by Roz Lee
It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep his ass pressed into the seat cushion when instinct told him to move, to take charge, and fuck her hard. He loved fucking pussy and ass, but Heaven help him, Clare’s mouth stole his sanity.
Her tongue swirled around the head, the rough texture against his most sensitive flesh almost sent him into orbit. She took him deep, licking his length, making him blind with lust and the need to come down her throat.
“Can’t…. Going to come.”
She grabbed his balls, rolled them in her palm then tugged.
“Fuckin’ Christ!” His entire body tensed. He let go of the chair arm and used both hands to hold her head steady. He came down her throat in hard, jerky movements that wrenched his soul.
She sat back on her heels and wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her robe. Her beauty stunned him, but her lack of confidence broke his heart. Behind her sweet smile lurked the brittle vulnerability she tried so hard to mask.
Tony peeled his fingers off the arm of the chair and untangled the others from the silk rope of her hair. He needed a minute to catch his breath. His heart hammered against his ribcage, and his dick lay against his stomach like an overcooked cannoli. His balls felt like they’d just been sprung from prison. Free at last, boys.
With a little rest, the equipment would be operable again. Thank God. Now, if he could jump-start his brain.
Clare stroked the inside of his thighs. “Antonio?”
“What?”
“Was that good?”
He chuckled. She had no idea. “Babe, good doesn’t come close to describing what you can do with your mouth. You could bring world leaders to their knees. Your mouth might be the answer to world peace.”
“Am I good enough to run the bases?”
Zing. Electrodes zapped his brain into hyper-drive. His head came up off the back of the chair like it had been launched from a rocket. Forbidden images flared against his cranium, taunting him.
“What? You aren’t still thinking about that, are you? Because we’ve been over that subject. You know my answer.”
She ran her hands up and down his thighs. He’d yet to try to cover himself, figuring the energy was better used elsewhere. Clare leaned in and placed a kiss in the small indentation where his sternum gave way to his ribcage. He jerked upright. He brought his knees together, forcing her to scoot backwards. She sighed when he whipped his robe closed and cinched the belt at his waist. Some conversations required clothes, and this was one of them. Thank God she’d never taken her robe off. The pure white terrycloth covering her helped remind him he was dealing with Clare. An innocent. Mostly.
Hell. He raked his hands through his hair and stood, putting distance between them so he could think. Stopping with his bare toes over the threshold of the balcony door, he filled his lungs with fresh sea air.
“I know, but I was just wondering...you know. Was that good enough?”
He faced her. “It doesn’t matter. You aren’t going to run the bases.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” He gripped his head with both hands to keep his skull from exploding.
“You said you would think about it if I agreed to—”
“I know what I said.” He dropped his hands, clenching them into fists at his side. “I’ve thought about it, and the answer is no. N. O. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let you suck another man’s cock.” He shook his head. “No way.”
“Are you saying I’m not good enough?”
“Babe, what did I just say? You’re the best, and even if it would bring about world peace, I wouldn’t share that mouth of yours with anyone.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re just saying those things so I’ll quit asking about Bases Loaded.”
“What is it with you and that club?” he shouted.
“Shh!”
He reined in his anger enough to lower his voice, but couldn’t squelch it entirely. “I don’t understand. Think about it. Do you really want another guy’s dick in your mouth…or anywhere else for that matter?”
“Yes. I do,” she stated, fisting her hands on her hips.
“No, you don’t. You think you do, but trust me, it’s not anything like what you’re thinking. Maybe it’s fun and exciting the first time, but then….” He shook his head. “Then you have to do it two more times. With strangers, Clare.”
“They wouldn’t have to be strangers. Why couldn’t I meet them before? Maybe I have met them. I know a lot of baseball players.”
Godamnit. “That’s not how it works. You don’t get to shop for your team, and believe me, if you had met any members of the club, you would have had an invitation already, and we wouldn’t be having this insane conversation.”
“Then why won’t you invite me?”
Why wouldn’t he? He was painfully aware of his own hypocrisy on the subject, but he’d made up his mind. He was going to keep Clare all to himself, and at the same time keep her from seeing the dark side of his personality. She just thought she understood, had built the whole thing up in her mind into something it wasn’t.
Knowing full well she would jump all over it, he offered up the only reason he could think of. “Because!”
“Keep your voice down,” she warned. She glared at him with steely determination. “Why?”
“Because I’m trying my damndest to get out of the club,” he confessed.
“And how do you go about getting out of Bases Loaded?”
Tony turned to look out at the sea. A few steps would bring him to the balcony railing. He could throw himself overboard and end this insanity now. Or he could tell her.
“Well?” she asked.
God, save us from determined women. “The only way out for good is for one of your invites to earn the charm. Then you can resign from the club.”
“Then invite me. It’s a win-win for both of us.”
“No.” He shook his head. He needed to make her see his side, and he damned sure didn’t understand why she was hell-bent on playing the game. “What if you ran the bases and that wasn’t enough…what’s the word I’m looking for?”
“Validation,” she supplied.
“What if it’s not enough validation for you? What then? Am I supposed to arrange for more men to fuck you until you finally see what I see?”
“You’re just being crude now, Antonio.” She crossed her arms over her middle. “I want to run the bases once. Nothing more.”
He stared at her with the same look he used to intimidate on the field. She shifted her feet, but didn’t cave.
“I don’t believe this,” he said. “I don’t believe we’re having this conversation.”
“Believe it. I know what I want, and I’m not going to forget. You say all the right things to me, but refusing to invite me to run the bases makes a liar out of you. If I was pretty enough….” She sighed and waved her arms around. “Or good enough, you wouldn’t think twice about the invitation.”
“That’s bullshit. I won’t invite you because you’re mine. I. Don’t. Share. What’s. Mine,” he growled. His inner conscience picked up a now familiar chant echoing around his empty skull. Liar. Liar. Liar.
“I’m not yours.”
He took a step toward her. “Mine.”
She took a step back and shook her head. “This is ridiculous. I’m a fling to you. A diversion until you get settled in Dallas. You and I both know it.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.” He advanced on her again.
“I’m not your type,” she argued.
“I haven’t been out with a woman I considered my type since high school. Unfortunately, Mary Catherine Rinaldi’s type played football. She got knocked up by the quarterback and married him the day after graduation. I really thought she was the one, but I was seventeen. What did I know?”
“See. That’s what I’m saying. You don’t really want me anymore than you wanted Mary what’s-her-name. People like me don’t hook up long-term with athletes. W
e’re nice for a night, or a weekend, or to help out when you need someone to look at apartments with you. But we aren’t the kind of women you want sitting in the stands when the cameras pan around looking for wives and girlfriends.”
“Are you saying all I want is a trophy to occupy a seat behind the dugout so the commentators will have a reason to mention my name?”
She nodded. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“That’s absurd, and how shallow would it make me if it were true?”
“I’ve been around professional baseball all my life.” She waved off his objection. “Players’ wives are gorgeous.”
“There you go, selling yourself short again. I’d love to see you sitting in my seats, and even if you weren’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, which you are, it wouldn’t matter one bit. As long as I think you’re beautiful, what does it matter what anyone else thinks?”
“Tell that to your publicist.”
“I don’t give a good goddamned what my publicist thinks. If I did, I would have married one of the matchstick models she’s paired me with for the last few years.” He let out an exasperated sigh and sat on the end of the bed. “I want you, and only you. I don’t want to share you with anyone, least of all my perverted friends.”
“You think I’m perverted because I want to run the bases?”
“No, I don’t. Maybe perverted isn’t the right word for the guys in the club. I didn’t think of myself that way when I participated, so it isn’t fair to label them that way. Look, Clare…I think you have the wrong idea about the guys…or what motivates them. Men…well, it doesn’t take much to excite us.”
She tapped her foot. “Oh?”
“Would you quit that?”
“Quit what?”
“Jumping to conclusions. I’m not talking about my reaction to you, that’s different. I’m talking about men in general and the guys in the club in particular. You’re under the impression only a beautiful woman will excite these guys to the point of running the bases, but let me tell you, most of them have never seen an unattractive woman in their lives. Pick any woman off the street, big, little, round or flat as a board, have her strip naked in front of them, and they’d be off and running—so to speak. So even if you ran the bases, you wouldn’t necessarily be getting the…what was it, again?”
“Validation,” she repeated.
“The validation you’re looking for.”
“So, let me see…You admit, since you’re a member of the club, you’ll fuck any woman who sheds her clothes for you. I took off my clothes, therefore, I might conclude you couldn’t help yourself. You fucked me. Nice.”
“Damn it. You’re doing it again, putting words in my mouth. I did not say that.”
“What part did I get wrong?”
He scrubbed a hand across his face. “If I remember correctly, and believe me, I’ll never forget that day in your office, you had your clothes on. Mostly.”
“Yeah, well—”
“Let’s get back to the subject. You want an invite to Bases Loaded, and I’m not going to give you one. Subject closed. Now, can we get back to enjoying our weekend?”
“No. Not until you agree to think about the invitation. I mean, really think about it. I understand where you’re coming from on this, but you have to see my side of it, too. I need to do this. I need to prove something to myself. I’m not saying it will change the way I feel about my body, but it will put me on equal footing with the kind of women I wish I could be. And, if I earn the charm, you could get out of the club. It’s a win for both of us.”
He shook his head. “Leave me out of this. I can remain on the membership roster until I quit playing ball. There aren’t any participation requirements. This is about you. You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met, bar none. You’re talking about outward beauty, Clare.” He held up a hand to stay her protest. “I’ve already told you how beautiful I think you are, so let’s talk about inner beauty. You have all those women beat in that category. You’ll never be on equal footing with them. They’ll always be beneath you. I don’t know why you can’t see it. ”
Chapter Thirteen
Fish. Fucking fish.
Tony was so angry, every time he closed his eyes he saw fishing lures with tiny gold charms hanging from them. What was supposed to have been a weekend-long private orgy turned into a fucking fishing trip, and he had the slimy carcasses to prove it. He lifted the borrowed cooler into the trunk of the limo waiting for them at the airport.
“Do you like fish?” he asked the driver.
“Sure.”
“I’ll give you a hundred bucks to take that—” He pointed to the cooler. “—off my hands.” He pulled out his wallet, selected a bill, and pressed it into the driver’s hand.
“What about the cooler?”
“Keep it.” He’d spring for a new one. If he never smelled another fish, it would be too soon.
After their spat on the first morning aboard the yacht, Clare hadn’t spoken a word to him or let him touch her. Purely out of spite, he’d asked the cabin steward if there was any fishing equipment, and once it was located, set to fishing as if he loved the sport. Clare spent the day sunbathing nearby, all that exposed skin driving him slowly insane.
He slid into the backseat. The love of his life was scrunched in the opposite corner, as far from him as possible, literally and figuratively, and he had no idea how to reach her.
“Clare.”
She gazed out the side window. Any one of those damned fish in the cooler would have been more welcoming. Tony settled on his side of the seat and mirrored her posture. Somehow, in the two days they’d been gone, the Dallas landscape had grown as bleak as the prospects of a veteran Minor League player, and suited his mood to a T. As the miles ticked by, he thought about his predicament. He was in love with the most impossible woman in the world, and she wasn’t speaking to him.
It didn’t matter what she thought running the bases would do for her, and no matter how many nights he lay awake imagining her naked in the arms of three men, he would not give in. To either fantasy.
His involvement in the club had been non-existent for months now, and he wanted to keep it that way. In a few years, most of the active members would have moved on and the new ones wouldn’t ever know about his membership. It wasn’t like they called roll.
Besides, he only had a few good seasons left in him anyway, and his membership would terminate naturally when he retired from baseball. He didn’t need Clare to get him out of a commitment he never should have made in the first place.
“This is ridiculous. How long are you going to keep up the silent treatment?” he asked.
“How long is it going to take for you to give me what I want?”
“I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Then we have nothing to talk about.”
That’s what you think, babe.
* * *
Clare slumped into her desk chair. She hadn’t heard from Antonio in five days, not since the limo dropped her at her apartment following their weekend trip to Galveston. After the way he’d reacted to the two blowjobs she’d given him, she’d thought for sure he would change his mind and invite her to run the bases. But no.
She closed her eyes and let the memory take form. She licked her lips, remembering his unique taste, the feel of his cock in her mouth. It hadn’t taken long to figure out where and how to stroke with her tongue to make his thighs tremble. Oh, what fun that had been!
He might be big, strong, tough Tony Ramirez on the field, but she’d reduced him to a helpless, quivering weakling with her mouth. She could still hear the strangled moans coming from his throat when he came. Her fingers curled, remembering how impossibly hard he’d became just before the internal spasms began.
Her sense of power had grown with each hot spurt of semen down her throat. Antonio was a strong man, but when she took his cock in her mouth, she dominated him. He might have thought he was in control, bu
t she knew better. He had been completely at her mercy, and he had loved every minute of it. She was sure of it. So why was he being so stubborn about the invitation?
Because you’re not pretty enough.
Because you’re ordinary. There’s not a glamorous bone in your body.
Five days. If she needed proof she wasn’t the kind of woman a man like Antonio wanted long-term, she had it. He’d protested her analysis of the situation, but the silence of her telephone proved her theory. She’d given herself to him for a weekend, well, half a weekend, and he was through with her. The next time she saw him he would be with another model or actress, she was sure of it.
Athletes were predictable, and Antonio fit the mold perfectly. They’d take good sex anywhere they could get it, as long as it was behind closed doors. But in public, they kept up appearances. It didn’t matter how skilled she was, he couldn’t ask his friends to fuck an ugly duckling even if it would get him out of the club he claimed to despise.
She sighed and reached for the next test in the never-ending pile yet to be graded. Antonio Ramirez could go to hell.
The phone rang an hour later, startling her.
“Cripes.” She tossed her pen down, glared at the streak of red across the paper she’d been grading, and reached for the handset. “Clare Kincaid.”
“I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
She eyed the stack of yet ungraded tests. She’d made a serious dent in it. “Not at all, Uncle Doyle. I needed a break.” She rubbed her eyes. “What’s up?”
“Cathy has the flu.”
“Oh no!” If Doyle was her favorite uncle, his wife, Cathy, was her favorite aunt. “What can I do to help? Do you need me to stay with her? Or I could make some chicken soup.”
“No, but thanks. I’ve got that covered. But I need a date for the Press Association dinner tomorrow night. Cathy can’t go, and I don’t want to go alone. Those things are boring enough without having a pretty woman beside me.”
She smiled at the compliment. “Pouring it on a little thick, aren’t you?”
“Not at all,” he protested. “Say you’ll go. Please. Maybe you could develop a headache right after dessert, and I’d be obliged to take you home.”
