Spring Training

by Roz Lee

  After Brooke’s chocolate mousse was devoured, Todd hustled Jason outside with the lame excuse of walking off their dinner.

  They’d barely made it to the end of the sidewalk when Todd stopped. “What’s going on?”

  Jason motioned for him to keep moving. When they reached the gated pool area, Todd dug out his key and opened the lock. They settled into lounge chairs as far from the surrounding condos as possible.

  “The Mustangs need a new starting pitcher.”

  “Not news,” Todd said.

  “You didn’t hear this from me,” Jason cautioned.

  “Of course not.” Everyone knew the Holder brothers were tight with management, but they didn’t use their situation like some players would. “What is it I didn’t hear?”

  “The team is looking to make a trade with the Waves. They need a third baseman, and we need a pitcher.”

  Holy shit. Todd studied his friend’s face. “This isn’t a joke, is it?”

  “’Fraid not. Anderson is coming off the Disabled List for the Waves. That leaves them top heavy with pitching. Last week, Ruiz tripped on the stairs in his house, chasing a canine escapee of bath time, and broke his ankle. They need a third baseman for at least one season, maybe two.”

  “I have two left on my contract.”

  “And the Mustangs brought up that loud-mouthed kid last year. He might not know how to keep his mouth shut, but he knows how to play infield.”

  Todd collapsed in the lounge chair, staring up at the dark sky. His pulse kicked like a wild horse trapped in a box canyon with no way out. Brooke. After all the trouble they’d been through to get to a point in their relationship that made a future look possible, this had to happen. How the hell was he going to keep her if he was living in San Diego, and she was in Dallas?

  “I have a No-Trade clause in my contract.”

  “Yeah. I know this is bad timing for you and Brooke, but you’ll go rather than sit on the bench.”

  He mulled that statement over. Jason wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t believe it was a possibility. “I want to end my career as a Mustang, but not one with splinters in his ass.”

  “I hear ya. That’s why I thought you deserved a heads-up. I’m sure Doyle will get around to talking to you about it soon enough, but I didn’t want you to get blindsided.”

  “Thanks. I think.” They sat, neither of them saying anything, for a while. “That little twerp played the other day. I didn’t think anything of it because it’s Spring Training. Everyone gets time on the field.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. He did okay. He’s no Todd Stevens, but he’s good.”

  “I don’t move as fast as I used to.” Especially after a night of subbing to a Dominatrix who delighted in taking everything he had from him.

  “Speed isn’t everything. You know the game better than anyone, and you sure as shit hit better than him.”

  Todd grunted his agreement. Not that it mattered. If management had their mind made up, he’d have little choice but to go along.

  “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I thought you should know.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the information.”

  Shortly after the men returned to the condo, Jason and Carrie said their goodbyes. Todd was relieved to see them go. He’d loved showing off his slave to friends, but watching her perform her hostess duties sans clothing had him on edge.

  Taking a seat on the sofa, he crooked his finger at her. “Come here, slave.”

  Brooke immediately complied, sinking to her knees between his spread thighs. What he wanted shouldn’t be a surprise to her. Due to her condition, he hadn’t fucked her since their scene with Mistress Lola, choosing to relieve himself in her mouth nightly. Denying her an orgasm for the same length of time had been deliberate. He wanted her strung tight with need the next time they saw Mistress Lola, but he hadn’t anticipated how difficult denying her would be on him. There wasn’t anything in the world he loved more than watching her orgasm.

  As she worked his zipper down and took him into her mouth, he made her a promise. “When you’re through, I’m going to make you scream my name.”

  God, her mouth felt good. He gripped the back of the sofa with one hand while the other held her hair away from her face so he could watch. Every so often, she’d stop what she was doing to lick him from base to tip with her wickedly talented tongue, and every time, she glanced up at him as if to confirm what he knew to be true—he was a slave to her. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her as long as she continued to offer her body to him.

  “Christ, babe. You’re killing me.” He applied pressure to the back of her head. She smiled then obediently took him to the back of her throat.

  Within seconds, pleasure blinded him to everything but the love he felt for his woman. She captured his balls in her hand, rolling and tugging on them. His orgasm came at him like a fastball gone wild, spinning his head around and setting him on his ass.

  She swallowed every drop then rested her cheek on his thigh while he gasped for air and willed his world to stop going in crazy circles.

  “You slay me, girl.”

  “In a good way, Sir?”

  “Always. Any better and I’d be dead.” He laughed at his own joke as he sat straighter. “Did I scream like a girl?”

  “No, Sir. It was a nice scream, though.”

  “You are a minx sometimes, girl.” She scooted out of his way as he stood to right his clothes. “It’s time to make you scream, and it had better be a good one. Hustle, girl. Bring the wrist cuffs and the lube.”

  He admired her ass as she ran to the bedroom to collect the items he requested. Her quick return said as much about her obedience as it did about her state of arousal. He tossed the lube on the sofa then, taking the cuffs from her, he fastened them around her wrists before linking them together.

  Hands on her waist, he lifted her off her feet for a kiss. She looped her arms around his neck, freeing him to palm her ass. “I’ve been dying to add my handprint to the stripes on your ass.” He trailed kisses down the slope of her neck as he massaged her butt. “You’ll tell me if it’s too much.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Her breathless reply made his dick twitch, but this portion of the evening was for her. He tamped down his growing arousal. “Good girl.” He lifted her higher. “Arms down.”

  When she was on her feet, he sat on the sofa. “Lay across my lap.” He helped her balance herself then he took his time, tracing individual lines with a fingertip. Brushing her hair to one side, he rubbed the tension from her shoulders.

  “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said. “So very strong, too. You put me to shame, Brooke.”

  “I’m strong because you love me, Master.”

  “I need to spank you, babe. I need it so bad. Are you well enough to take it?”

  “Yes, Sir.” She wiggled her ass. “Please, Sir. I need it, too.”

  With one hand on her nape, he skimmed the other along her spine to her ass. Splaying his fingers, he dipped the middle one into her crack then slipped lower until he found her moist center. When he slid the digit inside, she gasped.

  “You’re wet, babe, but I bet I can make you wetter.” A soft moan told him all he needed to know. She was ready and eager for his touch. He withdrew from her in order to caress her sweet ass. The lotion he’d rubbed in twice a day since the whipping had eliminated the welts, leaving her skin as soft as silk and cool to the touch. He would soon remedy the latter.

  “This is not discipline or punishment, girl. I’m going to spank you for my pleasure and yours.” Without further warning, he landed a blow on her right cheek.

  Other than a tiny whimper, she remained quiet. He took a moment to admire his handprint on her skin before adding nine more in quick succession.

  Years ago, before Frank had shown him the truth—that he wasn’t alone in his needs—he would have berated himself for being turned on by marking a woman. But those days were long b
ehind him. There wasn’t much he enjoyed more than fucking Brooke’s ass warmed with his handprints.

  “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” He plumped her buttocks, massaging their fullness in his palm. “Don’t move,” he said, removing his hand from her nape to spread her wide while locating the lube she’d brought with his free hand. A shiver raced down her spine as the cool liquid met her heated skin.

  “I love to play with your asshole.” With a firm touch, he worked the lubricant into the tight bud. He slipped one finger inside her, slowly working the slippery substance into her. Her breathing grew shallow, yet there wasn’t an ounce of resistance in her body. Her submission fucking amazed him. What did I ever do to deserve you, sweetheart?

  Adding another finger, he stretched her. Lately, he’d been thinking of new ways to explore her inner recesses as well as her capacity to experience pleasure. “You can’t even imagine the depraved things I want to do to your ass, babe, but right now, I want to fuck it. I want to ram my cock inside your tight ass and ride you hard.” He inserted a third finger, working the digits to prepare her.

  When he positioned her on the sofa, her body was putty in his hands. He stroked his cock through her damp folds, each time making sure to drag his length over her clit until she perched on the brink of orgasm. Positioning the head of his cock against her back door, he held her steady with hands on her hips. He pushed into her, cursing as her body yielded to his invasion.

  “Christ, you’re tight and hot.” Savoring every inch gained, he continued pressing forward until she’d taken all of him. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He wiped it away with his forearm then returned his hand to her hip. Since his experiences with Mistress Lola, he had a new appreciation for the gift Brooke bestowed on him. Allowing him to have her in this way was the ultimate sublimation, so personal, so private. It warmed him to his soul.

  Emotion overwhelmed him as he stared at the point of their joining, framed by his handprints red on her creamy skin. He couldn’t possibly care for her any more than he did at that moment. “I love you, Brooke. More than you can ever comprehend.”

  Her answer was a long sigh as she pressed back against him. He withdrew, a breath catching in his throat as the head of his cock popped free. With one sure stroke, he pushed back inside. He fucked her, hard and fast, his teeth clenched in an effort to prolong the exquisite torture of her tight chamber. Her love, her trust, were all there in her quiet submission.

  Reaching beneath her, he rubbed her clit, applying the pressure he knew she needed. Sweet Jesus, she was perfect, gasping, moaning, her body giving while seeking its own pleasure. “Take it, babe. Find it.”

  Her orgasm was a thing of beauty, her body convulsing around his, draining him while her cries filled him with pride and satisfaction.

  He pulled her up so her back was to his chest and held her there while his cock softened inside her. “You’re all I ever need, babe.”

  She tilted her head to one side, allowing him access to her neck.

  “And more than I deserve.” He trailed kisses down to her shoulder.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Todd stared at the line-up card hanging on the back wall of the dugout. For the third straight game, he wasn’t starting. Turning, his gaze locked with Jason Holder’s. The catcher shrugged helplessly then bent to fasten his shin guards into place.

  Doyle Walker, the Mustangs’ manager, entered the dugout. Todd headed straight for him. “Doyle, can I have a minute?”

  “That’s about all I’ve got, Stevens.” The older man stepped onto the field, signaling Todd to follow. “Walk with me out to the bullpen. Something’s up with Rogers.”

  “He’s okay, isn’t he?” They were already short one pitcher. They didn’t need to be down another one before the season even began.

  “I think he has his head up his ass, but other than that, he’s fine. What do you want?”

  “I want to know why I’m not starting.”

  “Because we need to get Matthews up to speed. He needs time on the field,” the team manager answered without breaking stride.

  “So he won’t trip over his own feet after you trade me?”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “I didn’t have to hear it. I’m not stupid, Doyle. I’ve been in this business long enough to know the score.”

  “Then you know you have a No-Trade clause in your contract.”

  “Which isn’t worth the ink used to print it if you want me out.” They came to a stop on the outfield warning track.

  “We don’t want you out, Todd. You’re the Mustangs’ third baseman.” Doyle lowered his voice to prevent the few fans hanging out in hopes of catching a glimpse of the pitchers from eavesdropping on their conversation.

  “For how long?”

  “Until your contract is up, I hope. Look, Todd, you’re one of the best in the League at your position. Management is going to use every resource available, and that includes your contract, to facilitate trade talks. It doesn’t mean anything unless someone is willing to raise the ante that high.”

  “Have the Waves anted up?”

  The team manager glanced at the door cut into the outfield wall, then looked back at Todd. “My office after the game.”

  The game rushed by with the speed of a racing snail. Todd spent the first three innings on the bench before resuming the spot he’d claimed as his in the Mustangs infield for the last dozen years. He didn’t know how to be anywhere else. The other men on the field were more than business associates. They were his teammates, his friends.

  In a moment of self-pity before he’d met Brooke, he’d asked to be traded. The request hadn’t been about breaking up a team that worked well together, but about finding something that was lacking in his life. He’d been lonely and dissatisfied with the one-night stands that had defined his sex life at the time. So he’d asked to be traded, hoping he’d find the missing pieces of his life in a different city.

  Then he’d met Brooke. She’d sparked his interest from the first moment he laid eyes on her. Now, he couldn’t imagine his life without her.

  He could imagine his life without baseball. When he told Jason he didn’t move as fast as he once did, he’d been telling the truth. He wasn’t the rookie with the youthful body the Mustangs recruited. To say he’d grown up standing on third base wasn’t an exaggeration. When he first claimed that section of the infield as his own, he’d been nothing more than a wet-behind-the-ears kid. He’d had a lot of talent and even more drive to be successful. The Mustangs’ coaching staff had showed him how to combine the two assets into one package, making him one of the best to ever play the position.

  He’d extended his association with them so he could stay near Brooke. At the time, both baseball and his new sub seemed like things he couldn’t live without. Over the last few years, he’d realized he could live without one of them.

  Thanks to great contracts and even better investments, he didn’t need to play. He remained on the field because he loved the game. If it came to a choice between playing or losing Brooke, he’d walk away from the game without a second glance.

  Still, he preferred to leave baseball on his own terms, and that meant finishing out his current agreement with the team that had become his family—the Mustangs.

  Doyle Walker had been nothing but fair to Todd over the years, believing in him when others might have given up hope. He’d suffered through slumps when getting a base hit was cause for a party, and he’d ridden the high of All-Star seasons when he could do no wrong. Doyle was there, patting him on the back either in consolation or celebration. If the man was itching to trade him now, Todd must be worse off than he thought.

  He took the time to shower before heading to the Mustangs’ manager’s temporary office. This one was nice but lacked the understated opulence of the one back in Dallas that commanded a stunning view of the field. Crammed into the cinder-block building attached to the back of the clubhouse and training facility, the solitary window of this office looked
out on a private garden no bigger than the one at Todd’s condo. Someone had brought in a few potted plants to soften the harsh desert landscaping. Every time Todd saw the patch of barren ground, he wondered why anyone had bothered. A nice set of drapes to cover the window would have been a better investment.

  “Come in, come in.” Doyle waved him to a chair facing his desk. “There’s water in the fridge. Help yourself.”

  Todd had learned the importance of proper hydration his first Spring Training season in the Arizona desert. After nearly collapsing during his first week, he hadn’t turned down any offer of water since. Cold bottle in hand, he sat in one of the hard plastic chairs across from the man who held his career in his hands.

  “Want to tell me what’s going on?” Todd asked. “Am I being traded?”

  “I’m not going to lie to you, son. Your name has been thrown out as a possible point of negotiation with the Waves. That doesn’t mean you’ll be traded. We wanted to open negotiations with them, and the best way to do that was to lead with a name they couldn’t ignore.”

  “That’s all it is?”

  “The Mustangs don’t want to lose you, Todd. You’ve never let us down, and we appreciate that. Your contract will be up soon, and, at your age, well, we both know you won’t be seeing another multi-year offer. The Waves aren’t looking for a long-term commitment. They need a third baseman for one season, two, tops. Then they’ll be in a financial situation where they can fill that position with a franchise player.”

  “They could pick up the remainder of my contract, cut me loose when it’s done.”

  Doyle nodded. “That’s what they’re thinking. You’d be an asset to their organization. They could use a name like yours on their roster.”

  “I don’t have to agree.”

  “No, you don’t. You can’t be traded unless you want to be. However, if it comes down to it, the Mustangs would appreciate it if you’d at least consider their offer. Between the two of us, we’re hoping we can acquire their extra pitcher without giving up a valuable asset like you. They need to cut their payroll. Picking you up wouldn’t net them any gain in that regard.”