Better Than Friends (19 page)

Jack sat back on his knees between my open thighs. I heard the bottle top from the lube click open and shut. My mouth went dry. Jack lifted my left leg and set it over his right shoulder, just as he’d promised to do earlier. We looked at each other and shared a brief smile before Jack got back to work, coating his fingers with the cool gel. I swallowed around the lump in my throat at the first feel of pressure on my hole. Jack gently massaged the surrounding sensitive skin before slipping one finger inside me. I felt sweat bead on my forehead and tried to remember to breathe as Jack worked his digit in and out slowly. He gripped my rigid cock in his other hand and stroked me as he worked a second finger inside me. I was writhing in pleasure and moaning deliriously when he pulled back completely. The sound of a condom being unwrapped made my skin tingle in anticipation. I bit my lip and waited while Jack worked more lube into my entrance and on his covered cock, pumping himself like a porn star in his fist before coming back to lean over me on one arm. I watched his blue eyes darken as he set his throbbing member on my hole and gently pushed.

He pulled back almost immediately before repeating the motion. Then he guided my other leg up over his left shoulder and bent forward to kiss me. It was one kiss. Soft and sweet. Then a second, more demanding. His tongue requested entrance the third time, and he took advantage of my distraction to push himself completely inside me. We stopped for a moment, our sweaty foreheads resting on each other as we let our bodies adjust to being joined. And then he moved.

Jack was true to his word. He kept a slow and languid pace, moving deeply inside me before pulling almost all the way out, only to delve more deeply on the next stroke. He fastened his mouth over mine and sucked on my tongue, moved to bite my lips, my jaw, my chin, and then rained soft kisses all over my neck. I reached down to hold his ass close to me. I wanted to feel as much of him as possible. He was well-endowed, but my body had adjusted well, and I was overwhelmed by the desire for more. More friction. More Jack. I grasped at his ass firmly, hoping to get my point across without speaking.

“Tell me what you want.” Jack fucked into me hard, sending my body back a couple of inches toward the headboard. His gorgeous muscles glistened with a fine layer of sweat, making him look even more godlike and powerful than ever.

“Just fuck me, Jack. Harder.”

I watched his Adam’s apple move once before he nodded and gently moved my legs from his shoulders to wrap around his waist. He looked deeply in my eyes.

“Your ankle okay?”

“Screw my ankle, Jack. Fuck me!”

He chuckled, then leaned over me and did as I asked. He held my body tightly, pistoning his hips rapidly in a frenzied speed. I’d never felt so overpowered in my life. I gave him complete control, and he delivered, moving gloriously within me as he buried his nose in my neck, nuzzling, licking, and kissing. I pulled at his hair when the sensations became too much, and Jack went a little crazier. He propped himself up on one arm and lifted one of my legs back over his shoulder, changing the angle so he hit my prostate at each pass. Then he grabbed my cock in one hand and jacked me off as he fucked me.

I felt the wave of release come for me. A tidal wave. I cried out his name and shuddered beneath him as my orgasm claimed me. Jack milked my cock dry, literally wringing every last drop from me. His hips stilled, though he was harder than ever inside me. I gazed up through hooded eyes to see what he would do next. He brought his forefinger down to the mess of come splattered across my stomach and traced a squiggly line from my left nipple down to my belly button. I stared at him, mesmerized, as he brought his finger to his mouth, closing his eyes as he sucked it clean. He repeated the motion, this time starting at the opposite nipple, and gave me my own come to lick as though offering a magical elixir.

I should have been disgusted. I’d never tasted myself like this before. Sure, I’d tasted my own precum when fooling around with previous lovers, but I’d never shared it in quite this way. And I found it to be an incredible aphrodisiac. My spent dick became interested all over again. I lowered my hand to touch myself as I sucked hard on Jack’s finger. He groaned loudly and finally lost control, coming wildly as he bucked his hips over and over into me. He collapsed on top of me, silently quaking and shuddering in release.

Jack lay still for a moment before gingerly detaching our sweat-and-come-slicked bodies. He kissed my forehead once, then pulled away. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of him walking toward the bathroom and running water. I looked up when I felt the bed shift under his weight. He held a washcloth in one hand and was wearing a very self-satisfied grin.

“Hey. You sure made a mess, honey,” he teased as he cleaned my chest with the warm cloth, removing all traces of his earlier finger-painting.

I just smiled. I was too wrung out to banter. I had easily just experienced the best sex of my life.

T
HE
REMAINDER
of the afternoon was spent in bed, taking time to explore, touch, and tease. I laid my head on Jack’s chest and traced the fiery flames drawn in deep shades of orange and red on his upper left arm.

“What was the first one you ever got?”

“First what? Blowjob?” Jack ruffled my hair playfully and gave me a devilish look. “I know the last one I got was pretty fucking spectacular.”

I felt my cheeks redden at the crudely carnal compliment. “No, tattoo… and how old were you?”

I laid my head flat again, content to listen to the deep timbre of his voice while my hands roamed over his flat stomach and up over his rib cage. I loved the feel of his skin. He was smooth all over, and although I knew he probably had some professional manscaping done, it seemed natural. I didn’t think I had a preference about how much hair a guy had on his body, but I admired Jack’s hard, muscled frame. His tattoos were a perfect juxtaposition to the otherwise uninterrupted fluidity of his manly physique.

“My first one was this little dragon here. Can you see him?” Jack pulled his left arm over for me to examine.

“Barely. It’s small.”

“I know. I wanted to do something much more grand but I was talked into taking it slow. So I began with this fire-breathing, small, mystical little fella and went back the next week for more. And then more… trying new color and new design like any artist would on canvas. I’m sure I’m still not done.”

“Well, you have more available real estate here,” I observed. “The goal isn’t to cover your entire body, is it?”

Jack chuckled, sending a thrill through me as his mirthful tone
sounded from his chest. “No. But on the other hand, there is no goal
really.”

Jack pushed me slightly so he could shift to his side to face me. His room had darkened, heralding the twilight hour.

“I’ve come to appreciate that you don’t always have to have a reason. Some things just feel right, you know? Anyone can talk themselves out of a tattoo, so the reason for doing it in the first place should be deeply personal. At eighteen I wanted to be cool, I wanted something to mark me as being something stronger, bigger, and better than the scrawny smart-ass kid I was. I won’t say my dragon was responsible for me becoming who I am today, but in a way, he was.” Jack stopped and pointed his finger at me, tapping my nose once. “You’re looking at me funny. You don’t understand, do you?”

“No. Don’t get me wrong, I love your ink. I do. But I don’t see how
—
”

“Let me try again. Every time I added something, whether or not I was cognizant of it, I was marking a time in my life. Some were better than others, but they are personal in the most obvious sense because I physically wear them. Better?”

“What about the guy who gets a drunken ‘I love Mom’ tattooed over his heart? Or the girl who does a fat tramp stamp butterfly, or the—”

Jack moved his finger to my lips to silence me. “I can’t speak for anyone else. This”—he pointed with one arm to the other and then made a sweeping gesture over his torso—“is me, for me. I’ve never once gotten work done for anyone or with anyone in mind.”

“Really? I mean, you’ve been in long-term relationships in the past. Turn over. Is there a heart on your ass I didn’t detect earlier from an old boyfriend?”

Jack sneered and rolled his eyes by way of an answer.

“I know this is a little nosey, but… did you mostly always date guys with tats?” It sounded like a stupid question to my own ears, but I wondered how I fit in Jack’s world. Or if I did at all.

“Some guys I’ve been with have had ink, some not.” He frowned, his thick brows creased in confusion. “Why do I get the impression we’re talking about something else? What are you really asking me, honey?”

I was naked with a bum ankle in his bed and was in no position to easily evade his direct inquiry. But I tried. I lay flat on the pillow for a moment and made an effort to look down at my ankle, but Jack didn’t buy it. He took my chin between his thumb and forefinger in that familiar way of his, steering my head toward him.

“Nice try. Well?”

“I don’t… fuck. I’m….”

“I think you do.”

“What?”

“Fuck. You said ‘I don’t fuck,’ but since we just… sorry. Bad joke.” He offered me a mock apologetic grimace.

“Ha-ha.” I grinned at his silliness and turned back on my side to face him. “I just figured you’d probably be interested in someone more like you.”

“Versus? Someone like you?” His blue eyes were inscrutable. However, I was reeling in a state of personal shock. I couldn’t believe I’d been so forthcoming with my feelings of inadequacy. It was ridiculous. What was I hoping to accomplish besides putting Jack on the spot and making myself sound paranoid and pathetic?

“Uh… hey, it’s getting dark. I hate to ask, but I’m going to need a ride ho—”

Jack reached out and caressed my arm. His touch was soft but morphed into a firm massage on my biceps before he pulled my body flush against his. We were now so close I couldn’t see him clearly, but I felt him. Felt his flesh grow hard between us as he sighed into my neck.

“Shh. I’m not sure who you think I am exactly, but I want to assure you”—he took hold of my left hand and guided downward, placing my warm palm on his hard member—“I am very fucking interested in someone like you. Can you tell or should I show you again?”

I heard a small gurgling noise bubbling like a whimper inside of me. Words were unnecessary. Who cared why? I was here in Jack’s bed and he obviously wanted me. What else mattered?

“Baseball is a lot like life. It’s a day-to-day existence, full of ups and downs. You make the most of your opportunities in baseball as you do in life.”

—Ernie Harwell

M
Y
ANKLE
injury was relatively minor. I’d rolled on it when I’d fallen, which had resulted in some nasty bruising—and it hurt like hell—but I was back to normal within a week or two. On the positive side, whether it was guilt-induced or something more complex, Jack appointed himself my personal “caregiver.” Immediately following my ankle mishap, he made a point of checking on me a few times a day. He called or sent text messages to me while I was working and came by with takeout and refreshments. We watched games and sports highlights and talked. We had legitimately become friends. When we were together, our exchanges began as casual and eventually became heated, as though we didn’t intend to end up in bed, but somehow found ourselves there.

And it was amazing. I was honest with Jack when I told him I’d never been with anyone like him. He was a complex combination of muscled bad boy and boyish charm with a wicked sense of humor. I didn’t know what he saw in me, but I wisely decided not to question it. Of course, in not questioning it, I didn’t know how to define what we were exactly. I wouldn’t have worried about it, except I found myself with a complication named Paul.

Paul traveled quite a bit for work. In the days following my basketball debacle I forgot about him and our upcoming dinner date. When he called to remind me a couple of days beforehand, I couldn’t think of any reason not to go. My ankle wasn’t giving me any real problems by then, and this thing with Jack was… undefined. He wasn’t my boyfriend. He was a really fucking sexy man I had sex with, whose company I enjoyed. I had to imagine he’d laugh at me if I asked his permission to go out with Paul. So I didn’t say anything simply because I didn’t know what to say.

“H
EY
MAN
,
want to meet for a drink after work tonight?” Matt sounded a little harried, which definitely wasn’t like him. I checked the time and realized I should be wrapping it up anyway. It was seven o’clock on a Thursday.

“Are you still at work? Where’s your man?” I typed furiously as I talked. I wanted to finish the document I was working on before I left.

“He’s with Jay and Katie. I was invited, but I….”

I laughed. Jay and Katie were Aaron’s very best friends. They were a rowdy, fun threesome and could be somewhat overwhelming when they were all together, unless they were diluted by a few more people. Matt had figured it out early on in their relationship. He would be relegated to the sidelines, watching the show, which I knew he didn’t always mind, but tonight I sensed he wasn’t in the mood.