucking ball, Theo.”
Twenty years of friendship and fifteen years of sleeping together, not to mention she’s my trainer, allots me some pull on most things but not with my training. No, in this area she is the boss, my motherfucking Commander. I know what happens if I don’t throw the ball. The question is, do I want to deal with the consequences? Like my head is not my own, I shake my head once, no.
“What if I hit you?” No sense in not giving it one last shot before I cave.
“You won’t hit me. Now. Throw. The. Ball!”
I won’t hit her. Psh… has she seen me pitch before? How many batters have I hit? Fifty? A hundred? Shit, it’s so many I’ve lost count. Let’s be realistic here.
Anniston takes one more practice swing and points the tip of the bat in the air, indicating left field. I glance over to Michaels, who is looking on with rapt fascination. Fucking prick. I hope Cade beats the fuck out of him later. With the hate stare Jameson is rocking, Michaels will be lucky if he walks out of this ballpark unassisted.
I pull in a deep breath as I clutch the ball in my glove, snagging a look at Brody for confirmation that we are actually participating in this craziness. His head shakes in exasperation but he resignedly gives me the signal with two fingers to his left thigh and a tap to his right, indicating he is ready for the curve.
With a head nod, I acknowledge his command, curling into my wind and then sending a pitch whistling through the air. I know the instant it leaves my hand that she’s going to hit it—the determination in her eyes brooks no argument. Her knee drops lower, her shoulders square up just as she swings hard into the pitch.
The unmistakable crack of the bat echoes in the stadium, creating a cacophony of gasps. My curveball soars through the sky and drops politely into left field. Just as she predicted. A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth as every head follows the path of the ball.
“How bout you go fetch that, Michaels? I’ll fucking sign it for you.”
This damn girl. My damn girl. I double over laughing as Cade turns his back to me, his body shaking in laughter, too. Even Bellamy is wearing a smug-ass smile. Michaels stands stupidly, glaring daggers at Ans before accepting defeat, turning on his heel, heading for the dugout. She gives him her attention for all of a second before she pulls her focus back to me.
“Now, do what I told you!” she yells, her coach voice ringing out.
I get out a strangled, “Yes, ma’am,” before I release the next pitch, half a second early, painting the left corner of the plate perfectly. Just like she said it would.