Cleat Catcher (The Cleat Chaser Duet Book 2) (2 page)

I turned the water to a hotter setting and tried again, but the goo didn’t budge. I grabbed the yellow hand towel hanging next to my sink to try and wipe my fingers off. The towel got stuck, but with more than a little effort, I was able to scrape it across my fingers and wipe the gunk off. By that time, the hairy spot on my pussy was on fire.

“Nik, if you aren’t out here and on my dick in sixty seconds, I’m going to come in there and get you.”

“I’m coming.”

I ran back to the mirror and hiked my leg.

“No, you aren’t, not yet.” Oh, God, his voice was getting closer.

“Just a minute.”

“You don’t have a minute.”

“Braden!” I put my left fingers on the skin beside the strip, drawing it tight, and grabbed the plastic with my right. Taking a deep breath, I ripped it free.

I yelped. Searing pain radiated up my body, bringing tears to my eyes and sending me to my knees. “Oh no, oh no.”

Braden’s feet pounded the floor behind me, and he ran around to my front. I pressed one hand to the burning spot on my pussy.

“What is it? Are you okay?”

I whipped my head up to answer him, and his rock-hard cock poked me in the eye. I squeaked at the sting.

“Oh, shit!” Braden jumped away, but it was too late.

My eye watered, thanks to the jab from his cock. I fell back, one hand on my pussy, the other clapped over my eye. My cries were more of a yowl as Braden dropped to his knees next to me.

I rocked back and forth on the cool wood floor of the closet, tears streaming down to my ears.

“Nik, babe, I’m so sorry. Let me see it.” He peeled my fingers from my face and examined my eye. I squinted at the closet light.

“It just looks a little red.”

“Your cock goes in my pussy, not my eye.” I choked out through the tears.

“I know, baby.” He pulled me into a sitting position and held me against his chest. “It sure does.”

I kept my hand over the angry spot of skin between my legs, too afraid to look at the damage I’d done.

“What’s this?” He ran his hand down my arm and rested it on my thigh.

“I-I- Nothing.”

He pulled me away and stared at me with his hazel eyes. “Come on, Nik. What happened? Let me see.”

“No!” I clamped my legs together, but it didn’t do much good. My hips were wide enough for me to have the thigh gap—usually a blessing, but at this point, more of a curse.

“Move your hand.” He lowered his voice, the tone of command thrilling me and petrifying me all at once.

“It’s fine. Just go back to bed—”

His brows pinched together until they formed a ‘W’. “Nik, now.”

I wiped my eyes with my free hand and peered down. Pulling my hand away, I cringed at the angry red patch left behind. There wasn’t any hair, and barely any skin.

“Jeez, babe. What did you do to yourself?” He leaned over to inspect it, his face inches from my pussy, but not in a good way.

I began to cry more.

He leaned back up to my face and smoothed his thumbs along my cheeks, wiping my tears. “Does it hurt bad? I’m sorry. I’ve got some cortisone. It’ll make it feel better in a hurry.” He hopped to his feet and jogged to the bathroom, his muscled ass flexing with each step.

I wasn’t crying because it hurt, though it did. I’d ruined our six-month anniversary over a patch of hair the size of a nickel. More tears flowed as Braden returned and dabbed some cream on my pussy—definitely not the sort of cream I’d envisioned for our night together.

When he was done, he tossed the tube of ointment on the floor and scooped me into his arms. Before long, he’d laid me on the bed and pulled me to him.

“Don’t cry, baby. I know it hurts.”

“It’s not that.” I sniffled. “I mean, that hurts, but I’ve ruined our anniversary.” I sobbed a little harder. Just hearing the words made it worse.

He shook against me, and I stopped crying for a moment to lift my head up to see what was wrong. A big grin spread across his face. He was laughing at me.

My sadness turned to anger. “Braden!” I beat on his chest, but he only laughed and pulled me closer.

“Don’t be silly. Nothing is ruined. You’re here with me where you belong, burned pussy and all.” His laughter grew louder, breaking up his words.

The phone on his nightstand chimed again, Easton probably regaling him with some more dick drawing tales. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to scratch Braden or kiss him. I dug my nails into his ribs and he tensed, but took it. He deserved it.

He stroked his hand through my hair as his other arm held me tight. His shaking subsided and he kissed the crown of my head. “I love you, Nik. As long as you’re with me, we’re good, okay? My balls can stay blue until tomorrow or whenever you’re better. Maybe the blueberry taste will be even sweeter by then. I don’t know.”

I dug my nails in harder and then released him. His words were too mushy for me to stay mad. “I love you, too.”

“I know.” He sighed. “What did you even do to yourself down there?”

I nipped at his chest. “There was this little patch that the waxing lady missed, so I figured I’d get it myself—”

He started shaking again. My nails dug back into his side. “I’m sorry, Nik. Sorry. Continue. I won’t laugh.”

“Well, that’s pretty much the end of it. I tried to make it perfect—”

“It was already perfect long before you went to get it waxed.”

I snuggled into his chest. “Why do you always say the right thing?”

“Hmm, I think I usually say the wrong thing.”

“Not to me.” I draped my arm over his back and just let him hold me for a while. Our breathing evened out and the sting in my crotch began to fade.

“How does it feel now?” He ran his hand up and down my side.

“Better.”

“Good. Want to see something to cheer you up?”

I snorted. “Kasey eating a dick?”

“You know me so well.” He rolled onto his back and reached out with his tanned, muscled arm to snag his phone. Swiping across the screen, the image immediately popped up. He’d set it as his wallpaper.

“Easton really is an artist.” The dick, hard and with a nice set of balls and pubic hair, was drawn along her cheek, the tip in her open, drooling mouth. I had to laugh. Kasey was smart, beautiful, and hated dick. “It’s perfect.”

My phone beeped, the notification light blinking blue. I sighed and reached for it. After all, my singed kitty wasn’t getting any play tonight. It lit up when I grabbed it. There was a message from my mother.

“I’m typing back to him that he needs to add some conditioner or something on her face, like it’s jizz, you know she’ll really—”

“Oh my God!” I smiled and turned to Braden. He was still in the middle of typing his crude, juvenile, and admittedly funny conditioner idea to Easton. “Mom and Dad are having a dinner and they’ve invited us.
Both
of us.”

My parents hadn’t invited a boyfriend for dinner in years, likely because I'd never settled down with one guy. Not until Braden. Like everyone else, they thought he was just another man in my long career of cleat chasing. But he wasn’t. Braden was something different, something special—the man I loved. Finally, Mom and Dad understood.

He stopped typing and swallowed hard. Laying his phone on his chest, he ran a hand through his short chestnut brown hair. “So me meeting your parents, that’s a good thing?”

I grinned and crawled on top of him, careful to keep my poisoned pussy patch from making contact. “It’s the best thing. I can’t wait to show you off.” Leaning down, I kissed him. After a moment, he returned it. Braden was a lot of things—star athlete, decent dresser, funny, smart, hot as fuck—but far and away his best attribute was his kissing ability. You’ve never been kissed until you’ve been kissed by Braden Bradford. And that’s too bad, because he only kisses
me
.

His tongue swooped inside my mouth, and he put a hand at the back of my neck, directing the kiss. I was more than happy to be turned whichever way suited him. I moaned into his mouth, my pussy heating up despite the spot of scorched earth. He ran his other hand to my ass, but when he pushed me down against his cock, I squeaked at the sting and pulled away.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I forgot because—” he glanced down to his raging erection “—he made me forget.”

I rolled off and sat next to him. “It’s okay.”

He put both hands to his temples, his biceps flexing. “So, your parents?”

“Yes.” I lay down and snuggled into his side. “They’ll love you.”

“You sure?”

“More than sure. Now, go to sleep. This pussy will feel better in the morning, and I want you to make it feel even better. Got me?”

His lips curled in a devious smile as he tossed his phone back to the nightstand next to mine. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And don’t worry.” I yawned. “My father’s only ever shot one of my boyfriends.”

B
RADEN

I
RAN THE
show. I faced the opposite direction of all the other players, and I was the only one that had a view of the entire field. I was the leader—the goddamn shot caller, and these whores needed to get their shit together.

“Time!” I held my hand up to the ump as the crowd fell nearly silent.

We were up one run, with a runner on first in the top of the ninth, two outs. Gladden was on the mound. I shook my head.
Fucking rookies.
He'd thrown a hell of a game so far, but he was showing all the signs of fatigue—leaving pitches up in the zone, arm hanging, loss of velocity.

I trotted out toward the mound while the low hum of the stadium encircled me. Heat from the sun beat down on my gear, trapping the humid warmth beneath my jersey. It was hot as fuck for a September evening.

When I reached the mound, I looked out to see the giant pussy bag known as Easton Holliday warming up in the pen beyond right field. I turned my gaze back to Gladden and pried the catcher's helmet from my head. “You're done. Huh?”

His head dropped, and he scuffed his cleat in the dirt. When he met my eyes again, I could tell he knew it was time to hand the ball over.

“It's no biggie, man. Just let me know so we can fucking win this shit for you. Don't be a hero.” I looked over to the opposing dugout. Their clean-up hitter was up next.
Fuck.

“Yeah, man. I'm spent.” He lifted his hat and wiped his brow with his sleeve.

I glanced to Coach in the dugout, and the old crotchety bastard started up the steps and toward the field. Coach and I liked to joke around. But on the field it was all business. He knew the look.

Coach made his way toward us, lightly dragging his foot over the chalk line on the way just to fuck it up a little.
Respect.
I turned to Gladden. “You did good, kid. Hold your head up when all these peckerdicks cheer for you. Got me?” I cracked a smile.

He grinned. “Thanks, B.”

“Good game, Gladden. Let E mop up for you.” Coach stopped a few feet away and held out his hand for the ball. Gladden placed it in his palm, and the stadium thundered as he walked to the dugout.

I looked out to right field and Andre the Dickless Giant was mowing down the grass with his cleats as he jogged out toward us.

“Glad he's on our side,” Coach said.

I glanced over to Coach and smirked. “Nice observation. Thank God we have someone like you around, sir. To impart these gold nuggets of wisdom.”

His head slowly turned until his eyes met mine. “Suck my dick.” His words were a low whisper, almost like a sigh.

I did my best not to break character, but it wasn't easy. I glared back and mumbled. “I wouldn't suck your dick with Easton's mouth. And I'd love to make him suck a dick. A whole factory of fucking dicks, Coach. We're talking Costco in bulk dicks here.”

The corners of his lips curled up. Forty-five thousand people surrounded us, and we still behaved like twelve-year-olds.

He slapped the ball in my mitt. “Don't fuck it up, Braden.” He turned and headed toward the dugout.

“Yeah. Yeah. Go sit on your fat ass and let us make you look good.”

“Plan on it,” he called over his shoulder.

Jesus, how the fuck could he hear me?

I turned around, and Easton was right behind me, staring me down from above,
Children of the Corn
style. “Jesus.” I shuddered.

He laughed. “Can I have the ball, princess?”

“What'd I tell you about sneaking up on me like that, bitch?” I handed him the ball.

“Sorry not sorry. Can I go to work now?” E adjusted his cap.

I reached down and latched a shin guard that had come undone. “Yeah, man. You know the drill with this cunt.” I nodded toward their hitter. “Chases low and away.”

“I'm on it.” E tapped his glove on mine.

I trotted back behind home plate. Once there, I held up my pinky and index finger to everyone. “Two down. Focus on the hitter! Runners don't mean shit.”

I had to tell them even the simplest of things, because they would constantly forget.

I squatted down behind the plate, my knees popping and cracking just like every other catcher's. Leading the team had always been hard on the knees.