“Yes.”
“I like that. Thank you. Why don’t you lie on the bed and let me show you how much I appreciate you?”
She sat and started to take off her shoes, but Garrett put his hand over hers and grasped her ankles. “Oh, no, babe. These shoes have to stay on. I want you to dig them into my back and my ass when I fuck you tonight.”
Her pussy quivered. She laid her palms flat on the bed. “God, Garrett. You make me wet when you say things like that.”
“I like making you wet.” He gave her shoulder a gentle push, and she lay back on the bed, her legs dangling over the edge.
When Garrett lifted her legs and pressed a kiss to her calves, she shivered.
“I really like these shoes, Alicia. You should wear them more often.” He swept a hand over her ankles, calves, the backs of her knees, and under her thighs, worshipping one leg, then the other, ignoring the throbbing spot between her legs that begged for his touch.
When he drew her panties over her hips and down her legs, she was ready for him to touch her, pet her, lick her until she screamed. But he only caressed her legs again, kissing his way up her calves and knees, making his way to the promised land but bypassing it again to move his lips over her hips and ribs.
“Garrett.” His name sailed from her lips on a shaky sigh.
“Mmm,” was his reply as he reached the swell of her breasts. He snaked his tongue over the edge of the cups of her bra, teasing her. Her nipples tightened, and she was so hot she felt like she might spontaneously combust. He undid the clasp at the front of her bra to draw the cups aside, releasing her breasts.
“You have the most beautiful breasts, and pretty nipples I like to suck on.”
His words sent her up in flames. She watched him as he took one nipple between his lips and sucked it into his mouth, the sensation shooting straight to her core. She reached down to touch herself, but Garrett grasped her wrist and laid her hand down on the bed next to her.
“Uh-uh,” he said, before flicking his tongue over the other nipple then grabbing it with his teeth to gently nibble on it.
“You’re killing me.”
He looked up at her and shattered her with a wicked grin. He moved up and took her lips in a kiss that destroyed what few brain cells she had left. She was limp, lifeless except for every tingling nerve ending begging for him to satisfy her, and when he made the slow trek south again, she wanted to sing with joy.
She trembled as he teased her inner thighs and dropped to his knees, draping her legs over his shoulders as he scooted her to the edge of the bed.
When he finally put his mouth on her sex, her entire world spun. She lifted up on her elbows, desperate to see what he was doing to cause those delicious, sinful sensations. Seeing her legs flung over his shoulders, his tongue gliding over her sex, and the way he devoured her pussy made her entire body convulse with pleasure.
“I’m not going to last, Garrett. I’m going to come, and I’m going to come fast.”
He murmured against her sex, laying his tongue against her and, oh, God, was he vibrating it against her clit?
She exploded in a mind-numbing orgasm, grabbing on to his hair and screaming his name as she rocked her climax against his face, unashamed to let him know just how damn good it was. And when she flattened against the bed, out of breath and out of energy, she was certain she had died.
But then he was there, framing her face with his hands and kissing her, renewing her, his erection brushing her hip as he turned her around in the bed.
Maybe she wasn’t dead after all, because his mouth and his tongue brought her back to life. His hands roamed her body, brushing her nipples and touching her everywhere. Then he rolled her to her side so she could touch him, too.
She loved the feel of his body, every muscle and ridge that she had come to know so well. She caressed his shoulder, kissed it, even took a little bite.
He growled in response, and her nipples tightened.
And then he pushed her onto her back and grabbed a condom.
“I need to be inside you.”
She reached for him, guiding him into her, loving the moment when he buried himself inside her. The sensation of him filling her, becoming one with her, was an emotional as well as a physical sensation that always brought her an amazing sense of wonder. She wanted to tell him that, to tell him how he made her feel, but now wasn’t the time, not with passion rising so fast it engulfed her.
He lifted and bent her knee toward her chest, smoothing his hand along her leg. When he caressed her ankle, he turned back toward her, and his lips curved.
“Oh, yeah. I fucking love these shoes.”
He thrust into her, slow and easy, taking his time driving her crazy, taking her right to the very brink, burying himself so deep she thought she might die from the ecstasy of it.
She reached for him and tangled her fingers in his hair, tugged on it. He groaned and powered even deeper.
He was going to make her come again, but this time she was taking him with her. And when he increased his tempo, when his brow furrowed and his lids dropped to half-mast, she knew he was on the brink.
“Come inside me, Garrett,” she whispered, and he dropped down on top of her, grabbed her butt, and lifted her hips, bringing them even closer together. That’s when she dug into him and made him fuck her harder, made him give her everything he had.
Sweat poured from him. He was relentless, muscles bulging in his arms as he rolled his hips over her, shattering her. He kissed her when she cried out, groaning against her lips as he emptied inside her. They shuddered together as they climaxed, her body tightening around his cock as they rode it out, both of them sawing out breaths as if they’d just run a marathon.
Spent, she lay with her head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating. She wanted to tell him how she felt. There were so many things they needed to talk about, but right now she was content and satiated and utterly exhausted.
That big talk about important things could wait for another time.
For now, she just wanted to sleep.
TWENTY-SIX
AFTER A GRUELING DAY OF WORKOUTS AND PRACTICE, Garrett had been called into Manny Magee’s office.
They’d be heading to Chicago tomorrow for the season opener. He was hoping he’d get to pitch in this series. He already knew he wasn’t the first-game starter. The ball had been given to someone else. But he wanted to pitch—he was ready to pitch.
Alicia had been brought in with him. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. The look she gave him told him she had no idea, either.
Manny came in, along with Bobby, the pitching coach, and Phil and Max.
Manny, never one to take a seat behind his desk, leaned against the edge of it in front of where they were all sitting.
“Let’s get right to this, Garrett. We’re going to work you back into the rotation.”
Garret’s stomach tightened. Excitement drilled through him. This was what he’d been waiting for.
“Right now we want you to pitch middle-inning relief. We don’t think you’re ready to start just yet. We want you to get some pitches in, and a couple of innings a game is a good way to warm you up.”
His stomach dropped. Fuck. Not what he wanted to hear. “I can start, Coach. My arm’s good. I’m ready.”
“Bobby and I feel that middle-inning relief is good for you right now.”
“The MRI and scans we did on you show you’ve healed,” Phil said. “A very good sign. Now it’s just a matter of time until you get your mechanics straightened out.”
“I am straightened out.” Garrett focused his attention on Manny. “You know I can pitch a good game for you.”
“I know you can. After you do a few games in middle-inning relief, we’ll move you back into the starting rotation. Work with Bobby on tweaking the finesse of your pitches and continue your therapy with Alicia.” Manny stood. “You’ll get back there, kid.”
The one thing you didn’t do was argue with Manny Magee. Once he slotted you into a position, that was your position. If you didn’t like that position, your next alternative was AAA ball. Or maybe a new job outside of baseball.
The meeting was over, and Garrett knew it. “Sure. I’ll give it my all.”
Manny slapped him on the back. “Knew you would, kid.”
Garrett walked out of Manny’s office, unable to process what had just happened.
Middle-inning relief? Fuck. He’d rather be a closer than spend time as a middle-inning reliever. Hell, he’d rather not pitch at all.
“You’re pissed,” Alicia said as they walked down the hall after everyone else had dispersed.
He shot her a look. “You think?”
“Garrett.”
He was eating up the hallway with quick, angry strides, Alicia hurrying along to catch up. Not now. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. He’d rather head down to the workout room and take out his irritation on one of the punching bags or the weight bench. Maybe he’d run a few miles out on the track. There was a goddamn fire in his belly, and right now it wasn’t motivation. It was pure, white-hot fury.
But Alicia grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. “Listen to me. You’re going to pitch. At least you’re going to pitch. This is good practice for you.”
“Practice? You think I care about that?”
She kept her hand on his forearm. “I know this isn’t what you wanted.”
“No. It isn’t at all what I wanted. What I wanted was to be a starting pitcher again.”
“And you will be if you stop being such a baby about not getting what you wanted.”
That got his attention. He glared at her.
“So you aren’t starting a game. Do you think you’re the first pitcher to come out of rehab and not start right away? You’re lucky you get to pitch at all. Many of them sit on the bench for months, unable to throw a pitch. Your arm is strong, but your mechanics are off a little. This is a way to get your finesse back without losing control of the game. So quit feeling sorry for yourself, pay attention to your pitching coach, let me continue to work with your arm, and let’s get you back on the mound as a starter.”
He turned and walked away.
“Garrett.”
He didn’t look at her. “I’m going to the therapy room. Come work on my shoulder. It feels tight after today’s practice.”
There was nothing worse than being called on the carpet by your therapist of all people.
She was right. He hadn’t taken the news well. He’d wanted to start in the rotation, not do middle-inning relief.
But he was going to pitch. And she was right about that. He could have ended up benched.
So he’d deal. He’d be the best goddamn middle-inning reliever they had, and when they realized that, they’d put him back in the starting rotation.
He’d give it a week. A week and he’d be a starter again.
* * *
A WEEK LATER, HE WAS STILL PITCHING MIDDLE INNINGS. He’d done fine in relief, had walked a few, struck out some, and put a couple on base. He’d given up two runs, which sucked. Still, he would liked to have left those players on base.
But he was getting his form back, his arm felt good, and he was pitching some innings.
Middle innings.
Fuck, this was driving him crazy.
To make matters worse, he had the media crawling up his ass about his shoulder and his new position as a middle-inning reliever. He’d explained, and the coach had explained, that this was only temporary, that this was part of his rehab, and that he’d be starting games again in no time. Which had gotten the media into a frenzy, speculating that there was still something wrong with his shoulder and he’d never be a starting pitcher again.
He’d rolled his eyes over that one. As if he didn’t have a mountain’s worth of his own self-doubts weighing him down, the media had to add to it?