Pitch Please (There's No Crying in Baseball 1)

He threw his head back and laughed.

And his laughter caused his dick to jump inside of me, making me moan in response.

“I’m glad,” he teased. “Now give me your mouth while I fuck you.”

I gave him my mouth.

I also gave him a hickey and scratched his back and chest up in my excitement.

Between one breath and the next, all of our banter was gone, and what was left was quiet breathing and soft sighs.

“Please,” I whispered as he pulled his cock out of me completely. “Why are you stopping?”

I was trying to be quiet.

We were in my office, yes, but we weren’t alone in the building.

In fact, I knew for certain there were still people in the training room because I could hear them talking.

Which was why I wasn’t screaming at Hancock to ‘fuck me’ or ‘take me harder’ like I really wanted to.

Without waiting for me to come to my senses, he pulled me away from the wall, turned me around, and shoved me over the folding chair that was at the end of my desk. The one that was cold and metal. The one that screeched in protest when I put my feet on it after a long, hard day.

The one that everyone would hear if it collapsed under my weight.

But before I could sound the alarm, Hancock filled me once again.

To the brim.

There wasn’t a single millimeter of space inside of me that he wasn’t currently filling with his cock.

And I found myself without air as I tried to make sense of what was going on.

But just as quickly as he filled me, he pulled back out.

There was no wasting time anymore, though.

He continuously pulled out only to shove home, causing not only the chair to squeak across the tiled floor of my office, but also my breasts to bounce against the metal back of the chair.

The slap-slap-screech was probably heard in all corners of the entire freakin’ floor, but I couldn’t find it in me to care.

Not when I was on the brink of orgasm.

Slap-slap-screech.

“Shhhiiiit.”

I closed my eyes and immediately dropped my hand between my legs, finishing before he could slow to a stop.

Because I knew what that word meant.

He’d lost control.

And if I wanted to come with him, or at all, I would be doing it on my own.

Not because he wasn’t the type of man that would take care of me, but because I wanted to come with him instead of afterwards.

I wanted to feel his heat inside of me, filling me, as my orgasm took me over.

And that’s exactly what happened.

The moment my pussy started to ripple around him, he grunted and his come started to pulse into me.

His cock jerked each time my pussy clamped down, and both of us groaned as our releases took us over.

“Yo!” Someone knocked on our door. “Y’all better not be fucking in there while I’m waiting to eat. It’s been eight goddamned hours. You know I don’t eat before the game, Sway Bar!”

“What the hell?” Hancock stood up. “Why is he calling you Sway Bar?”

“Because he’s stupid,” I mumbled, pushing up so the metal chair wasn’t digging uncomfortably into the middle of my chest.

“I think your brother just caught us having sex. Dammit, I wanted him to like me,” Hancock muttered darkly.

I snorted and pushed myself all the way up, then did the waddle-sex-walk back to my desk where I kept my wipes when I had food mishaps.

They were the scented kind that smelled like flowers since I couldn’t stand the regular baby powder smell—meaning my coochie would smell like it too.

But it wasn’t something I could control. So, I would have a flowery vagina—which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—but the scent was so strong that I would be smelling it for the rest of the night.

“This is terrible,” Hancock muttered to himself some more. “Do you think he’ll tell your parents?”

I ignored him and cleaned myself up, then walked over to my panties and grimaced.

They were wet. Both from sweat due to sitting in a hot dugout for three hours, and from my need for Hancock.

But they’d have to do, because I sure as hell wasn’t going to be wearing nothing underneath the most uncomfortable pants in the world that the Lumberjack staff forced me to wear while at home games.

They were these tight—non-stretch—pants that had absolutely no give to them. They dug uncomfortably into my sides, giving me the appearance of more love handles than I actually had.

“I think it’ll be okay,” Hancock continued. “I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack.”

I rolled my eyes and let him continue his freak out, then did the shimmy shake into my khaki pants.

“You might want to get dressed,” I mentioned. “Or you’ll be late—which will give them cause to be upset.”

He shut up almost instantly, slid on his pants and nothing else, and then left the room without another word.