Strike Out: Mustangs Baseball #6

by Roz Lee

  She supposed the statement was an offer. “Water.” She’d already proven she had no control when she was around this man. Alcohol could only make it worse.

  He handed her a plastic bottle, grabbed one for himself then, without a word, headed toward another part of the house. Unscrewing the cap, Tricia tipped it to her lips. The cold liquid helped to ease the constant burn she felt inside when she was around Royce. As badly as she wanted to get back in her car and disappear for the next decade or so, she couldn’t. He hadn’t reported her—yet—which meant there still could be a chance to salvage her research, if not her career.

  I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. I promise I won’t do it again. Please? Give me another chance?

  She hadn’t begged or pleaded since she was thirteen and got caught sneaking out of her room in the middle of the night in order to see a meteor shower. The words had fallen on deaf ears back then. She could only hope Royce Stryker was more forgiving.

  If he said yes, she’d show him how to attach the electrodes himself so there wouldn’t be any need for her to touch him—or even see him. It wasn’t ideal. She’d lose something in the quality control, but at this stage of the game, she didn’t see she had much choice. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. With her new plan in mind, she felt better about the odds of convincing him to give her another chance. She twisted the cap back onto her water bottle and set out to find Royce.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Royce sat in his favorite chair, a big, overstuffed piece with a matching footstool he’d purchased especially for the den. He spent more time in this room than any other besides the bedroom, simply because the two rooms had furniture. One of these days, he’d get around to furnishing the rest of the rooms, but for now, he had everything a single man could need. He had a giant screen television, a satellite dish, some comfortable furniture to relax in, and he had a bed.

  He didn’t have a clue why he’d brought Dr. Reed to his house or what he was going to say to her now that she was here. She seemed wary of his intentions, but he hadn’t imagined the light in her eyes when it came to his home. Her appreciation for his home went a long way to softening his anger toward her. He’d purchased the house, hoping it would bring Hannah back to him, but she’d taken one look and turned up her nose.

  “It’s old.” Hannah wrinkled her nose in distaste.

  It wasn’t what she said, but how she’d said it, as if she couldn’t imagine why anyone would want an old house when they could have the new mini-mansion they’d purchased right after their move to Dallas. In his opinion, that structure lacked character, and no amount of age would give it any. For all its size and upgrades, it was still nothing more than an expensive tract home.

  “I want more out of his living space,” he told her. “I want hardwood floors, worn in the right places, and handcrafted woodwork. Not run-of-the-mill flooring and cheap pressed-wood moldings. I want quality that has already lasted a lifetime and will last for a few more.”

  She rolled her eyes at him and stormed off.

  He’d thought Hannah was made of better stuff, but over time, her veneer had worn as thin as a hollow-core door. He couldn’t blame her for everything that had gone wrong in their marriage. No, most of the blame rested on his shoulders. When they’d had no money to spend, Hannah had seemed content. She’d clipped coupons, bought off the sale rack, and furnished their cheap apartments with thrift store finds and build-it-yourself furniture.

  Things had gone downhill when the money started pouring in and the demands of his career took more of his time. Suddenly, Hannah wanted to throw out everything old and replace it with new. He hadn’t argued. Most of what they had was crap—but lovingly sought out and restored crap. When she’d pronounced the new house “finished”, he realized he missed the personal touches of their previous home.

  That’s why he planned on spending the off season looking for the perfect furnishings for the rest of the rooms in his home. He already had a list of trade-day events, auctions, and antique stores he intended to visit. He wasn’t a decorator, but he knew what he liked, and the hell with anyone who didn’t approve. For once, he owned his own home, and when he was through with it, everything in it would be just the way he wanted it.

  He’d almost forgotten about the woman he’d brought home until she appeared in the doorway looking as if she’d just fallen down the rabbit hole.

  “There you are.”

  “I figured you would find me, eventually.”

  “You know, none of your rooms are furnished?” She sounded almost amused, definitely perplexed.

  “I noticed.”

  “That one”—she pointed down the hall—“the dining room? It has the most amazing woodwork. Is it hand-carved walnut?”

  She was his Kryptonite. He wanted to be mad at her. He needed to be mad at her, but knowing she valued the same things he did tempered his anger. He felt the stirrings of something very different—something he’d been fighting since he first laid eyes on her. But, she’d done something to jeopardize both their careers, and he couldn’t continue to let that kind of behavior continue.

  “It is.”

  The short answer seemed to take the wind out of her sails. He could almost see the instant she remembered what she’d done. Her shoulders slumped, and the light went out of her eyes. All her enthusiasm over vintage woodwork evaporated in an instant.

  “Mr. Stryker—”

  “Don’t!” His barked command startled her, and she seemed to take a step back without actually moving. Damn. It was all he could do to remain seated when he really wanted to wrap her up in his arms and tell her everything would be all right. But, everything would not be fine. Not the way they were going. He lowered his voice. “Don’t apologize for what you did.”

  “But…it was wrong.” She couldn’t have wrung another syllable out of the last word if she’d run it through a wringer washing machine. She sounded as young as she looked.

  “Tell me again how old you are.”

  The change of subject caught her off guard, but only for a moment. “I’m twenty-five. Old enough to know better than to attack a man, especially in his place of employment. I promise—”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” The startled expression on her face confirmed what he already knew. The chemistry between them was too hot to ignore. She would have his dick in her mouth again. And he would fuck her every way he could think of. However, they weren’t going to do it at the stadium.

  Suddenly, he understood why he’d brought her to his home. He crooked his index finger at her. “Come here.”

  She took a few tentative steps forward then stopped.

  “Closer,” he urged until she stood perpendicular to his knees. He reached for her hand and she let him hold her fingers. “You behaved very badly today. If we’d been caught, we could have both lost our jobs.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but a shake of his head and she pressed her lips into a tight line. He stroked his thumb over her knuckles. She was like a trapped animal, all wide-eyed and trembling. He knew the feeling. There was a lot at stake here. Not just their jobs, but so much more.

  “I’m going to punish you for what you did then we won’t speak of it again. Is my meaning clear?” For once, he’d stunned her speechless. “It’s a simple question. Do you understand that I am going to punish you? Yes or no?”

  “Yes. But—”

  “You want to know how I’m going to punish you.”

  She nodded. She wasn’t very articulate at the moment, but he would take his time. No one would disturb them tonight.

  “I’m going to spank you, Tricia.”

  Her eyes widened, and she visibly shrank back from him.

  He tightened his hold on her fingers—his only point of contact. If she wanted to run, she easily could. “You were a very bad girl, and you must be punished for your actions—by me or by someone else.”

  Royce waited for her to absorb the implications of his statement.
If he told the team management what she’d done, she would be gone in the blink of an eye. Of course, he’d be gone, too, but she didn’t have to know the Mustangs would assign more blame to him than to her.

  “You aren’t going to report me?” She couldn’t have sounded more surprised if he’d told her he was going to strap a rocket to her back side and launch her to the moon.

  “No. I intend to spank you until you can’t sit down, then we’ll forget today ever happened.” At least the first part was true. The second half of his statement, not so much. He’d never had any kind of sex in a baseball stadium, unless he counted the time in high school when he’d coaxed the head cheerleader to the baseball field one night during a dance on campus. He’d copped a feel before she slapped him and left him standing in the visitor’s dugout with a hard-on in his pants and the imprint of her fingers on his cheek. He hadn’t forgotten, and he damn sure wasn’t going to forget getting a blowjob in a supply closet minutes before he had to take the mound.

  “I’m not a child.” She’d regained some of her natural spunk. Good. But it wouldn’t sway him. She wouldn’t get off the hook so easy, and he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to get his hands on her bottom, either.

  “You’re an adult. You behaved impulsively, and now you’ll accept your punishment like an adult.”

  He let the silence stretch out while she thought through her options—of which there were none as far as he was concerned. He’d wanted to get his hands on her ass ever since he walked in and saw her bending over the desk.

  She would be a terrible poker player, he decided. Thoughts and emotions flitted across her face like messages on a digital billboard as she worked it all out in her impressive mind. She was physically beautiful, no doubt about it, but her incredible intellect was the biggest turn on of all. As a scientist, she understood the best discoveries came when a person kept an open mind. She might not know everything she liked or didn’t like, but she would be willing to test any theory.

  He gambled on her natural curiosity, and prayed she wouldn’t turn him in for sexually blackmailing her—or worse. An assault charge would end his career faster than he could swat her butt.

  One transparent thought at a time, she slowly came to the conclusion he knew she would.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Pull your shorts down then lay across my lap.”

  The pulse in her throat jumped, and the fingers he still held in his hand twitched. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “You can still change your mind.”

  As he suspected, she took his comment as a challenge. She jerked her fingers free. He tried to keep his eyes on her face, but as soon as he heard the zipper slide down, nothing short of a blindfold would have kept him from looking.

  “Panties, too.”

  She didn’t argue, just worked her thumbs beneath the second layer of fabric and pushed. Inch by delicious inch, her creamy skin was revealed only to disappear as her T-shirt fell back into place. When her bare mound came into view, he almost went into cardiac arrest. He hadn’t expected her perfect cleft to be so blatantly on display.

  Before he could stop himself, he raised his hand to stop her shirt from dropping to cover her. Hands still on the waistband of her shorts, she froze.

  “God, you’re beautiful.” He’d never meant anything so much in his life. A line of pink cleaved the slight mound of ivory flesh at the juncture of her thighs. He could only imagine how lovely her womanhood would be, flowered open to him. Already at attention, his dick jerked in protest at being denied access to her.

  A slight tremble along her body brought him back to his senses. He wasn’t going to fuck her. Not today. Not ever. He’d spank her, in part to indulge his need to touch her, and in part to remind them both their relationship had to remain professional.

  “That’s good.” Her shorts were at mid-thigh. “Show me your ass.” He patted his lap to indicate where he wanted her. After a heartbeat of hesitation, she draped herself across him, her hands going out to steady herself against the floor.

  Placing his left hand between her shoulder blades to hold her in place, he took a moment to enjoy the view. Her ponytail had fallen forward, exposing the graceful length of her neck leading to the knot at the top of her spine. Beneath his hand, her lungs filled and emptied at a steady rate. Fuck. She was calmer than he was.

  “Have you ever done this before?”

  “N-no. Have you?”

  “Fuck, no.” His gaze moved to her bottom. Her Mustangs T-shirt covered everything down to the twin creases pointing to forbidden territory. Willing his hand not to shake, he caressed her thigh then slowly inched his way up, taking the red fabric higher, exposing her perfect globes. Knowing he was making a huge mistake, he cupped her right cheek and squeezed. His dick jumped, and his balls tightened. Christ, he knew exactly how her body would feel as he slammed into her from behind, and his mind provided the imagery he would never see firsthand. Unable to stop himself, he massaged her left cheek, too.

  His thighs felt like concrete beneath her ribs, but his hand on her bare backside—that was Heaven. If any of her academia associates saw her now, they’d never believe she’d willingly subjected herself to this. But, she’d do anything to preserve her research—even this. She’d wager many researchers had done worse things in the name of science.

  When it came down to it, she’d made a huge mistake, and this was her punishment. Royce promised when it was over, he’d forget about what she’d done, and they could move forward again as researcher and research subject. As he palmed her cheeks, she tried not to think about how good his hand felt on her skin or how she longed for his fingers to explore down the crease he’d so far only brushed over.

  Stop! Stop thinking about having sex with him! It isn’t going to happen. He’s made that perfectly clear. You crossed the line with your research subject. This is punishment. Punishment.

  The first slap landed on her right cheek, sending every pain receptor in her brain into a panic. “Owwwww!” She tried to claw her way up, but Royce’s big hand on her back refused to budge.

  “Stay still.”

  “That hurt!” Tears clouded her vision.

  “It’s a spanking. Of course it hurt.”

  Another smack landed on her left cheek, and she doubled her efforts to escape. It didn’t take long for her to figure out she was no match for his strength. No matter how much she wiggled, squirmed, or bucked, he held her down. Tears fell freely, and she had to wipe her snotty nose on her arm.

  “Are you done?” God, how humiliating to be spanked like a child.

  “Not by a long shot, babe.” He’d secured her thighs with his arm. Since she’d quit trying to escape, he went back to stroking her ass, which felt like it was on fire. “I wish you could see this.”

  His touch was gentler than she could have imagined as he soothed her tender flesh. She sniffed to clear her nostrils and waited for…what? She knew what was coming next—he’d said he wasn’t finished. Knowing didn’t make the pain any less when his hand landed with unerring accuracy. After several swats, he stopped to caress her bottom. She sobbed so hard she couldn’t understand a thing he said as his hand manipulated her bottom. At some point, his tender ministrations began to sink into her consciousness and she strained to hear his words.

  “Beautiful. Fucking, beautiful.”

  “God, I need to touch you.”

  “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  His fingers traced the seam of her ass. “Want to touch you.”

  Her pussy throbbed at his words, and suddenly, she wanted him to touch her. Her bum hurt, but it was such a good hurt. She was wet, and the tissues between her legs were swollen, aching. When had that happened?

  A single blunt digit delved into her crack, paused a heartbeat at her anus before continuing on toward her pussy. She arched, offering him as much access as she could, given the state of her clothing. Why hadn’t she pushed her shorts all the way to her ankles?

&nbs
p; There was no time to beat herself up over her little oversight. His finger had found her valley. Groaning, he stroked through her sopping wet folds, rimming her vaginal entrance until she knew she was going to die unless he touched her there. Her clit throbbed with need. Just when she was certain he would ease her suffering, he withdrew his hand and, once again, peppered her bottom with solid blows.

  She lost track of how many times he’d struck her. In mid-sob, she realized she’d begun aiding him at some point. Her hips worked in concert with his hand, begging him to strike her. Her head spun as she tried to rationalize what was happening to her. She no longer felt like a child being punished, she felt like a woman—aroused and desperate for release.

  What would he think of her if she begged him to fuck her? God, she’d sunk low. From scientific researcher to shameless hussy in three days. It had to be some sort of record. But she was beyond caring about things like her reputation. Royce Stryker had destroyed her.

  “Please.” She wiggled, trying to draw her knees up so she could open her legs wider—anything to send the message she wanted to send. Please, fuck me. Now. Certain she’d only thought the words, she gasped when her tormentor shoved her shorts and panties down to her ankles. Before she could sigh in relief, he’d grabbed her around the waist and set her on her knees between his splayed legs.

  “What?” Her body rebelled at the sudden loss of contact.

  “Knees wide,” he ordered. As she kicked one foot free of the fabric binding her, Royce yanked her T-shirt over her head, leaving her in nothing but a cotton bra. She looked up at him, wondering what he could possibly have in mind.

  “You need to come.”

  She nodded, tears welling in her eyes, making it hard to see the expression on his face. She wanted to touch herself, to squeeze her legs tight around her fingers and find the sharp edge of release.

  “Come here, then.”

  One big hand cradled the back of her head, bringing her forehead to his shoulder. “Put your hands on my thighs, and don’t move them, no matter what.”