Matt Jackson, Catcher (Bottom of the Ninth #2)

by Jean Joachim

  “You ready?” he asked, easing them in and out.

  She nodded, her lower lip anchored between her teeth while her hips moved to his rhythm. He ripped open the condom and rolled it over his swollen dick. She pushed up and kissed him, taking his mouth, crushing her breasts into his pecs. He put his palm on her back and held her close. With his other hand, he parted her legs and steadied himself on his knees.

  He wetted himself with her juices then slid in. She gasped.

  “Been that long, eh?” His gaze searched hers.

  “Uh, yeah. Don’t stop.”

  He chuckled, pushing in farther.

  She made a soft, cooing noise as she lay back, her eyes drifting shut. He dropped his forehead to her chest and took a deep breath. Week after week, he’d dreamt of this moment. Now that it was here, he hardly believed it was real. He needed to savor it. Rising up on his knees, he gripped her hips, pulled her to him, and stopped. A shudder ran through him.

  “Baby, baby.

  When he opened his eyes, she was staring at him, pure lust making hers glow. Every nerve in his body was taut, and sweat broke out on his forehead and chest. Passion tingled through his veins. As he moved in and out of her, he didn’t know how long he could last. And that expression on her face just about did him in. He reached down to stroke her.

  She thrust her chin up, and her legs quivered for a second.

  “Oh, God! Matt!” she cried out. Her hips undulated, taking over for his hands, her knees hugged him, and her eyes shut tight.

  Her orgasm sent him over the top. His balls tightened as heat rocketed through him. He lowered his face to the space between her breasts and moaned as he came hard. He couldn’t remember ever being taken over so completely by a woman. He’d lost control and had given in to the pure pleasure pouring out all the way to his fingertips. At the end, a loud groan escaped his throat and sweat dripped off his forehead.

  Realizing he was too heavy to rest on her for long, he pushed up. Her face had flushed the softest, prettiest shade of pink he’d ever seen. The lust in her eyes had been replaced by a gentle, loving look. His insides melted. He kissed the tip of her nose then brushed her lips with his.

  “That was awesome,” he said.

  She simply smiled back at him, radiating satisfaction.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Oh, hell yeah. You’re amazing,” she replied.

  Hearing he’d pleased her, his heart swelled. Matt rolled off and trotted to the bathroom to flush the condom. When he returned, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling her panties to her knees.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting dressed.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s time to go,” she said.

  “Where?”

  “Home.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s where I live?”

  “Stay. Please stay. We don’t have a game until one tomorrow. I don’t have to be there until ten. Spend the night.” He combed her silky hair back from her face with his fingers. He’d be damned if this was going to be a one-night stand, a fuck-and-run. No way.

  “Okay,” she said, blinking rapidly, turning away from him.

  He cupped her cheek. “What’s wrong?”

  “You didn’t say anything before. I figured you’d want me to go. I didn’t want to, but I don’t know what the usual thing is here. I mean, you’re a pro athlete. You probably sleep with lots of women, and I don’t do this kind of thing much, so I don’t know the drill. And I didn’t want to hang around, because if you didn’t want me here—” She stopped her rapid-fire barrage of words, took a deep breath, and covered her face with her hand.

  “Oh, honey. No. Don’t say that. Of course, I want you to stay,” he said, sinking down on the mattress next to her, folding her in his embrace. When she hid her face in his bare shoulder, he felt wetness. Shit! She’s crying.

  She trembled in his arms. The big, tough, baseball girl had crumbled. He never expected it and had no idea what to do. Her weepy declaration tugged at his heartstrings.

  “I’m not like that, Dusty. Really.”

  Her body quieted down. The feel of her breasts against his skin re-ignited his desire.

  “I didn’t think so. But I wasn’t sure, and I don’t want to be in the way or be pushy or anything.”

  “You’re not, you’re not. Come here.” He stretched out on the bed, gesturing for her to join him.

  He opened his arms, and she snuggled into his chest. Matt pulled the covers up over them and stroked her hair. He pushed away thoughts of what a threat she presented to his well-guarded heart. She was here, warm, willing, and sweet. He needed her. Tonight, Matt would give in, get what he wanted, without denying himself.

  A smile stretched his lips. She flattened her hand on his chest, near her cheek, and closed her eyes. Her steady, rhythmic breathing soothed him, bringing a heaviness to his eyelids.

  “Are you asleep?” he whispered.

  “Almost.”

  “Oh. Good. Goodnight, babe.”

  “Goodnight.” And with a sigh, she drifted off. He followed soon after.

  * * * *

  Dusty’s eyes popped open at six thirty, her usual time for starting the day. A heavy weight was slung across her waist, and a soft burr emanated from the body next to hers. She was on her stomach, facing away from Matt. She feared disturbing him by turning. He obliged by rolling over, flipping his arm away, and giving her room. She eased onto her left side and stared at his bare back.

  The shoulders were powerful, the biceps were impressive. He needed great upper body strength to be a top catcher. He’d told her about all that in Florida. How a catcher needs incredible strength, flexibility, and agility for all the crouching and throwing he does. She’d never thought about it, but he squats then stands for each pitch. The catcher throws the ball more than the pitcher, more than any other player, every game.

  Running her gaze down his body, past his cute butt that made her want to squeeze it, she stopped at his thighs. The muscles moved under the blanket as he shifted. She lay back, looking around the room. The dusky blue on the walls soothed her. A tall dresser stood between two windows. The clothes they had tossed aside in the heat of passion the night before had fallen carelessly over a chair in the corner or pooled on the floor.

  Dusty dialed her memory back to their heated lovemaking. She hadn’t known what to expect from the quirky catcher, but he had proved to be an energetic, unselfish lover. A twinge shot through her as she closed her legs. Must be due to that four a.m. encore they’d had. Matt had appeared insatiable, and she wasn’t going to miss a chance to make love with him.

  She sat up and peered at his face, so innocent in sleep. She glimpsed the little boy he had once been, hiding deep within the man he had become.

  “Oh, baby,” he muttered, changing sides, snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her to him.

  Dusty let him tuck her against his chest. His warmth enveloped her like a soft, fleece blanket, keeping away the slight chill on her bare skin. He flattened his palm high on her back, sliding her into a snuggle, and then kissed the top of her head. She had to admit the man was as good at the morning after as he was at making love.

  He pulled the blanket up. “We have time. Back to sleep.”

  Dusty tried to stay awake, but failed. The cuddle was too calming.

  The next thing she knew, it was eight. She sat up, stretched, and yawned. It was only early April, too cold to sleep naked. She pushed up and out of bed. She padded to the bathroom, where Matt’s robe hung, washed up, and fastened the large, fleece covering around herself.

  Matt grunted, but didn’t wake up.

  He’s the one with a game today, not me. She headed for the kitchen. The fridge didn’t hold much food, though there was plenty of beer. She managed to find some eggs and bread. After setting the table, she put butter in a skillet and called to Matt.

  “Hey, sleepy head. Time to get up.”

>   When he didn’t respond, she headed for the bedroom. As she leaned over to shake him, he grabbed her wrist in a vise-like grip and yanked her onto the bed. She shrieked. His arms closed around her, and he smothered her with kisses. She struggled to get away, giggling the whole time, but he held her fast and kept rolling her over and over on the mattress, until they hit the edge and threatened to crash to the floor.

  When he let her go, she was on top of him. She spread her legs, trapping his thighs between her knees. She pushed up, bracing herself against his shoulders. He laughed along with her. She gave him a playful slap across his tight abs before leaning into a kiss.

  “Bad boy, very bad boy,” she breathed, grinning.

  “Oh, baby. You’re amazing,” he said, when she sat up.

  “Come. Breakfast is almost ready.” She dismounted and scooted off the bed toward the kitchen.

  She cracked the eggs and added them to the melted butter, which was turning brown. He came up behind her, curling his arms around her middle and kissing her neck.

  “You’re all the breakfast I need,” he murmured in her ear.

  She snorted. “Right! Tell that to Cal Crawley when you strike out.”

  He laughed and released her then pulled plates down from the cabinet.

  Her gaze followed him. “How come you only have a couple of dishes?”

  “I never eat home. I don’t cook. Just keep eggs, milk, and shit like that around.”

  “In case of a hunger emergency?”

  “Yeah, or if a nice girl, like you, is around for breakfast,” he said, nibbling on her earlobe.

  “You’re just lucky I know how to cook eggs.”

  “I thought girls were born knowing how to cook. Isn’t their place in the kitchen?”

  She whirled around and raised her hand, which he caught in his big one. Her frown melted when she saw the twinkle in his eye.

  “I almost threw this pan of eggs at you.”

  “You didn’t think I was serious, did you?”

  “Never know with a chauvinist.”

  “Hey! I thought we agreed I wasn’t a chauvinist. I was just kidding.”

  She shot him a grin. “Gotcha!”

  His eyebrows shot up, and he reached for her, but she squirmed out of his grasp and ran to the other side of the room. The table was round and, try as he might, he couldn’t catch her. Giggling, she led him on a merry chase, ending up by flopping down on the bed. He was on her in a second, tickling her. She shrieked with joy, laughing so hard she was crying.

  “That’ll teach you,” he said, folding his fingers around her waist and leaning down to kiss her.

  “The eggs. The eggs!” She bolted up and ran back into the kitchen. She turned off the heat and removed the pan. “Whew. Just in the nick of time. Hope you like them on the well-done side.”

  “I like them any way you make ’em, babe.”

  She loaded five eggs onto his plate then popped bread in the toaster.

  Matt made coffee before sitting down to eat. Then, they dressed and piled into the car for the game, stopping, first, at the box office.

  “Hey, Matt, how you doin’?” the man behind the counter asked.

  “Just fine, Bert. You?”

  “No complaints. Whadda’ll it be?”

  “One for today’s game.”

  “Player’s section?”

  Matt nodded. He gave the ticket to Dusty.

  “Thank you. I’m gonna grab a hot dog.”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t eat that crap. Come on. I’m sure you can eat with us.” He tugged on her arm.

  “I shouldn’t. I’m not part of the team.”

  “You’re the mascot, the cheerleader.”

  She shook her head, but he’d managed to inch her toward the door.

  Cal Crawley came out. “Hey, Dusty. How are you? Come to watch Matt play?”

  She nodded. “Nice to see you, Mr. Crawley.”

  “Cal. Everyone calls me Cal.”

  “Can she eat lunch with us, Coach?”

  “Sure, come on,” the manager said, holding the door open.

  “After all, you’re a pro, too,” Matt said.

  Dusty took his hand as shyness washed over her.

  * * * *

  The infielders greeted Dusty and shot knowing looks and raised eyebrows at Matt. She smiled to watch his cheeks flame. When she realized that his teammates had figured out she had spent the night with Matt, embarrassment heated her face too.

  While Cal discussed strategy with the team over hamburgers and pasta, she ate quietly, listening to his pep talk. She wished her own coach was that positive and encouraging. The Nighthawks were playing the Philly Bucks, a tough team.

  Dusty cleared her place, squeezed Matt’s hand, and headed for the door. As her fingers touched the handle, he came up behind her.

  “Coming over tonight too?”

  She faced him. “Tonight?”

  “Yeah. We could grab some dinner, maybe a movie. You could stay over. And…well, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She grinned. “Sure. Why not? I don’t have practice until tomorrow afternoon.”

  “We have a night game. Maybe I could come and watch you for an hour.”

  “That’d be awesome.”

  He nodded and kissed her quickly.

  “Good luck.”

  “We’ll win. Philly’s are tough, but we’re tougher.” And with that, Matt turned and ran to catch up with the team.

  Dusty took her seat. A pretty, young woman sat two seats away.

  “You dating one of the team?” she asked.

  “Sort of. Yeah, I guess I am. Dusty Carmichael,” she said, holding out her hand.

  “Holly Merrill. Dan Alexander’s fiancée.”

  “Oh, wow! Yeah. Lucky girl.”

  The blonde smiled. “Yeah. I am.”

  “So is he,” Dusty said, eying her new acquaintance.

  “Thanks. Who are you dating?”

  “Matt Jackson.”

  “Matt? No kidding? Matt, really?” The woman’s mouth hung open.

  “Yeah. What’s so strange about that?”

  “Just that he’s the biggest fuck-up with women on the whole team.”

  Dusty laughed. “I can see how he’d get that reputation. He’s really a sweetheart.”

  “He’s Dan’s best friend.”

  “Really?”

  Before they could continue, the national anthem was played, and everyone stood.

  Dan Alexander took the mound. He warmed up with a few pitches to Matt before the first Bucks’ batter headed for the box. Dusty saw the man’s lips move as he faced Matt. She couldn’t see Matt’s mouth, as the face mask obscured her view. Matt nodded then crouched down. His fingers disappeared between his legs as he gave signs to Dan.

  The wind-up and the pitch—a strike!

  Holly yelled, “Go, Dan!” then covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Hey, it’s okay to cheer for your guy.”

  “Sometimes, I get carried away. Dan says if he can get a strike on the first pitch, it’ll be a good game.”

  Dusty focused on Matt. She watched him squat, slip his hand between his legs to give signs to the pitcher, and then take his position. Over and over again, he was up, down, crouching, throwing, almost constantly in motion.

  Dan either nodded or shook his head after Matt telegraphed the pitch he wanted. The first batter struck out. Matt popped up and fired the ball to first. Each infielder threw to the next one in line, until the third baseman tossed it back to Matt.

  After two pitches were called balls, Matt loped out to the mound. He and Dan put their heads together. Although the conference was splashed across the Jumbotron, Matt hid his mouth behind his catcher’s glove, so no one could read his lips.

  “Have you been dating Matt long?” Holly asked, flagging over the hot dog guy.

  “No. Not long. Just a couple of weeks.”

  “How’d you meet?”

  “We ran a two-week camp for kids
in Florida together.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “What?” Dusty asked, watching Holly’s cheeks turn red.

  “You’re not THE Dusty, are you? The one in the locker room?”

  Now, it was Dusty’s turn to blush. “I don’t know what you mean,” she lied.

  “I’m so sorry. I guess I’m mistaken. Seems Matt walked in on some woman changing in the locker room and got quite an eyeful.”

  “Yes. That was me. How do you know about it?”

  Holly shifted in her seat then avoided answering by ordering a hot dog and one for Dusty too.

  “No, thanks. Just tell me. Does everyone on the team know?”

  “I’m afraid so. Stuff like that makes the rounds.”

  “Fucking assholes,” Dusty murmured to herself.

  “Men are worse gossips than women. And when something juicy like that…I’m so sorry. I don’t mean…”

  “Yes, you do. And, yes, it was juicy, wasn’t it?” Anger bubbled up inside her.

  Holly placed her hand on Dusty’s arm. “Please don’t be mad at me. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  “Maybe you should have, but that wouldn’t have stopped them from talking, spreading the story.” Dusty pushed to her feet. “I’d better go. I have practice.”

  “Please, don’t leave on my account. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t opened up my big mouth, you wouldn’t be feeling bad right now.”

  “It’s not your fault they spread it around.”

  “No. Still. It’s in the past. Let it go. Obviously, there was something about you. I mean, Matt fell for you right away,” Holly said, tugging on Dusty’s sleeve.

  “Yeah. Right. Best way to get a guy’s attention—flash your boobs in his face first time you meet him,” Dusty replied.

  Though she covered her mouth with her hand, Holly couldn’t suppress a giggle.

  Dusty stopped and sank down on the seat again.

  “It worked,” Holly choked out, chuckling.

  “I guess it did,” Dusty said, laughing along with her new friend.