Strike Out: Mustangs Baseball #6 (9 page)

CHAPTER NINE

Good. She’s here
. Royce let the door close behind him and headed for the locker room. After the way he’d treated Tricia the previous evening, he hadn’t been at all sure she would show up today. And if she did, there was a good chance she would go straight to management and file sexual harassment charges against him.

Royce changed into a pair of shorts, but since he wasn’t scheduled to pitch, he wore briefs underneath instead of a jock strap. The difference between the two was all in his head. If he
believed
there was more fabric between him and Tricia, then there was.

He’d need every trick in the book to get through an afternoon with her and not touch her. Spanking her was supposed to cleanse her from his system. His promise of forgive and forget had been a load of bullshit. He’d never forgive her for barreling into his life and turning it upside down, and there was no way in hell he would forget the way her mouth had felt on him or the way she’d looked—on her knees while she sucked him off.

Shit.
He’d never thought of himself as particularly dominant, but when it came to the lovely Dr. Reed, his mind traveled a different road, one with kinks and switchbacks enough to make him dizzy with need.

Spanking had never been his thing, but sweet Heaven, his hand itched to have another go at her ass. He flexed his fingers then rubbed his damp palm on his shorts. Seeing his handprint on her ivory skin had tripped a switch inside him—the fucking-insane-with-need switch. Then, when he’d realized how turned on the good doctor had become, the insanity just kept coming. It had taken every ounce of self-control he had to keep from burying his cock deep inside her and fucking her until they both couldn’t walk.

Instead, he’d spanked her clit until she flew apart at his feet. Fuckin’ insanity.

He’d been so turned on and so disgusted with his lack of control, he’d acted like a bastard, practically ordering her out of his house without so much as a thank you for the way she’d trusted him with her body. Her trust had been misplaced, but she’d given it all the same. And he’d taken full advantage. He hadn’t even been aware a woman could come that way, but after the first few slaps, he’d abandoned his original plan to finger fuck her and kept up the onslaught on her clit.

Her response had destroyed him. Fuckin’ tore him up inside.

Thank God he’d remembered who she was—who
he
was—in time to put an end to the evening before he’d done more damage. He knew calling them even had made him sound like a jerk, but he was a man who kept score. They were tied, one orgasm to one orgasm. Game over. They weren’t going extra innings. No more games.

He’d called on the last bit of gentleman inside him to make sure she got home safely then he returned home and tried to wipe the previous hours from his brain. She’d spent less than an hour in his house, but everywhere he went, she was present. All he had to do was close his eyes to see her in his kitchen, his den, his bedroom. Even when he stood in the center of his empty living room, he saw her standing next to the fireplace, a glass of champagne in her hand, and a gleam in her eyes to outshine her form-fitting evening gown.

Where the image came from, he had no idea. All he’d seen her in was shorts and T-shirts, and he’d seen her wearing nothing but a bra. Still, he knew, without a doubt, she would look fantastic in evening wear. And he’d like nothing more than to help her remove it so he could kiss every inch of exposed skin. He’d start at her shoulders and work his way down to her toes. Then he’d do it all again in reverse order, drinking in the scent of summer roses as he went.

When he opened the door, she’d turned to face him. Involuntarily, his gaze swept her from head to toe. She looked okay. Better than okay. Fucking fabulous. Knowing what was underneath her simple attire, his mind did the conversion automatically. His mouth watered remembering the scent of her arousal on his fingers.

He forced his eyes up to her face. Her gaze was steady, but her bottom lip trembled. He swept his gaze over her body again, this time taking note of the important things. She was shaking like a leaf in a mulching machine waiting for the blades to chew it up.

He sobered quickly. Was she afraid of him?

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

Their words trampled over each other.

Royce was afraid to move, but every cell in his body screamed for him to go to her, to assure her no one would ever hurt her, least of all him. But he had hurt her. Physically and perhaps on a deeper level. He turned, reaching for the door handle. “I’ll go.”

“No!”

He looked over his shoulder.

The fingers of one hand covered her mouth as if to keep more words from spilling out. Then, miraculously, they did. “Don’t go.”

It took supreme effort to pry his fingers loose then turned back to her. “I’m sorry about last night. I had no right to touch you the way I did.” She’d been staring at him, wide-eyed, but at the mention of his inappropriate behavior, she cast her gaze to the floor. And if he wasn’t mistaken, a blush was creeping from the V-neck of her shirt all the way to her cheeks. “I thought you would have gone to management by now. You have every right to.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not? I promise I won’t try to discredit you in any way. However much you want to tell them, I’ll go along with.”

The fingers on her right hand toyed with the pencils in a cup on the corner of her desk. Her breasts rose and fell as she took a deep breath. Then she lifted her chin and looked at him.

“I won’t do it for two reasons. One, because they’d put an end to my research. I can’t let that happen.”

He nodded. She’d obviously put a lot of time, effort, and money into her project. Pulling the plug on it at this phase, and for those reasons, would kill it completely. The same way telling would kill his career. But he’d done the deed. He was man enough to accept what was coming to him. Hell, his career was on life support anyway.

“And the second reason?”

“Because I liked what we did.”

Royce stared at her. He’d wrestled his body under control, but his brain was malfunctioning. It had to be. She could not possibly have said what he thought she did. “What?”

“I said…I liked what we did. I know we can’t do it again, but—”

“The hell we can’t.” One of his brains was functioning, and that was enough. He slid the deadbolt home, ensuring no one would walk in on them, then grabbed her hand. Dragging her into the far corner where no one peering through the narrow window in the door could see them, he backed her up against the wall.

Pinning her wrists beside her head, he bent so they were face-to-face. She was breathing hard, and when her tongue swept across her bottom lip, he couldn’t squelch the groan rising from his throat. “You make me crazy when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Breathe.” He covered her mouth with his, sliding his tongue along the seam until she opened, letting him inside. She tasted of coffee and sugar, and like a caffeine addict, he couldn’t get enough.

Dropping her wrists, he brought her hips up against his with one hand while the other angled her head so he could go deeper. A low moan rattling from her throat, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders as if she were drowning and only he could save her.

He thought he might die when she thrust her tongue between his lips, taking what she needed with bold strokes. Her fingers playing through the hair at his nape were his undoing. He wanted her. Here. Now. His career be damned.

Definitely the smaller of his two brains making the decision, but hormones overrode common sense. He slid his hand between them, feeling like a blind man, and worked his way underneath the hem of her shirt to the waistband of her shorts. The button and zipper were no match for his determined fingers. In moments, he was stroking into her wet heat with one finger, then two.

He broke the kiss, held her head so they were cheek-to-cheek. He inhaled deeply, taking in the musk of her arousal combined with the sweet rose scent he would forever associate with her. “God, sweetheart,” he breathed against her ear. “You are so fuckin’ wet.”

“I want to feel you, too.” Before he could stop her, she dropped one hand between them. Finding his straining erection, she measured his length and girth, stroking him through the layers of his clothing. It wasn’t enough. Not even close.

“Push my shorts down. I need to feel your hand on me.”

He forgot all about how wonderful her fingers felt in his hair when having shoved his shorts and boxers down, she wrapped her free hand around his aching dick.

“Fuck, that feels good.” Her touch was untutored, sometimes light, sometimes tight enough to restrict blood flow, but he had no intention of stopping her explorations. When his release came, it would be all the sweeter for the little bit of pain endured along the way.

“You’re big.” Her breath fanned over his earlobe, sending shivers down his spine. “I could barely take you in my mouth.”

Mention of the blow job she’d given him in the supply closet made his dick jerk with renewed enthusiasm. He’d never forget the ecstasy of her hot, wet mouth surrounding him. It would go down as one of his all-time fondest memories. “Next time I’m inside you, I’m going to be in here.” He fingered her pussy in a not so subtle imitation of what he’d like to do with his cock. Her hand tightened on him like a rookie in his first at-bat. Much more and he would come all over both of them.

“Easy,” he said, trapping her and his cock with his free hand. When she stilled, he moved to her shorts. “Help me get these off you.”

She did all the work while he held his dick out of the way, only letting go when he could press it up against her soft belly.

“That’s better. Hold on, babe. I’m going to make you come.”

The short top she’d worn today flared out at her hips, leaving her exposed. Tricia gripped Royce’s hips to steady herself. She drew him into her lungs with every labored breath she took. Beneath her palms, his skin was smooth and hot, his body chiseled granite. A bead of pre-cum cooled on her stomach where his cock rubbed against her.

Flesh, tender from the previous evenings activities, magnified the ache of arousal between her legs. No matter how much she’d tried to convince herself otherwise, she wanted—needed—Royce’s touch.

“Please.”

“Shh, babe. I’m gonna take care of you.” He pressed his lips to her temple then to her cheek. No one had ever sworn to take care of her so passionately. Desire shuddered through her body. He worked his way down, leaving wet kisses along her skin then nuzzling her through the thin fabric of her shirt and bra. Her nipples, already tight, strained to get closer.

His hands came to rest on her hips, then ever so slowly, inched beneath her shirt, learning her shape one rib at a time until his palms closed over her aching mounds. She moaned and melted into his hands.

“So soft.” He squeezed and massaged while his lips continued their downward trek. When he pushed beneath her top and dipped his tongue into her navel, she came up on her tiptoes and curled her fingers into his hair. She tugged with all the strength she could muster, but he wouldn’t be budged.

“Babe.” His breath raised goose flesh on her stomach. “I need to taste you.” He dragged the tip of his nose along her cleft as if to emphasize his point. “Open for me.”

Before she could form an answer, yes or no, he had one of her legs draped over his shoulder. A hysterical laugh caught in her throat. No one, not even her gynecologist had ever examined her as closely as the man kneeling between her legs. She could feel his heated gaze on her, and it was enough to stir the well of arousal low in her belly.

“So fuckin’ beautiful.”

The first swipe of his tongue almost toppled her. Royce didn’t miss a beat. Continuing his intimate exploration, he raised one arm, trapping her thigh atop his shoulder while his hand pressed against her abdomen, pinning her against the wall.

His mouth was magic. His tongue flicked over her clit then delved lower, rimming her entrance then thrusting inside her in a kiss any Frenchman would be proud of. She flexed her hips, opening herself more fully to him. He didn’t disappoint. He moved his mouth over her inner lips, stroking and sucking, bringing all her nerve endings alive in a way that was entirely different from his attentions the previous night, but achieved the same mind-blowing effect. A familiar tension took hold of her insides, tightening with every lick, every suck, every scrape of his teeth. She climbed toward the peak, her head thrashing back and forth as she struggled to contain the cries of pleasure threatening to escape.

A tiny voice in the back of her head warned her of the folly of her actions, but like every time she was anywhere near Royce Stryker, reason sat on the bench.

Hands flat against the wall, Tricia braced herself for the inevitable fall from the cliff. One more lick. One more nip at her clit.

Her body convulsed while Royce’s mouth coaxed every last drop from her. Wrung out and weeping from the effort it took to keep from screaming his name, she collapsed into his arms. Holding her close, he turned them and slid down to sit on the floor with his back against the wall. Tricia curled into his lap like a weak kitten, unable to do anything but whimper and cry.