Strike Out: Mustangs Baseball #6 (16 page)

“That’s where your problem is.” She traced another muscle with her finger. “This is the abductor longus. It forms the medial border of the triangle.” Her index finger brushed his sac.

“Damn, woman. Keep it up and school’s going to be over too soon.”

“Sorry.” None of her advanced anatomy classes had been anywhere near as fun as this was. Royce was really trying to focus, and she wanted him to, but torturing him was so much fun!

She opened her first two fingers into a V then, starting about a third of the way down his thigh, they spread out along the two muscles until her palm rested flat against his leg.

“It’s a small area, as you can see. A ligament forms the top of the triangle.” With her free hand, she traced the crease between his thigh and torso on his other leg, coming to a stop at the base of his cock.

“Fuck, Tricia.” At the harsh curse, she glanced up. His lips were drawn into a tight line, and a fire blazed behind his narrowed eyes. She would have laughed at his discomfort if she hadn’t felt the same.

“The femoral artery runs through the femoral triangle. When you’re aroused, it carries lots of blood to this region of your body. I’ve never read any research on what happens to the other muscles in the region, but it stands to reason some of the extra blood flow is sent their way. After all, they’re crucial during intercourse.”

“And in pitching.”

She had to give him credit. He wasn’t letting his obvious need interfere with learning what he could. “Exactly. These two muscles, the Sartorius and the abductor longus, along with the rectus femoris all registered the same responses during both activities. The successful activities,” she amended.

“And during the not-so-successful activities?”

“Well, you saw the data. They were underperforming.”

“Are you saying I pitch better with a hard-on?”

“Did you have a hard-on when you made that good pitch?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“But, I’m betting the blood flow to those muscles was elevated.” She sat back on her heels, her brow knitted in concentration while she stared at his groin.

He could practically see the wheels turning in her over-achieving brain. He’d always found intelligent women sexy. Mix in her hands skimming close to his engorged cock, and it was a wonder
his
brain was functioning at all—starved of oxygen the way it was. It was time for recess. “I’m not sure I understood everything you were showing me.”

She shifted her gaze to his face. “Want me to repeat it?”

“No, Professor Reed.” He brought his knees up, maneuvering around so he lay on his side next to her. “Lie down. Let me show you what I’ve learned. If I miss anything, feel free to correct me.”

There it was. The moment he’d come to crave. The instant when her megawatt brain shifted from business to pleasure. The thought lines on her face smoothed out. Her pupils dilated, and her nipples became berries, ripe for the picking. He couldn’t wait to eat his fill, but first, he had a test to take.

He helped her arrange the pillows behind her so she could see what he was doing. The idea of her watching him touch her made his balls ache. He was going to take this slow tonight even if it killed him. When she was comfortable, he took his place between her legs, using his knees to spread her wide. Her pink folds glistened with moisture. He leaned in close, taking a whiff of her scent into his lungs.

“God, I love your pussy.”

“Royce.” His name sounded like a breathless plea coming from her lips. As much as he wanted to give them both what they wanted, he was determined to show her he’d been listening. And, if his touch drove her crazy, as hers had done to him, well, payback was a bitch.

“Shh. Pay attention, professor.”

A very unladylike grunt told him she wasn’t exactly on the same page with him. Nevertheless, he put his hands on her legs as she’d done to him. Slowly, he inched upward, until his thumbs brushed the inside of her thighs so close to her pussy he felt her heat.

“Let’s see if I’ve got this right.” By the time he’d repeated her anatomy lesson, practically word for word back to her, she was squirming, her hips rising from the bed in an invitation a dead man couldn’t have refused. Bending over her, he flicked his tongue across one nipple then the other. She arched her back, offering her breasts to him. He gave them equal attention, licking, sucking, and nibbling until she writhed beneath him.

Her right nipple slipped from his lips with an audible
pop
. Tricia’s sigh was part relief, part dismay. His touch turned her gray matter to gray goo, yet she craved the feel of his hands, his lips on her body. Erogenous zones were one of the things she’d studied in anatomy classes, but she was certain the scholars had it wrong. Where Royce was concerned, her entire body was an erogenous zone—one he was intent on exploring, inch by inch.

She cupped his head in her hands, and like the pointer on a Ouija board, it moved of its own volition, skimming her torso, stopping here and there for his lips and tongue to explore. When he finally reached her mound, her breath caught on a gasp. Before she could beg him to end her torture, he kissed her pussy.

Her own tongue darted out, wanting to mate with his as he stroked her lower lips then dove inside her channel. She couldn’t stay still. She couldn’t get close enough to his questing tongue or his lips which seemed to be everywhere, devouring her body, destroying her psyche as he’d already conquered her heart.

She was on the edge of release when he abruptly stopped, sending her body into a tailspin. Gripping his hair as hard as she could, she yanked. “Oh. My. God! Don’t stop!”

He looked positively carnal, smiling up at her with his lips dark and swollen from kissing her pussy and his cheeks and chin glistening with her juices. “Trust me, sweetheart. We aren’t finished.”

“We better not be.” Oh God, her pussy ached. She’d been so close to coming—then, nothing.

“Don’t worry.” He crawled up between her legs and reached over her. “We’re going to finish this together.”

She heard the crinkle of plastic packaging and realized why he’d stopped. Her empty channel clenched in anticipation of being filled. A moment later, the head of his cock nudged at her entrance.

“Relax, sweetheart. Let me in.”

Tricia sighed and let her legs fall open as far as possible. He entered her with a slow, deliberate thrust, occupying her body and overwhelming her senses. She couldn’t ignore the way his cock stretched her labia minor almost to the point of pain or the way his solid presence filled her, made her feel more than full—complete. For a long moment, he held himself in check, allowing her time to adjust, she supposed. After she’d stepped back from the urgent need to come, she was content to hold him inside her, to savor the wonder of connecting so intimately, so completely with another human being.

She understood the physiology of the act, but the textbooks hadn’t even tried to explain the emotional aspect of welcoming a man into a woman’s body. Royce wasn’t her first, but he was the only one who had made her feel as if she couldn’t bear to end the connection when the act came to its inevitable conclusion. So, she wrapped her calves around his thighs, and did her best to keep him from moving.

“I’ve got to move, sweetheart. Just a little.” He lay atop her, his forearms supporting a good portion of his weight.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He flexed his hips, retreating until she could feel the tip stretching her entrance. “Not for a while.” He filled her again. “Christ, you feel so good.”

“So do you.” She tried to move her hips, but his body pinned hers in place. “Do that again.”

“Your wish is my command.”

The rhythm he set was tortuously languid, but because of the pace, she reveled in his penetration and lamented every inch of his retreats.

“I’ve never felt anything like this before. You’re incredible, sweetheart.”

Her heart was too full, her body too filled with him, with her love for him. She answered him with a soft moan, and rising up, she placed a kiss on his shoulder. Whatever happened in the future, she’d always remember this night. She could almost believe he loved her as much as she loved him.

With patience only a saint or a trained athlete could muster, he brought her to the pinnacle of pleasure. She was lost in the sensations building inside her, stoked by his hands, roaming her body, his touch awakening every inch of her skin. When he took her breast into his mouth and gently bit down on her nipple, she tensed then flew apart.

“So beautiful,” he said. Only then did he give into his needs, pumping into her with hard, determined thrusts that quickly brought him to orgasm.

Sweat created a sheen on his body she couldn’t resist. Tricia rolled onto her side, facing him. “It’s my turn to lick you all over, don’t you think?” She bent her head and swiped her tongue across his chest.

He groaned then moved to his back beside her. “You don’t play fair.”

“I learned from the best.” She flicked her tongue over his nipple.

“God, Tricia. You’re killing me.”

“It’s a nice way to go, though. Isn’t it?”

“Hell, yes. Lick me again, sweetheart.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Royce stepped onto the mound in the bottom of the first inning, acutely aware of his teammates on the field and in the dugout who counted on him. He was damn tired of letting them down. Dropping his chin to his chest, he closed his eyes and thought back to two nights ago when Tricia had done her best to educate him—her soft voice spouting scientific jargon while she destroyed his sanity one touch at a time. As difficult as it had been to concentrate on her words, he’d managed to hang onto a few of the pertinent points, questioning her later about them in detail.

Even she admitted her findings and theories were questionable at this point, given how she’d obtained the data they were based on, but the woman obviously knew her stuff, and he’d be stupid, and an ass, not to take her seriously. If he could translate her thoughts into actions, he might just get his game back. If and when he accomplished his goal, he’d figure out what to tell Doyle about the validity of Dr. Reed’s research.

During pre-game warm-up, he hadn’t tried to do the things she’d recommended. That time had been for warming up his muscles, getting loose. Facing his first batter, he opened his mind to the nuances of his body. He rolled his shoulders to ease the tension gathering there. The wireless electrodes stuck all over his skin were constant reminders Tricia was aware of every muscle movement he made. Just like this morning, when she’d wired him up and had him go through her checklist until the readings coming through matched the ones she felt certain would put him back in the game. It had taken hours, and he still wasn’t sure he remembered everything. Hell, how could he? There were a million details to think about from his shoulders down to his ankles.

The opposing player settled into the batter’s box. Royce waited for Jason’s signal telling him which pitch to throw. Nodding to indicate he understood, he brought his hands together in front. He felt for the seams of the ball, found the grip he needed. Time wasn’t his friend at this point. Twelve seconds could seem like an eternity, but right then his internal clock ticked the time away with the force of a sledgehammer on a gong—each one punctuating Tricia’s instructions.

Shoulders.

Arms.

Abs.

Ass.

Thighs.

Calves.

Thighs.

Thighs.

Thighs.

He could almost feel the uncertainty pouring off his teammates scattered across the diamond. They stood behind him as they always had, offering their support while trying to hide the fact they were losing confidence in him with every lousy pitch he threw. Starting the game off with a solid strike would put everyone on the field at ease.

Leather scraping against his fingertips gave him a rush almost equal to the feel of a woman’s skin beneath his hand. Callused though his fingers were, they were as sensitive as any of Tricia’s sensors, providing a wealth of information his brain processed faster than the fastest hard drive. Speed. Trajectory. Spin. Distance.

All four needed to be perfect, or as near to perfect as possible. He knew the second the ball left his hand he’d failed. The trajectory was off. The pitch sailed wide of home plate. The batter, a veteran of the game, knew better than to swing.

Ball one.

Royce was enough of a veteran to realize he couldn’t dwell on the failure. He had to throw another pitch. Had to make the next one count for more than the first. Moving forward was all he could do.

He took the sign. Nodded. The grip came automatically after years of working to perfect his game. And up until Hannah had left him, everything else about throwing had been equally as effortless. Sure, in tight situations he thought more about the mechanics, but day in and day out, he didn’t need to think about what he was doing in order to make it happen. Much like riding a bike, once his legs learned the rhythm, it wasn’t necessary to think about pushing the pedals.

Tricia’s mantra ran through his head again, only this time, he forcefully stopped the repetitious thought in mid-recitation.

It wasn’t working. He’d never put so much effort into thinking about a pitch in his life. He couldn’t work this way. Every time he thought about what his muscles were doing, he wasn’t thinking about pitching. He might not be the brightest bulb in the stadium lights, but he was smart enough to see he was wasting his time on Tricia’s theory.

The pitch left his hand. Unlike the previous one, this one found the strike zone. Unfortunately, the batter knew a gift when he saw one. He cranked the bat through the zone—connected with the ball with a solid thwack that made Royce’s heart skip a beat. He didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t help himself. He turned to track the ball as it sailed over his head toward the center-field wall. When it began its decent, Royce breathed a sigh of relief. Tony Ramirez snagged the ball out of the air before it could hit the top of the wall, getting the out and saving a homerun.

The defense held solid, preventing any runs from scoring even though Royce gave up a single base hit to the third player in the Anglers’ lineup. The fourth batter then hit a ground ball to short, setting up a double play to end the inning.

More than a little disgusted with his performance, Royce dropped his glove on the bench then headed toward the clubhouse door, announcing to no one in particular, “I gotta take a piss.”

The comment was nothing more than an excuse to find some privacy so he could attempt to get his head screwed on right. Just out of sight, he stopped and leaned against the wall. He had a minute—two at best. The sound of footsteps approaching at a fast clip caught his attention. No one should be in that part of the stadium during a game—not even him. He straightened just as Tricia skidded around the corner and headed straight for him.

“Royce! Oh my God.” She was panting as if she’d run all the way from the upper reaches of the stadium. “Hurry. Take your pants down.”

Her hands were on his belt before his brain caught up with her words. “What the hell?”

“Humor me, okay?” She shoved his uniform down to his thighs then dropped to her knees.

“Tricia! Stop.”

“No time. Listen.”

Royce held the tail of his shirt out of the way so he could see what she was doing. She gripped the cap of a marking pen in her teeth, jerked the writing end free then proceeded to draw a line on his leg. “Here. Right here, Royce. All the other sensors have perfect readings.”

She moved to the other leg where she sketched a couple of lines. “Concentrate on these two spots and only these two.” After placing the flat of her tongue smack in the center of the two triangles she’d drawn, a reminder of the night before, she stood. “Pull your pants up and get back out there. Trust me. This will work.”

He watched her sweet round ass disappear down the hallway while he righted his uniform. They might as well commit them to the same asylum because they were both insane. She’d taken a huge risk coming down to the clubhouse, and there weren’t enough lawyers on the planet to help them if they’d been caught.

***

Taking the mound in the bottom of the second, Royce was surprised at how relaxed he felt. At the end of the previous inning he’d been ready to admit his career was over, but after talking with Tricia, he realized his performance in the first inning hadn’t been as bad as he’d thought. He hadn’t struck anyone out, but other than the one pitch Woodburn had hit out of the park, his other throws had been decent.

Reviewing the previous inning, he knew something had been different about his mechanics. They’d felt familiar. Comfortable. Perhaps all the work they’d done on muscle control had been worth it after all.

Thanks to some good hitting, the Mustangs had tied the game in the top of the second inning. In Royce’s mind, he had a clean slate to work with. If he could prevent the Anglers from scoring, his team had a chance of winning. The Anglers’ pitcher was good, but he was known to tire early, forcing the team to go to their bullpen, and everyone knew the Anglers’ bullpen was the worst in the league.

Jason Holder took his position behind the plate. It didn’t take much for Royce to imagine the two triangles drawn on his legs. Hell, he’d never forget how the lines came to be there or the feel of Tricia’s tongue on his skin marking him in her own way. Concentrating on those muscle groups, he threw his first warm-up pitch.

Fuck!
He knew it was good before the ball left his hand. The pitch landed in Jason’s mitt with a solid thud that was music to Royce’s ears. The two men locked gazes. From ninety feet away, he could see the surprise in the catcher’s eyes. Tamping down the elation coursing through his body, Royce caught the returned ball and went through the routine again.

Imagine.

Set.

Pitch.

Once again, the ball went exactly where he wanted it to go.

Instead of throwing the ball back to him, Jason walked out to the mound. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but keep doing it.” With a big smile, he dropped the ball into Royce’s glove and returned to his place behind home plate.

He finished his final warm-up throws, gaining confidence with each one. The first opponent stepped into the batter’s box.

“Strike.”

“Strike.”

“Strike.”

Nine perfect pitches in a row. He retired the side without a single batter putting lumber to leather. Royce smiled inside, but it was too soon to believe he’d made a complete comeback. He would face the top of the Anglers’ batting order in the next inning. If he could get past them, he’d allow his elation to show on the outside.

He was aware of the quiet around him on the bench. Baseball players were a superstitious lot. His teammates would have plenty to say after the game, but they weren’t about to risk breaking the spell he was under by congratulating him. It was just as well. His head spun from an adrenaline high, the likes of which he hadn’t experienced in nearly a year. He couldn’t wait to celebrate with Tricia.

He’d take her out some place nice for dinner then take her back to his hotel room and make love to her until he had to be back at the ballpark the next day. God, he couldn’t wait to have her beneath him, to hear her call his name as she came.

“Royce! You’re up.”
Shit.
It was times like these he wished he was in the American League where pitchers didn’t bat. He plunked his helmet on his head and grabbed his bat from the rack. Stepping into the on-deck circle, he checked out the situation. At bat, batting eighth in the order, Bentley Randolph swung at the first pitch and missed. The second pitch went wide for ball one, but the left fielder connected with the third pitch for a single.

Base runners were a good thing, and with no outs, no one would be disappointed if he didn’t hit a homerun, at least not this early in the game. Moving Bentley into scoring position would be enough, especially with the top of the batting order coming up behind Royce. He was perfectly happy to let them do the heavy lifting.

He glanced to the dugout, received the go ahead to swing away then stepped into the box. While he found a good toehold in the dirt, he checked out the defense. Like most opponents, they didn’t expect much from him. He’d never been a power hitter, and the Anglers knew it. The infielders were playing up, ready for a bunt, or an infield ground ball of some sort. If he could power the ball past the infield, preferably on the right side of the field, he’d avoid a double play and, if not get on base himself, at least move Bent one base closer to scoring.

Pitchers in the National League often made the mistake of underestimating their own kind, and the Anglers’ hurler was no exception. Though Royce didn’t connect with the first pitch, he recognized it for what it was—a half-hearted attempt. The man didn’t expect Royce to hit, so he wasn’t being as cautious as he would if he faced a more formidable opponent. He’d made the mistake a few times himself and learned a successful pitcher couldn’t afford to be complacent. Every batter, no matter what the statisticians said about the man’s abilities, could be dangerous. As Royce dug his toe of his lead foot into the dirt a second time, he hoped he would be the one to teach this pitcher that valuable lesson.

He fouled off two pitches before he found the one he’d been waiting for—a fast ball just over the outside edge of the plate. The hit wasn’t pretty—it looped over the heads of the infielders but fell short of the outfielders who had been expecting a lazy fly ball. While the Anglers scrambled to field the ball, Bentley, running like the devil was on his heels, slid into third base. Royce made his best attempt to reach first, but running had never been his thing, and the center fielder’s throw beat him to the bag.

His teammates clapped him on the shoulder as he walked through the dugout to stow his batting gear. With the short stop, Tanner Haversford up to bat, there was little doubt the Mustangs would at least score one run this inning.

Leaving the scoring in the hands of the men who did it best, Royce filled a cup with cold water from the insulated cooler in the corner then resumed his place on the bench. Once again in pitcher mode, the men surrounding him left him alone. Peace and satisfaction settled into his bones. The feeling had eluded him for months, making him feel like an outsider in a place he had always felt at home, and among people who were as much family as they were friends. It was good to be back.