Going Deep (Mustangs Baseball) Read online

  He leaned over for a better look. God, he’d give anything to see his cock stretching her, filling her, but that time would come. “He’s a big one, isn’t he? Does that feel good?”

  He wanted words when her body had just been invaded by a giant plastic cock?

  She made a gurgling sound he must have taken for a yes. She couldn’t think, couldn’t manage a coherent sentence if her life depended on it. Frantic protests formed in her brain but never reached her lips. Oh, how she wished she’d given in to her need last night—though even that wouldn’t have come without embarrassment. Pleasuring herself in front of him was bad enough, but she wasn’t sure telling about her solo experience would have been any better.

  Her pussy burned with the stretch, and her skin flamed, knowing his gaze was on her. Arousal flowed, molten lava through her veins. He adjusted the clit stimulator, flicking it across her swollen nub. She gasped at the light touch. Heaven help her when he turned the thing on. She’d be rocketing into space in no time. Hell, she was on the launch pad, all systems go already.

  “There, that ought to do the trick.” Satisfaction and amusement colored his words.

  She didn’t need sight to know her entire body was flushed with color, and the soft, deep, erotic timbre of his voice only made it worse. Every time he spoke, it was like someone waved a magic horny wand over her. Her body responded, anticipated, craved. Good Lord, she was in over her head, and this was her first real encounter with him.

  The white lace of her bra stood out against her now rosy skin and drove him half out of his mind with lust. Jason eyed the controls on the giant phallus. His angel was ready to explode. He would have to see about prolonging her pleasure—and his.

  “Let’s see. How about we start out slow?” He pushed a button, and a low buzzing sound filled the room.

  The mammoth device set to work fucking her and her body tensed. She struggled to hold onto the vibrator. This might be punishment, but he fully expected her to find pleasure in it, too. He damned sure was.

  “Hold on, angel.” He adjusted her grip on her surrogate Dom. “Talk to me. Does it feel good? Do you want him to fuck you harder? Faster?”

  Inarticulate sounds gurgled from her throat, past her slackened mouth.

  “Damn, that’s hot.” His gaze traveled from her pussy, past the indentation of her waist to her breasts. He couldn’t not touch her. He cupped the nearest lace-covered breast with one hand and palmed her stomach with the other. The vibrator hummed and pistoned beneath his hand. It was ridiculous to be jealous of a sex toy, but he was. His dick throbbed. He needed to be inside her, but everything he’d read cautioned to take baby steps with their relationship if he wanted it to last. She had to understand and accept his control. Her body was his, and he would use it, pleasure it anyway he wanted. If she couldn’t live with that, he wanted to know now before he grew attached to her, because growing attached was a real possibility, and he’d never been good at letting go of things he loved.

  She was so close. He could see it in the lines of her jaw, in the way she arched her neck, in the way her hips moved, fucking the vibrator as hard as it fucked her. She didn’t seem to notice when he freed a nipple from its lace confines, but when he sucked into his mouth, she rose to meet him, offering and taking at the same time. A sexy moan rumbled in her chest, struggling to escape. His first taste of her, coupled with the musk of her arousal and he damned near came right then and there.

  Another strangled whimper and he decided enough was enough. He reached between her legs, ramped up the piston speed, and sent her flying.

  Sunbursts lit up the darkness behind the blindfold. Her involuntary organs short-circuited, and for the first time she understood the French term, “petite death.” She’d died and gone to Heaven. She hung on, unable to let go of the monster between her legs as her body convulsed around it. Her mind focused with laser precision on her pussy. Her internal muscles clenched so hard she was both weak and empowered. With a little luck, her heart and lungs would resume normal function on their own. If not, she would die happy.

  His lips covered hers, swallowing the unladylike grunts and cries barreling to the surface like freight cars hooked to a runaway locomotive. There was nothing tender about his kiss. He possessed, he took, and demanded more when she thought she had nothing more to give. “Mine,” he breathed before swooping in to take the last of her orgasm for himself.

  Greedy. She owed him an orgasm, and he was going to take it. He barely managed to cover her mouth with his before she came apart, her body jerking, her muscles rippling across her torso. His hands explored. He took her cries into himself, absorbing the wonder of her orgasm, taking, claiming, demanding what was rightfully his.

  Her body relaxed, and he realized he was half lying across her. Crooning ridiculous words of praise, he gently removed the vibrator from her pussy. He kissed up the inside of her thigh to her tender tissues. He inhaled the sharp tang of her arousal and knew nothing would ever smell better. His lips on her clit sent her into another set of spasms, and the way her hips rocketed up to meet his tongue made denying his release worth the sacrifice. He’d brought her pleasure, and he felt like a god.

  He guided her legs together then pulled her into his arms. This particular room was short on comfortable seating, but sitting on the hard chair with her ass cradled in his lap was fine with him.

  “Okay?” he whispered against the top of her head.

  She sighed, her warm breath tickling his chest. “Um…oh yes, Sir.” She snuggled even closer if that was possible. “Thank you.”

  He chuckled. He’d always like this part. Why any man would want to pass on holding a well-satisfied woman was beyond him. They smelled so good after sex, and their muscles were mush after a great orgasm. “I take it my punishment wasn’t too harsh?”

  “No, Sir.”

  She sighed again, and he couldn’t help feeling smug. He could do anything he wanted to her right now, and she’d take it with a smile on her face. His heart beat out a primal rhythm and his cock joined in. Pressed into her hip the way it was, there was no way it would escape her notice.

  “Sir?” She placed one hand on his pec and traced a lazy, seductive circle around his nipple.

  “Yes?”

  “May I?” Her hand wandered lower, and he shifted to allow her access.

  “What would you like to do, angel?” Her fingers closed around his cock. He groaned and bucked.

  “I understand why you won’t come inside me tonight, Sir. I was wrong not to tell you of my confusion, but even in your punishment, you gave me great pleasure. I’d like to do the same for you.”

  It was damned hard to think with her hand doing wicked things to his dick. He seized her wrist to stop her from jacking him until he came. She was topping again, suggesting another compromise, but damned if he didn’t want to hear her out. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Anything you want, Sir. I just need to show my appreciation for your kindness. You could have done so much more to me, but through my pleasure I saw the error of my ways.”

  He struggled with his desire to sink into her pussy and ease himself. He’d made up his mind. She would to have to wait, and so would he, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t let her ease the pressure. Some would argue she was topping from the bottom, asking him to compromise yet again, but he’d made his point, and she was offering a gift he’d be a loon not to take.

  “On your knees,” he commanded, guiding her from his lap to kneel between his legs. He cupped the back of her head in one hand and fisted his cock in the other. “Take the bra off. I want to see you.”

  White lace innocence fell to the rouge red floor, mocking her presence in such a place. She was all sunshine and light on the outside, but deep within lurked a dark, wicked woman with needs that matched his perfectly.

  “Open your mouth, girl. You can thank me by sucking my cock.”

  She smiled, and he nudged the tip against her mouth. Applying pressure to the back of her head,
he watched as her pink lips parted and his dick slid inside.

  Her tongue swirled and stroked. “Christ almighty,” he hissed.

  Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, and those pink lips clamped rhythmically around his cock. If he didn’t look away, he’d be shooting cum down her throat in seconds.

  “My balls,” he croaked, needing to feel her hands on him. “Play with my balls.”

  She obeyed, holding the base of his cock with one hand, rolling and tugging on his balls with the other. He tilted his face toward the ceiling and threaded his fingers through her hair, holding on for dear life as his angel coaxed him to Heaven.

  Chapter Eight

  Reliving the previous night over and over was driving her crazy. He had given her a night she would never forget. She still couldn’t believe the way he’d accepted her anger and, with calm reason, had offered a compromise. He could easily have dismissed her feelings, but he’d listened to her concerns—really listened.

  Because of the way he’d encouraged her to speak what was on her mind and accepted his part in the misunderstanding, she progressed from resenting his promised punishment, to accepting it—even liking it before it was through. She shook her head. The real punishment had come from within herself. She’d disappointed him, and had he been a less reasonable man, she wouldn’t have cared. But he wasn’t, and she did care. Very much.

  She’d learned valuable lessons last night—lessons about clear communication, about being open-minded, and accepting responsibility for one’s actions, and she’d learned to trust him as her Master. The punishment he’d meted out had been just and fair, based on the level of her misconduct.

  She’d also learned something about being blindfolded. Loss of sight heightened some of senses—like touch and hearing, while obliterating others—namely, propriety.

  Her skin flamed remembering the things she’d done, and allowed a man, a practical stranger no less, to do to her. The blindfold had rendered her vulnerable but, at the same time, set her free. It blinded her to her inhibitions and took her to a place in her mind where nothing else mattered but pleasure—hers and her Master’s.

  She’d heard once that punishment was a relative thing. If a person liked solitude, locking them alone in a cell would accomplish nothing. In order to punish, you have to take away something a person values. He had stripped away her dignity—a punishment befitting her crime. But he’d tempered the harshness with pleasure.

  Realization slammed into her. She never wanted to disappoint this man again. But even if she did, he would find a way to gently show her she’d let down herself, too. And she had. Hadn’t she known all along she should clarify his instructions? But she’d chosen not to in an effort to preserve her dignity. How embarrassing to email him after their first meeting to ask if it was all right to masturbate. He would know how much he’d affected her, and she didn’t want that.

  He’d cut to the core of her crime—her pride—and unequivocally demonstrated even that part of her belonged to him. And he’d done it with understanding and compassion. His tender care of her afterwards demonstrated that the offense had been forgotten.

  Her Master was an extraordinary man.

  She ran her finger across her lips, remembering how they’d stretched to accommodate his cock, much like her pussy had stretched to accommodate the plastic beast earlier. She couldn’t believe he’d accepted her gift, allowing her to ease his need. Yes, her Master was an amazing man. She couldn’t wait to have his cock again—in any way he wanted.

  Her cell phone rang, startling her out of her erotic memories and back into the real world. She glanced at the caller ID. The senior editor—her boss—returning her call.

  “Hi, George,” she said. “Thanks for getting back to me so soon.”

  “No problem. You saw the email?”

  “Yes, I did. I want that story. You can’t let someone else have it.”

  “I know you’re passionate about the subject, that’s why I sent it to you before anyone else. I want someone on this ASAP.”

  “I’m in,” she said. “Someone has to put a stop to these athletes using steroids. Too many kids look up to them as role models.” Cold, hard rage raced through her system. “They don’t know how dangerous these drugs are.”

  “Hey,” he said. “You don’t have to convince me. I’m on your side.”

  “I know. Sorry. It’s just that I….” Memories flooded through her and her throat tightened.

  “You’re a good friend to keep after this,” he said. “Most people would have let it go a long time ago.”

  “I can’t. Danny was like a brother to me. He did something stupid that cost him his life. Exposing steroid use among elite athletes brings attention to the problem and might convince another teenager of the danger. Save a life.”

  “Preaching to the choir here,” George said. “Take your time on this one. I think I might be able to get you an interview with Martin McCree. I’ve got a call in to his lawyer.”

  “That would be fabulous. Let me know. In the meantime, I’ll get started on the research right away.” She paused and swallowed, “And thanks. I owe you one.”

  This was the story she’d been waiting for. It had been ten years since her cousin Danny committed suicide. She had no doubt his abrupt withdrawal from steroids was to blame. If only he’d never used them or, at the very least, had understood what they really did to his body, maybe he would be alive today.

  Excited to have something to do besides obsess over the previous night, and anticipate tomorrow night, she set to work on her new project.

  * * *

  Jason sang along with the radio all the way to the stadium. He hummed in the locker room and whistled in the dugout.

  “Hey, man.” Stevens slapped him on the back. “You’re in a good mood.”

  “Yeah, I am,” he said, realizing he meant it. For the first time since Stacey left him, he was happy. Really. Truly. Happy. And he owed it to Carrie. She was everything he wanted in a sub. Her body was a work of art, and her mind equal to it. She’d surprised him with her anger. He chuckled to himself, remembering his anxiety upon discovering she was unhappy with his decision to punish her.

  She’d been right. He hadn’t been clear, and he couldn’t blame her for that, but when he pointed out the error of her ways, she’d accepted his punishment with a level of submission that humbled him. And if he was any judge, she’d enjoyed it. He couldn’t wait to be with her again. Tomorrow’s game was in the afternoon, so he’d booked the Dungeon room for early evening, expecting to use it, and his sub, into the wee hours of the morning.

  But first, he needed to get through two games. He was ready. His body was primed for action. It was a feeling he was familiar with, but one that had been elusive this season.

  He strode to the plate with more confidence than he’d felt in weeks.

  The first pitch came in low and inside. Jason checked his swing and rolled his shoulders to release the tension building there. Last season, pitchers worked hard to keep him off base, and it was good to know a few still respected his ability, despite his dismal showing so far this season. He stepped back into the batter’s box. His next swing connected with leather, rocketing the ball foul down the first base line.

  God, it felt good to connect again, to feel the sharp bite of energy when two moving masses collided.

  He loosened his grip on the bat and repositioned his fingers, searching for the perfect grip. Satisfied, he lifted the bat to his shoulder and focused on the pitcher’s hand. His gaze narrowed to the slash of white showing between the pitcher’s fingers. He tuned out everything. Nothing existed but the orb hurtling toward him. Four hundred milliseconds to see the ball, calculate speed and trajectory, commit to the swing, and follow through. His brain committed to action, and the bat became an extension of his hands.

  He shifted his weight to his back foot then using the muscles in his legs, he lunged forward, twisting first his shoulders then his upper torso, transferring energy from his
lower body to his arms to the bat. Simple physics. Point the knob of the bat toward the target, and swing through.

  Less than half a second from pitch to impact.

  The ball collided with the bat in that elusive sweet spot where eight thousand pounds of force literally crushed the ball before sending in the opposite direction at nearly one hundred ten miles-per-hour.

  No sting in his hands. Just a pleasant vibration traveling along his arms, through his shoulders, and down his spine. Every cell in his body responded to the stimulus. Fireworks exploded in his mind. His heart raced. He didn’t need to watch, but the miracle never ceased to amaze him. Jogging toward first base, he tracked the ball until it fell into waiting hands in the right field bleachers.

  A homerun.

  As his foot touched each base in turn, a calm certainty built inside him. He was back in the game. All the doubts he’d harbored since the first pitch of the season vanished. This was his year. Jason Holder was on top—in more ways than one. He crossed home plate into a crowd of teammates gathered to celebrate with him. Over their heads, he caught the gaze of his sister-in-law, Megan, in the stands. Bouncing on her toes, she waved and blew him a kiss. Too bad his brother was stuck in the bullpen and couldn’t share this moment with him. Jeff would make it up to him later. Their lockers side-by-side, they always had time together before and after the game.

  Jason entered the dugout. The team manager, Doyle Walker, clapped him on the shoulder. “Nice shot,” he said. “Glad to see you’re back.”

  “It’s good to be back,” he said. And good to have the team manager’s favor again, he added silently.

  Doyle had been a good friend to Jason and Jeff since he’d recruited them from the University of Texas almost seven years ago. But his job was to win games, and a player not pulling his weight had to go—friend or not. Today’s homerun, though not enough to get him completely out of the woods, bought him time to prove himself.