Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
I lavish all my attention on his length, and when I gaze up at him, his eyes glimmer with lust. I glance at the door. Just seeing it, just knowing someone might walk in arouses me more.
He thrusts hard. I take it.
He fucks me deep.
And I love it.
“That’s so fucking good,” he growls as I suck him to the root. “Yes. That’s it.”
He comes down my throat, salty and musky and delicious. It makes me feel savage. I want it all. I drink him down, tasting every last drop. Then I pull off, lift my face, and meet his eyes.
His are hazy with desire. His face is soft for the first time. He looks relaxed. “Gunnar, you’re incredible.”
The praise is better than hitting a home run.
It unlocks me. From my knees, looking up at him, I confess, “You’re the first man I’ve ever sucked off.”
His eyes darken. He looks almost angry. But before he can say a word, there’s a knock on the door.
13
DO YOU KNOW HIS STORY?
Gunnar
I scramble to my feet. Who the hell is knocking at this hour? Who even knows we’re here in the owner’s suite? The ballpark is nearly empty. Fans went home a while ago. I pray it’s the maintenance crew.
Not my manager.
Even though I’m dressed, not the one with his dick out, I straighten my clothes too. One glance at the windows, though, reveals the tell-tale evidence. My lips are swollen. My hair is a mess from his fingers, and the outline of my erection is a neon sign blinking—I’m horny.
Dear Dick,
Please deflate stat.
K, thanks, bye.
Your owner
Rafe takes his time, adjusting his spent dick, tucking it into his eponymous briefs. His breath still comes fast, and he looks so fucking satisfied—eyes all hazy, lips still parted. I want to bask in my accomplishment.
But our unexpected visitor raps again.
“Just a sex,” I call out. Fuck. “A sec. Just a sec.”
Rafe covers his face, chuckling into his palm.
“Glad I amuse you,” I hiss, annoyed despite the humor. “But I’ve got to answer that now, so maybe move it along, Mister Monopoly.”
He drops his hand, stares at me as cool and debonair as Clooney in a casino heist flick. “Why don’t you let me handle it?”
“No offense, dude, but your pants are undone. And I work here. I’ve got this.”
“But I’m borrowing Marlow’s suite,” he retorts. “I should be the one to handle it. It might be her. It’s only appropriate I answer. Also, we need to talk, Gunnar.”
That is all kinds of foreboding. I’m sure it concerns my confession that he’s the first guy I’ve been with, and the boardroom voice and the dark look in his eyes hint that I won’t like what he has to say.
I trot up the steps and open the door, sighing in massive relief to see Zane standing there.
“Took you long enough,” he drawls. “Better not be that slow on the field.”
I step out into the corridor. It’s long and quiet, nothing but suites here, and the silence is a bit eerie. Zane peers around me into the owner’s suite and spots my . . . lover? Hookup? Something in between? Forget terminology. When Zane swings his gaze back to me, he looks like one of those cat clocks with the swinging tail and huge, mischievous eyes.
“Oh, so that’s how it is,” he says. His smirk is world class as he tries to peer inside again. “Is that . . .”
I’m not in the mood for banter. I’m in the mood to get back to Rafe, so I step farther into the hall, making Zane back up too.
“How did you know I was here?” I whisper.
He gives me an are you nuts look. “One of the equipment guys said you headed to the suites. I took a wild guess.” Then he reaches into his back pocket and hands me a phone. My phone.
I take it like it’s an alien artifact. “Why do you have my phone?”
“I believe the appropriate response to a favor is ‘thank you.’”
Shit. He’s right. “Sorry, man.” I exhale and lean against the stucco wall behind me. Framed pictures of famous baseball games hang on the opposite wall. “Thanks. Did I leave it in my stall?”
“You did,” he says.
Well, I guess I was eager to get my ass over to Rafe. I waggle it in acknowledgement and slide it into my pocket. “You’re the man.”
There’s a long pause, then Zane clears his throat. “So. You and Rafe Rodman?”
“It’s not what you think,” I say quickly.
He rolls his eyes. “Dude, you are so transparent. I knew something was going on.”
Is something going on? Rafe wants to talk, but honestly, I’m looking for fun and games and sex—sex with a man, finally. If this erotic game has hit the talking-about-feelings level, it might be time for me to tap out.