The Screw Ball (Indianapolis Lightning Book 3) Read online

  The Screw Ball

  Indianapolis Lightning Series Book 3

  Samantha Lind

  Samanthalind.com

  The Screw Ball

  Indianapolis Lightning Series Book 3

  Copyright Samantha Lind 2021

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, story lines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.

  Trademarked names appear throughout this novel. These names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intentional infringement of the trademark owner’s trademark(s).

  The following story contains adult language and sexual situations and is intended for adult readers.

  Cover Design by Jersey Girl Design

  Cover image by FuriousFotog - Golden Czermak

  Editing by Amy Briggs ~ Briggs Consulting LLC

  Proofreading by Proof Before You Publish

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Also by Samantha Lind

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  One

  Lucas

  Titties, titties and more titties.

  Every way I look, I see tits. Big ones, small ones, some with dusty nipples, and others with dark-ass ones that could take a man out. I’m not that picky; I like them all. Especially the pair that are inches away from my mouth as the stripper rolls her body to the beat of the music filling the room.

  It isn’t easy, but I keep my hands to myself. House rules state I cannot touch the girls—pretty standard strip club rules—but they can touch me. The chick in my lap—Candy is what she told me her ‘name’ was—slides her barley-covered pussy against my hard cock as she pulls my face between her breasts. I can’t control myself and lick her skin where she’s got my head pinned.

  “You like that, sugar?” she asks in what I imagine is the fake-ass sultry voice she uses to entice the guys she does this with on a nightly basis.

  “You tell me.” I smirk up at her. She damn well can feel just how much I like what she’s doing to me.

  “I get off in an hour,” she states, leaving the rest to my imagination.

  “Is that so?” I lick her skin once again, needing another taste of her. I’d like to lick a few other places, but this will have to do for now.

  “How much will it cost me for a private hour to finish out your night?” I ask.

  “For you,” she says, trailing a finger down my chest as she leans back. Her ass is now firmly sitting on my lap with my cock pressed against her. “A grand,” she says, her eyes raking back up my body.

  “Done,” I tell her as I reach into my pocket, pulling out another wad of cash. I watch as her eyes light up while I hand over the Benjamin’s. She could have told me it would be five grand, and I would have handed over the cash.

  “Now, what did you have in mind?” she asks, tucking the bills inside her corset.

  “Whatever you want to do to me. I’m all yours for the next hour.”

  Candy gets up, strutting her fine-ass body around in front of me as she takes the small and private stage. She expertly swings her body around the pole, dancing to the beat of the music for most of our final hour together.

  With about ten minutes to go before the night is over, she struts back over to where I’m sitting and gives me one last lap dance to close out the night.

  “It takes me about thirty minutes to change and cash out, if you want to hang around outside for me,” she whispers into my ear before leaving my lap.

  I drag my eyes up her body until they lock on hers. My cock has been hard for the last few hours, watching her tease the fuck out of me. Hell yeah, I’ll be waiting around for her to get off work so I can actually touch her without getting kicked out of the club.

  “I’ll be waiting in my car,” I tell her, swiping my thumb across my bottom lip. “You live close by?” I ask as an afterthought.

  “Yeah, just a few blocks away,” she answers before sauntering away. I gather my jacket and hat, sliding my hat on backward before making my way out of the club and to my car.

  I slide into the driver’s seat and turn it on to blast the air for a few minutes to knock the temperature down a little bit. With the radio playing in the background, I pull my phone out while waiting on Candy to finish up her work night, and scroll through Instagram. I usually have a good amount of notifications; people like to tag me in the most random shit. But the amount tonight is a lot higher than it usually is, and I realize why as soon as I click on the first one.

  Fuck.

  Someone snapped multiple pictures of me while in the club getting lap dances, one with my head between her tits—damn, I miss being in that exact spot right now—but I don’t need this shit tonight. I’ve been trying, as much as the team’s PR rep thinks otherwise, to keep myself out of the press since I was called up to Indianapolis.

  I flip through some of the comments on the posts. It’s a pretty even split of people encouraging me, and those that are disgusted by my actions. I’m a guy; I like tits, so sue me.

  I at least am smart enough not to comment on any of the images. Not much I can do about them now that they’re out on social media. I’m sure they’ve already made the rounds on other sites, and come morning, I’m sure I’ll hear all about it from my agent and Carmen, the team’s PR rep, who I’m pretty sure hates my guts.

  “You actually stuck around.” A sultry voice pulls me from the distraction on my phone.

  “I told you I would, and if I’m anything, it is a man of my word,” I tell her as I reach to the dash and turn the music all the way down. “Get in, and we can get out of here.”

  I watch as Candy walks around the front end of my Lexus SUV. A gift to myself when I got called up and my paychecks got a lot bigger. She opens the passenger door and slides in. Her mini skirt slides up her toned and tanned legs, giving me a lot of skin to look at. I’ve seen more while inside the club, but there’s just something about a woman sitting in the passenger seat of a car that has my blood pumping while the rest of my body is ready to go.

  “What way?” I ask once Candy is settled in, and I can pull out of my parking space.

  “Take a left out of the parking lot, then a right at the second light,” she instructs. I watch her movements out of the corner of my eye. She’s a little fidgety, and I can tell she’s a bit nervous, so I reach over and place my palm on her thigh.

  “This okay?” I ask. I’d never push myself on any woman. That’s not who I am.

  “Yeah,” she says as I take a right at the second light as she instructed.


  “Now what?” I ask once we’ve turned.

  “In about a mile, it will be the large complex on your left. Take the first driveway, and then you can park in any of the spots marked with a visitor sign.”

  There is hardly any traffic out with the late hour, so we make it to Candy’s place petty fast. Her complex is newer from the looks of it. I easily find a spot to park, and then we’re both scrambling out of the car and up to her apartment door on the second floor.

  “Are you going to tell me your real name?” I ask once we’re inside. I lean my back against the closed door as I wait on the answer.

  “It’s Deborah,” she says, turning and smiling at me. She instantly lost the heels she wore when we walked in. Without the height they added to her, she’s a tiny thing. One I could break in half, if I’m not careful.

  “Deborah.” I let her name roll off my tongue. I can see why she’d pick a stage name like Candy. It actually suits her. “Come here.” I beckon her closer, giving her the universal come here finger.

  “Yes,” she coos as she steps into my personal space. Her fingers land on my chest as she slides the tips down my pecs and abs. Even with the layer of fabric from my T-shirt, it feels as if there is nothing between us. I let her explore my body as she wishes. She’s already felt me up most of the night, so she knows what I’m packing. I let her unbuckle my belt before pulling the button at the top of my jeans open and sliding the zipper down. I watch as she sinks to her knees and pulls my cock free from my boxers.

  My cock twitches in her hand as I watch her tongue flick across her bottom lip, wetting it before she leans forward and does the same to my tip. I draw in a breath as she wraps those perfectly lush lips around my tip and sucks.

  I sink my fingers into her hair, pulling it from her face so it doesn’t get in the way. I let her keep control of the pace and what she wants to do as she sucks me off. I give a few thrusts of my hips, mainly out of complete pleasure. I’ve had more blowjobs than I can count, but I can’t remember one as good as this, ever.

  Two

  Carmen

  “Really, Lucas?” I practically screech across my office. I take in the cocky new outfielder the Lightning called up a couple weeks ago. He’s been nothing but a pain in my ass since the moment he arrived. His devilish good looks go hand-in-hand with his playboy personality. “You really thought a night at the strip club was a good idea? Do you know what kind of PR nightmare it creates? Please tell me you didn’t actually take the stripper home with you?” I ask, my voice full of disgust.

  “For your information,” the playboy smirk he’s known for—and that apparently makes women’s panties just fall at his feet—tugs at his lips. “I didn’t take her home; I never take women home.” He flashes me his full smile.

  “That’s a plus,” I say under my breath.

  “She took me home,” he follows up, and I can feel my blood pressure rise.

  “Fuck!” I growl.

  “Feisty, feisty, Red,” he smirks again, “just the way I like it.”

  I turn, placing my fists on my desk as I lean forward. I realize a moment too late that this causes my blouse to hang down, giving him the perfect view right down my top and at my breasts. I can tell by the smirk on his lips that he got an eyeful of my goods, and it pisses me off even more. I stand back up, adjusting my top to take away any possible view of my rack. I suck in a few deep breaths while counting to ten in my head, willing myself to calm down so I can deal with him before I kick him out of my office. “Please do not make assumptions about me, especially anything like that,” I sneer.

  His eyes rake up and down my body, and I have to will myself from reacting. I absolutely hate men like him. Men who think they are God’s gift to the world. Who have women falling at their feet for no real reason, except for the pretty face they have, the sport they play, and the bank account that comes along with it.

  “Tell me this, Lucas. Why do you purposely do shit to piss me off? And why do you call me Red? I don’t have red hair, so it doesn’t really fit.”

  “Well, Carmen.” He says my name, letting the R roll off his tongue in a way that has my panties going wet. Damn him and the havoc he has on my hormones. They need to get with the program that he isn’t an option. I sit down in my chair, allowing me to rub my thighs together discreetly under my desk as I search for a tiny bit of relief. “When you get pissed or excited about something, your cheeks go red,” he says, biting his bottom lip as he lets his words sink in. I can feel my cheeks redden even more at his words and the way he’s looking at me. He shifts forward in the chair he’s sitting in across from me, closing some of the distance between the two of us. “If your cheeks go that red when you’re pissed, I can only imagine how red the rest of your body turns, especially when you let loose and come.”

  “Get out,” I growl, pointing at my door as I stand and walk over to it. I can’t believe he has the audacity to say something like that to me.

  “But I thought you wanted to discuss how you’re going to clean up my image?” he retorts, standing and meeting me in the doorway to my office. His eyes rake up my body until they finally make contact with my own. His are full of fire. A fire that will burn me, if I’m not careful.

  “I’ll do what I can to clean up the current news,” I say as professionally as I can, with my blood boiling the way it is. “If you continue to be a dumbass and get yourself into these sticky situations, it’s your own doing. If you can’t keep yourself out of the press in a bad way, then it is your livelihood it will affect. Sponsors don’t want the playboy of the MLB to be the face of their products. The ownership of this team has also invested a lot of money into you, don’t make them regret that decision.” I remind him, “I can only help you so much; in the end, you’ve got to help yourself if you really want to change and make a good impression on the ownership. If management isn’t happy, they’re not going to keep you around; just remember that. Everyone on the team is replaceable.”

  “I think my play on the field speaks for itself. A few pictures of me out at a strip club every now and again isn’t going to have them sending me to another city,” he volleys back.

  “You’re pretty confident for a rookie. I’ve been around here for a few seasons now. I’ve seen guys come and go; I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you.”

  He leans down and whispers into my ear, “I can show you cocky; you just name the time and place.” And once again, my blood pressure is up, and my cheeks are flaming hot. What is it about this man that infuriates me while also turning me on to the point I’m about to ruin another pair of panties because of him?

  “Go. Now,” I grit out, doing my best to keep my cool. I take a step back, so I’m entirely in my office and not in my doorway. He gives me one more once over before turning on his heel and heading for the door that will take him from the front offices and into the practice facility.

  I shut my office door a little harder than probably necessary, or that’s appropriate for an office. But when you put up with the kind of shit like I do with some of the diva players, my patience sometimes quickly runs out.

  I take a seat at my desk and quickly type up a press release. After looking it over twice, making some minor edits to it, I send it out to all the appropriate places. While nights out at strip clubs aren’t uncommon and really shouldn’t be a big deal, they can sometimes spiral out of control. Or, if guys make it a habit, it can create a bad reputation that later comes back to bite them in the ass.

  With the headache of Lucas taken care of, I get caught up in an upcoming project management brought to me and asked me to help coordinate. They want to up our community outreach, get involved more with some youth programs and giving back to our great city. While multiple guys work directly with charities that are important to them, the ownership wants something that is specific to the organization as a whole, and that is where I come in.

  With my staff’s help, we hired an outside planning company to help us pull off this first event.

 
“Carly, can you come in here, please?” I call out over the intercom to one of my assistants.

  “I’ll be right there,” she says over the speaker.

  I move from my desk to the table set up in my office. I love having multiple spaces within my own office to spread out as we’re brainstorming ideas. PR isn’t always covering up the bad and spinning it to make our clients look good. Sometimes we get to do the fun things and spotlight all the good the team is doing, and that’s just what this is going to be.

  “Did you get everything with Lucas taken care of?” Carly asks as she enters my office.

  “Yes, now if he can keep his nose clean, that will be another thing,” I tell her, motioning for her to join me at the table. “I’ve got some things I wanted your input on for the Fan Fun Days that are coming up,” I tell her, pointing at the pages spread out.

  “Oh good! I was wondering when these would come in,” she says, taking a seat and looking over what the event company sent for us to review.

  The event will consist of kids of all ages participating, spread out over four hours. They’ll start the morning getting tours of the facilities, followed by some time out on the field with their favorite players. We’ve got full range of putting every player to work for this event. Once the field time ends, they’ll be led up to the concourse, where we’ll be feeding them a baseball staple of hotdogs and chips. We figured most kids would love that. Once they’re done eating, they’ll be led back down onto the field, where they’ll find each player at tables, ready to sign jerseys, T-shirts, hats, or other memorabilia, as well as pose for pictures. All the kids will be moved to the stands, where they’ll cheer on the guys as they play a few innings amongst themselves to cap off the event.