Page 62 of Saved By the Pitcher

“So full. It’s like I’m going to give birth,” Mike remarked.

James kissed his husband’s head. “I’m pretty sure a woman who’s given birth would tell you to go fuck yourself.”

“Not when your dick is already in me. I don’t think my ass could handle more.” Mike smiled. “I think you can begin moving now. The burn is gone. It’s nice. God, James…I’m full of my husband’s dick.” Mike laughed. “It’s kind of amazing.”

“It is, Mikey,” James smiled, then kissed Mike once more before starting to slowly thrust his hips.

“My God,” Mike panted. “Please keep doing that.”

“You like?” James asked.

“Love it,” Mike confirmed with heavy breaths. “It’s like I’m having a continuous orgasm in my ass.”

“That’s good, baby. Want me to go a little faster and harder?”

Mike nodded, unable to answer. His state of ecstasy was becoming too intense. James quickened the pace, eliciting cries that echoed throughout the bedroom. He took harder and deeper plunges, banging Mike’s prostate, causing his husband to muffle his screams of pleasure with his fist.

“James.” Mike was trying to talk, but he had obviously never experienced something so intense in his body. “So…fucking…I can’t.”

James pushed on Mike’s legs more, positioning him so that he could go as deep as possible, pounding Mike’s buttocks repeatedly. James was light-headed from the tight muscles squeezing his wet cock, and the sound of his balls slapping Mike’s ass. Mike screamed out an orgasm. With the way his body was positioned, jets of cum hit his chest and chin as he thrashed around as much as his confined body allowed.

James was overcome by watching Mike’s face contort with an ecstasy he’d never experienced, and seeing his husband’s dick cover the athlete’s torso with globs of warm spunk. He bent down and licked Mike’s cum from his chin, then plunged his tongue into Mike’s still-panting mouth as he shot his own sperm into Mike’s hole. He continued pumping, feeling the warmth spilling around his hardness and in Mike. He collapsed on top of Mike, panting in his ear until the throes of his orgasm subsided.

“Am I still alive?” Mike panted.

James kissed the pulsing artery in Mike’s neck and touched Mike’s chest to feel his heartbeat. “Seems you are.”

Mike grinned and gave James a sassy look. “Good thing. Still time to name you as my beneficiary.”

“Stop it,” James scolded. “I shouldn’t have made a joke about you dying. I want you around for a long time.”

Mike chuckled. “Now that you know I make a great power bottom?”

James jerked his head back and bit his lower lip. “Now that I know I’d be lost without you.”

That sobered Mike, who ran a hand through James’ tresses, finding the spot on the back of James’ head he liked to hold as he pulled him in for a kiss. “Then you’d best never leave my side.”

James smiled. “I won’t. I’m a relationship kind of guy.”

Epilogue

It had been two years since Mike had married James, and he felt blessed by the lives they had built together. Mike was enjoying renewed success with an expanding restaurant chain, an exclusive contract to model menswear for a top designer and speaking engagements throughout the country regarding inclusivity.

Billy and Nadia both continued to live in Mike’s apartment, joking they were like an old-time immigrant family that didn’t care about individual privacy, and where everyone had the right to opine on what the others were doing. When they were home, they ate together as a unit and shared chores. With the crazy schedules of Billy’s veterinarian practice and Nadia’s budding career as a fragrance-designer’s apprentice, that together-time with James and Mike wasn’t as frequent as they would have liked.

Maria was often a guest at the apartment, but she spent most of her time relaxing by the ocean in her gussied-up caretaker’s quarters at Mike’s house in the Hamptons. When the clan found time to head to the mansion, she mothered them and did everything she could to make their stay a pleasant respite from their jobs.

James had wrapped a movie musical and was set to star in a film where he would play a rural priest sent to help a drug-riddled community while hiding his own opioid addiction. A few months earlier, he had been asked to sing the national anthem at Yankee Stadium—without Mike’s influence—with a smiling Mike watching from the private box.

“The limo is here,” Mike shouted to James from the living-room area of their Los Angeles hotel suite.

James emerged from the bedroom with his stylist, dashing in a traditional black tuxedo. Even though Mike was also wearing black, they avoided looking too matchy-matchy by Mike wearing a black suit-tie while James wore a bow-tie.

“How do I look?” James asked, his anxiety making it clear he wasn’t fishing for compliments. Mike wondered how James could ever be insecure about his beauty.

“Like you’re once again going to be named best-dressed man on the red carpet,” Mike assured him. “Come on. Your category is the first award presentation of the night. It would be a shame if you weren’t there when they call your name.”

“Stop it,” James warned. “I told you, there’s no way I’m going to win.”