Page 74 of Hiding in the Outfield

I obey.

He picks up his pace. Fast, short snaps. The flush on his cheeks deepens, and his hips stutter out of rhythm. I hold that gaze, refuse to look away even as my vision continues to blur. His grunts and strangled moans and the wicked wet sounds coming from my mouth surround us. My blood simmers, heat coursing through my veins. He grips each side of my jaw, eyes boring into mine as he fucks my face.

He’s in complete control of me. And completely out of control.

Animal.

He’s the sexiest, filthiest thing I’ve ever seen.

And then he’s gone.

He pulls from me, the pop echoing through the room, and his hand flies to his dick. His fist is a blur as it shuttles over himself, but his eyes are still locked on my face. Like my face is what’s going to bring him over the edge. Not my dick. Not my body.

Me.

Something swirls through my chest.

Then his head tips back, and I’m gifted with the prettiest sight. His neck stretches taut and so fucking bitable. A deep flush runs down it, down to his chest where his golden-brown skin glints with a sheen of sweat. His dark curling chest hair taunts me; I want to bury my nose in those curls, rub myself over them like a cat. I wish I could have him painted like this. He’s so fucking gorgeous. Beauty like his deserves to be immortalized.

His thighs harden beneath my palms, stomach quivering, and then his throaty moan fills my ears. He erupts, but I almost miss it because his other hand is there, curling over his crown and catching his cum.

I frown. I was kind of hoping he’d come on me⁠—

I’m yanked to my feet, and his mouth crashes down on mine at the same time his fist slides over my dick. A full-body shiver wracks my frame as hot, slick heat engulfs me. He jerks me tight and quick. The wet glide can only be described as heaven.

And that’s when it hits me. Ohmygod. That’s his cum. He’s jerking me off with his cum.

My muscles shake, my fingers bite into his waist, my tongue lashes his. All the while, the pressure builds. Unbearably. It builds.

And then it detonates.

Pleasure spirals through me, and I bury my face in Frankie’s neck, biting down as I convulse against him. It’s violent. Surge after surge of out-of-control bliss. I’m under siege.

He strokes me through it while I do the only thing I can: hang off him, hold on to him.

I collapse against him, and we fall back, his ass landing on his bed. My knees shake, and I can’t remain standing, not even with him as support. I fall to my knees and melt against his thighs. Tremors still shake through me. He sifts his fingers through my hair, murmuring soothing words that I hear but don’t hear. But the tone alone is a balm.

That was… That was… I don’t have words. Wild. Beautiful.

“Incredible,” he whispers unsteadily. “That was incredible.”

I kiss his thigh in agreement. But even that word falls short.

I think every word falls short.

TWENTY-FIVE

JACKSON

A savory-and-sweet aroma fills Frankie’s townhouse. I cannot wait for whatever creations Frankie and Shane are putting together. I am famished after our game. Well, I’m always famished. It takes a lot to fuel this big body.

Stone’s across from me at the dining table, elbows resting on the dark wood surface. He drove up late last night because today is an off day for the Jetties. We had an afternoon game, so we have the rare opportunity to all have dinner together.

It’ll be the last one before we hit the road again. This time for two weeks.

My chest squeezes. I have no idea how Shane and Stone do it—balancing two brutal schedules. Though sharing a room with Shane did enlighten me a bit. Lots of video calls. And with how many times I had to leave. Lots of phone sex.

“How’s it feel? Finally having people who know?” Stone’s quiet question pulls my gaze to his.