Chapter 23 Brooks
Brooks
The roar of the stadium was a living thing, louder than any plane engine, steadier than any heartbeat.
It was Father’s Day at the Roasters’ ballpark, which meant dads and kids running the bases, special jersey giveaways, and sentimental jumbotron content nearly every inning.
This year, the noise pressed harder against my ribs than usual.
Partly because I was only a few months out from becoming a dad again, and also because I’d been running on nothing but falafel, hotel sheets, and late-night calls with Dani for the past week.
“Make it count, Matty!” Soren hollered from the bench, voice cracking over the noise.
Wes leaned over the rail, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Drive it deep!”
“That’s what she said,” Tucker added, earning him a gentle smack from the men on either side of him.
We were down by one in the sixth, which meant there was still a lot of game left to play.
Matty adjusted his gloves at the plate and relaxed his grip, just the way he’d been coached.
I caught his eye and touched my hand to my cap before giving the sign to take the first pitch.
Their starter had been pounding the zone early all afternoon, and if he missed his spot now, Matty would be ready.
He wasn’t a heavy hitter, but he was a patient one.
I watched the pitcher wind up, my pulse ticking in rhythm with the ballgame, with the weight of a thousand small decisions that made the difference between winning and watching it slip away.
And we needed a win after a four-game losing streak.
Miami had been good to us, but our luck had dried up in Charleston with a three-game shutout.
The guys were glad to be home, and frankly, I couldn’t blame them—the humidity had nearly killed me, too.
Ten days on the road had dragged like ten years, and by the time our plane had touched down last night, it had been well past midnight.
I’d walked through my front door and had dragged my ass straight to bed, when what I’d really wanted was to kick Dani’s door open, throw her down, and eat her pussy until she was shaking apart under me.
Again.
The truth was, I’d jerked off more times than I cared to count, chasing the memory of Dani shattering on my tongue.
Every night in some faceless hotel room, I’d fist my cock and picture her—head tipped back, body trembling, hands clawing at the shower tiles while I ate her pussy until she begged for mercy.
I had stroked myself fucking raw replaying the way she’d come apart for me in her shower, every gasp and shudder burned into me so deep I couldn’t get free of it.
The sharp crack of a bat snapped me back to reality, and the crowd came to life as the ball soared over the infield. I tracked it automatically, eyes on the arc, already calculating before the left fielder even broke into a sprint.
Routine fly. Out number three.
My guys grabbed their mitts and jogged back onto the field. I clapped the nearest shoulder as they passed, keeping my face steady even though I could feel the weight of the game tightening around us.
And still, my eyes strayed. I scanned the stands for the hundredth damn time that afternoon, restlessly searching for her face in the sea of fans.
Nothing. Not a glimpse of her hair, not the curve of her smile.
I told myself to focus on the game, but the truth was, I’d been looking for her since the anthem and hadn’t spotted her once.
I missed her.
At some point in the past few months, my house had stopped feeling like mine and instead felt like ours.
She might not have been officially living with me—not yet anyway—but most of her things had migrated into my place.
Half her shoes were stacked by the door, her favorite socks took up an entire drawer in my dresser, and her side of the bed always smelled like her shampoo.
It was proof she belonged there, even if she hadn’t said the words out loud.
And still, a part of me waited.
For a sign, a moment to show that she wanted this—she wanted me—for good.
Because whether she knew it or not, I wasn’t going anywhere.
If she tried to run, I’d be right there behind her, steady and relentless.
I’d let her go once before, and it had damn near gutted me.
I wasn’t willing to make that mistake again.
“Uh, coach?”
I turned at the sound of Pink’s voice. He was slouched on the bench, a bag of ice strapped to his shoulder, chin jerking toward the outfield screen.
The jumbotron lit up, and my chest caved in.
There was Dani, glowing in the June sun, a little more pregnant than the last time I’d seen her, grinning like she’d been planning this all along.
And in her hands—pressed lovingly against her bump—was a tiny white onesie with bold red lettering stretched across the center.
You call him coach, but I call him daddy.
The Roasters’ logo sat neatly under the words like a goddamn exclamation point.
But it wasn’t the onesie that made my blood pound.
It was my name stamped across her back.
My jersey was draped over her shoulders, the hem riding high above her cutoffs. And those socks. White with two red stripes that hugged her thighs.
Fucking perfect. Designed to undo me.
The crowd erupted, my team whooping and laughing from the field, but all I could think about was dragging the woman I loved down into the dugout, bending her over the bench, and fucking her until she couldn’t stand.
My cock was already hard, straining against my pants, and I had to force myself to keep my grip on the rail instead of storming up into the stands.
On second thought . . .
I didn’t think. I couldn’t.
Instead, I took off for the short wall separating the fans from the field, vaulting myself over the padded barrier like a man possessed. The crowd screamed louder when they realized what was happening, but I didn’t give a damn.
Dani’s mouth fell open when I reached her, cupping her cheeks in my hands and kissing her like she’d just handed me the world. Because she had.
The stadium melted away. The cameras, the noise, all of it—gone. There were only her soft lips, her trembling fingers clutching at my jersey, the sweet weight of her belly pressed against me.
When I finally pulled back, I leaned my forehead against hers and whispered, rough and certain, “You’re mine, kitten. Always.”
The kiss had barely ended before the announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium speakers, his tone gleeful, milking the moment for every ounce of drama. “Looks like Coach Ward just scored the biggest win of the day.”
The big screen replayed it instantly, our kiss blown up twenty feet tall, my hands cradling Dani’s face like she was the only thing that mattered. Fans erupted into cheers, wolf whistles, and applause. Some even chanted my name. I didn’t care about any of it.
I only cared about her.
About the fact that the entire city now knew what I had known for months—that Dani was mine, and I was hers.
This wasn’t just some social media stadium stunt. It was a line in the sand. There was no going back from this, no hiding us or “keeping things casual.” Not after forty-thousand people had watched me kiss Dani like she was oxygen.
It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. It was everything.
And now, the whole goddamn city knew it, too.
The office door shut with a thud, and before she could take a step, I had her pinned against it, my mouth claiming hers in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and the pent-up hunger I’d been sitting on since the seventh inning.
“Brooks.” She panted against my lips, trying to laugh, trying to scold me, but her hands were already sliding under my shirt, nails dragging down my stomach.
“Don’t start,” I warned, spinning her around and nudging her toward the desk. “You knew exactly what you were doing out there.”
Her ass bumped the edge of the desk, and I shoved her down onto it. The sight of her in my jersey and denim cutoffs that were borderline indecent, and those fucking socks, had me downright feral.
“What, claiming my man?” she teased. She smirked, breathless, tugging at my belt like she owned me. “Guess it worked.”
“Worked too fucking well,” I growled. Her lips curved into a knowing smile as I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her shorts and panties, yanking them both down her legs in one fell swoop. The smell of her hit me, hot and sweet, and my cock ached so bad I almost lost it right there.
I spread her knees wide and stepped between them, palms gripping the tops of those socks like handles. The hem of my jersey rose higher with the movement.
“Leave it on,” I rasped, voice low and rough. “I’ve watched you walk around in these goddamn socks all day, so I deserve to get to fuck you in them.”
Her smile said she knew exactly what kind of trouble she was in.
“Yesss,” she moaned. “I’ve missed you inside me, Brooks. I need your cock.”
“Trust me, kitten, you’re going to get all of me. But first, I’m going to taste you.” I lowered myself to my knees and pushed the jersey up just enough to bare the wet heat between her thighs. “Been thinking about this all week,” I growled before sealing my mouth over her.
The taste of her hit me like a drug.
I licked deep, slow at first, then harder, faster, until she was writhing against my desk, knocking various pens and knickknacks to the floor. Her hands clawed for my shoulders, but I just anchored her with my grip on those socks, holding her open while I devoured her.
“Oh my god.” She moaned, her head dropping back against the desk with a dull thud. Paper crinkled under her palms as her hips rocked back against my mouth.
“Mmm,” I growled into her, the sound vibrating through her slick folds. “God’s not the one eating your perfect pussy in my office, kitten.”
Her answering whimper nearly undid me.