Tucker
Roasters 80–40
Asitturnedout,one night with Brock Heller wasn’t enough.
“Harder,Johnny.Please.”
“Fuck, I love it when you say my name.” We both groaned when I rocked into him again, plunging deep until my hips were flush with his ass. He shivered when I leaned forward, crowding him against the plush comforter. On my next thrust, I pulled out until just my tip speared his puckered entrance.
“But I like it better when you scream it.”
I jolted forward, driving every inch into him. Harder, faster—just the way he wanted, needed.
And trust, by now, I knewexactlywhat Brock needed.
Despite his initial hesitation, we had been going at it like rabbits for six weeks now—at his place, in my car, after hours in his podcast studio—and at this point, I knew his body better than my own.
I knew the way his cock—in all its pierced perfection—swelled under his khakis when I teased him. I knew how he smelled—the scent of his leave-in conditioner was permanently etched on my brain—and tasted—like the creamiest, dreamiest orange popsicle.Mmm, my favorite.Most importantly, I knew the telltale signs of when he was about to come and what it took to get him there.
And Ialwaysgot him there.
“Fuck,” he rasped. “Right there.”
I was suddenly grateful that Brock had booked a room three floors down from the rest of the team. None of the guys knew about our situationship—and we both planned to keep it that way—which meant sneaky sex wherever and whenever we had the chance.
Except for my apartment. Roman couldn’t keep a secret to save his life, so my place had officially been dubbed a fuck-free zone. Hotel rooms, on the other hand, were the perfect middle ground. I spent half of the season on the road, and Brock typically went where the Roasters did, so it was just as easy—if not easier—for us to hook up during away series as it was during home games.
Plus, everybody knew hotel sex was unmatched.
“Harder,Johnny.”Brock shoved his ass back, meeting my pace with enthusiasm. “Please.”
“You’ll take what I give you.” My hand came down on his ass, and his muscles clenched around me in response. “Like that?”
“Yes.”
“Want more?”
“Yes.”
I spanked him two more times then smoothed a hand over his backside. Damn, who would have guessed that underneath that buttoned-up, vegan-ish exterior would be a sexual dynamo thirsty for my cock?
Best fucking surprise ever.
“Fill me up.”
Okay, second best surprise; number one had to be his cum fetish. We had had a lot of fun exploring that one—safely, of course.
Neither of us were sleeping with anybody else, but we also knew that there were additional risks that came with not using condoms. That hadn’t stopped me from spraying my cum on his chest before yesterday’s game and then feeding it to him by the spoonful like some kind of deviant Mary Poppins.
Three hits, two RBIs, and one doubleheader win later, and I was thinking we might have to make it a regular pregame routine.
“Greedy boy,” I teased. “Beg for it, Heller.”
“Please,Johnny. Come in me.”
I pushed into him as deep as I could and held myself there. His hole was already red and puffy from taking it all morning—plus once more in the shower last night—and there was just enough slickness to keep him loose enough that he didn’t scream when I bottomed out.
It was like he was made for this, made forme.
