My body writhes against him as he pulls each and every whimper out of my throat as an orgasm rips through me. I come completely undone as coils of electricity shoot through my entire body.
He works me through it, making it last as long as possible until I practically collapse into him.
“Mason. Fucking. Fletcher,” I finally manage to breathe as I bury my head in his chest. “You are never allowed to do that at work ever again.”
So maybe he told me I could stop it and gave me quite a few chances to back out. And okay, maybe I’m just as at fault here, but it’s so much easier to blame him.
“Okay.” His hands drop from around me as he takes a step back, and luckily, I have the door to lean against to keep me upright. Especially when I watch as he licks his fingers clean. “Just as long as I’m free to do it outside of work whenever I want.”
I purse my lips. “Well, maybe not whenever you want, but I’d say there’s a pretty good chance you’ll get lucky again soon.”
“I can work with that.” He steps forward, adjusting my shorts and top as he pulls them back into place. “I meant it when I saidwe can do this your way. You’re the one in charge. I’m just along for the ride.”
“If I am in charge, that probably means you should listen when I say it’s time for you to go. You’re going to be late.”
Thankfully, I’ve started to somehow regain control of my limbs as I step away from the door so he can actually exit.
“Yeah, I’m not too sure Coach is going to be too happy with me, but it was worth it.” He leans in and presses a quick peck to my lips.
It’s hard not to crave more, but I place my hands on his chest and force him back. “Go,” I playfully command, pointing toward the door.
He frowns, but it soon flips into a smile. “As you wish.”
He gives me one final cheeky salute before opening the door and strolling down the hall like a man who didn’t just risk our entire careers over a super sexy and sneaky tryst.
Not wanting anyone to see whose office he just left, I quickly shut the door and lean against it, my heart still pounding against my chest.
God, that boy is trouble, and the worst kind, too. Normally that isn’t my type, but unfortunately, Fletcher just might be the one exception.
26
Fletcher
“Fletcher, Fletcher!”
I search for the sound before spotting an excited kid bouncing my way. He looks to be between seven and eight years old, with a giant mop of shaggy brown hair and the biggest grin I’ve ever seen. To top it off, he’s wearing a small jersey with both my name and number on it.
“Hey bud,” I say, crouching down to his level.
He holds out a baseball. “Can you sign this for me, please?” he asks, his eyes wide with pure adoration.
It’s these kinds of moments I plan to never take for granted. Little Mason Fletcher would’ve done just about anything to meet his favorite player and get an autograph. Now, years later, I’m the one doing the signing. It’s absolutely wild and makes all the early mornings, sore muscles, and late nights completely worth it.
“Of course I will.” I grin and scrawl my name across the fresh white leather, next to a few of my teammates’ signatures.
Tonight’s event might not be mandatory, but every single player from both the Honky Tonks and Rowdy Rattlers showed up, along with our mascots.
Jared Clemmins had grown up with a single mother who made barely enough to cover the groceries, which meant Little League was out of the question. As much as he wanted to play with his friends, baseball just hadn’t been in the budget until a very kind and supportive neighbor spotted Jared’s talent and offered to cover the fees and the rest was history.
Once he’d made it big, his first order of business was to pay it forward as he started The Open Field Project, which gives underprivileged children the opportunity to play sports without their parents having to worry about how they’ll afford it.
With the formation of Honky Tonk Ball, the dream has grown even bigger. Tonight’s event, in particular, is all about giving back to the families taking part in The Open Field project here in Houston.
The Honky Tonk stadium’s field has been transformed into a full-on carnival. Game booths, cotton candy, corndogs, and a dunk tank that’s already proven to be a crowd favorite. These kids are having a blast showing off their throwing skills as they send their favorite players splashing into the water. Thankfully I’ve managed to avoid that area, at least for now.
“Here you go, little man.” I lob the ball toward him and he catches it in his glove. Kid’s got some good reflexes. Perhaps we have a future Honky Tonk player in our midst. “Have you gotten to meet Honkers yet?”
He shakes his head, clearly starstruck as he looks down at the newly signed ball.
