The Pitcher's Assistant

Now. Now. Fucking now.

“First things first.” I walk her back against the locker, dragging her hips up against mine so she can get used to where this is headed. “What is your name?”

“Pippa. Winestock.” I witness the moment she identifies my erection, her throat working in a gulp. “Oh my goodness.”

“Pippa,” I repeat, letting the name settle into my bones. “Am I scaring you?”

“A little,” she whispers, her sweet breath pelting my mouth. “For one, I’m pretty sure you just lost me a job I’ve been trying to get for months.”

God, her fucking mouth. I want to feel it all over me. I want to watch it go wide with a moan while I lick her pussy. “Whatever he’s paying you,” I say roughly. “I’ll quadruple it.”

“To do what?”

That’s a good question. Apart from my agent, manager and a woman who cleans my house once a week, I don’t have a lot of people working for me. I like my home quiet. I like solitude. Or I did, anyway. Now I want Pippa with me.

I think about my teammates. Who do those idiots have working for them? Apart from the hangers-on they walk around with at all times, they have personal chefs, social media managers, image consultants. None of those things seem to fit this girl, though. There’s something wholesome about her. Old fashioned.

I knew it from the beginning.

Which is why I didn’t just come right out and say I want her to come home and belong to me. My gut is telling me it would scare Pippa off if she knew I’ve already formed an obsession and it’s deepening by the goddamn moment. “I need an assistant,” I say finally.

The wheels turn behind her eyes. “An assistant,” she repeats slowly.

“Yes. Like I said, I’ll pay you well.”

“It’s not about the money.”

I study her face, frustrated that I can’t read her mind. “What is it about?”

“Baseball. I love it. I want to report on it.”

Jesus. I’ve been so focused on my chemical reaction to her, I didn’t even stop to process the fact that she is interested in the sport to which I’ve dedicated my life. This girl couldn’t be more perfect for me if she tried. And if she wants to be a reporter, if she needs that to be happy…I can find a way to work with that. “Pippa, I get around a thousand requests every month for an exclusive interview.”

“You’ve never given one,” she whispers, nodding.

“That’s right.” I press my lips to her hairline. “But I’ll give one to you.”

A shudder runs through her sexy body. “You’ll give me an exclusive interview if I become your assistant?”

“Yes.” I trail my hand down the curve of her hip, along the side seam of her skirt, my fingertips brushing her bare thigh just beneath the hem. Fuck, she is so smooth. “You’ll have full access to me. Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you. It’s yours.”

“You want me that bad?” she breathes. “T-to be your assistant, that is.”

I drop my mouth into the valley of her neck, dragging her skirt higher in my grip. “We both know I want you for more than that.” God help me, I’m willing to play dirty. Anything it takes to get her in my home, beneath me. Claimed. “For some reason, every reporter in the country wants to dig into my past, my psyche. What dropped me into this slump. I’ll give that to you. I’ll launch your career as a reporter. But so help me God, I want between your legs for it, little girl.”

Her gasp isn’t one of outrage.

It’s one of awareness.

The lines of her body turn pliant against mine, her breath coming faster. Faster.

“Did you like it when I called you little girl, Pippa?”

Her eyes are wide, shocked, as if she’s discovering something about herself she never knew was there. And then she nods—and that confession nearly pushes me to the brink of madness. “Yes,” she whispers, seeming to become more aware, more excited by the way our bodies are pressed tightly together, biting her lip and shifting her hips. “I think so.”

“You think so?” I raze the side of her neck with my teeth, backing her harder against the locker, rough sounds scraping up both of our throats. “I’m going to check between your legs to make sure.”

After a breathless moment, she nods. “O-okay.”

Not wanting to put any distance between us, I only manage to ease back my hips a couple of inches, sliding my hand around to the notch between her thighs. My teammates are still nearby, boisterous and loud on the other side of the wall of lockers. But as soon as I take hold of her sweet, little pussy, there’s really only me and Pippa. She cries out softly, her head falling back against the locker, clearly as innocent as can be. Never had a man.