Perfect Pitch Read Online Free

the bands of muscle across his chest. Discovering the trail of sure-to-be-golden hair that led to the top of those perfect jeans…
    Sam shivered at the thought—a delicious tremor that started at the top of her spine and ended somewhere distinctly lower. The motion made her clench her fingers tighter around the shower head, and she was suddenly exquisitely aware of the countless jets of warm water playing over her body.
    Playing over her nipples, which couldn’t be tighter with desire if DJ Thomas were standing in the shower with her. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the tiled wall. DJ’s mouth would follow the stream of water… Those hands, those fingers, would tease at her flesh, flicking against her until she moaned with pleasure.
    The water shot against her breasts, hard, determined. Scarcely aware of her own motion, she moved the shower head lower. The spray lit sparks of excitement across her belly, melting her muscles, forcing her back against the solid wall.
    If DJ were there, his tongue would outline her body. His hands would grip around her waist, pulling her close, holding her fast. She would shift within his rigid embrace, edge her leg to one side, take strength and stability from his hold, even as she made herself vulnerable to his most intimate touch.
    The stream of water followed her imagination. It coursed down her body, wrapping her, enfolding her. Yielding to the image of DJ’s hot, demanding mouth, she twisted her wrist, exposing herself to the spray.  
    The water began to melt her the instant she focused its stream. She was pulsing, swelling, rising to meet the throbbing drive of water. She saw the white-hot cliff, teetered on the brilliant line of release. She caught her breath, held it to stretch out the driving perfection of the moment.
    In that suspended instant, she saw DJ’s eyes, the incendiary gaze that had captured her in the conference room. She imagined him watching her now, spread before him like an unwrapped Christmas gift.
    And she tumbled over the edge. A cry ripped from her throat as her body folded in on itself over and over and over again. She tried to keep the shower head steady, tried to prolong the pleasure, tried to imagine DJ holding her, guiding her, but the sensation was simply too intense.  
    She slumped against the wall and let her hands fall to her side. The water played off her calves, sprayed harmlessly against her toes. She realized she was panting, gasping, and she forced herself to take a long, deep breath. Another one. A third.
    Gradually, she straightened. Arms trembling, she slipped the shower head back into its holder. Heart pounding, she turned her back to the water, raised her hands to her hair, began to work the creamy softness of her conditioner from her hair.
    Her body still sang, long after she’d toweled dry and begun to dress for her appearance at Rockets Field.
    * * *
    DJ took a deep breath, inhaling the sights and sounds and scents of a day at the ballpark. He’d grown up in stadiums like this, dressed in the uniform of his father’s team, standing by the bats, ready to help his heroes as they strode like giants to the batting circle.  
    There was a rhythm to the magic, a routine that beat in DJ’s blood. Arrive at the park three hours before the game. Check the batting line-up. Head out to the field to watch his teammates take batting practice. Listen to the crack of the bats, watch the soaring arcs of the home runs. Take a seat on the bench and shoot the shit with the other pitchers.
    These April games at the start of the season had a special feel. The air was still cool; everyone knew the ball wouldn’t carry. Pop had always called April games Pitchers’ Delights. The old man had thrown his first perfect game in April, ignoring the conventional wisdom that it took a few months at the start of the season to re-establish winning rhythms.
    One perfect game down. Finally. After seven years in the majors. This could be DJ’s