Home Plate (Easton U Pirates 2)

“S’okay, me neither. I just like looking at you.”

“Your hands on me feel amazing too.”

“Fucking hell, Maclain, I want to touch you all over. Make you feel good.”

I squeezed the meaty parts of his ass with both hands, which parted his cheeks, giving me my first glimpse of his crease, and farther down, his tight hole.

I moaned from that visual alone, and he lost it. His strokes turned choppy and he arched his back, his thighs trembling. “Oh God, I’m coming.”

I felt him shudder, and it was enough to send me sailing straight after him.

We were panting openly as we slowly came back to ourselves, and I dragged my fingers over the small of his back to soothe him, in case he was feeling vulnerable.

Eventually, he released our softened cocks and slid off the bed to reach for a T-shirt on the floor. He wiped us down, then pitched it into the corner of the room.

“Well,” he said, “we should get some—”

“Don’t leave.” My fingers curled around his wrist. “Sleep here. With me.”

“I…I shouldn’t.” But he didn’t sound at all convinced.

“Yeah, you should.” I tightened my grip, hoping to persuade him that I needed him right then as much as he needed me. “You really should. Please.”

After only a brief hesitation, he slid under the covers with me, let me wind my arms around him from behind, and sighed contentedly. I was still getting used to the idea that he was allowing me to hold him. Pretty heady stuff.

“Dominic?” he whispered.

“Mason?”

“Thanks for believing in me today.”

“Everyone believes in you. That’s why you’re our number-one pitcher.”

He buried his head in the pillow. “Not everyone.”

God, he was gonna be the death of me.

Instead of responding, I embraced him tighter. And when his limbs finally relaxed and he fell asleep in my bed, it felt like Easter and Christmas rolled into one.

19

Maclain

It was Easter Sunday and, thankfully, I’d saved leftovers after meeting Jasmine for pizza last night. And now she was on her way to spend the holiday with her girlfriend, Tanya, and my roommates were, of course, with their own significant others.

The Pirates returned from San Diego a few nights ago. We’d swept the series, making the coaches hopeful that we’d end the season with one of the best records in our division. We had a home game this coming week, but most of the team was glad for a little weekend reprieve from the schedule so they could visit their families.

The only member of my family was out of town and no doubt celebrating his engagement.

Not for the first time, I thought back to that wedding in the sand. Had I been with my stepdad, he’d have said something about them flaunting it on a public beach. My jaw clenched. Flaunt what exactly—their love? And what in the hell was wrong with that? What a lucky son of a bitch to find someone to put up with him again. My mother had been practically a saint, so maybe Nina was too.

I’d never felt close enough to any one person to imagine sharing my life with them, and with my track record, they wouldn’t stick around anyway. But being with Girard—specifically, sharing a bed with him that night and the subsequent night as well—Jesus—had been the closest I’d come to feeling a real connection to someone. And it was definitely hard to shake.

“How’s the situation with Girard?” Jasmine had asked me last night. That was how she referred to the topic now. And it could’ve meant anything. Pitching to him or rooming with him. But we both knew it meant more, and that she’d figured it out long ago, probably the night we’d all gone to the bowling alley. Calling it the situation allowed me to never outright admit my attraction, and it gave her permission to offer me veiled advice.

“It’s…interesting,” I’d replied.

“In a good way?” When I nodded, feeling my cheeks flush, which was a dead giveaway, she added, “Hope you’re not fighting it too hard. It’s good to allow yourself a little bit of happiness.”

And that was what I’d been doing, right? Finally just going with it.

Girard had become my safe space and, somehow, I’d come to trust in that. Mostly.

Christ, that last night of spring break I’d even urged him to sit on the edge of the bed, then went down on my knees for him. I needed to see for myself what it was all about and if I’d enjoy it as much as he’d seemed to.

I’d licked at Girard’s shaft and actually didn’t mind the salty taste, go figure. The rest had been sloppy, though, as I’d tried to fit too much of him in my mouth at once and gagged. But all it took was for him to touch my face and hair while his soothing words slowed me down and encouraged me to experiment at my own pace, using my hand and my mouth in tandem.