Page 97 of Hiding in the Outfield

Those gold-and-brown irises take hold of me. Reach inside and steal pieces of me. Pieces that will forever belong to him, even after this is over. A part of me will always belong to this man.

“My gentle giant,” he whispers.

I swallow hard and lean in to kiss him to hide whatever chokehold those words seem to have over me. I nuzzle his cheek. “I’ll be your good boy any day, Frankie,” I tease, hoping he can’t see what he’s doing to me.

“Eager to please. And…” He pushes me back and hops off the counter. He cups my erection, fingers petting me in a touch so light it’s almost excruciating. He leans forward, lips playing over my ear. “Responds well to positive reinforcement.”

He steps past me and walks toward the shower. He turns to face me, thumb dipping into the waistband of his underwear. And, fuck me, his underwear. They’re the tiniest boyshorts I’ve ever seen, and his asscheeks peek out the bottom.

And the lace. The. Fucking. Lace. It’s so thin, the material is practically transparent. And the way his erection is straining against the fabric only makes it worse. Or is it better? Both. I want to lick over the ridge of his crown. Fuck. I want to lick over every inch of him. So many pretty inches. I swallow hard.

“You’re drooling, dolcezza.”

My attention snaps up to his face. His lips are curved, sly and knowing.

“I guess I really am part dog,” I say hoarsely.

He drops his underwear, and I forget how to breathe. He steps into the shower, and I stare at the empty spot he just vacated. I blink and blink…and blink.

His head, hair slicked back already, pops out from behind the glass. He whistles. “Come, Jackie-boy.”

I shake myself from my trance. This man makes me lose all sense. I drop my boxers along the way and hurry to him.

The second I enter the tiled shower, he steps up to me and wraps his arms around my neck. He spins me and walks me backward until the spray from the shower hits my back. I tilt my head and let the hot water wash over me. His fingers weave into my hair again, and it takes me a second to register he’s working shampoo into my hair. A sweet shea butter scent drifts over to me and settles in my lungs. A sigh leaves me. Frankie, the smell of Frankie. He found a brand of shower products that doesn’t bother my skin that he likes too.

“You’re too good to me,” I murmur, eyes still closed.

“Just giving my good boy a bath.” Laughter shakes his words, and my lips twitch.

And then an idea hits me. I step out of the spray, waterlogged hair dripping down my face and neck. I stare at Frankie and bite my lip.

He freezes. I grin.

Then I shake.

Frankie’s laughter ricochets around us. He lowers his hands from where he had lifted them to protect from my water-spray assault. “Goofball.”

My heart squeezes at the affection in the soft word. I step forward, slide my hands under the backs of his thighs, and lift him into my arms. He lets out a surprised squeak that my lips silence. I press him into the shower wall and kiss him hard. Time to show him how strong and powerful I can be.

I lean back and adjust him until our dicks slot together. I grind into him and catch his lips with mine again. “Why don’t you get us all washed up?” My skin tingles with anticipation, with how he’ll feel when we’re all slicked up with soap.

He reaches to the side, and my arms flex, fingers digging into his tight ass to keep him steady. He takes the bottle of bodywash, flips the cap, and drizzles it over us both…until we’re both so covered we’re dripping in it.

A laugh rumbles deep in my chest. “You do know, I still need to be able to hold on to you, right? With that much soap, you’re going to slip right through my fingers.”

“I have faith in you, love. Some of the catches you’ve made? I know that grip of yours is rock solid.”

My chest may or may not—okay, it definitely does—puff out. Because it’s true, once that ball lands in my glove, fuck if I’m letting it go anywhere.

Frankie starts rubbing the bodywash over my shoulders and chest. “There will be only one thing slipping through fingers,” he says, his hands moving down my abs to my⁠—

They leave me, and he repeats the process on himself.

I glare at him, the little tease. His eyes just dance back at me, taunting.

“Or maybe two things.” He winks.

The suds he’s created on both of us drip down, and our hips slide against each other in a way that has my pulse skittering. We’re both hard, and I want nothing more than to close the space between us and get the friction my body is screaming for. But Frankie keeps lathering himself up, unrushed and acting oblivious to the torment building inside me. He knows exactly what he’s doing.