Page 62 of Hiding in the Outfield

We groan in unison. Fuck. I slide a loose grip down him. He’s thick, long, and cut. That mushroom tip is just begging for my lips, and my mouth waters at the thought of those ridges playing over my tongue. Soon. But for now…

“How long do you think it’ll take you to come?”

His blue eyes peer at me through heavy lids. His gaze is everywhere, tracing over me, over where I’m stroking my dick, stroking his—like it can’t find a place to land. His throat bobs, but his swallow does nothing. His words still come out wrecked. “I’d say I could hold off a minute if I really tried.”

I shimmy my way up and slide my dick against his. I wrap a hand around us, but I don’t move. Not yet.

I slide my hand over us slowly.

His lips part on a choppy breath, his eyes wide as he stares at our dicks together.

“I’m going to speed up.”

I keep up my torturous, unhurried pace.

“I’m going to squeeze harder.”

A muscle in his jaw tics.

“I’m going to move against you.”

I slowly rut into my fist, and my crown bumps against his.

His eyelids flutter, the cords of his neck straining.

“And I want you to fuck my fist, Jackson,” I say hoarsely.

I tighten my grip, and a deep grunt bursts from him.

I lean over him.

“Don’t hold back,” I whisper.

I drop my forehead to his and thrust into him as I gradually pick up my pace with my hand.

“Fuck my fist, Jackie.”

The broken sound that leaves his throat slices straight through my soul. It was a decade of repressed, suffocated need finally let loose. Let it loose on me, dolcezza. Let me give you this.

Our lips drag over each other as we buck into one another. My pulse races, burning through my veins. Jackson’s fingers dig into my ass, sharp and painful and possessive. I can’t get enough of it. God. He’s so fucking strong. His thighs clench beneath me with every thrust. I’m barely moving besides my hand at this point. It’s all him. All two-hundred-eighty pounds of solid muscle thrusting into me.

And then I make a mistake.

I lift my gaze to his.

Lust-blown pupils swallow those pretty blue irises. But they can’t hide the wonder staring back at me. My breath hitches, my body falling out of rhythm. Because I can’t handle what’s staring back at me. I see it. I see this man finally feeling like he belongs in his skin for the first time in his life. Everything he’s hidden behind is gone—laying bare the person he’d buried beneath. Raw, unadulterated Jackson Olander.

I drop my forehead to his, an emotion that’s almost unbearable because of its magnitude consumes me. “Jackie.”

It’s too much. The power of his body. The noises he’s making. The pleasure spreading through me like a runaway train. Jackson’s cock pulses against mine a moment before he goes stiff. My head falls to his shoulder, and I cry out as the train finally crashes into me. I shake violently, vision dotting over as I spill all over his stomach.

The only thing I can hear over the drumming in my ears is his long, deep moan. My body jerks, another round of pleasure hitting me. That is the sexiest fucking sound I’ve ever heard. Low. Heated. Tortured. I need to make him come again when I’m not distracted by my own orgasm. Because I want to drown in that sound. Drown in him.

I collapse on him, face buried in my pillow to the point I can barely breathe. But I’m boneless. Limp. Just a melty mess of bliss.

I manage to flop my head to the side. “I’ll get off you in one second,” I say into his neck.

His arms snake around my back, his knees lifting so my ass settles comfortably against his thighs. Mmm. That’s nice.