Page 52 of Hiding in the Outfield

“Touch yourself, Jackson.” He pauses, and his next words come out low and throaty. “I want to watch you while you watch me.”

Oh. Shit. Yes. But also. “I’m afraid there won’t be much of a show for you,” I croak out. “A couple strokes, and it’ll be over.”

He leans back against the white subway-tiled wall. “Then don’t touch your dick, darling. There are a lot of other places you can touch that I’d appreciate.” His stare scrapes over me, and he bites his lip. “Sud up.”

My hands obey him. They no longer work for me; they’re at the whim of this man. I reach for his body wash, but he stops me with a small sound in his throat.

He jerks his head toward his collection of soap. “The bar soap, Jackie. I got you some oatmeal goat milk soap.” The heat in his eyes softens. “Should be safe for your sensitive skin.”

My jaw goes slack. I-I’m speechless. The strangest feeling builds behind my sternum. It’s tight and hot, and I probably should be more concerned that I might be dying, but I can’t think straight. It was just so thoughtful. I don’t think anyone’s ever done anything like that for me before.

“Sud up, handsome,” he prods, a satisfied smile curling his lips.

I let out a shaky breath and lather my chest. A hiss escapes my lips. My skin is so oversensitive, so fucking on edge. I accidentally graze my nipple, and a moan falls from me.

Frankie’s fist tightens on his dick, and I latch onto the small movement. “There you go, Jackie-boy. Those hard-earned muscles provide the perfect backdrop for those suds to slide down.”

My cock aches. A gut-deep pull zings through me with every one of his strokes. Like there’s some invisible connection between his hand and my dick.

His thighs flex, and his harsh moan fills the shower. “Fuck. You’re so sexy, Jackson. That broody brow of yours, those striking blue eyes, those lips that are dangerously full.” His hand speeds up. “I’m not ashamed to admit, the first time I saw you, all I could think was how amazing they’d look wrapped around my dick. And when you couldn’t keep your eyes off me? Oh, it gave me a horrible hope—and inspired the most delicious fantasies.”

My fingers still on my abs. “W-what did you imagine?”

“Kneel,” he whispers.

I do.

Without hesitation.

His head tips back, eyes squeezing shut, and a muttered curse falls from him. And I drink him in. Corded neck straining, flush spreading down his tanned skin, dark nipples pebbled. A tremor slices through me. His hips. Hips thrusting into his fist. Oh God. Oh God.

His nearly black gaze lasers in on mine again, and when he speaks, his voice slips over me like silk. “Exactly how I pictured you,” he breathes. “But reality is so much fucking better.”

“What—” I cut off and clear the gravel from my throat. “What did you picture next?” My thick whisper dances around us until it’s washed away by the drumming water.

“I toyed with you,” he whispers. “You were already so desperate. Dropping to your knees without me even having to ask.”

His strokes pick up speed, and my hands fist my thighs.

“I pulled myself out and taunted you with it. Wouldn’t let you have it. Until you were begging for my dick. Oh, and you beg so pretty, Jackie.”

“More.” The plea in my voice is laced with pain.

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Just like that.”

A long, measured exhale falls from him, and his hand slows. Loosens. And that small sign has hints of pleasure slipping down my spine. He’s close. God. He’s close. I’m going to see him come soon.

My hands inch up my thighs.

“You parted those full lips, and it was an invitation I couldn’t refuse.” His velvety, deep timbre wraps around me—wraps around my dick⁠—

“I used you.”

And squeezes. I moan.

“You took me so well, baby.”

A shiver rakes over me. That baby slides down me like the light score of fingernails. I want to be good for him, earn that praise. I know I’m not ready now. But one day I’m going to do it. I’m going to fall at his feet and make that fantasy a reality.