14. Chapter 14
Connor felt like he was going out of his mind, like his skin was too small for his body, like Ro and TJ and the others must know what he and Jackson had been doing behind the shed.
But they'd come back, chattering loudly, inadvertently alerting him and Jackson to their incoming presence. It had been easy enough to slip back around the corner of the shed. Not so easy to pretend like nothing had happened.
Like Connor's heart wasn't beating a hundred miles an hour.
Like he hadn't had his foundations rocked by Jackson's mouth and his hands and the firm, muscled press of his body against his own.
His hands were still trembling a little, and he'd never been so hard in his whole fucking life. Not so simple to hide, considering how wet his clothes were. But it was dark, and Connor kept to the shadows, hoping that nobody would notice.
But when Ro suggested they head to the bar for a drink— "when we're like this?" TJ exclaimed, pulling his wet T-shirt away from his chest—he'd met Jackson's eyes and it was clear he'd noticed.
"They're not gonna kick us out," Deke claimed.
Which was probably true. It wasn't like the bar they'd been to the last few nights was a white tablecloth establishment. But even with soaking wet clothes, Connor didn't want to go to the bar and have a beer and pretend that he wasn't going out of his mind with desire.
He didn't have a great poker face, anyway, and he'd never be able to fake it, not with Jackson right there, dark eyes intent on his, promising everything he'd imagined and more, when they got back to the room.
"We're going back to the hotel," Jackson announced, not even giving Connor a chance to say anything. "I'm wet and it's not cold now, but I'm fundamentally against being wet and clammy and the possibility of chafing."
Kevin and TJ agreed, much to Connor's disappointment. Because it meant he and Jackson couldn't talk about what was going to happen once they were behind that closed hotel room door.
He could only imagine it, his fantasies feverish and becoming increasingly elaborate as they walked back to the hotel.
What would Jackson do, the moment that door closed?
Would he kiss him again?
Would he sink to his knees?
Would he use all those rippling muscles to simply rip Connor's clothes right off?
Would he have time to overthink? Or would Jackson make sure that didn't happen, kinda like he did when he was behind home plate, and Connor was on the mound?
The answer was none of the above.
The door shut behind Connor with a final click and Jackson only walked over to the dresser and began to pull clothes out of it.
"What are you doing?" Connor asked incredulously.
Was Jackson not . . .how could he not be just as frantically desperate as Connor? Sure, he was a little older, but he'd been around Jackson for long enough now to realize the man didn't really do casual hookups. How long had it been since anyone but his right hand had touched him?
And yet he wasn't shaking and trembling now, the way Connor was.
If he hadn't just had his mouth on Connor's and his hands all over him, Connor might think he was cold. But he wasn't. He burned red-hot, under that easy, casual manner—and Connor desperately wanted to unlock all that heat again.
"I'm getting out of these wet clothes," Jackson said, so reasonably.
Like he hadn't walked halfway here to the hotel with a hard-on, just the same as Connor.
For a second, Connor just stared incredulously at him. Was he really going to pretend . . .he was.
But then he looked closer and saw the way he was biting his lip. The white knuckles as he fisted the clothes.
He was this close to losing control—probably didn't ever let himself lose it, if Connor had to guess—and was terrified of it.
Well, Connor wasn't fucking afraid.
Any fear he'd initially had was gone now, burned away by the kiss they'd shared tonight.
He knew Jackson wanted him, and that made it easier than he'd ever expected to cross the hotel room floor, grab the clothes from Jackson, toss them onto the floor, and, cradling his cheeks in his palms, lean in and kiss him again.
Jackson startled in surprise, but a second later, he was burning just as hot for it as Connor, groaning in the back of his throat as they kissed, and Connor tried to work his shirt off.
Before Jackson, a chest had just been a chest, pecs just pecs, and even astonishing abs just abs, but now he'd been forced to take too many surreptitious glances and he wanted a fucking front row seat to all of Jackson's glorious body.
He didn't want to just look, either; he intended to touch.
"God, God, just wait a second," Jackson tried to gasp as Connor wrenched the wet and uncooperative fabric the last little bit.
"No. No more waiting," Connor said, before diving back in. He pushed Jackson against the bed, and for a moment, he was afraid he'd fight it, but he went easily. Falling to the bed and spreading his legs so Connor could settle right between them.
Jackson got ahold of Connor's shirt and tugged it off too, breaking the kiss between them for only as long as it took to get it over his head.
Then it felt like Jackson's hands were everywhere—big and calloused and inescapable, one on his chest, then dropping down lower, curling around his waist, the other making long sweeps up and down the planes of his back, then lower, sliding right over the curve of his ass. Possessively, like he owned him, and Connor thought maybe he did. Maybe he always had.
Jackson's touch was so good he nearly shivered with it, unsure if he'd be able to take any more. But if Jackson wanted to give him more, he'd try. The only thing he couldn't bear was if Jackson pulled away again.
But he didn't. Not exactly.
He did tilt his head, finally breaking their long, endless kisses, eyes so dark Connor felt like he could drown in the look Jackson gave him. "What do you want?" he asked, still annoyingly self-possessed, when Connor felt desperate and fraying.
"Anything. Everything," Connor muttered wildly.
"Oh darlin', I'm gonna give you what you need. I just didn't want . . ." Jackson trailed off.
"I'm not gonna freak out if you touch my dick, I promise." Connor could still make a joke, apparently, though it felt like a near thing.
"Only if I don't, right?" Jackson asked, and Connor nodded.
"I got you."
In an impressive show of strength, Jackson flipped them, and Connor couldn't help but arch against his touch, his deft fingers tugging down his wet shorts and then the boxer briefs underneath.
Those weren't just wet with water, but Connor knew, from a not insignificant amount of precome. He'd been hard for what felt like forever, restless and leaking with no chance for relief.
But Jackson's gaze promised it now, as he leaned down, and Connor swore, cock twitching as his lips coasted down his chest and then lower, where his abs flexed with the intense need surging through him.
His breath was coming out in gusts and pants, and he felt beyond words as Jackson took his sweet ass time exploring Connor's exposed skin.
"I'm not—" Connor bit off his words with a moan as Jackson brushed his fingertips across his erection.
"You're not what?" Jackson asked, his tone rough but undeniably kind. Like he felt like he might need to coax him through this.
Connor didn't need to be goddamned coaxed. He needed fucking relief.
"I'm not . . .I don't have abs like you."
"Not many people do. They're the product of way too much denial and self-imposed sexual celibacy."
"Not anymore," Connor said, suddenly aware of how hard he was grinning.
Jackson raised his eyes, and his gaze was scorching as it met Connor's. "Not anymore," he agreed. And then his whole hand was closing around Connor's cock, gentle and yet not, pulling with strong, even strokes, and Connor lost himself to the pleasure of it, letting it drag him under.
He wasn't going to last, and he didn't even care. He just wanted to wallow in this, in Jackson's touch, until it crested and sent him right into ecstasy.
"Oh God, yeah," Jackson muttered, like it was turning him on to do this to Connor. "Oh yeah, darlin', just like that, give it to me."
Then his lips landed on the sensitive ridge of muscle right above his crotch and he bit down, teeth sinking into Connor's skin. He couldn't help the shout that escaped him, as his fists sank into the coverlet and he came in long, hot pulses across his stomach.
"Shit yeah, that was hot, baby. So fucking hot," Jackson growled.
Connor could one hundred percent agree on that.
For a moment, he just lay back and enjoyed the way Jackson was looking at him, like he was just as irresistibly attractive as he'd always hoped he might be.
Like he was the precise key for Jackson's lock.
If he hadn't just come his brains out, he probably would've gotten hard again, just at the worshipful look in Jackson's eyes.
It was so arousing—and so distracting—that Connor didn't even get nervous until he'd manhandled Jackson back onto the bed and hovered above him, looking down at the bulge in Jackson's shorts.
"You don't have to—" Jackson started to say.
But that was complete bullshit. He was not afraid of a cock. He had one, didn't he? How difficult could it be?
"Of course I do. I want to," Connor interrupted, brushing Jackson's concern aside. It was definitely not a question of desire. It was more a question of logistics. Of course, he'd been so goddamned horny and turned on that it probably wouldn't have taken anything special to get him off, but Jackson had given him so much more than just a regular orgasm. He'd made it special; he'd made it extraordinary.
"Okay," Jackson said. It was annoying how level his voice sounded. How in control he was, suddenly.
And Connor wanted nothing more than to strip it from him completely—but could he? Was he capable of it?
You don't know if you don't try.
Determination coalesced in a tight, hot ball inside him. Goddamn, he was going to work him, if it killed him in the process.
Maybe Jackson had just used his hand, but he could . . .well, he was gonna try, anyway.
Tugging Jackson's sweatpants down, he got his first eyeful of Jackson's cock.
It was big. And it was already there, since apparently Jackson wanted to give him a heart attack and had been going commando this whole fucking time.
Jackson opened his mouth—no doubt to convince him he didn't need to do anything again; what the fuck was wrong with this guy? Did he never just want something and take it?
Probably not.
In this case, Connor was just going to give it to him before he could even deny himself by refusing to ask.
He dipped his head low, and the first brush of his tongue against the head was like an electric jolt to his own system. He hadn't thought—he hadn't even imagined—that doing this would turn him on. He'd imagined it must be some kind of chore that you grinned and bore, but no, no, it was hot as fuck. Feeling Jackson's cock twitch against his mouth, against his tongue, and hearing him swear above him, it was the best thing he'd ever experienced.
"Oh God, just like that, yeah, yeah," Jackson cried out as he took more into his mouth. Jackson was hardly short, and he was thick, too, and Connor had never done this before. It was a little like riding a bike for the first time.
He didn't know where his hands were supposed to go, or how to keep his teeth away, but finally, he managed to get a good rhythm going, bobbing his head, trying to take a little bit more of Jackson's cock every time.
Jackson curled a hand around his head, not pushing him but guiding him a little, and then, just when he was really getting into, loving the way he tasted, the way he even felt in his mouth, Jackson dug his fingers into his hair and jerked him up.
"Shit," Jackson cried and then he was coming between them in long, endless spurts.
"Was that . . ." Connor licked his lips, still tasting the salty-sweet flavor of him there. "Was that . . .okay?"
Jackson stared at him, eyes so wide. "Was that okay?" He started to laugh. "It was fucking incredible."
"I didn't know what I was doing, really," Connor said.
"I know," Jackson said, and his words practically felt like a caress. "But you did amazing. I'm . . .I'm blown away."
"It was good then?"
"Come 'ere," Jackson said and patted the bed next to him.
Connor was surprised. He'd half-expected Jackson to dismiss him from his bed, the moment it was over.
But he didn't.
He wanted Connor to stay close.
And Connor realized he wanted it too, more than ever before. He'd definitely had his share of hookups in the past, and he'd never wanted to cuddle after.
Just like the mind-blowing kissing and then the equally mind-blowing orgasm, Connor was beginning to think this wasn't really a guy thing, more like a Jackson thing.
Connor crawled up and wasn't sure the extent of how Jackson wanted him so just lay next to him, hip to hip, but not touching anywhere else. So they could conceivably just label themselves as adjacent, not actually cuddling.
Jackson glanced over at him. "You alright?" he asked.
He thought that was plenty obvious, though he was already half-hard again. Bless being young and finally getting the guy he'd been lusting after for weeks now into bed.
Jackson's gaze skimmed over his body, resting finally on his cock, which then gave a helpful—and likely hopeful—twitch against his thigh. He chuckled. "I guess that's the answer then," he continued. "No freakouts for you. You're ready to go again."
Connor cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. Doing that . . ." God, he'd sucked Jackson's cock with zero shame, he could at least say the word. "Uh, blowjob. That turned me on."
Jackson grinned. "Yeah?"
"This is where you say, anytime you wanna have a go again, it's all yours," Connor teased. But it wasn't just a joke, either. He wanted to know, without asking straight out, if they were ever going to do this again. Was this just a one-time-only thing?
Based on Jackson's fierce determination to avoid this situation, Connor didn't think there was a trail of teammate hookups dragging behind him. Maybe he wasn't the first or the only, but he knew he was one of very few.
Surely Jackson breaking his normally inflexible rules meant something, but Connor wasn't going to assume what either of them wanted. He could hardly demand to know what Jackson wanted out of this when he still didn't know himself.
"And here I thought you were absolutely shit at seduction," Jackson joked right back.
"Hey, I'm not that bad. I got you into bed, didn't I?"
Jackson's eyes softened. "I told you. I don't do this."
"Exactly."
"I mean . . .I only did it once before and . . ." Just when Connor desperately wanted to see the look on Jackson's face, he turned it away. Like he was afraid of how much it might reveal.
But now he'd piqued Connor's curiosity. "When? With who?"
Jackson didn't say anything for so long, Connor thought he might have to ask again, and he didn't know if he had the balls for that.
Hey, you had the balls to give the guy a blowjob.
"It was a few years back. Five? Six? It was my first time in the majors. I ran into someone—a teammate—and it was electric. Like a lightning bolt. I couldn't have said no to the guy if I'd wanted to. We fell into bed together. And for a few days, it was so fucking good. I was in the show, and I was pretty damn good, too, and I had this guy . . .and for the first time I thought, this is it, this is what happiness feels like."
Connor found he was holding his breath—because he knew how this story was going to end, without even hearing Jackson tell him.
Jackson glanced back then, and there was a raw pain in his eyes that Connor wanted to flinch away from, but how could he, when Jackson was being brave enough to share this incredibly personal revelation?
"Obviously," he continued wryly, "it all fell apart."
"How?"
"We were stupid. We got caught. Everyone on the team found out. The other guy . . .he was going places. Kinda like you. They traded him away. And they sent me back down to the minors."
"You were punished for it?" Connor couldn't quite believe it. Yes, this was baseball. It was a fucking misogynistic, homophobic sport full of a bunch of old white men who thought they knew how to run the world better than anyone else. But still. Jackson Evans was a force to be reckoned with now. He had a beauty of a swing, and was, hands down, one of the best catchers Connor had ever worked with. It hadn't been easy to admit that, because so much of what he did and said was contrary to what Connor wanted him to do and say, but it was impossible to deny, now.
"I guess, yeah," Jackson said, shrugging. Like he could just shrug off that kind of bullshit.
But Connor knew you couldn't. Not even Jackson was capable of doing it.
"That's why you didn't want me to do this," Connor said slowly.
Jackson nodded. "I didn't want it to blow back on you, the way it did me."
"It's not gonna," Connor swore.
"You can't guarantee anything in this business," Jackson said, chuckling under his breath.
"No, but I can pitch so fucking good they can't deny me," Connor said.
"Yeah." Jackson's tone was wry. Like he knew better but didn't want to burst Connor's bubble.
Well, this time it wasn't going to be Jackson teaching Connor something—it was going to be Connor showing Jackson that things had changed.
He could be himself. He could lean over and kiss Jackson now and still end up pitching in the majors.
"So, you still didn't tell me, was this just a one-time-only thing?" Connor had tried to swallow the question down, but finally, he gave in to it.
Maybe he hadn't ever wanted to seem overeager with anybody before this, but Jackson was extraordinary.
"I did," Jackson said seriously.
"No, you didn't. I wouldn't have missed it."
"Yeah." Jackson wiggled closer. Pressed a kiss against Connor's bicep, so tender that he didn't think he'd ever experienced its equal. "If I wasn't willing to keep doing it, I never would've done it once."
"Oh. Oh."
"I fought against this as long as I could," Jackson admitted. "But for however long you want to do it, I'm not ever going to turn you down."
"No?" Connor grinned. And it felt so easy, the easiest decision in the world, to swing his leg over Jackson's body, straddling him, and lean down to kiss him again.
All it took was Jackson's mouth on his to go from half-hard to rock hard and totally ready to go again.
"I'm not gonna regret this, am I?" Jackson asked, between slow, hot kisses. "You're gonna get me as hot as a twenty-year-old, again."
And, yeah, he was hard again. Connor wanted to say he was surprised, but he wasn't really. He should be inspiring the guy to new heights.
As they kissed, Connor unabashedly rubbing his cock against Jackson's thigh, sweat and precome making the slide nice and easy, and he wanted nothing more than to just get off like this. Jackson's taste in his mouth, the muscles underneath him flexing, like Jackson couldn't help himself, and all that gloriousness laid out before him.
"You're so hot," Connor panted.
Jackson's hand dug into his hair and moved him faster, harder. "Trust me," he exhaled, punctuated with a sharp groan. "That's you."
Connor wanted it to last longer than it had last time, but he wasn't sure he quite made it. His orgasm hit him hard, and he shuddered above Jackson, then slumped against him, wrung out and exhausted.
"No, no," Jackson crooned as Connor tried to summon the energy to get up and help Jackson finish. "Just lie like that, and I'm gonna get right off."
He did, shifting Connor's body, palming his own cock, head thrown back as he came in long ropes against Connor's chest.
Jackson pressed another one of those tender kisses to his bicep, murmuring he was gonna clean up, and a minute later, he was back with a washcloth. After they wiped themselves down, Connor was surprised that Jackson still didn't dismiss him from his bed. Instead, he slung an arm around Connor's shoulders and tugged him firmly. Like he wasn't tolerating this "near but not actually cuddling" bullshit again.
Connor smiled against his pec.
He'd never really wanted to be cuddled before, but it was nice.
They lay there like that in silence for a few minutes, before something occurred to Connor and he asked before he could swallow the question down.
"Don't tell me you've been celibate since that guy, in the majors?"
Jackson chuckled. "No. Definitely not. But I've definitely not been with another player since then. And since players are who I'm around all day, every day, it's been . . .well, a lot of dry spells. And breaking them, nothing big. Just quick hookups in bar bathrooms, in back alleys behind clubs. That kind of thing."
Connor contemplated this. It wasn't like he had a stellar history of great sex. Well, he couldn't say it had been bad. But it hadn't been like this, either. He'd done it because he'd wanted and needed to get off. The other person hadn't been necessarily incidental—but who was he kidding? They really had been.
He'd never been with someone he wanted to keep touching long after he orgasmed.
"That's sad," Connor said softly.
"It's reality," Jackson said.
"Not anymore."
This wasn't going to be some epic love affair. Connor didn't assume that—after all, they both kept saying they didn't even like each other—but he could at least provide some kind of consistent hookup situation. Where they knew each other and trusted each other. And wanting each other wasn't going to be any kind of problem, because they'd gotten off twice in the last hour, and even though for right now, the worst of his hunger was sated, it was still there, hanging around in the back of his mind, curious and intrigued.
How much more had he missed by only having sex with women before now?
Then it suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't the only one missing something.
"There's a lot more, isn't there?" Connor asked cautiously.
"More?"
"We could do this a lot of kinds of ways, couldn't we?"
Jackson laughed. "Oh yeah, darlin', we sure could, if you wanted to."
"I might not have, but you haven't gotten to either, if what you said was true," Connor pointed out.
"No," Jackson said.
He didn't sound unhappy about this—but he sure didn't sound happy about it, either.
"So I guess we're both gonna get something out of this," Connor said.
"That," Jackson said, exhaling a low, slow sigh, arm tightening around Connor's shoulders, "is exactly what I'm thinking."