The Pitcher's Assistant by Jessa Kane

“I’m sorry. I’m close,” I whimper.

“No. You don’t rush, baby. The world can wait.” He thrusts deep and grinds the trunk of his flesh against my clit. “There’s only us. There’s only this.”

Over the last year, he’s told me this over and over, until it became my deepest belief. I might have a burgeoning career in sports reporting and Cort might be God’s gift to baseball, but we return to our own private world, again and again. This is where we prefer to be. In each other’s arms, where everything feels right.

“I love you,” I gasp, looking into his intense blue eyes, moaning over the way his hands mold to my backside, keeping me stationary for his pounding hips. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Pippa.” He flattens me more securely to the wall, the pace of pumps picking up, moving so fast that a scream builds in my throat. “God help me, I’ll never get enough of this pussy. Need more and more of it every goddamn day.”

“It’s all yours, Daddy,” I whisper in his ear—and the guttural sound he lets out pours kerosene in the inferno inside of me, blazing me past the point of no return…

Five Years Later


This is supposed to be the greatest day of a baseball player’s life.

Only one year after retirement, I’m being inducted into the hall of fame.

But it’s far from the best day I’ve ever had. There is no way to top my wedding day. The afternoon I married Pippa on the shore of the ocean, the wind blowing her hair, her eyes full of tears, my undying love for her reflecting back at me. There’s no way to top the day she gave birth to our daughter. Or the midnight delivery of our son.

Or every single time I’ve been between her thighs.

There’s definitely no beating that. Not with accolades or trophies.

All of my best days are with Pippa—and they’re because of her, too.

I’m a confident man. Some might even call me cocky about my pitching abilities. But hell, if I’m not humbled in this moment to be standing here, my beautiful, talented wife tucked up against my side, looking up at me adoringly. With pride. Our son is sleeping in the crook of my arm, my daughter doing figure eights through my legs, earning a giggle from Pippa.

I’m the happiest man on the entire planet.

Five years ago, I was lost. They called it a slump, but I was lost until she came into the locker room and pulled me out of the darkness, gave me hope. She made me love baseball again. Made me want to succeed so she would be proud of me, along with our children. All I can hope for is that my encouragement of her career and telling her I love her, constantly, has been enough to pay her back for bringing me back to life.

“Cort!” Shout the reporters in front of the stage, where my induction ceremony is taking place. “Mulloy!”

It’s been a year since I’ve had to participate in press conferences. To put it mildly, I didn’t miss them. At all. I’m still as private as they come. Even more so now that I have a family to protect. I just want to get them home and my wife into bed, so I can blow her mind. Maybe see about that third child I’ve been trying to convince her to have.

I lean toward the microphone. “I’m only taking three questions.” I give Pippa a meaningful look and her eyes shine back at me, flooding me with affection so thick, I can barely breathe through it. “That’s brought me the best kind of luck in the past.”


Want another obsessed athlete?

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