“Someone’s in a hurry,” he teases, finally guiding his tip inside me, but leaving me unfulfilled for long, quiet seconds while he pulls it in and out several times.
“Please,” I finally whine.
He leans over my back, his mouth kissing my bare shoulder, then nipping at my ear.
“Please, what?” His breath is hot, and he smells like expensive body wash and aftershave.
I lick my lips and open my eyes to see him still close. I can barely make out his smirk, but I see it. He loves toying with me.After I rebuffed him, here I am begging for it. It serves me right, and it’s a cycle I fear I may come to really enjoy.
“Please fuck me, Hunter. Please fuck me hard.”
“Well,” he begins, smoothing a palm along my spine as he sits up tall. “Okay, then,” he announces before driving into me, his cock filling me before he pulls out completely and steps away, leaving me cold and wanting so much more.
“You fucking tease,” I laugh out.
His laugh is slightly more sinister.
I arch my back, tempting him with my ass as he paces behind me like a predator who hasn’t eaten for days. After nearly a minute, he comes back to bed and tugs my thong over my ass but not down my legs. He nudges my legs apart more, then guides his cock into me again, this time holding on to my hips as he pummels me from behind. What starts as a slow rhythm quickly gains speed, and soon, his skin is slapping into mine as he makes me cum so hard that my voice gives way from all the cries that leave my lips.
His cock swells inside me, but before he comes, he pulls out and strokes himself until his hot cum spills down my ass. He paints me with it, using his dick to coat me with his slick arousal, and I’m shocked when the graze of his dick against my pussy ignites another orgasm that rushes through every nerve in my body.
My body collapses onto the bed as Hunter walks to the bathroom. The steady stream of water mixes with the hum of the bathroom fan, and a few seconds later, he returns with a warm washcloth.
“Let me care for you.” His kind gaze reaches mine as I struggle to keep my eyes open, every bit of energy I had now spent from the travel, from the emotions of the day, from Hunter.
“Thank you,” I whisper as he dabs my skin with the warm cloth. His eyes flit to mine, I think because he senses the many meanings I sewed into those words.
“My pleasure,” he says, discarding the wet cloth to the side table before scooping me into his arms.
He carries me into the bathroom and under the warm stream of the walk-in shower. He’s careful as he sets me back on my feet, placing my hands on his shoulders before filling his palms with body wash and lathering my body and hair. His gaze is adoring, painting me with affection at every curve and dip as he cleans my body, then covers each new spot with a soft kiss. When we’re both showered, he cuts the water off and wraps me with a thick white robe. He leads me back to the bed and pulls out a spare T-shirt from his carry-on bag. He helps me take the robe off, then slips it over my head before pulling my body into his as we lie in the center of the king-sized bed atop the rumpled blanket and sheets we left behind.
Chapter 15
Hunter
“Fucking pitchers, man. I got this all wrong.”
Roddy chuckles as he shakes his head at me during my massage. He’s getting his wrists, left elbow, right ankle, and both shoulders taped by Becca, one of our trainers. The guy is basically a mummy at this point.
I twist my head to the side to look him in the eyes.
“You know you love the attention, throwing your mask off all dramatic before spinning around with your head back to catch the foul ball behind the plate,” I say.
“Pfft, yeah, until I drop it, and the crowd is basicallyright fucking there!” He holds both palms out, messing up the tape job on his right shoulder.
“If you don’t hold still, I’m going to boo you,” Becca scolds.
“Sorry, ma’am.” Roddy’s shoulders sink as he locks his body back into place so Becca can finish her work. His eyes shift to me just as the masseuse digs into my scapula, and my lids flutter shut as I groan much like I did in my hotel room last night. This massage isthat good.
Roddy flips me off. “Like I said. Fucking pitchers, man.”.
My massage wraps up before Roddy’s tape job is done, and I hang around the training room in my towel for a bit beforeheading into the locker room to take the longest hot shower of my life. Roddy’s right about some of it—I do love off days. I love on days more, though, and there’s a part of me that’s jealous as hell that he gets to suit up and take the field every other day. He played eighty percent of the games when he was up in the show, and while his body took a beating for it, I bet if I asked, he’d say it was worth every single bruise, cut, and tear.
“How about you actually come see me for the ice after the game today?” Becca pats down the edge of her final strip of KT, tape then lowers her head to look Roddy in the eyes.
“Yeah, I hear ya. It’s just so damn cold.” He slips his shirt back over his head and arms as Becca laughs and tells him, “That’s the point.”
She moves on to the next player, one of the rookie outfielders we picked up from San Diego last week, and Roddy hops down from the table, stretching out his arms to adjust to the compression from the tape.
