Playing to Win

idea how much I like seeing you play with your nipples like that.”
    “We have a lot to explore with each other, don’t we?” she said, moaning as he rocked back and forth. With his cock buried deep inside her, she pulsed, her clit rubbing against him. She plucked at her nipples, sending sensation coursing through her nerve endings.
    He wrapped his hand around the nape of her neck and brought her toward him for a blistering kiss that made her tingle all over. With the other hand, he held tight to her ass, grinding against her until she felt the stirrings of orgasm. She whimpered against his lips.
    “Come on, Peaches. Come on my cock so I can let go.”
    His words never failed to rock her world, to encourage her tosoar. And as he gripped her butt and lifted against her, she broke, crying out against his mouth with her orgasm. He went with her, groaning out her name as he thrust upward in several bursts, both of them shuddering and gripping each other as their worlds collided.
    He swept his arm over her back, divesting her of her blouse and bra. She much preferred his caresses on her bare skin.
    “See how much easier this will be when we’re living together?” he said later as they climbed into her bed. “One of us always has to get up and go home the next day. I’d much rather already be home.”
    “Which of our places do you want to live in?”
    “Well, there’s your house, which would make more sense than my condo.”
    “That’s true.”
    “But I actually thought we might want to buy a bigger house.”
    She arched a brow. “Really? Why?”
    “Well, because eventually we’ll want to get married and have kids…”
    She gaped at him.
    He paused. “I’m rushing you. Or scaring the hell out of you. I should propose or something first, shouldn’t I? I never get this shit right. Or would you rather we take this slow?”
    She shook her head, no longer afraid. “No. You’re doing it all right. And I’m fine with taking it one slow step at a time. A bigger house it is.”
    She leaned against him, listening to his strong heartbeat as they cuddled together.
    Maybe he didn’t say all the right things, and maybe he didn’t do it all in the right way, but he was hers, and she was his, and they’d figure it all out together. Because she knew now that both of them were in this for the long haul, and that he’d be there for her no matter what.
    And that’s what counted the most.

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PLAY-BY-PLAY NOVEL BY JACI BURTON
THROWN BY A CURVE
AVAILABLE SOON FROM BERKLEY BOOKS

GARRETT SCOTT SAT IN THE ST. LOUIS RIVERS THERAPY room facing an entire team of sports medicine specialists, all wearing looks of doom on their faces.
    From the team doctor to the therapists who’d been working on his shoulder for the past nine months, their faces said it all—he wasn’t ready to pitch yet.
    He was tired of it. Tired of being molded and manipulated and poked and prodded like some kind of experiment. His shoulder wasn’t getting any better and he still couldn’t throw a pitch. He was done. His career was over, and no amount of fake, hopeful expressions would make him believe any different.
    “Let’s go over to the pulleys,” Max said. “If we increase the weight…”
    “No. It’s not going to help. I can’t get my full range of motion and no pulleys, no weighted balls, no water therapy, and no amount of stretching is going to get it back.”
    “You don’t know that, Garrett,” Max said. As head of the therapy team, when Max had a plan, everyone always listened. “We haven’t finished with the therapy and the season hasn’t started yet. There’s plenty of time.”
    Phil, the team doctor, nodded. “Max is right. You just haven’t given it enough time.”
    Garrett glared at them both. “I said no. This has been going nowhere and we all know it.”
    Everyone started talking at once, but it was all white noise to him. They were blowing smoke up his ass about how he was going to pitch come April.
    He’d heard it before, all the pats on the back and the encouragement that didn’t mean anything if you couldn’t get a fastball across the plate. They were just words. Empty promises.
    The only one who didn’t say anything was the woman hovering in the background. Dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, she wore the same team-color polo shirt and khaki pants as the other specialists and held a digital notebook. And she was giving him a look. A pissed-off one.
    “You