by Kristy Marie
“You look exquisite this evening.”
She smiles and kisses him on the cheek. “Thanks, Gorgeous. I’ll see you later.”
I offer my elbow, because I guess I have to be a gentleman as well if Cade is going to show me up. She takes it without argument and snags her purse off the stool as she passes.
As we near the car, Bailey, our driver for the night, steps out to open the back door to the black limo the team rented for this event.
I pull on Anniston’s elbow, stopping her from entering. Leaning in close, I whisper in her ear, “I don’t think you look exquisite. I think you look downright fuckable and I’m not sure we are going to make it to the gala with you in this dress.”
She pulls back and looks me in the eyes and shrugs. “Whatever, Theo, as long as we stop for tacos.”
I belt out a laugh and let her go. This damn girl. “You really do something for my ego.”
She winks and gives me a smile, disappearing into the back seat.
“Oh, oh, here we go,” Anniston chants against me excitedly. Her legs are thrown haphazardly across my lap, her bare feet rubbing rhythmically across my pant legs. We’re parked across the street from the gala’s entrance.
A little while ago, we expertly polished off six soft taco supremes and are now partaking in our favorite pastime—parking lot people watching while taking shots of tequila. Anniston insisted on not drinking her calories with cheap champagne.
“Miss Miller, you are stunning tonight. Who are you wearing?” Anniston questions in a low voice, pretending to be Ryan Seacrest interviewing this chick that’s hanging on the arm of one of the players entering the building. She’s dressed in a skimpy green dress that barely covers her ass. Sadly, she is clueless when it comes to the etiquette of attire for the All-Star Gala.
In a pitchy voice, Anniston continues, “Oh, thank you, Ryan. You are so sweet and handsome. How about you take it off for me and we can check the label together. This asshole and his enormous hands can’t loosen me up for shit and his stamina…” she trails a manicured nail down my chest, “… but you, Ryan, you and I could make some magic.”
I chuckle, swat her hand away and try to come up with something equally brilliant. Following her lead, I take on the role of playing the outfielder of the Aces, who unfortunately has the honor of a date who looks like a bad fuck dressed in tissue paper. “Good luck with this one, Ryan. She can’t suck a dick to save her life but her tits are nice, so I overlook the slobbering and all-around gold digging.”
Anniston giggles and slides me a shot of tequila as the couple walks through the double doors.
“The valet checked his watch, take a shot,” she instructs while pouring herself another.
This drinking game we’re playing is an oldie but goodie. We’ve both been watching intently, waiting to see when the valet will check his watch again so we can find another excuse to get drunker.
We don’t have to wait long. The valet checks his watch three more times in the next five minutes. At this point, we are well on our way to sloppy drunk.
“Bailywick!” Anniston shouts too close to my ear. “Take a shot with us!”
Leaning my head back against the seat, I chuckle, knowing Bailey will not agree to the shot. Someone has to be responsible out of three of us. Bailey, unfortunately, is a professional. I’m really drunk. The good kind of drunk. Anniston and I used to do this all the time in college. It feels like old times and I can’t help but prolong our time in this car to keep from breaking our perfect little world.
Eventually, we decide it’s time to go in and deal with the bullshit ahead of us. Bailey helps Anniston out of the car first. She is much steadier than I thought she would be, only stumbling once before getting her footing. I take her hand and lead us down the red carpet, straight into the lion’s den.
The room is draped in red, white, and blue colors. Wall-to-wall are canvases of the baseball hall of famers. Babe Ruth, Hank Aaron, Tom Glavine are all grinning at me as I pass their pictures.
Anniston takes it all in, gasping excitedly as we look at each one. She even has me take her picture next to them. We earn some frowns but not nearly as many as when we start taking selfies with them. Apparently, it’s inappropriate to make jerk off motions at the players you don’t care for.
We mingle a little after that, schmoozing and ass-kissing so much that our lips are chapped.
“This shit sucks.” Anniston is downing another glass of champagne.
“I thought you weren’t going to drink your calories?”
She shrugs, not giving a fuck at this point. “Eh, my buzz is wearing off and I can’t take these pricks sober.”
I one hundred percent agree with her. You can’t take these snooty looks and pretentious remarks without alcohol. It just can’t be done. “Yeah, it’s fucking bad. How bout we liven it up?”
The answering gleam in her eyes is all the assurance I need. I grab her hand and pull her down the hall, scoping out any available room with a lock.
As fate would have it, there’s an empty office right off the hall. I know what you’re thinking. Really? At a charity function? Sure, the room has a lock, we aren’t that disrespectful.
I tug Ans through the door and flip the lock. Faster than she can take a breath, I have her body shoved against the door, ready to maul her drunk ass right here.
“Wait, what if someone tries to come in here?”
“Then their night just turned around.” I attack her mouth, silencing any more protests. We’re alone. Everyone is too high and mighty to leave the ballroom.
Anniston shoves against me. “Wait.”
I’m horny, and getting more irritated by the second with her stalling. “What now?”
She flashes me a devilish smile. “It’s Monday.”
Fuck.
“Get on your knees, Von Bremen.”
I so don’t want it to be Monday. Dammit! I check her face once again to validate that she’s serious. We haven’t done a Monday or Thursday in the past few weeks. Why must she pull this card out now?
Her eyes command obedience, so I suck it up and lower slowly to my knees. She grins excitedly, whatever her drunken brain has come up with, she likes. And by the way she walks in a slow circle around me, stalking, I am going to hate loving it.
She plays with my hair as she makes a pass and keeps going. Her hands slip inside my jacket, sliding it off, and carefully hanging it over the hook on the door.
“Do you like to watch me pleasure myself, Theo?”
Fuck, yeah, I like to watch. What man doesn’t? Slowly, I nod. I’m not sure what she has in mind so I’m cautious about responding quickly.
She doesn’t elaborate further. Unknotting my tie, she drapes it over the back of her neck and begins to work open my shirt. Button by button, my chest is exposed to her warm fingers. Her touch, as she drags her nails down, creates chills that run across my torso and down my thighs. It’s the best kind of torture.
“Theo, what day is today?” she purrs.
I fidget with the hem of my shirt that she’s inching open with every button. “Monday,” I almost growl. Dammit, this girl. She loves to rub this control shit in my face. Okay, I do it too. It’s just our thing.
“Just, Monday?”
“McCallister’s Monday.” I run a hand through my hair, a strangled moan escaping with my answer.
“And who holds the control on McCallister’s Monday?”
My jaw clenches. I bet it’s visible that my restraint is holding on by a thread. “You do,” I finally grind out.
“That’s right, Theo. Now, the game is simple today. No touching. No talking. And…” She smiles big. “You must beg me to come.”
She knew I wouldn’t stomach that one well. When I don’t immediately answer, she asks, “Are you clear, Theo?”
I nearly spit, “Yes.”
My mood fucking tanks. Here I am, looking for a quick fuck to liven up the hellish night and she goes all Commander on me.
Her
smile is seductive. “Hands.”
I take a deep breath and place my hands on my knees. She makes quick work of knotting them together with my tie. With a tug, she pulls me to my feet, leading me over to a chair, where she pushes me back onto my knees next to the chair and tethers me to the leg with the excess material of my tie. She kisses me harshly, grabbing my jaw, shoving her tongue into the deep recesses of my mouth. It’s animalistic. It’s fucking erotic.
Licking her lips, she backs away from me and rounds the desk, dragging her hand over the surface. It’s clean, probably hasn’t been used in a while. That makes this little game pretty convenient. And right now, as Anniston hoists herself onto the edge, it’s going to provide me with the best view. Anniston begins unzipping her dress, a coy smile tugging at her lips, taunting me as she reveals inch after perfect inch of the smooth skin of her perfect, supple breasts.
I pull at the tie binding me to the chair. I’m on the floor, my knees aching, my dick straining at my zipper. It’s downright painful.
“Come on, Ans.” I’m impatient as she tosses her dress on the desk, and quickly slips off her Spanx.
She “tsks” me for speaking and removes her panties, tossing them at my knees. “Eyes open, Theo.”
Trust me, I’m not closing my eyes, not for a second. I want a full view for this show. Spreading her legs as wide as she can go, she opens herself for my viewing pleasure. Her pupils dilate and I am very invested in this show.
She grins and begins to suck on her two middle fingers, slowly letting them drift from her mouth, to in between her breasts, down her taut stomach, and finally to her dripping slit and through its folds, reversing and rubbing her wetness up to her clit. Her fingers stay on her nub, rubbing, stroking it until it’s swollen with desire. Abruptly, she removes her fingers, inserting them into her soaked entrance without hesitation. Believe me when I say she doesn’t need any lubricant. I can see the sheen from here.
Her head falls back, enjoying the feeling of pleasuring herself in front of me. She knows it drives me wild, knowing I can’t help; that I can’t plunge my own fingers through those tight folds.
My cock springs toward her, against my zipper. I’m not sure how much more the seams can take. Anniston lifts her head, gazing at me with hooded eyes. She’s into this. I’m shifting my weight from knee to knee, uncomfortable tied to the leg of this damn chair.
Her moans permeant the air as she fingerfucks herself to an orgasm. I can’t do this.
“Your fucking eyes better be on my pussy, Theo.”
“Untie my hands,” I rasp out. My control is slipping.
“No talking,” she moans, reminding me of the rules. Her body is trembling as she gets closer. Her legs spread wider, giving me an unobstructed view.
“Fuck,” I growl.
“Theo.” Arching her back, finding her clit with her other hand, she brings herself silent relief. Wetness leaks from between her fingers onto the wood grain of the desk.
Sweating and panting, still high from her orgasm, she stands and sashays toward me.
Thank fucking heavens. I don’t think I could have lasted one second longer.
She unties my hands slowly, giving the pink marks on my wrists a kiss. When I’m free, I jump up, my knees throbbing from being on them so long. I grab her hips, turning her around, forcing her face-first into the chair.
“Fuck McCallister’s Monday,” I growl, yanking my pants down in one swift motion.
Her gasp is cut short when I plunge into her glistening pussy. Holy shit. Her inner walls pull me in deep, caressing me with warm, methodic spasms.
I can barely contain myself. My hips are bucking wildly in an uncontrolled rhythm as I thrust in and out, watching as my dick disappears in between her cheeks. Anniston loses her grip on the chairback and bends farther at the waist, wrapping her hands around the seat. Attagirl. I can smell my musky cologne seeping out of my pores, that’s how fucking hot it is in here. I set a punishing pace, each stroke going deeper than the last.
Anniston bites down on my hand, and I know she’s stifling the urge to scream. Her nails scrape across the chair, attempting to hold on.
“Do you need to come, McCallister?”
She moans into my hand. Desperation is obvious in the pitch of her voice as she fights to maintain her sense of control. It’s futile at this point. Her answer contradicts what her body tells me. “No.”
“No?” Her challenge only ratchets up my pace.
I reach around her hip, finding her swollen nub. Creating a circular pattern, I increase the pressure until her legs are quivering, her body begging for release.
“Are you sure?”
She whimpers against my fingers. “Yes! God, yes!”
Without a sound, I pound into her clenching pussy until we both tip over the edge with a collective moan.
With a playful swat to her ass, I quip, “I love Mondays.”
She laughs, exhausted, intertwining our fingers as I go soft inside her.
“Commander.”
I’m immediately on alert when Anniston answers her cell phone on speaker. Cade wouldn’t call her unless it were serious.
She sets the phone on the desk while she dresses and asks, “What’s wrong?”
Cade hesitates, almost as if he’s unsure how to begin. “While I was taking the girl home, Lawson left the house. The hospital called, he was assaulted.”
Anniston gasps. “Is he okay?”
“A fractured wrist and some bruises is all the nurse would tell me. I’m on my way now. I left Hayes in charge of the others.”
She almost cuts him off with her response. “We’ll meet you over there.” Ending the call, there’s an expression of guilt left on her face.
“Ans…”
“I didn’t console him or tell him there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. He can’t control everything.”
I want to say, who the fuck cares, Cade’s a big boy. But I don’t. Instead, I rub her back soothingly. “He knows that.”
One thing bothers me about his whole situation though. Cade said Lawson had been behaving, allowing Cade and the others to help sort out the situation with Nicole. If I find he is keeping motherfucking secrets again and endangering my girl, we are going to have words.
“Finish getting dressed. At least we get to blow this snoozefest.” She barely returns my smile, so I add, “Lawson is a fucking idiot. There is nothing you or Cade can do to stop whatever dumbass decisions he makes.”
She nods her head, acknowledging that I’m right, or, she’s too upset to argue Lawson’s character on his behalf. Either way, we both dress in uncomfortable silence and sneak out of the empty office to be by Lawson’s side.
The crunching Ans and I are doing is damn near deafening. Six bags of chips are littered across the coffee table, just waiting to clog several arteries. On TV, the All-Star announcers are introducing this year’s players, commenting on their stats and predictions of the Wild Card race for both the American and National Leagues. Ans has the surround sound turned up so loud that it literally feels like we are at the game. We should be, but Lawson getting jumped yesterday put a damper on those plans. Ans didn’t want to leave any of us alone. We didn’t have the heart to tell her we could protect ourselves better than she could. No, we only smiled and said, “yes, ma’am.”
Pick your battles, gentlemen. No sense in arguing when you will inevitably lose.
“Pass me the Doritos,” she says between sucks on her fingers, pulling every leftover crumb into her mouth that she possibly can.
I just stare as she licks and sucks the flavor off each individual finger, giving each one personal attention. She is oblivious that this completely ill-mannered behavior is so sexy.
When I don’t pass the chips, she cuts her eyes to me. “You going to pass the chips or do I need to get them myself?”
I make a soft noise and hand over the bag. “I was just thinking you might want to pace yourself. Doritos taste horrible coming back up.”
<
br /> She glares at me before shoveling a fistful of chips past her lips. With her mouth full, she responds, “I don’t plan on running tonight. I’m going to sit here and watch my boy kill it on the mound and then I am going to pack in as many calories as I can from that ice cream container,” she nods to the table where the Rocky Road ice cream is thawing, “and then I am going to bed. Responsibilities be damned.”
A deep laugh bubbles up and out of my chest as I take in her disheveled appearance. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun, baggy sweats hang off her hips, and her snug tank top shows a little food belly as she devours chip after chip. She has never looked more beautiful than she does right now.
Women try so hard to fit the bill of what they think men consider beautiful. This is it. Right here. A real woman who isn’t shy to eat in front of a man. A woman who doesn’t give a shit if her hair looks like a mess or if she has a little food belly going on. This is real. Men like women who are real. What women fail to understand is that men feel self-conscious, too. So, if you’re relaxed, we’ll be relaxed, and that’s when the conversation flows freely and honestly.
“That sounds like a plan,” I confirm, stealing the Doritos away. “But you’re going to have to share those calories.”
Her answering smile notches the armor my heart hides behind as she snuggles into my side, wrapping those tiny arms around me. “I hope he kicks some ass.”
“He always does,” I admit, even though I would almost rather eat Vic’s cooking for a month than give Von Bremen a compliment. But, honestly, he is good. No sense in not giving the asshole credit. He’s obviously talented.
I chuckle at Anniston’s excitement at seeing Theo pitch for the third year in a row in the All-Star Games. You would think this would be just another game to her, having seen hundreds of his starts, but no, she gets this excited every single time.
The first pitch is thrown, starting off the game. Whoops and cheers come from behind me as the guys filter in and take up every solid surface in the family room. It’s a tight fit but it’s home. Anniston yells at Theo from the sofa, coaching his pitches, and giving him advice through the screen. Her body bounces with every strikeout as she squeals out praise. It’s silly. It’s fun. It’s mine.
