Page 157 of Hiding in the Outfield

He rocks his hips, slowly easing in. His tip brushes against my prostate, and I buck so hard against him, he sinks all the way home.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His knuckles are white where his hands are latched onto my thighs.

My chest is heaving, and I am so damn full. I’ve never felt anything like it, and I don’t think I could even begin to describe it. It almost feels like a part of me was missing, that aching, lonely, empty part of me. And now I’ve found that missing piece. Frankie.

He tests out a tentative thrust.

And pleasure rockets through me.

“More.”

“Easy there, wild thing.”

“Come on, Frankie. I can take it. Please.”

He curses under his breath. “Okay, let me know how this is.”

He pulls almost all the way out, then drives into me hard. My back arches off the bed, my head tipping back on a silent moan.

“Again.”

“Fuck. You really are going to kill me,” he rasps.

He leans over me and thrusts hard. It doesn’t take long for us to find a rhythm. My heels find the top of his ass and dig in. His hands snake under my back to grip my shoulders. He hovers over me, lips dragging over each other with every drive of his hips. His fingers dig deep, biceps flexing as he uses my shoulders as leverage.

My entire body is on fire. Up in flames. Pleasure is burning over my skin. He’s coasting over my prostate with every thrust, and the way he’s slamming into me is rewiring my brain. I’ve never understood people talking about wanting to get pounded so hard it hurts, that they feel it for days. But I get it now. It’s this mind-numbing pleasure-pain, and all my body keeps saying is more.

Harder.

Faster.

And then he does something that has my head exploding. He rolls his hips, and I swear to all that is holy he got that move from Dirty Dancing because what his hips are doing is pure sin. Every seductive thrust rubs my screaming dick against his stomach, puts a delicious pressure on my balls.

And it’s just too much. He’s too much. He’s so sexy. He’s so radiant: dark hair slicked to his forehead, cheeks crimson even beneath his tanned skin, eyes an obsidian black, glinting with a heady lust.

I don’t even have time to register it; I’m thrown right over the edge straight into bliss. My orgasm lurches through me, stars dotting over my vision as my fingers dig into his lower back, desperately clutching him to me. His rhythm stutters, and that seductive roll switches over to sharp, snapping thrusts. Then he stiffens in my arms.

I catch his low moan in my mouth. Drink it down. I want it all. Him. His pleasure.

I want all of him.

So I take him.

Hide him inside me.

In a place no one else will ever be able to reach.

Where he’s safe.

Where he’s mine.

FIFTY-FIVE

FRANKIE

I settle at my usual spot at my office. I’m surprised it’s even open, considering I decided to work from home this morning and come in after lunch.

A smile plays on my face as I get my laptop hooked up. I can’t believe I’m even smiling considering I had to leave the love of my life back in California with no idea when I’m seeing him again. But something shifted on Sunday night.