Page 34 of Wild Pitch

She returns to bouncing, and it doesn’t take long before her moans crescendo, echoing off the windows in the room. Her inner walls clamp down and she comes on a loud scream, continuing to ride me through the entire thing.

When she’s spent, she leans down, placing open-mouthed kisses along my neck. I still haven’t come yet, and the sensation of her wet lips on my skin is pushing me dangerously close to the summit.

“Monroe, baby,” I grit out. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to come inside you. You have to get off me.” As much as I’d love to fill her up, I know I can’t. She told me to pull out the last time, and I won’t cross her boundaries.

She resumes moving her hips, and I do everything I can not to blow, but I’m hanging by a fucking thread at this point. Holy fuck, she feels good like this. Her pussy is all used and swollen, practically begging to take my load.

“Monroe,” I say firmly. “I can’t hold back much longer.”

She sits up, placing her hand around my throat and squeezing. I’m caught off guard by the exchange of power, but I feel my balls draw tight as she bounces up and down, using me like a goddamn fucktoy. Black clouds the edgesof my vision and electricity snakes its way up my spine, letting me know I’m almost past the point of no return.

“Monroe,” I choke out in a final attempt to make her stop. But she just tightens her grip, smirking down at me before uttering the single hottest thing I’ve ever heard.

“Shut the fuck up and take this cunt like a good boy.”

Gone. Dead. Good-fucking-bye.

Every muscle in my body contracts as I come, filling her up so much that it gets pushed back out, making the most beautiful mess between us. It shoots out of me so hard and fast, that it triggersanotherorgasm for her, which I barely even register until I feel her thighs shaking against mine. She works herself through it, falling forward onto my chest when she’s physically unable to stay upright any longer.

We’re both completely exhausted, breathing heavily as we try to recover. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I can’t tell if it’s from the overexertion or the fact that I’m falling so hard for this girl that it forgot how to work properly. Could be either one, to be honest.

When I have the strength to move, I gently ghost my hands along her sides, earning a contented sigh as she snuggles into me. “You are everything, baby,” I whisper into her hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Mmmm,” is all she can manage as I wrap my arms around her tightly, listening as her breathing eventually evens out and I know she’s fallen back asleep.

We lie there, just existing, until my alarm goes off, forcing me to leave her. I carefully roll her onto her pillow, slide out of the bed, and cover her with a blanket so I can get ready to go to the stadium. I should be a gentleman and clean her up, but knowing she’ll wake up with the feelof us still between her thighs does something to me, and I can’t bring myself to wipe it away.

I shower and get dressed quickly, knowing I’ve officially made myself later than normal, praying that I don’t hit traffic on my way through the city. It would be worth it if I did, though.

I head toward the bedroom door, pausing and turning to take one more look at the beautiful woman who stole my heart, and thanking my lucky stars for bringing her back to me.

TWENTY-THREE

MONROE

I rush through stadium security,the still-wet underside of my hair brushing along my back as I hurriedly run to my seat. As much as I enjoyed the luxury seating and easy access to food in the WAGs’ suite, I’d rather be near the field. I did my job up there last time as Riggs’ fake girlfriend, spending some quality time with Mr. Durst and showing him how serious this relationship really is. Hopefully, he bought it, and the idea of making a trade with another team is off the table.

To be honest, none of this has felt like acting for weeks. Riggs and I have long forgotten the animosity that used to hang in the air between us, and although we haven’t talked aboutwhatwe are, I can tell that we’re not just doing this for show anymore. He’s treating this like we’re real, and I’m struggling to keep myself from doing the same.

On one hand, I know I’m about to become a business owner, and I need to focus on that until I establish a decent clientele and make a name for myself. Also, I left RollingHills to live life for myself, without having to answer to anyone else. So, should I even be considering a relationship at all?

It’s all so confusing, and my head and heart haven’t stopped battling each other since I realized he’s nothing like I thought he was. I expected to move here and dread being near him every day, needing to dig into my old bag of tricks to convince outsiders that we actually liked each other. I did it with Conrad for so long that I knew I could pull the wool over people’s eyes long enough to take the heat off Riggs. But other than the first week or so when I refused to admit that he still had a little bit of a hold on me, everything I’ve said and done has been genuine.

There’s no need to act like I’m crazy about him…because I am.

And it scares the shit out of me.

I know there’s no easy answer here. If I stay, I’ll feel like I left home for nothing, even though Riggs hasn’t given me a single reason to believe he’d ever try to control me. Is he the most possessive man I’ve ever met? Yes. But do I really think he’d keep me from doing whatever the fuck I wanted? No. Not really. He’s been completely supportive of the things I’ve been doing since I got here, but in the back of my mind, I’ll always wonder if that’ll change.

On the other hand, I already know it wouldn’t be easy to leave. As much as I’ve spent the last couple of years convincing myself that Riggs Valentine is nothing but a selfish manwhore who never takes anyone else’s feelings and desires into consideration, I can’t hide behind that anymore. I’m forced to face the way my heart and body gravitate to him. How he’s shown me that he knowsexactly what I need, and that he’ll do whatever it takes to give it to me.

What a nice little mess you’ve created for yourself, Monroe.

Well. Fucking. Done.

Thankfully, I don't have much time for self-loathing today, making my way down to my seat on the third baseline just as the team begins funneling out onto the field. I wait in anticipation, staring at the entrance to the dugout for number fifty-seven to make his appearance. Butterfly wings tickle the inside of my stomach, and I wring my hands together in an attempt to contain my excitement until he finally comes into view.

As if he knows I'm impatiently awaiting his attention, his gaze finds me immediately, and an ear-to-ear grin blooms across his face. Although he probably isn't really supposed to be focusing on anything happening off the field, he runs my way, and the butterflies go into fangirl mode, flapping around so hard that I almost lose my breath.

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