Wild Pitch (Daytona Fury, #1)

by C.L. Rose

I’m not here to fall in love. I’m here to get some strange dick.

“You’re not going to give me anything?” he questions. “What am I supposed to yell out while I’m fucking you?”

“Babe, you’re topless in my hotel room and the muscles in your stomach are quivering. We’re fucking,” he says with a cocky smirk.

“I’m going to call you Mayhem. Because that’s exactly what you look like down there. Chaos. Trouble. Like a riot I know I should run from, but I can’t fucking look away.”

The mouth on him

The old Monroe needs to die so the new one can be born. I have a chance to be anyone I want now, and I’m choosing to be a bad bitch who takes what she wants and doesn’t let anyone walk all over her. As far as everyone here knows, that’s exactly what I am.

I watch his Adam’s apple bob as I suck his cock like it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. It’s not far off. I could live off the flavor of his skin.

I push up onto my elbows, watching as he stalks my way with a look in his eyes that I can only describe as predatory.

“I want to take you rough,” he says. “Are you okay with that?” I shouldn’t be. His voice is dark and chilling…and it’s possible that he just broke through my skin when he bit me. But fuck. I want more. “Yes.”

my blood goes cold when I hear his voice. As soon as she steps back, my eyes lock onto his. Eyes that I was just looking into hours ago as he ripped orgasm after orgasm from my exhausted body. This lying motherfucker.

I’m ready to head straight through to the World Series. This is the Daytona Fury’s year.

Okay. I can explain. I grew up with Tanner Lake, quarterback for the Boston Blizzard and America’s fucking sweetheart. When I found out that he slept with my sister behind my back and broke her heart, I lost my shit. I ditched a very important playoff game, hopped on the first plane from Florida to Massachusetts, and laid his ass out right in the middle of a game. Sorry, not sorry.

Jeez my brother needs to take some notes from riggs if only he cared as much

“I hate you, Riggs Valentine!” shouts a small voice. I look up to see a little girl with tears streaming down her cheeks, obviously concerned about Friggle’s well-being. Fuck my life.

I am a proud manwhore. I admittedly sleep around, but I’m honest with the women I bring into my bed. They don’t want anything long-term with me any more than I want it with them. Their objective is to say they slept with a professional athlete, and mine is to blow my load all over their tits.

I swallow roughly. “It’s…new, but when you know, you know. Right?” I ask. What. Theeeee. Fuck. The only thing I know when it comes to women is that if you curl your fingers just right when they’re buried inside their pussies, it makes them go off, like that. But as far as dating them or knowing when you’ve met the one? Yeah…no thanks. Hard pass.

“As you know, Mr. Durst is a family man,” she says, speaking of the team’s owner and one of the wealthiest men in the state of Florida. “If we can get your girlfriend here and prove that your priorities are changing, that might just be your saving grace.” Well, fuck me sideways. That backfired.

Yikes. Can we get someone from HR in here, just in case?

I spent my entire adolescence idolizing professional pitchers. Every time someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, there was never a new answer. I never had a backup plan in case I didn’t make it to the MLB. Failure was not an option. So, when I entered the draft before my senior year of college, my entire future was riding on whether or not I was chosen. Thankfully, the Fury took me with the third overall pick, and here I am.

Drink. Dance. Find a hottie to take home. Rinse and repeat.

Apparently, I forgot that she’s annoying as shit. Sorry, but she is.

she asked if I’d get her and her friends a suite to our next game so they could see all the “baseball baddies”. Her words, not mine. Although Ace does have an ass you could bounce quarters off of.

Where am I going to find a fake girlfriend who will not only be okay with going through with whatever this crazy-ass plan brings, but also won’t want anything more from me after we’re done? What I need is someone who hates me. Godfuckingdamnit.

“Wow, Mayhem. What did I do to deserve such a warm greeting?” he says flatly. “I see you’re still a bitch.”

He groans in response. “I didn’t lie. Val is my nickname. I do live in Florida and was in Boston for work that night. So tell me, Monroe, where did I lie?”

Oh my God. This man is the literal devil. I don’t understand how he’s such a dickbag while his parents and sister are the sweetest people I’ve ever met. Even his best friend Tanner is caring and thoughtful. How did he end up so far from that?

Sadly, I know from personal experience that it’s the only part of him that isn’t delicious.

He was absolutely beautiful, with his strong jaw, medium length chestnut hair that curled at the base of his thick neck, and the fullest, poutiest lips I’d ever seen on a man.

it was a no-brainer. Riggs Valentine was built for a night of sin, and that’s exactly what we did. I’ve never been fucked that way in my life, and I’m certain I never will be again.

Because even though I can’t stand the sight of him, I’ve fantasized about the way Riggs took me so many times that I should probably be ashamed of myself.

“No cookies, sweetheart,” I reply. “But I have a nice, big sausage if you’re hungry.”

I get joy out of driving Monroe crazy. It’s easy and she’s cute when she’s mad.

One thing I will say about this woman: she may drive me fucking mad, but goddamn is she a showstopper.

Instead, she bursts into a fit of laughter. And I’m not talking the cute type of laugh that some girls do when you tell a joke that’s not very funny. I’m talking a full-on, gut-busting, knee-slapping howl. There’s even a point in the middle where she’s laughing so hard that I think I may need to perform CPR, because the fucking girl looks like she can’t breathe.

I trust Monroe not to take advantage of the situation like all the other women I know would. Not to mention, I wouldn’t have to worry about her falling in love with me because she hates my guts.

She shakes her head in defeat. “When did I get this desperate? Pretending to date arguably the biggest dickwad on the planet just to survive.” Okay, drama queen. “All I heard was ‘biggest dick’,” I say with a grin. “So, thank you.”

“Whatever you say, Mayhem.”

MONROE: I know guys like him, Grace. No offense, but he’s a douche. I’d rather put my nipples through a cheese grater than be friends with him. This arrangement is strictly business.

Not only did he thank me and offer to let me redecorate his house, but the way he stared at me for several minutes like he was remembering every dirty detail of the last time we were in a room with a bed together made me tingle all over. So what if I was thinking about it too? It was hot. Sue me.

it’s only a matter of time before I fold like a dollar store lawn chair. And that can never happen.

I’m convinced the shit is made of one-hundred percent fuckboy pheromones with the way my pussy clenches every time I inhale it.

I’m also convinced that he rolls around in my bed every time I leave the room because while it’s faint, I can smell him at night.

I would’ve much rather been in a suite because it’s hotter than Satan’s nutsack out here,

“I have to say, you look damn good in my jersey,” he says lowly, as more of a growl than anything else. “Any chance I’ll ever see you wearing it and nothing else?”

I lean down, putting myself a little closer to him, plastering a saccharine-sweet smile on my face so that everyone who can see us thinks I’m being flirty. “Not a fucking chance in hell,” I reply quietly, blowing him a kiss as he grins back at me.

“Keep it up, sweet thing,” he says so only I can hear. “I’ll pull you down onto the field and fuck you right into this dirt. And we both know you’ll love every minute of it.” My eyes go wide, and my mouth falls open in surprise. I want to send back a smart retort, but his filthy threat mixed with the way he looks in that uniform is making words really hard. “And look at you being a good...

I wonder what she’d look like pregnant. Whoa. Slow your roll, Valentine.

Her dark hair falls in large curls over one shoulder, accenting the delicious column of her neck. A high slit runs up her toned thigh, and I swear I stop breathing as I watch it peek out with every step. Her full tits are pushed up, making me want to sink my teeth into the creamy flesh of her cleavage. She’s absolutely breathtaking, and even though our relationship is fake, it’s crystal clear that I’ve outkicked my coverage by a fucking mile. I feel like I’ve swallowed an entire bag of cotton balls as she finally hits the bottom stair and stops in front of me.

I may be able to convince myself that I hate this woman, but fuck. My dick damn sure isn’t falling for it.

I know if I lock onto those blue pools, there’s a possibility that I’ll throw her over my shoulder and we won’t make it to this event. She may fight me all the way, but the joke would be on her because I’m into that shit. Especially knowing that she’d definitely want everything I’d be giving her. I don’t miss the way Monroe looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention. She can tell herself she can’t stand me all she wants. But I can smell it.

Is she disappointed that I didn’t compliment the way she looks? Trust me, I want to. But I also need to make sure I keep enough distance between us that we don’t end up blurring the lines of this arrangement.

When I can’t take knowing I’ve hurt her feelings any longer, I twist the knob on the radio, turning the music down. “You look really pretty tonight,” I say softly, hoping that she can hear the sincerity in my words.