Page 53 of Hiding in the Outfield

I palm my tight balls and let out a hiss. Frankie’s muscles twitch, and his hand speeds up, nothing but a blur over his dick.

“I cupped that hard jaw of yours,” he rasps, “and fucked your pretty mouth. While you stared up at me, welling blue eyes so desperate to please. Oh, and you did, Jackson. You did so good.”

Fuck me. I can’t. I don’t. Need consumes me. Everything else disappears. My hand flies to my dick. My gaze darts between his eyes and his dick. It’s so red and swollen, minutes from erupting. And his eyes. His eyes are black fire. It’s too much.

My free palm falls to the shower floor, and I give up on trying to see all of him. My gaze locks on his dick. I fuck my fist as pleasure coils. God, I need to see him come. Need him to come first. I can’t miss it.

His harsh groan fills the shower, fills every crack and crevice until there’s no air left for me to breathe. And then I’m not breathing because he’s coming. White cum spills over his crown and hand, rope after rope. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed.

My body goes rigid, muscles strung taut as the pressure builds to an unbearable level. And all I can think in this moment is how much I wish I could taste him.

That thought does me in. The tension building inside me breaks, and my orgasm crashes over me. A low, tortured moan rips from me as ecstasy streaks through my veins, the flames of pleasure engulfing me. My fingers dig into the slippery tile floor as my body shakes violently and I coat his shower with cum.

I let my other hand fall to the floor to brace myself as I gulp down air. The steam of the shower beats down on my head and side, dripping down into my eyes. But I don’t care. I’m wrecked. A mutual jerk-off session, and it was the highlight of my twenty-six years of life.

I glance up and catch Frankie’s bliss-drunk stare, his body languidly resting against the shower wall.

“Welcome—” He breaks off with a pant. “To sex with a man, Jackson.”

He pushes off the wall and steps around me and out of the shower.

“I’m very much looking forward to showing you more.”

I hang my head, too wrung out to hold it up any longer.

I can’t fucking wait.

NINETEEN

FRANKIE

“Your face is looking so much better.”

“Mmm. Say more nice things to me.” It’s been two weeks since the incident, and all I have left is a fading greenish-yellow bruise.

Jackson chuckles and drags his nose down my jaw on my good side. He nuzzles into me, and my eyes flutter shut. It’s been intoxicating getting to experience Jackson grow more comfortable each day. He’s come so far from that first day he visited me—stiff, awkward, uncertain—back when I had to put his hands on me.

Now? Now he touches me freely. He doesn’t wait for me to kiss him. I love it. Because I’m an attention whore who loves attention. It’s also…well, it’s fucking heartbreaking. I think Paulie, who has been the ass of all asses, is starting to see it too. Jackson finally feels comfortable. He’s opening up—not just with me, but with the guys too. He’s relaxed. Smiling. And not that fake cocky shit he used to wear on his face. Those full lips curl softly, and his misty blue eyes shine.

I haven’t had the best experiences with men. Okay, understatement. But I’ve still had experiences. Before everything blew up with Nick, we had an amazing relationship, and he made me feel loved. It was all a big fucking lie, but before I knew? I had closeness, connection. Things Jackson has longed for his entire life. He deserves to feel those things.

Jackson kisses down my neck. That’s as adventurous as he’s gotten so far—when it comes to touching me. Him kneeling on my shower floor, eyes glued to my dick while he stroked himself, lives rent-free in my head. Bringing that powerfully built man to his knees with a single word? I shiver. Yum. Yumyumyum.

I draw in a sharp breath when his tongue meets my skin. His breath skims over me, lips dragging. I stretch my neck, and he sucks hard, tongue laving. I squirm. My cock is on full alert now. Damn, that boy is sucking me like he wants to suck other things.

Or wait…

My eyes widen, and I choke on a laugh, gently pushing him away. “Jackson Alessandro Vincenzo Salvatore Olander. Are you trying to give me a fucking hickey?”

He blinks slowly at me, his brow pinching more with each blink. “Where…what? How did you— My middle name is Elliot.”

I grin at him. “It’s much more effective when you scold like an Italian mama. Paulie and I shook in our boots when Mom broke out our middle names. When she was really mad, she’d add in more. That’s when we knew we’d really messed up.”

His eyes light up. “That’s fantastic.”

“So.” I cross my arms and raise my brows. “Hickey?”

His head dips, and he peeks at me through his lashes. Well, fuck me to the moon and back. I was going to chastise him because I have a job and can’t pop on video calls with hickies all over me. But screw it. He’s so damn proud of himself. Cover me in love bites. I’ll just wear a scarf around my neck…in June.