Strike Out: Mustangs Baseball #6 (8 page)

“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?

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.”

Tricia gripped his legs, grateful for the steady rock beneath her forearms while her body quaked like a leaf in the wind.

“Take a deep breath.” She inhaled. “Let it out.” As the cleansing breath swooshed past her lips, a slap landed on her clit followed by another and another. Biting her bottom lip, she glanced down. Royce used his fingers like a paddle on the tender flesh between her legs. It was the single most erotic thing she’d ever seen.

Panting in tandem with the blows, she twisted the fabric of his trousers into her fists as the relentless pain took her up and up. Closer to the peak that seemed unattainable. She’d never come like this, from nothing but a spanking, didn’t know if she could.

“Don’t think about it, babe. Just let it come. I’ve got you.”

God, did he have her. With nothing more than his palm cradling her head against his shoulder, he held her prisoner to her own need. Tricia closed her eyes and let herself feel every heated blow to her clit.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
Even the sound was erotic, evoking images of hot, sweaty bodies meeting in a frenzy.

Her labia took most of the abuse, but each strike sent shockwaves through her pussy. She smelled her own arousal, could feel the fluids coating her flesh, preparing her for penetration. Her vagina clenched, and she whimpered at the emptiness there.

Then she was coming, the muscles in her stomach tightening and releasing, setting off a chain reaction rocking her entire body.

She sobbed at the exquisite relief, the transcendent release tearing through her, turning her to putty in Royce’s hands.

“There, there, sweet girl.” With one hand, he petted her head like he’d soothe a child with a skinned knee, but his other hand, the one that had wrought such damage to her body and her soul, stroked her pussy, easing the last jerky contractions with care as tender as his method of bringing her to orgasm had been brutal.

She took in a shuddering breath and let his big body support all of her weight. She didn’t know when she’d be able to stand, much less look at the man who’d taken her apart, examined all her pieces, and reassembled her into a different person.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Damn. You are in deep shit, Stryker. Deep, deep, shit.
He’d meant to teach Dr. Reed a lesson and appease his need to touch her, but his plans had turned to cinders the minute he gave in and touched her slick folds.

Spanking her had been a bad enough idea. But bringing her to orgasm was beyond bad. And holding her while she came apart—complete and utter insanity.

He’d never get her out of his head now that he knew the strangled sound she made in the back of her throat when she came, or the way her entire body seemed connected to her pleasure. God, and her scent. Roses on a hot summer day. He’d give anything to lay her back on the coffee table and taste her—to see if she was as sweet as her scent promised.

But he wouldn’t do anything else with Dr. Reed. He’d already crossed a line professionally. And personally? Teetered on the edge of a cliff. He yanked himself back with sheer force of will. He couldn’t let this thing with Tricia go any further.

Pushing her away, he grabbed her shirt from the floor and held it between them. He didn’t even try to be civil for fear she’d read something into his tone that wasn’t there. Could never be there. Not after the disaster he’d made of his marriage. Relationships were not his thing, and if he was reading the signposts correctly, another step and they’d be on Relationship Road. And there was no turning back once they made the leap. “We’re even now. You can go.”

He heard the shock hit her though she didn’t move, didn’t say a word. Hell, she was hardly breathing. Neither was he. Standing, he sucked in a deep breath and stepped away, leaving her on her knees facing an empty chair. He was being an ass, but there was no other choice. He needed to salvage his career, and from what he could tell, she didn’t need personal involvement any more than he did. Calling it even today and ending whatever this was before it got any more complicated was the only solution.

With his hands fisted on his hips, he studied the ceiling while she righted her clothes. He’d seen most of her—enough to imprint her permanently on his brain. His imagination was perfectly capable of filling in the color and size of her nipples and the finer details of her pussy. At any rate, he had enough images filed away to fuel his fantasies for the rest of his life.

She scooted past him, headed back the way they’d come. He followed her, grabbing his keys up as they headed out the back door. When she got to her car, she opened the door then stopped. For the first time since he’d kicked her out of his house, she looked at him. Everything she felt was right there for the world to see—pain, humiliation, disbelief, anger, confusion. She had a right to every one of them.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to follow you home. Make sure you get there safely.”

“You don’t have to escort me. I’m fine.” The tremor in her voice belied the confident tilt of her chin.

“It’s the least I can do.” Royce waited while she made up her mind—even though he had no intention of changing his. If she didn’t want him to follow, he’d do it anyway, just from a more discreet distance. He might be a bastard, but he wouldn’t sleep tonight until he knew she’d made it home and he was certain she wouldn’t call once she was safe.

“Suit yourself.” She climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door hard enough to rattle his teeth.

You’re an idiot. A complete idiot.
Tricia blinked away tears as she navigated her way down Royce Stryker’s driveway. A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed he was following her. Why he would want to, she had no idea. He’d more than made it clear they were done. Kaput. Over.
Fini
. Case closed.

He’d gotten even for what she’d done to him. A homerun on the first pitch. Out of the ballpark. Knocked the cover off the ball. Shattered her.

Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. She probably owed him a new pair of slacks for what she’d done to the ones he was wearing. Her fingers still ached from holding on so tight. Add a new shirt to the mix. She’d cried all over his shoulder. No doubt there were makeup smears all over it, and that shit didn’t come out.

“Screw you, Royce Stryker.” She found a crumpled tissue in the console—a reminder she needed to clean out her car—and blew her nose. “You’re rich. Buy your own fucking clothes. Serves you right.”

Indignation felt good. Who was he to rock her world then push her away?
You’re a jerk, Mr. Stryker.

We’re even.
The words were a slap in the face. So childish when what they’d done was anything but.

He plays a game, A GAME, for a living. What else can you expect from him? Men in general are nothing but little boys playing games and that goes double with baseball players.

By the time she pulled into her reserved spot at her apartment complex, she’d convinced herself of her superiority, if not her adult status. As she put one foot on the ground, she was grateful her legs had ceased trembling at some point in the forty-five minute drive to her suburban neighborhood. Her place was nice as apartments went, but compared to Royce’s home, it was a dump.

Some day in the next century or when she’d sold her system to every professional sports team and could afford it, she wanted a house of her own. Nothing as grand as the one she’d just left, but a few rooms with hardwood floors, big windows, and a yard where she could plant stuff.

Royce probably had a team of gardeners armed with sharp tools to keep anyone from touching a single leaf. The kind of casual elegance surrounding his house didn’t just happen on its own.

Shaking off the memory of the peace she’d sensed when she had followed him past the ominous gates guarding his property, she headed for her door. Up the stairs, second door on the left. Her windows looked out on the small green space between buildings instead of the parking lot. Every step she took, she was aware of his gaze following her. His expensive sports car purred like a kitten at the curb. Yet another thing to make her hate him. She could buy a house with acreage for what he’d probably paid for his car.

Thank God, Royce couldn’t see her hand shake as she slid her key into the lock. Distance and poor exterior illumination insured that.

Once inside, she closed and locked the door. Her legs carried her as far as the sofa where she collapsed. Dragging her knees up, she hugged her legs to her chest to stop the trembling she couldn’t seem to control. Her position pulled her shorts tight in the crotch, so after a few minutes she had to stretch out to relieve the ache between her legs.

She never would have gone to his house if she’d known what he had in mind. Hell, he was entitled to his revenge, but had it been necessary to take it in a way she would never be able to forget it? Forget him? Her ass hurt from the spanking, and her pussy throbbed as if his hand continued to slap the tender tissues. She’d never dreamed she could enjoy something like what he’d done to her, but God, she had.

If she closed her eyes, she could see his long, cotton-clad arm between them. A perfectly starched cuff circling his wrist—his palm and fingers forming a paddle he applied with expert skill to her pussy. Over and over until she came so hard she cried out. And she’d do it all again, anytime, anywhere. If he’d only ask.

That’s how far gone she was.

Grabbing a throw pillow, she held it to her face and screamed until her vocal chords protested. Then she gave in and cried like a baby.

***

Tricia arrived at the stadium early, half expecting security to turn her away or, at the very least, escort her to the General Manager’s office where she’d be told to pack her things and leave. When her key still turned the lock on her temporary office, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Royce wouldn’t pitch today. The Mustangs used a five game rotation for their starting pitchers, so he wouldn’t pitch again until the second game of their next road trip. He would do a light workout, and she would monitor as much as possible via the wireless connections. The rest of her time would be spent analyzing the data she’d already collected and recording her thoughts and observations thus far. If there were lapses in the data, she’d work on fixing the problems before Stryker took to the mound again.

After checking to make sure the equipment needed for today was in working order, she opened her laptop and powered up the software program that had cost her every penny she could beg, borrow, or save.

Referring back to her notes, she noted the activity Royce had engaged in at each time stamp. It took some doing, but after saving the incriminating data to a separate, password-protected file, she deleted the evidence of what she’d done. If her research ever amounted to anything, she’d have to account for the gap in the recording. Perhaps she could chalk it up to an equipment malfunction. This early in the project, the excuse would be believable.

She thought she was prepared to see him, to play it cool as if she hadn’t done what she’d done, and he hadn’t split her like an atom. But when he walked in wearing a suit and tie and looking like several million bucks and an ice cream sundae, her body flushed and her mouth watered. The
swoosh
of air following him in carried a hint of expensive cologne and a special note that was uniquely Royce Stryker.

When she looked up and saw him standing in the doorway, her pussy clenched. She shifted in her seat, the movement reminding her of the tender spots on her ass where he’d spanked her the night before. A night spent bolstering her confidence had proved more useless than an eight-inch floppy disc as every ounce of resolve she’d cobbled together crumbled to ash. She’d do anything he wanted. Right here. Right now. Project be damned.

“Just thought I’d let you know I’m here. I’ll go change. No batting practice for me today, just some light throwing to keep the arm loose, but it can wait until we’re done in here.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Shorts?”

She nodded again.

“Okay, then. I’ll see you in a few.”

Okay.
She stared at the closed door, willing her brain to catch up to reality. He’d said everything would be forgotten after her punishment, and apparently it had been as far as he was concerned.
Easy for him to move on as if nothing happened. His ass isn’t sore today.

He’d seemed perfectly at ease with her while she’d become a horny mute the second she saw him. Tricia stood so she could pace and think. Her bottom instantly felt better, but the freedom of movement did nothing to help blood flow to her brain.
Too bad you can’t scrub your brain the way you can a hard drive.
The images stored in her gray matter were there to stay, there to torment her with what she couldn’t have.

It was time to put on her big girl panties and act like the professional she claimed to be.