Inside Heat (10 page)

“Beautiful,” Jason said. “Do the other one, then give it to me.”

Jeff followed his brother’s instructions, handing the can over after coating her other breast and filling her navel with the fluffy cream. She should have been embarrassed, but the look on their faces as Jason parted her folds and filled the recesses with ribbons made her desperate for what they would do to her next. Another dollop crowned her clit, then Jason put his mouth to her.

She cried out, bucking her hips to get as close to him as she could. Jeff slid his hands beneath her head. “Watch him, sweetheart. See his tongue?”

Megan groaned. When her guys wanted to play, they could be very creative. Jason’s face was coated in whipped cream as he toyed with her clit and the slit below. His tongue flicked, stroked and delved inside. His broad shoulders supported her thighs, and his hands pillared her ass. He looked so damned sexy, all dressed up in his suit, with cream on his face – like a naughty boy at a party caught with cake on his face. It was enough to make a woman lose her mind, if not her heart.

“Here,” Jeff clasped her hands and brought them to her breasts. “Hold these for me.” He molded her palms to her breasts and pushed them together until her breasts were twin mountain peaks with snow squishing up between them and sliding down the slopes. “Fucking beautiful.”

His tongue lapped the snow slowly avalanching down the outside swell of her breast. Megan arched toward him, inviting, begging for more. Every rational thought fled, replaced by need and want. As she lay there, accepting that these two could make her forget everything, she thanked the universe for putting her in their path. Thanks to one small boy who wanted an autograph, her life had changed dramatically. She no longer questioned why Jeff and Jason wanted her – they just did, and she wanted them with every fiber of her being.

She drank in Jeff’s scent as he bent his head to her breast and suckled. Both men had sensitive skin so they used fragrance-free soaps that allowed their natural scent to dominate. Megan inhaled deeply, savoring the clean male smell that she’d come to associate with arousal. It was hard to be around them and not want them to touch her, to take her in any way they wanted. Together they could be very creative which always translated to great sex, and intense orgasms for her.

Jeff nuzzled, licked and sucked in orchestrated harmony with Jason’s attentions, and soon she felt the familiar tension building as her body spiraled closer to the edge.

“She’s close,” Jason said without breaking stride. Jeff placed a palm over her stomach, pressing her back flat against the unforgiving counter. Megan tried to move her hips, but Jason’s hold, and the pressure from Jeff’s hand held her captive.

“Come for us, Megan,” Jeff urged. His mouth closed over one aching nipple, pushing her over the edge.

The world closed in around her, and nothing existed but the ethereal plane Jeff and Jason had taken her to. Her body quaked. Her mind soared, and through it all, she felt safe and loved. The dislocation she’d felt at the stadium surrounded by the women who "belonged" didn’t matter any longer, because Megan belonged here, with Jeff and Jason.

She drifted back to reality on a cloud of sated passion to find identical faces smiling down at her. She smiled back, too content to reprimand them for making her lie on the cold granite counter. What did she have to complain about anyway? They’d given to her as they so often did, seeing to her needs before their own.

“I never get tired of seeing that,” Jason said as he rose to his feet.

Jeff eased her up to a sitting position and stroked her hair. “Me either. God, Megan, you are so beautiful when you come. It’s like watching a miracle.”

“There’s nothing miraculous about it, it’s all you two. You know me too well. I should be embarrassed that you can do that so easily.”

“Come here,” Jason lifted her off the counter. “It’s our turn, don’t you think?” He threaded his fingers with hers and drew her across the room. Jeff followed, coming up behind her to press his body fully against hers. His hands stroking from shoulder to elbow warmed her while the kisses he planted on her shoulder promised more.

Jason’s belt jangled as he undid the buckle, then slid his trousers and boxer shorts past his hips. His erection sprang free. “Touch me,” he commanded. Megan wrapped her fingers around his shaft, moving up and down in the way she knew he liked. His groan sent a surge of power through her system. They knew her body, but she knew theirs too. She had no doubt she could return the favor they’d done for her.

“Sit down, Jason. I need you.”

Jason collapsed onto the nearest chair, jerking the last few buttons of his shirt open so it gaped around his stomach. Megan turned and straddled Jason’s legs. He used his knees to open her, and with Jeff’s guiding hands, and Jason positioning her, she slid down on Jason’s cock.

“Oh, God, that feels good,” she moaned as he filled her. Jason’s hands cradled her hips, holding her in place. “Now you,” she wiggled a finger at Jeff. He stepped closer and she worked his belt loose, followed by the button on his waistband and the zipper. “Off,” she said.

She reached for his cock, but he dodged out of range. “Just a second.” He returned, shaking the can of whipped cream with one hand. With the other, he urged her lips apart.

 “Open up.” He filled her mouth with the cool cream, then pushed his pants past his hips. His cock rose up in anticipation. “Take me in your mouth.”

Megan bent and closed her mouth around the head of his cock. Whipped cream squished from the corners of her lips as he gradually pushed further in. “Ah, damn, Megan. That feels good. His fingers wiped the white foam from her mouth and spread it on his cock. “You’re so damned hot, and the cream is cold. It feels fucking amazing.”

She had to agree. His cock was hot, salty steel, and the cream was cold and sweet. She never would have thought the two could be so good together.

“Now,” Jeff said, and Jason began to stroke in and out. Megan lost herself in the sensation of pleasuring them both at the same time.

Jeff cradled the back of her head in one hand, controlling her movements – sometimes going deep to the back of her throat, other times just giving her the head to play with. Once he pulled almost all the way out and coated his cock with whipped cream again before he drove all the way in. Megan lapped up the sweet concoction with her eager tongue, earning a growl from Jeff.

A blunt fingertip traced along her spine from her nape to her ass, raising gooseflesh in its wake. Behind her, Jason chuckled in the playful way she’d come to know. Jeff handed off the whipped cream to Jason. A moment later a cool glob coated her ass, followed by Jason’s exploring thumb.

Megan moaned as Jason found the entrance he was looking for and breached it with his digit. It was too much. Between Jeff filling her mouth, and Jason filling everything else, she couldn’t maintain control. Her body tensed. Jason wiggled his finger in her ass and flexed his hips, driving himself all the way to her core.

She came, contracting around the steel hard shaft inside her in rhythmic waves of ecstasy. Jason stilled as she clenched him tight. When her body relaxed its grip he flexed his hips and drove hard into her, releasing his pent-up cum with a curse.

Jeff still held her head, controlling her movements. She reached beneath her chin for his balls and tugged. He uttered a similar curse and pressed her face against his groin, erupting down her throat as he did so.

Megan smiled as Jeff released her and grabbed for the countertop to steady himself. “Damn, that was good,” he said. He leaned against the counter to catch his breath. He was the sexiest man she’d ever seen in her life, standing there weak-kneed with his tie and suit coat perfectly in place, and his wool trousers around his ankles. His cock was still at half-mast, but slowly wilting.

“I don’t think I can move,” Jason said. He shifted and his cock slid from her. He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her naked back against his front. “As soon as I can walk, I’m going to take you to the bedroom. I want you to do that whipped cream in the mouth thing on me.”

“Only if Jeff gets to switch places with you,” she teased.

“Come on,” Jeff reached for her hand and drew her to her feet. “Let’s go. Jason can bring the whipped cream.”

Megan went along, eager to have Jeff inside her again. Jason knew how to make her feel good, but what she felt when Jeff was inside her was something very different. It was as if he was made especially for her, that he completed her in some puzzling way. Sex with Jason was…just sex. But sex with Jeff was more. She liked sex with Jason, but she needed sex with Jeff. She needed to feel that connection with him, to feel him moving inside her. He touched more than her body – he touched her heart and her soul.

As he came to her in the big bed upstairs, she forgot all about the curious glances and feeling out of place. She belonged here, with Jeff. Nothing else mattered.

* * * *

“You know what to do?”

“For the millionth time, Jeff, yes.” Megan herded him toward the garage where Jason was waiting. “If you don’t hurry, Jason is going to have to drive so you won’t be late.” That got him moving faster. Jeff swore every time he rode with Jason that he’d never do it again.

“Okay, okay. I’m going.” He turned to place a quick kiss on her lips. “I’ll see you later. Thanks for doing this.”

“I should be thanking you. If it weren’t for you, Christopher wouldn’t be alive today, much less throwing out the first pitch.” She pushed him out the door before he could launch into his usual protest when she credited him with saving Christopher’s life. No matter how much he denied it, it was true. After talking to Roxanne about her son’s illness, Jeff had put out a call to the other players throughout the Major Leagues to help find a suitable bone marrow donor. Christopher’s recovery was a direct result of Jeff’s involvement.

Megan hurried up the stairs to dress. The limousine would be here soon to pick her up, then they would pick up Christopher and his parents, and arrive at the stadium in time to meet the team before the opening ceremonies. Christopher would finally be going to the game Jeff had promised him the day he first visited him in the hospital, and Megan couldn’t be happier.

 Not only was Jeff fulfilling a promise he’d made, but today he was announcing the new foundation he was funding that would help other kids in need of donors find a match, aptly named – The Christopher Project. That he’d taken something so close to her heart, and put his time and resources into it, made her heart glow.

Christopher was the picture of health standing on the pitching mound beside his idol. Jeff handed him the ball and stood back as Christopher hurled it toward home plate, and Jason’s waiting glove. Megan fought back tears when Jason and Jeff lifted Christopher to their shoulders and slowly turned so he could wave to the cheering crowds. Now, sitting next to Christopher, she could hardly contain her joy. Christopher kept up a running commentary throughout the innings, teaching Megan all about the game he loved so much. It was a dream come true kind of day for Christopher, his parents, and her. And she had Jeff Holder to thank for it.

When Christopher and his parents waved goodbye as the limousine eased from the parking lot, Megan thought if she heard the words, "Jeff said", one more time, her head might explode. Jeff Holder had a fan for life in little Christopher, and she wouldn’t change a thing.

“Ready to go?” Jeff asked.

“More than ready. It’s been a long day,” she replied.

“Come on then. Jason took off with Randall, so it’s just you and me.”

Megan rested her head on Jeff’s shoulder as they walked to his car. As always, his arm around her made her feel safe, and loved. He opened the passenger door for her, then walked around to the driver’s side.

“You’re a good man, Jeff Holder,” she said as he merged onto the freeway a few minutes later. “No wonder half the women in Texas are in love with you.”

“What about you? Which half are you in?”

“Do you have to ask?”

“No, I don’t think I do.”

Chapter Ten

He sure was something to look at, especially in uniform. Megan watched from the player’s family section – close enough to hear every curse and see the strain on the players' faces. She’d overcome her unease among the players' wives over the last year, adopting a don’t-ask-don’t-tell sort of friendship with a few. Jeff and Jason wanted her in the stands when she could be there, and they wanted her in other ways she didn’t feel compelled to discuss with others. If anyone guessed how much of a friend she was to Jeff and Jason, they didn’t comment. In a way, Jeff and Jason had kept their word. She wasn’t exactly a secret, but sometimes she wished they didn’t have to hide their relationship – especially her relationship with Jeff.

She hadn’t expected it to happen, but she’d fallen in love with Jeff. Maybe she should have seen it coming from the very beginning. When they were together, alone or with Jason, she felt something more for Jeff, something that went much deeper than what she felt for Jason. She didn’t have the nerve to say anything to Jeff, and if he felt the same, he wasn’t saying either. Sometimes she thought Jason might suspect, but like his brother, he seemed content to keep their relationship on a friends-with-benefits status.

She’d never get tired of seeing him play. He loved the game, and his body language testified to his command of it. This was his element, and he wore the uniform with pride and confidence. The stretch knit pants coated his thighs like paint. If you were up close, you could see his powerful muscles bunch and lengthen, not to mention what you could see a little higher. He refused to wear a cup, so the fabric stretched over the real thing. On warm days like today, the short-sleeved top revealed arms toned from countless hours in the gym, and on the job. Only those with intimate knowledge knew the golden tan was almost as dark where the sun never touched his skin.

Megan held her breath as Jeff stilled, focusing everything he had on the next few seconds. It was almost over. Just a few more, and victory would be his. Jeff thrived on the adrenaline rush. He loved being the one to do the impossible. As hot-blooded as he was, when he was called upon to do what he did best, pure ice water flowed through his veins, or so it seemed to the poor souls he was sent out to dispatch. He’d been called many things, but the one he liked the most was The Terminator.

The man he faced now also had made a name for himself, and as confident as Megan was in Jeff’s skills, she couldn’t help but worry. Failure wasn’t something Jeff dealt with well. The crowd roared, surging to their feet. Most sided with Jeff, but a few raised their voices, offering encouragement to the enemy. Megan allowed her gaze to shift to Jeff’s partner in this battle. The brothers had worked as a team since their high school days when they’d discovered their unique connection afforded them an advantage over their opponents. They were the only two in their profession to remain together after so many years. It was a testament to their effectiveness, as well as their relationship. They practically read each other’s minds. They shared more than their DNA, but most of the world didn’t have a clue how much they actually did share. Megan knew, and held their time together close to her heart. Of all the women in the world, and they could have their choice, they’d chosen her.

Jason crouched low, his muscular torso coiled and ready to spring. Unlike Jeff, Jason wore as much protective equipment as the rules allowed. He had a healthy fear of missiles hurtling toward him at incredible speeds, not to mention the danger from their armed opposition. He didn’t take chances, and for that, Megan was grateful. Jason signaled his brother. Jeff nodded, an almost imperceptible movement of his head, before he clasped his hands together, waist high.

Jeff squared his shoulders, coiled every muscle in his body, and sent the missile in his hand spinning toward his opponent. Megan refused to blink. Her eyes darted from Jeff, tried to track the missile, but failed to do so. The enemy swung out in a futile effort to fend off the attack. The missile hit Jason’s specially designed mitt with a distinctive slap.

“Strike one!” the umpire called, and Megan let out the stale breath trapped in her lungs.
One pitch down. Two to go
.

* * * *

Jason adjusted his chest protector. Sweat trickled down his back and soaked his shirt where the elastic straps criss-crossed his body. His helmet hung from his right hand, his heavily padded catcher’s mitt from the other. He lifted his left shoulder and wiped his forehead on his shirt. God, he hated playing in Texas in the summer. But right now, the heat wasn’t his biggest worry. The man stepping into the batter’s box was.

Martin McCree could be a poster child for steroid abuse. Jason hated him. Martin continued to deny his use of performance-enhancing drugs, but no one became a home run hitter with his stats overnight. Hell, few did it without steroids over an entire career. Jason hated what Martin and the few others like him did to the game. Fans couldn’t trust players who worked hard and upped their game, because a few took the easy way out – choosing drugs over a healthy lifestyle and years of practice.

Jason reviewed everything he knew about the bastard’s strengths and weaknesses while Martin went through his elaborate routine– scrape out a foothold for his left foot, then another one for his right; adjust his nuts, probably shrunken from the steroids; touch the necklace he wore around his unnaturally thick neck, the one he swore was the reason for his jump from the pit of Major League batting averages to the pinnacle in one season; adjust his nuts again; tap the end of his bat on all five points of the plate before raising it to his shoulder.

The ump muttered low, “Strike the SOB out,” as Jason donned his mask. He shared a secret smile with the ump. All Jeff had to do was get it close. If Martin didn’t swing, the ump would help him out. Unethical? Probably. But he didn’t give a good goddamn. Steroids were a hell of a lot further off the ethical scale than giving a pitcher a wide strike zone.

Jason didn’t remember Martin fidgeting so much in previous seasons – probably another side effect of the drugs. Jason crouched, dropped his left hand between his thighs and signaled Jeff. Four fingers down for a fastball – might as well challenge Martin right off. Two fingers down for the speed – give it all you’ve got. Three fingers against his left thigh – throw it right down the middle of the plate. A few more bogus signs for the hell of it. Jeff nodded.
Message received.

Jason set up, leaning to his right enough to attract Martin’s attention, make him think the ball might be going outside. Martin adjusted his stance.
Idiot
. Everyone knew Jeff’s go-to pitch was an inside fastball. Jason fixed his eyes on Jeff’s hand, on the small orb about to be hurled right at his face, if Jeff didn’t miss his spot.

A fraction of a second. That’s all the time he had to see the ball, to move his gloved hand into position and intercept it before it nailed him between the eyes. Not that the hockey-style mask wouldn’t do its job, but getting hit in the face hurt like hell, mask or no mask.

Jeff went into his windup. He squared his shoulders, lifted his left knee to his chest, drew his right elbow even with his shoulder – and exploded. His body fell forward, landed hard on his left foot. His right arm swung forward. Jason focused on the blur of white cowhide slashed with red as it left Jeff’s fingertips. He lost it momentarily as Martin’s bat cut through the air, stirring the humidity hovering like a damp cloud over home plate. Jason moved his glove, more from muscle memory than any real sense of where the ball was. His whole body jolted at the impact. His fingers squeezed reflexively around the projectile in his palm.

“Fuck.” Martin spun out of the batter’s box.

“Strike one!” the umpire yelled.

Jason stood, took a step forward, and threw the ball back to Jeff. He circled away from Martin to be on the safe side, locked eyes with the ump for a fleeting moment of kinsmanship before returning to his place behind the plate.
One down. Two to go
. Then they could head to the clubhouse and air conditioning. Another hour and he’d have Megan in his arms. He forced his thoughts back to the task at hand. This wasn’t the time to be daydreaming. One wrong decision, one too-slow reaction could drag this game out. Get Martin out, one way or another, and then he could daydream all he wanted.

* * * *

Jeff turned his back on home plate, surveying the outfield, or pretending to. It looked good for the cameras, but the truth was, he didn’t see a damned thing. His eyes were open, but his vision was focused inward. In all his years as a closer for the Texas Mustangs, he’d never faced a more formidable opponent than Martin McCree. It hadn’t always been that way. Last season, McCree had been an almost guaranteed out. But he’d taken the low road this season, and his stats were riding high in the saddle. Still, the man had his weaknesses, and Jason knew every one of them. Jeff had to trust his brother to call the right pitches, and he had to trust himself to throw them. That’s what this little breather was really about, centering himself before he faced McCree. Three pitches, four max. The Mustangs had a one-run lead, and with two outs and no one on base, McCree was the last man Jeff had to face today, if he got it right.

McCree did his thing. Jeff waited, patient for all anyone knew. Jason set up a little off the plate. That ought to mess with McCree’s mind. Only a moron would fall for that ploy.

Jeff blocked out everything else, the crowds, the noise, McCree. He read the sign, twisted the ball in his hand, found the seams he was looking for like a blind man reading Braille. He nodded to Jason, then brought his hands together waist high. Light grip on the ball, too tight and he’d lose velocity, too loose and he’d lose control. When he had it right, he focused on the image of the exact spot he wanted the pitch to go, knowing Jason’s glove would be there at the exact moment the ball arrived.

Jeff squared his shoulders, filled his lungs, brought his left knee to his chest, and threw six feet and two hundred pounds of hard muscle into the pitch. His pent up breath burst from his lips as his left foot connected with the ground. Pain traveled in a lightning bolt from his foot to the top of his head, making a pit stop in the shock absorbing knee joint a fourth of the way up. Instinct told him he’d thrown the pitch as perfectly as he’d envisioned, and with a little luck from the gods, and maybe a little diamond dust, McCree would swing and miss. It would be worth the pain in his knee to see that.

A brown blur cut through his vision. Leather smacked against leather. McCree cursed. The umpire called, “Strike one!” Jeff took another deep breath and willed his body to relax.

The goddamned Texas heat had him wrapped up in a wet blanket under a heat lamp. As hot as it was for him, Jason had it worse with all that protective gear. He owed it to the team, and their fans baking in the stands to get this over with so they could all go home. Jeff resisted the urge to look into the stands. Megan was there, in the seat reserved for her. She was always there unless she had to work. He told her she didn’t have to work, he and Jason would take care of her, but she’d always refused their offer, saying she loved her job too much. He understood. What she did was good, and she was good at it. But he still wished she’d make more of a commitment to their relationship. He dragged his thoughts away from Megan, and back to the game.

Two more pitches and they could all find some air conditioning. Another hour, two if he got stuck doing post game interviews, and Megan would be in his arms. Being hot and sweaty had its place – the bedroom. He took his cap off and wiped his face on his shirtsleeve. Jason waited until Jeff replaced his hat before making eye contact. Beneath the mask, Jeff saw the gleam of excitement in Jason’s eyes. Martin could be damned predictable, his greatest weakness, and Jason could read him better than a fortuneteller. Martin was going down.

* * * *

Jason crouched behind the plate. This time his fingers flashed a different code. Only he and Jeff knew it was mostly nonsense. Only the first one meant anything – do it again. Jeff nodded, took a second to focus, and went into his windup. The pitch left his hand like a bullet shot out of a long-barrel gun – straight and true. Martin McCree tensed, swung his artificial muscle and kiln-dried lumber in another futile attempt to connect. The ball slammed into Jason’s glove with the impact of a car into a brick wall.

“Fuck,” Martin hissed.

“Strike two!” The umpire called.

Jason stood, shook his gloved hand to get the blood flowing to his stinging palm. A glance at the centerfield scoreboard confirmed his suspicion. Ninety-nine miles per hour. Martin didn’t have a chance. Jason slid his mitt and mask off, and headed to the pitching mound. His hand could use a short break, and it would do McCree good to think he needed to consult with Jeff about the next pitch.

The umpire called time as Jason approached the mound. He handed the ball to Jeff and ducked his head so the cameras couldn’t read his lips. “Shit. You almost broke my fucking hand.”

Jeff held his glove up, blocking his lips from the prying eyes. “Works for me. You spend some time in the hospital, and I get Megan all to myself for a while.”

“Dream on, brother. One more and we’re done. Don’t fuck it up. It’s too hot to stay out here a minute longer than we have to.” He turned and walked away before Jeff could respond.

Jason adjusted his chest protector. “Guess we better not try that again,” he said to himself, loud enough Martin couldn’t help but hear, then he pulled his mask on, crouched low. “Let’s see…something different this time…” He flashed Jeff the pitch call, pausing after the last set of signs long enough that surely, the live broadcast had moved on, then he flashed one more sign. His middle finger descended in an age-old sign that had nothing to do with baseball, and everything to do with relaxing his brother.