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CHAPTER1
TRICK
Florida / February
In two decades of playing professional baseball, it’s never been a mistake to get to the clubhouse early.
Not until today.
I don’t recognize the impending disaster, of course. The season hasn’t even begun. I’m only here to do a pre-season interview and a photo shoot. It’s not something I would normally agree to, but this might be my final season playing ball, and I’d rather do the press now than once the season is underway.
It’s a gorgeous day, sunny with a good breeze. I get changed, then grab my glove and head down the tunnel toward the field.
That’s when I see the woman.
A pink baseball hat is jammed over long, blonde waves that tumble over a loose jersey, disguising the shape of her upper body. That doesn’t stop my brain from immediately putting the two of us in a variety of positions, even before I fully appreciate the snug-as-fuck leggings on her bottom half that leave nothing to the imagination.
Round thighs. Delicate calves. Bare ankles I need to taste.
Ankles, Trick? Really?
My mouth waters. Yes, her fucking ankles. I’ll lick her there as I hook them over my shoulders, and keep licking until I find her sweet, breedable pussy.
The heady, sustained bolt of lust that throbs inside me is a shock, because I’ve been celibate longer than I can remember. Sometimes I’ll wake up stroking myself, my dreams unlocking desire my conscious brain can’t reach.
But the rest of the time? I just don’t care about sex.
It’s always been baseball for me.
So who the fuck is this girl, and why do I want to drag her into the nearest alcove and bury my cock between those lush little legs? Breed her our very first time, to make up for lost years. Get started on that family I thought might one day happen.
Get her good and pregnant so she can start swallowing some of my babies, too.
Daddy wants to be licked almost as much as he wants to do some licking.
“Hey,” I call out hoarsely.
Nobody has ever described me as a smooth-talker, but the single syllable utterance is a new low.
She twists in my direction, putting her more fully in shadow. All I can make out is her silhouette, hips swinging as she starts to come toward me.
I’m more than twice her size, so it’s not like I’m scared, but there’s something unnerving about her approach—as if she thinks we know each other.
But I would know if I’d already met the woman I’m meant to claim as my own, right?
Maybe it’s because I’m already imagining our first kiss—followed by my first taste of her neck, her tits, and finally the musky perfection of her pussy, right here in this tunnel—that I miss her saying my name.
Not Trick.
Patrick.
She repeats it now, laughing as she emerges from the shadows and takes off her hat. “Patrick, you okay? Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me.”
I swallow hard, desperate to erase the mental images of the last thirty seconds. Erase the fact I thought about licking into her off-limits pussy. Erase my dream-devouring of tits I am never going to see. Erase the fantasy of kissing the soft, pink lips curling up in a smile I have to admit I still don’t fully recognize.
This beautiful woman cannot be my best friend’s daughter.
But her voice? The teasing way she calls me Patrick, even though everyone else in this world calls me Trick?
