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“College gave you a real potty-mouth, huh? Did it steal your sense of adventure, too?” he noted, trying not to laugh.
I rolled my eyes and folded my arms across my chest, waiting in silence for a few minutes before he held his hands up in the air.
“All right then. No jokes. Gotcha. You want me to pitch it? I could slow it down for you.”
“And rip every one of your stitches out? I said I was driving you to the clubhouse, not the hospital.” I held out my hand for the bat, and he shrugged, placing it in my hand. I swung it at my side as I stepped up to the plate and tried to line up my stance with the pitching machine at the other end.
My body stilled, frozen as his hands settled like feathers on my hips. His touch was so gentle—more so than I remembered. My thin, light, and flowy baby doll top did nothing to disguise the heat from his fingertips against my skin, and God was it almost enough to make the ice-cold shell I’d constructed around my heart melt.
“Pull the bat back,” he ordered. The gentle way he was touching me, completely opposite to the firm rasp of his voice. My confidence was falling apart just like it had in the hospital this morning.
No matter how strong I got, he would always be my weakness.
After not feeling his touch for so long, a part of me just wanted to throw my last fuck in the air and curl up in his arms for the rest of the day.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t who I was anymore.
And I couldn’t just pretend like I didn’t want to cut his balls off for how he’d treated me, or forget we had problems we needed to talk and work through if we were ever going to get back to a place where we could work.
If we could work.
“Meyah.” He squeezed my hips softly, forcing me to stand a little straighter. “The bat.”
I pulled it back over my shoulder, resting it there.
“Good girl.”
Those two words send a shiver up my spine, and my pussy instantly throbbed in response.
If he noticed, though, he didn’t let on.
“Now, you’re gonna step forward as you swing. Twist your hips and bring your back foot to your toes. Kind of like Romeo taught you to do when you throw a punch.”
He moved my hips, turning them with my swing. Then his hands moved up my sides, tickling over my waist to my shoulders where he moved them down my arms until they encompassed my grip on the baseball bat. His body was now a lot closer, pressed firmly against my back. I could feel each breath he took, and the heat between us only grew more intense.
“Here’s where your bat needs to connect with the ball,” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear as he positioned me right where he wanted me.
Not just to hit the ball.
I thought I had the upper hand with him, that I was in control and knew what I was doing.
But I should have known better.
He was nevernotin control.
“You ready?” he asked, releasing my hands, but only to use them to pull my hair back over my shoulder and press his lips to my exposed neck.
“Stop,” I ordered, but I didn’t move.
He was cheating.
He was playing fucking dirty.
I didn’t fight him.
I couldn’t.
I was confused.
