Page 61 of Hiding in the Outfield

He nods eagerly. Mmmm. It’s what I love about opening a guy’s eyes to sex with a man. I’ll show you a whole new world like Aladdin. Frankie is one hell of a magic ride.

His hands slip under the silk fabric of my shorts instead of going to my waistband. He swallows hard. His gaze flicks down to my shorts then back. “I like these,” he rasps. “They’re, um, small.”

“You like my legs?”

His fingers drift through my dark, coarse hair, slide around and tease just below my ass. Fuck. I let out a slow breath. Control. Slow. Jackson needs slow.

“Yes. And your ass.”

“I work out.” I wink.

He laughs, but it’s so deep with lust I barely stop myself from jumping him. He’s so sexy it hurts. And I need to keep my hands to myself. Which is nearly impossible with what’s straining against his sweats. Everything about this man is meaty. Every. Thing. And I’m Italian. I love my meat. Capicola. Sopressata… My gaze dips to his dick, and I swallow hard. Salami. A whimper slips out.

He stills. “Bad or good sound?”

“Both? Mostly good. It’s so damn hard not to touch you. It’s almost painful, babe.”

“Oh.”

Something flashes across his face. Something that almost has me stepping back. Because Jackson Olander just went from the nervous, charming guy I’m used to, to the man who’s one of the hottest center field prospects in professional baseball.

His hands slide to my waist, and in the next moment, I’m airborne. My stomach swoops, and then my back hits the mattress. Damn. I’m usually the bigger guy in my hookups. So, being tossed around? I am not complaining.

He’s instantly over me, forearm planted next to my head, rock-hard dick pressed into the side of my hip. Our eyes stay locked as he slowly skates a hand down my side, and my skin twitches under the gentle touch. He traces over my hipbone. Back and forth. I let out a shaky breath. Those fingers curl under my waistband. Tug. My sleep shorts slip down, and before I know it, they’ve disappeared.

His gaze finally leaves mine. It drifts slowly down me, and I feel it. It prickles over my skin everywhere it touches. It sweeps over my collarbone. Teases over my pecs. Pauses at my nipples. He bites his lip.

“Big fan of nipple sucking,” I say roughly.

His intense gaze is unsettling. I feel like this must be the way he studies tapes of baseball. So focused. So zoned in.

“Just in case that’s helpful.”

He slowly lowers his head, eyes locked on mine until the last possible moment—then his lips land on my skin.

I let out a shuddery breath. Those lips play over my skin, dance around my nipple. Then drag in the lightest sweep over it. My dick goes from behaving to taking on a mind of its own. And I know he feels it because he freezes. I somehow keep myself from rutting into his abs, but fuck, he’s burning into me.

He lets out a hot whoosh, and my nerves spark to life. My nipple is trying to climb into his mouth at this point. Then, finally—finally—his mouth closes around me. His tongue flicks out, and my back arches off the bed, my hands flying to his head.

I have very sensitive nipples. Something Jackson picks up on quickly. His hand grips my waist tighter, and he lays into me, sucking like he did on my neck earlier. His tongue is pure sin with the way it swirls and slides over me. His teeth graze ever-so-lightly over the tip, and a moan falls from me. He trails a path of wet kisses over to the other side and repeats his torture.

I’m a squirming mess. I’ve given up on not grinding into him. My dick slips over his abs as I thrust against him. I’m leaking a ridiculous amount, and I’m a little nervous I might come like this. I’ve had some close calls from nipple play alone before. Add in a little friction, and Frankie is finito.

He nips my pec, and pleasure zips down my spine. More. More teeth. Harder. And he does. Shit. I must have said that out loud. I’m mindless right now. Pressure is swirling at the base of my spine. Every nip, every suck, zings straight to my dick. He latches on and tugs hard, and a moan tears from me.

“Ohgodohgodohgod.”

And then he does something that kills me. Deceases me. I don’t even think that makes sense, but my brain has left the building. Jackson’s teeth dig into my pec while his tongue flies over me in quick, tiny flicks. My cock pulses, balls tight.

“Oh shit! I’m gonna—I’m gonna—Nope. Nopenopenope.”

I yank him off me, heave myself over to my nightstand, and scramble for my lube.

I roll back to him. “I’m going to last about five more seconds. Can I touch you? Please say I can touch you.”

His chest shakes with his choppy breaths. “Yeah. Free rein. Do whatever you want with me.”

Perfect. I shove him until he’s on his back and yank his sweats down to mid-thigh. I straddle him while squeezing a generous amount of lube into my palm. I coat both hands, then wrap one around me and the other around him.