by Roz Lee
While he talked, his hands roamed Bent’s back down to his ass. His touch was firm, nothing like a woman’s touch, but just as exciting. He was hard enough to drill for oil, but all he could think about was drilling Sean, and to his everlasting shame, letting Sean drill him.
“I’m going to leave now.” After hefting Bent’s shorts back into place, he leaned down, pressing their bodies together again. “I won’t come back here unless you invite me. I won’t make another move toward you unless you ask me. Think about what you want. You want the same things I do. I knew you did five years ago. But go on denying your true nature if you want to. I won’t try to change your mind.”
He lay there until the front door slammed followed by the rumble of a car engine in the distance. He rolled over, shielding his eyes from the sun with his forearm. His other hand lay across his chest, inches from his aching cock. Beneath his palm, his heart hammered and his lungs heaved with each labored breath.
He’s wrong. I don’t fuckin’ want him. It’s all some kind of aberration. I don’t want a man. Not now. Not ever.
But he still felt Sean’s hands on him. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t quit imagining how the man’s massive cock would feel buried in his ass.
“Don’t you have someplace to be?”
Bent jerked upright at the sound of Ashley’s voice. “What?” he snapped.
“I said, don’t you have someplace to be? I thought you had a meeting.”
He squinted, shading his eyes with his hand. “What time is it?”
“Almost eleven. Are you okay? Why are you laying in the yard?”
Good question. Better yet, why am I lying here alone? “Come here.”
He reached for her. She allowed him to roll her beneath him in the soft grass.
“Bent.”
There was a question in her voice, but desire in her eyes. She had every right to question his motives after the way he’d treated her the night before and this morning, but he’d make her forget it all. Before she could question him or point out all the reasons they shouldn’t have sex in the backyard, he crushed her mouth with his. He loved the way she was all hot, wet, combustible desire beneath him.
She’s what I need. I want her.
Their tongues sparred. Her small hands on his shoulders were soft and arousing. So different from his he wanted to cry with relief.
I want her—not him. This is real. This is me.
He worked the fastenings on her shorts loose. In seconds, she lay exposed to him. Cupping her with his palm, he savored the feel of her soft mound. His fingers played between her legs, found her wet and ready for him. Love for her filled his heart. He swallowed hard to keep from drowning in the feeling.
“I love you, babe. I want you. Now.”
Her legs spread, inviting him to take what he wanted. She arched up, kissing his shoulder, his neck, anywhere she could reach. “I love you, too, Bent. Please….”
He plunged into her with an urgency he’d never known before. She gasped at the bold intrusion, but her hips soon found his rhythm. She moved with him, meeting his strokes with matching fervor.
Have to have her. Fuck her. Her. Her. Her. Mine. Mine. Mine.
She felt like Heaven, so fucking wet and hot. Nothing else could feel as good. Nothing. No one. No asshole could steal his breath or his sanity the way her pussy did. She was what he wanted, needed. What he craved.
He rode her hard. Each time he drove into her, the soft cries of pleasure she made erased a little bit of the memory of Sean’s hands on him, of wanting to fuck and be fucked by him. Ashley was his. His future. The love of his life. He’d be damned if he was going to fuck it up because of some perversion from out of the blue.
He focused everything he had on her pleasure, reading her body movements, listening to the sounds she made for clues. She was always so responsive it made him feel as if he ruled her body, when in truth, it was she who ruled him. He’d do anything to see the look of wonder on her face when she came, to hear her articulate her pleasure with breathless gasps. He lived to feel her pussy tighten around him.
Reaching between them, he wet his fingers with her juices then found her clit, rubbing it in slow, firm circles the way she liked it. Ashley stiffened beneath him then, bucking wildly, she shattered. Her pussy clenched around his dick, urging him to come inside her. A ball of fire shot from the small of his back, rocketed through his groin then burst like flames from his cock. Grinding against her in short, hard thrusts, he claimed her.
He’d never been more grateful for the pill or a monogamous relationship in his life. Nothing else felt as good as coming inside Ashley. The thought of his seed swimming inside her filled him with pure male pride and satisfaction.
Wrung dry, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, drinking in her scent mingled with the smell of fresh cut grass and moist earth. Those scents, grass, earth…and another—Sean’s—flashed through his brain. He jerked upright, rolling to Ashley’s side, coming to his feet instantly.
He righted his clothes then looked at the woman sprawled at his feet. Naked except for the red tank top hitched up on one side where he’d groped her breast in his fervor, she looked like a sexy pinup. She’d closed her legs, but her skin was still flushed from the sun and their exertions. One hand lay palm up in the grass above her head, the other lay on low on her stomach as if protecting the love he’d planted inside her.
“I want to have a kid.” The words were out of his mouth before his brain had a chance to process the implications.
Her eyes popped open in shock, her mouth gaped. She looked at him as if she’d just woken up in the bed of a stranger and didn’t know what to say or do.
“I want to make you pregnant.” His cock stood to salute the idea. See. I’m a red-blooded male. I found my woman, and I’m going to make damn sure everyone knows she’s mine. “Marry me.”
“Bentley.” She reached for her panties, pulled them over her calves then, rising to her knees, pulled them all the way on.
He clasped her raised hand, assisting her to her feet.
“What’s going on?” She stood toe to toe with him. Her eyes were still soft from her orgasm. Crooking her index finger beneath his leather necklace he always wore, she drew him closer. “I enjoyed what we just did, but sex in the backyard in the middle of the day isn’t like you. You aren’t impulsive.” She dipped her head to one side, studying him. “Does your sudden desire to go all caveman on me have anything to do with you fighting? Did the guy who came to see you say or do anything?”
“What we just did has nothing to do with anything else except our love. I love you, Ashley. I want to marry you.” He shuffled closer, looped his arms around her waist. Tilting his head, he kissed the pulse point on the side of her neck. She melted against him, as he knew she would.
“I’m sorry about the way I asked. I should have given you flowers and sweet words, but there was something about the way you looked, lying there all rumpled and satisfied in my backyard. I knew I had to have you, forever. You won’t deny me the pleasure of your company and your body for the next fifty years or so, will you?”
“Oh, Bentley. You know it’s what I want, too, but kids? Pregnant? Those are words I never expected to hear from you. Marriage, yes. I figured someday you would come around on that one. But the others?” She shook her head. “I hoped, but I never thought I’d hear them.”
He dropped his forehead to hers then bowed his hips away from hers leaving room to place his hand on her stomach. “I want to make a baby with you. Now.”
She splayed her hand over the thick ridge behind his fly. “I see,” she teased. “I don’t know if I’m ready for kids, but I know I want them with you.”
He was hanging onto the proverbial rope, grasping with both hands for something, anything to keep him from falling.
“You’ll marry me?”
“Can we wait a while on the babies? My career….”
“As long as you want, but not too long, okay?”
Relief swamped him. He grasped the lifeline she’d thrown him, clinging to it with all his might. Pulling her close, he took her lips in a savage kiss of possession. Moments later, they were on the ground. Clothes were unwanted barriers discarded without a care.
“Mine,” he growled. He held her legs wide, her hips on his thighs, her hair spread across the grass with abandon, her arms tossed above her head. She was so damned beautiful, she took his breath away.
“Mine.” She opened herself to him, gave him everything, and she’d consented to take all he offered. She was his. She was going to have his kids.
Her scream rent the air, set the neighbor’s dog to barking. He couldn’t have cared less. With one last powerful thrust, he claimed her and the future he felt sure would save him from himself.
“Mine,” he whispered, letting her legs fall from his grasp. “Mine.”
They lay side-by-side on the grass until the neighborhood dogs quieted. His mind was clearer. He’d done what he had to do to make sure Sean Flannery left him the hell alone. He’d never regret marrying Ashley. She was everything a man could want in a woman, beautiful, smart, a match for him in bed, or the backyard.
“Why did you come back?” he asked. “I thought you were going to be gone most of the day.”
“I forgot the clothes I was going to drop off at the dry cleaners.”
Her doing his errands today confirmed how close they’d become in the last year. In truth, a signed marriage license wouldn’t change much between them. Just the moving in part. She still had her own apartment, but she spent more time at his place than her own.
He grunted his acknowledgment.
“What did Sean want? It was Sean Flannery who came to see you, wasn’t it?”
His mind flashed back to what Sean had done to him less than two hours ago on the very spot he’d asked Ashley to marry him and bear his children. Two mind-blowing orgasms with the woman he loved, but the mention of Sean’s name still made his cock twitch.
“Yeah, that was Flannery. He came by to say hi. We played on the Pioneers together.”
“That’s nice,” she said, dreamily. “You should invite him over sometime for dinner or something.”
When hell freezes over. After pushing to his feet, he began gathering their clothes. “I’ve got to go. I’m going to be late for the meeting.”
* * *
The drive to the stadium turned out to be a nightmare due to construction and impatient drivers. As he predicted, he arrived half an hour late. Cynthia, the team manager’s secretary waved him in.
“He’s waiting for you,” she said.
Bentley wiped his palms on his pants, just then considering he should have worn something nicer than jeans. He was in enough trouble already. Looking as if he didn’t take his career seriously wouldn’t help his case.
“Thanks.” After taking a deep, cleansing breath, he knocked then let himself in.
“It’s about time you got here.” Doyle made no attempt to be polite, remaining seated behind his desk.
“I’m sorry. I got a late start, and the traffic was bad.” He crossed the room, not daring to sit until he was told. He felt like a kid called to the principal’s office, sweating palms and all.
“Have a seat.” He gestured to one of the chairs facing his desk. Bentley chose the one to his left. “What the hell happened yesterday?”
Wasn’t that the sixty-four thousand dollar question? Swallowing, he launched into the lie Sean provided—the one he’d practiced on the drive over. “It’s old news.” He shrugged, hoping he appeared relaxed when every muscle in his body felt like it was attached to an electrode and the controls were in the hands of a madman. It was all he could do not to twitch.
“I may have dated someone Sean was interested in, back when I was with the Pioneers. I don’t remember, but it seems he does.”
Doyle leaned back in his chair, the tip of his pen between his lips while he studied Bentley. If only he was facing detention instead of a possible suspension or worse. If he’d been smart, he would have let Sean hit him and walked away. His own stupidity had gotten him here.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hit him back, but he hit me first.” Christ. He sounded like a snot-nosed teenager. Keep your mouth shut. Don’t offer anything. Just answer his questions.
“That’s pretty much what Sean said.” The older man sat up, bracing his elbows on the desk. “What was her name?”
“Uhh….” Damn. He racked his brain for a name. Sean hadn’t mentioned one, he was sure. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “As I said, I don’t recall anyone in particular.”
Doyle nodded. “I imagined as much. You have quite a reputation, Randolph. I knew it when we bought your contract from the Pioneers, and I’ve looked the other way since you’ve kept your personal life out of the papers since you joined our organization.”
There was a but coming….
“But I can’t ignore your behavior yesterday. Brawling in the locker room will not be tolerated. I know you didn’t start the fight, but you didn’t stop it either. In my opinion, and mine is the only one that counts here, you’re as guilty as Flannery.”
A chill raced down his spine. Fuck. A suspension loomed over his head.
“Two things are going to happen here,” the manager continued. “First, you’re going to assure me there will be no more fighting in the clubhouse, or anywhere else. Second, you’re going to sit on the bench for the next series.”
Detention, adult style. He nodded, accepting what he considered light punishment. It could have been far worse. “I can promise you it won’t happen again. I shouldn’t have hit him back. If he leaves me alone, I’ll do the same.”
He stood, sensing he’d been dismissed. Pausing at the door, he turned. “I appreciate your faith in me. I’m not the man I was when I came to the Mustangs. I’ve been with the same woman for over a year. Just so you know, we’re going to get married.”
Doyle smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. Congratulations. When’s the big day?”
“We haven’t decided. Hell, I haven’t even bought her a ring yet, but you’ll be one of the first to know.”
Chapter Three
Sean took the long way around to his new locker. He’d hoped for a better start with the Mustangs than sitting on the bench for the first series, but as punishments went, he’d gotten off easy. After greeting the owners of the lockers flanking his, he put on his practice uniform, then headed for the dugout and his first batting practice with his new team. At least Doyle hadn’t taken pregame activities away from him.
The summer Texas sun was unrelenting as he began his stretching routine. His ribs hurt from two rounds with Bentley, and his nose throbbed with every heartbeat. Both were constant, unnecessary reminders. Memories were all he had, and they never left.
Working by rote, he completed his routine despite the physical discomfort. He couldn’t let anyone know just how bad the pain was or he’d be out on his ass before he ever played a single game. Playing hurt was something he was used to—hell, every athlete was, but he, more than most, made a career out of it.
Rolling to his right hip, he leveraged his body using a two-armed push to stand. His left hip felt like it was on fire. With hands raised above his head, he leaned to the right, stretching the muscles along his left side. He closed his eyes against the pain knifing from his hip, down his thigh then upward to his aching ribs. The injury he’d suffered sliding into second base four years ago had healed, but it didn’t take much to aggravate it, and fisticuffs with Bentley amounted to a lot more than not much.
“You okay?”
Releasing the stretch, Sean straightened. Jason Holder stood before him, his brows knit with concern.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little sore.”
“You had quite a row in the locker room. I take it you don’t get along with Bentley?”
Placing his right hand
on his hip, Sean leaned into it—an easy stretch he could do without it pulling on his hip too much. “I owed him one,” he explained, keeping with their fabricated story. “It’s over now.”
“Well, I hope so. We can sure use your bat in the lineup.” Jason slapped him on the shoulder with his catcher’s mitt. “Welcome to the team.”
“Thanks,” he called to the starting catcher’s retreating back. At least someone on the team was glad to see him.
He waited for his turn to swing at a few pitches, managed to hit some without collapsing in pain, then headed for the locker room. Being one of the first back in, he showered then put on his uniform before most of the team finished batting practice. Since he would be warming the bench, he’d done enough. Maybe by the time his sentence was over, he’d be in good enough shape to play.
Wandering out to the dugout, he sat on the wooden bench. Damn. He hadn’t considered how sitting on a hard surface for hours would feel. Standing, he leaned against the rail, letting his right leg take most of his weight. After the home series, the team would be on an extended road-trip—three cities within ten days. He had to be better by then because traveling was difficult enough when you weren’t a physical wreck.
“Flannery,” Doyle greeted him.
“Hey.” Sean lifted his chin. “How’s it look?” he asked, referring to today’s match-up against the Angler’s.
“We should win today. Rodgers has been pitching well for us, and he has a good record against the Anglers.”
Nodding, he moved to a shadier spot. “Yeah, he has. I sure as hell can’t hit against him.”
“Well, thank goodness you don’t have to anymore. I wish I could put you in. We could use your bat. They’re pitching Roebuck today.”
“I think half my homeruns have been off him.”
Doyle laughed at Sean’s statement. “You’ve had your share.” His smile died. “You sure you and Randolph can get along on the same team?”
