Page 172 of Hiding in the Outfield

I made quite a bit of money as principal consultant, but this? “It’s no Major League ballplayer salary, but damn…” I say hoarsely.

Jackson makes a noise in his throat. “With your bonus target, it comes close.”

I shoot him a look.

“To half,” he amends. He presses a hard kiss to my lips. “So? Are you going to take it? Do you want to?”

I bite my lip and nod slowly. “Yeah, I think I really fucking do.”

He scoops me up and spins me around, giving out a celebratory hoot. Laughter shakes through my chest, and I smile down at him. He loosens his grip so I slowly slide down his frame. He gently runs his nose against mine. “My smart, successful, sassy boyfriend.”

“You forgot sexy,” I purr.

His lips dust over mine. “You’re so much more than that, Frankie.”

A gentle, happy hum fills me. Jackson appreciates all parts of me: the nerdy numbers part, the dedicated to my career part, the sassy and dramatic part. He loves all of me.

“I think this is a cause for celebration.” His voice has dropped to that deep, sexy register that drives me wild.

“What’d you have in mind?”

His eyes darken, and he tugs on the hem of my shirt. “Off.”

I remove his hat from my head and whip the shirt over my head. My hands go to my waistband, and he stops me.

“Hat back on.”

My lips quirk. I like it. I tuck it back on my head, and Jackson takes over on my sweats. He unties them, and then they fall to the floor with a whoosh.

He groans. He reaches behind him and yanks his shirt over his head. Then he’s on me, chest pressing against mine. His hands cup my ass, squeeze, then slide over my torso, find my arms, end up in my hair. They’re everywhere, and I can’t keep track of them.

Until one wraps around my semi. He mouths my collarbone and strokes me lightly. My skin buzzes, and heat rushes south. He continues his slow path down my chest, licks the bottom curve of my pec. That tongue trails dangerously close to where I want him but stays just out of reach.

My growl echoes around us, and his lips curve against me. Then he gives me what I want. He sucks my nipple into his mouth, and a streak of pleasure shoots to my dick. I buck into his hand in rhythm with the way his tongue is sliding over me. God. This man’s tongue. It rolls over my nipple in slow, sensual waves that are sending sparks skittering over my skin.

His free hand travels up my torso to pinch my other nipple. My head falls back, my rough pants echoing around us. My skin’s electrified, every touch sending a jolt through me straight to my groin. I’m about five seconds away from coming if he keeps this up.

Apparently, my man can read me because he pulls away, shoots me a grin that promises filthy things, and drops to his knees. He looks up at me through those thick ebony lashes. His lips shine, swollen from kissing me and my body, cheeks already getting that sex-flush I love so much.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” His throaty whisper skates over me. His hands slide up my thighs, tickling my coarse leg hair. “You deserve this so damn much. You deserve the world.”

My dick twitches, and he chuckles.

He cocks a brow. “And you tell me down, boy?” He kisses the underside of my shaft. So. Damn. Lovingly.

Then those lips close around my dick, and I slump against the island. My hand finds his hair. He eases onto me, each suck bringing him further and further down my shaft. He moans, and the sound vibrates all the way through to my balls. That blue stare is locked on me, hands gripping my hips tight, my dick disappearing between those pouty lips over and over again.

“Your lips will be the death of me,” I rasp. God, even stretched around my dick, they’re still so full. “You’re so pretty, Jackie-boy.”

His eyes glow at my praise. His gaze scours every inch of my face, flicks up to my hairline, and darkens. Oh, someone likes me in his hat.

I reach up and go to remove it. He growls. My breath gets stuck in my chest. Dio mio, that was fucking sexy.

I shoot him a sultry smile and readjust the cap. He shakes his head, even with his mouth full of my dick. The glint in his lust-glazed eyes has the hair on the back of my neck standing up. He’s up to something.

His hand slides to my inner thighs, and he shoves my legs further apart. Then he cups my balls. My eyes fall shut, every gentle roll of my aching balls sending the pressure coiling tighter. His knuckle grazes over my taint, and I jolt.

I’m not sure which is going to be my undoing—the downright sinful sounds of sex echoing through this kitchen or the pressure on my taint.