Pinch Hitter

PINCH HITTER

NASH

" I s this because your dad didn't come to all of your games?" Mom asked, her face screwed up in earnest concentration, and it was all I could do not to laugh at how terrible everything about this conversation was. This conversation, and this evening, and my whole life right up until now, actually. I regretted everything . "Because that wasn't always his fault. He had to travel with his work, you know, and?—"

"No, Mom! Jesus!" I couldn't believe there was anything in the world that would stop her from bad mouthing Dad any chance she got. He walked out on us when I was nine, because he'd fallen dick-deep into a younger woman, so it wasn't as though he didn't deserve the bad mouthing, but I'd shocked her so much that suddenly she was about to nominate him for a Father of the Year Award. "This has got nothing to do with Dad. Ew. Gross."

"Well, I'm just trying to understand here," Mom said. "Is there maybe some other reason for this... this interest?"

I looked at my dessert, and wondered if I could smother myself with it just to escape this moment. "Mom, you're making it weird!"

" I'm making it weird?" She blinked at me. "Nash, I'm not the one looking up ‘Virgin twink gets spanked by Daddy' on PornHub!"

Yup. My mom had seen the browser history on my phone when she'd grabbed it to open Google Maps, because she was terrible with directions when she was driving anywhere outside of Highland Springs. She hadn't said anything at first, and I'd had my fingers crossed that she wouldn't. At least, not until we were on our way home again. But it had just burst right out of her as though she couldn't hold it in anymore, and here we were.

All in all, it wasn't the celebratory high school graduation dinner I'd been hoping for.

Probably not for my mom, either.

And certainly not for everyone else in the Cheesecake Factory.

When Mom packed me off to college at the end of summer, we were almost at the point of looking each other in the eye again. It was still weird though, and she made it weirder by hugging me and making me promise not to hook up with any of my professors. Or Coach Larson. Which—she'd met Coach Larson. The idea that she thought he might feature in my fantasies was deeply troubling. He was a great coach, but he looked like Walter Matthau in The Bad News Bears . Which had been a truly formative movie when I'd seen it as a kid, but not in that way.

No, I was in no danger of finding the daddy of my dreams at Lassiter.

Not that I wanted to, at least not right away. I was here to study and play baseball, and that was more than enough to keep me busy for a while. My schedule was hectic enough in the pre-season, but come January, when practices started, shit got super real.

Fuck .

It was like shifting from first gear straight up into fifth. Some nights when I dragged myself back to Fraternity Row, I was too tired to do anything except face plant onto my bed and black out until my alarm went off again at 6 a.m. And it was rinse and repeat—weight training, breakfast, classes, lunch, more classes, practice—pretty much every damn day. It was lucky I loved the game. And I was lucky enough to get some time on the field too, at least in the midweek matches when Coach Larson rotated in the new guys.

Whoever said whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger never heard about bear traps, but I guessed that toward the middle of the baseball season I at least wasn't falling asleep in class anymore. My body had climbed the hill, and I was fitter and stronger than I'd ever been. I had a lot more energy too, and I started to think that maybe there was more to life than five minutes with a box of Kleenex, you know?

Hello Grindr.

I wasn't looking for a relationship or anything, just maybe a FWB situation.

Hello Royston.

39 years old, top, single, negative, living in DC. He described himself as a sophisticated daddy who wanted a good boy. Looking for: chat, hook up, right now.

What kind of name was Royston anyway?

Well, DC wasn't too far away for us to chat. The hook up and the right now could come later.

And so, hopefully, would I.

I was supposed to head to DC after our game against UMW in Fredericksburg. The game turned out to be a washout. Literally. We probably could have handled the rain; it was the lightning that made you think twice about standing in an open field with a metal bat in your hands. On the upside, it meant I got to head to DC earlier than I'd thought.

I was jittery in a way I'd never been before.

Royston had booked us a table at some place called Bruges. It was fancy, I guess, or at least fancier than anywhere I'd been. Then again, Cheesecake Factory was about the top of that list. I wasn't used to anywhere I'd have to wear a tie. On the plus side, I hopefully wouldn't be wearing it for too long. Maybe it'd even be tied around my wrists by the end of the night, if things went well. For the past two weeks, Royston had basically been edging me in our chat and I was more than ready for the payoff.

I got to Bruges early, and sat at the small bar drinking a Coke Zero in a highball glass and trying not to feel like I was twelve years old because of it. But it would have been more embarrassing to have ordered a beer and been carded, and probably end up having to explain to Royston why I'd gotten kicked out and we were having our first date on the sidewalk instead.

People came and went, and I couldn't stop from looking over at the door every time it opened.

When it was finally eight, I moved to the table Royston had booked, and ordered another Coke.

And then another one.

I sent Royston a text, just checking in that he wasn't having car trouble or something.

I'm here now. xx

He didn't answer. Probably because he was driving, and he was being responsible.

The server hovered, and then went and did something somewhere else, and then came back and hovered some more. He checked his watch a couple of times, while I tried to pretend I couldn't see him doing it.

I sent another text to Royston:

Are you almost here?

The door to the restaurant opened, and the guy who walked in was hot . He was in his late thirties, maybe even his early forties, with just enough lines around his eyes to make him look like he'd been around the block enough times to know his way. He was in great shape. He was tall, broad across the shoulders, had dark hair and eyes, a tan, and a five o'clock shadow. And he was wearing a suit . I had a thing about suits—I had a thing about a lot of things—and this one was dark gray and nicely fitted. My heart leaped in the hope the man was Royston—he didn't like to send pics of his face—but the server showed him to the table across the narrow space from mine.

"Can I get you a drink to start with?" the server asked.

"A club soda and lime, thanks," Suit Guy said, and I made a mental note to order that next time I was somewhere fancy. Suit Guy opened his menu, and his gaze cut across the space between our tables. I almost spilled my Coke when his mouth curled up in a smile, embarrassed to be caught looking, probably with my tongue hanging out of my head like a cartoon dog's on the scent of a steak, and Suit Guy's smile broadened before he turned his attention to his menu.

The server hovered over to my table. "Sir, I'm sorry." His voice dripped with pity, which made the sting of humiliation that much sharper. "We can't hold the table much longer."

"Um," I said. "It's just traffic or something. He'll be here any minute."

I didn't know why I was defending Royston. Neither did the server, judging by his expression. But we both nodded at each other and hoped for my sake that Royston had been in a horrific traffic accident and was running late to meet me because the firefighters hadn't cut him out with the jaws of life yet.

Oh, Jesus. That was a legitimately awful thing to think. The most awful thing about it was how much I wanted it to be true, because otherwise.. .

I forced down another sip of Coke.

Because otherwise I was just some fucking loser who didn't even realize when he'd been stood up.

The server went back and took Hot Suit Guy's order, and then, with another pitying look in my direction, drifted away.

I stared at the door for a moment, willing it to open. It didn't.

I got my phone out, and checked the time. Yeah, Royston was almost forty minutes late. Was that a lot? Like, it felt like a legitimate millenia from where I was sitting, but I wasn't exactly an impartial judge.

I sent another text.

They can't hold our table for much longer.

The message took a little longer to send, and when it went through it was green and not blue. It took me a second to figure out what it meant.

Yeah, so unless sometime while being rescued by the jaws of life, Royston had found the time to change his phone from an iPhone to some other brand, I guess he'd just blocked me. But, just to be sure, I opened Grindr. Our chat history was gone, and I could no longer see Royston's profile.

Funny how an evening I'd been so excited about just a few hours ago was suddenly one of the most humiliating experiences of my life so far.

I put my phone back in my pocket and got my wallet out. How much was I supposed to leave on the table for a meal I hadn't even ordered? I had to figure it out before the server got back, just so I didn't have to feel any more pathetic when he felt sorry for me again.

I put a twenty on the table—that blew a bigger hole than I wanted to think about in this week's lunch budget—and stood up. I just wanted to get the hell out of here, and get back to Hopewell .

"Excuse me," said Hot Suit Guy.

I stared at him.

"You leaving already?" he asked. "You didn't eat yet." He had a Boston accent, and I'd always thought they were sexy as fuck.

"Yeah," I said, super eloquently, and followed up with, "Uh, no."

"You're welcome to join me," he said, nodding at the extra chair at his table. "My treat."

"Uh," I said again.

"Growing boy like you," he said, his gaze traveling from my head to my feet and then very slowly back up again. "You need to keep your strength up."

Uh.

Was this going where it sounded like it might be going?

Was Hot Suit Guy potentially a Hot Suit Daddy?

Was he into me?

There was only one way to find out, and it wasn't like my night could get any worse .

I sat down and joined him.

When the server got back with Hot Suit Guy's— Paul's —drink, he took my change of seating in his stride. He transferred the setting from my abandoned table to my new one, slipped a menu into my hands, and asked me if I'd like another Coke.

"Could I have a club soda and lime?" I asked.

Paul gave me a smile, and kept telling me about himself. "And so my brother, who thinks I'm terminally single, gave me a gift card for this place so I could invite a date. And it's about to expire, so I thought I'd better use it while I could."

"Even though you don't have a date," I said.

"Well, I didn't ," he said. "But sometimes the universe has a way of working things out. "

"Yeah." Heat climbed in my face and I wasn't sure where to look. "Uh, do you work here in DC?"

"I do," he said. "I work for the ATF."

"Oh wow," I said. "Holy shit! Are you like an agent?"

That was hot. That was so fucking hot.

"Nothing that exciting, I'm afraid," he said. "I'm a forensic accountant."

"Oh, man," I said, and then, because my brain didn't work when it was overwhelmed with images of hot guys with shoulder holsters, I said, "I was hoping you had handcuffs."

"Oh, I do," he said, and flashed me a smile. "But they're strictly for personal use."

It was lucky I didn't have my drink yet, or I probably would have spit it all over the table.

"So, tell me, Nash," he said, "what were you looking for in this Royston guy that you couldn't find at college?"

"Uh." Wasn't that a loaded fucking question? "Experience, maybe. Confidence? Um, authority. Not like, yelling orders or something, um, but..."

"You want someone else to be in charge?" he asked, as casually as if he was inquiring about the weather. "So that you can be a good boy for them?"

Yeah, that. I wanted that . I nodded, because my tongue was suddenly too thick to actually move enough to make words.

"Well, then," Paul said as the server brought me my drink, "why don't we enjoy our dinner, and see what happens after that?"

"Uh," I said, and nodded again. "Yes, please."

I didn't enjoy dinner. It was probably fucking delicious, but I didn't taste a goddamn thing. I could barely remember how to breathe. Just, something about Paul told me I was way out of my depth here, but in the best possible way. And, like, I'd been attracted to guys before, obviously—hell, I'd even slept with a couple—but not a single one of them made me feel so warm all over, like I was under the spotlight at the centre of their undivided attention. And as far as I could tell, Paul wasn't even trying to get under my skin like that. Just that when he was making casual conversation, like, "How was the traffic getting up here?" it was as though he was asking for my deepest secrets, and he knew without a doubt that I'd give them to him.

It was hot as fuck.

After we ate, Paul paid and I waited for him outside. The traffic noises—the brakes, the revs, the blasts of horns—sounded so loud after being inside Bruges, jolting me back into a reality where I was in a strange city, and I'd been ghosted by the guy I'd thought I was meeting, and how did I really know who Paul was anyway? My dick sure liked him, but my dick wasn't the best judge of character. See also, all of high school.

So I was just starting to have second thoughts when Paul came outside and joined me.

"Well?" He nodded toward a dark sedan parked a little way down the street. "Need a lift?"

I stuck my hands in my pockets and walked beside him toward the car.

"You should take a photo of me," he said, which seemed pretty egotistical until he added, "and my driver's license, and my car's license plate, and send them to a friend. That's if you'd like to come home with me, that is."

"Okay," I said, because I really, really wanted to go home with him. I tried to sound casual about it. "Sure."

That's what people did, right? Cool people who already knew how to navigate one night stands, at least.

I took a photo of Paul, and then his license, and then his car, and I sent them all to Tanner.

Are you stalking this guy ?

I sent back:

No! I'm sleeping with him!

I got a lot of dots showing he was typing, so I sent another message before he did:

It's fine. It's a safety thing. If I don't check in tomorrow, you know who I was with last.

Putting it like that, it didn't actually sound fine, but what was the best way to say, "Hey, I'm hooking up with a stranger and he's probably not a serial killer, but here's his info just in case, lol. Also, I'll try to leave a bunch of DNA at his place for the forensics team." Dating was complicated, y'all.

"All good?" Paul asked me.

I shoved my phone back into my pocket. "Great."

He gave me a sideways look, so that had maybe come out a little too enthusiastically to ring entirely true. "You sure?"

"Yes," I said, and nodded like a bobblehead. "Totally sure."

I got into Paul's car, all casual as though I'd done this a million times, and tried not to be intimidated that it was so nice . Like, it wasn't a Mercedes or anything that fancy, just that I hung out with college guys and I didn't think I'd ever got into one of their cars before without having to first sweep a bunch of fast food wrappers from the seat into the footwell.

Paul lived in Glover Park, in an apartment on the ninth floor of a condo building.

"You don't do this often, do you?" he asked me on the elevator ride to his floor, probably because I'd jumped like a scalded cat when he'd reached past me to hit the button.

"No," I said, trying not to feel embarrassed to admit it. "Is it that obvious?"

His mouth quirked up in a smile. "A little."

It occurred to me that he hadn't asked to photograph my ID. But I guess I didn't seem like much of a potential threat. I was giving off nervous virgin vibes all over the place, even though I wasn't a virgin at all. I sure felt like one right now though. I felt like a goddamn Victorian maiden with her corset laced up too tight to breathe, who was about to faint with scandalized horror if a gentleman's sleeve rode up and she caught a glimpse of brutish arm hair.

Which was stupid, because I was generally a huge fan of arm hair. And hair in all kinds of other places. Just, something about Paul put me off balance in the best kind of way, like I didn't know what the fuck was going to happen tonight, but I knew it'd be whatever he wanted.

And I knew that I'd want it too.

When we reached his floor Paul opened the door to his apartment and I stepped in. He put a hand on my shoulder and steered me further inside, dropping his keys into a marble bowl on a side table near the door while I took in my surroundings, wide eyed.

This was way fancier than my room at Gamma Kappa. For one thing, it lacked the clutter and chaos that was created by forty guys living in the same space, but even apart from that, it was freaking gorgeous.

The living area was clean and spacious with flawless parquetry flooring and a long island counter, and fancy as fuck light fittings. The furniture was sleek and modern and I just knew that it wouldn't stink of teenage sweat like the lounges at Gamma. It had definitely never had taco fillings spilled on it. The lights of the city twinkled outside the full length windows, and I didn't doubt the view during the day was stunning.

The apartment reminded me of Paul—it was way out of my league, but in a good way. Like, this was a league I wanted to play in.

Maybe Royston had done me a favor by bailing.

I swallowed and turned to face Paul. "So, um, how do we do this? "

Paul took a step forward and slid both hands inside my jacket and around to my back, pulling me close. Even through my shirt, the touch of his hands was enough to make me shiver. "Do you mind if I kiss you, gorgeous?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

A tremor ran through me, from anticipation this time. This was really happening. I was hooking up with a hot daddy type.

"N-no," I stammered. Paul's brow creased and I hurried to say, "I meant no, I don't mind, and yes, you can kiss me. Please."

He smiled then, his eyes sparkling. Creases appeared at the corners, somehow making him even hotter and daddier.

He cupped one hand behind my head to hold me in place and leaned in and kissed me.

Paul kissed like he meant business. It wasn't rough, but it left me in no doubt that he was in charge. His tongue probed at the seam of my lips until I opened up for him and he clasped the back of my head more firmly, pressing his tongue into the space I'd made for him. He explored my mouth thoroughly and I let him, soaking up the taste of him, the scent of his cologne, and the scrape of stubble against my skin. It was overwhelming in the best of ways, and I let out a low groan as my dick hardened in my dress pants.

By the time Paul was done kissing me I was breathless and speechless—hell, I was practically senseless. He pulled back, then reached up and cupped my face with one hand, tilting it to one side. He buried his face in the curve of my neck, nipping at the soft flesh there. I whimpered at the light sting as a bolt of lust coursed through me.

This was everything I'd imagined and more—and we'd barely started.

Paul left a trail of damp kisses up the side of my throat, stopping when his mouth was by my ear. "More?" he asked, his voice rasping.

I nodded, unable to speak, and he let out a low chuckle .

We were the same height, which meant that when his other hand slid down to my ass and pulled me close, our bodies lined up perfectly.

He backed me up against the pristine counter that divided the living area from the kitchen, and smoothed his hands up the front of my shirt this time, helping me to shrug off my jacket. It crumpled to the floor. Then he tugged my tie, just to loosen it a little, and smiled at me as he leaned forward for another kiss.

"I like this color on you," he said, his breath hot against my mouth, and gave another tug on my tie.

"Thanks." I couldn't even remember if I was wearing my green tie or my blue tie. Either way, I'd go to my grave before admitting Mom bought it for me.

I tilted my head back as he kissed my throat, his stubble rasping against my skin. I grabbed the back of his jacket, and then ungrabbed it, because what if it was an expensive suit?

He laughed against my neck, as though he knew exactly what I was thinking, and straightened up for long enough to let his jacket join mine on the floor. Then he reached out and tugged at the top button of my shirt, just teasing me with the idea he might pull it open. I stared at him, as unsteady on my feet as if I was drunk, torn between wanting this electric anticipation to last forever, or his dick inside me right fucking now .

He loosened my tie enough to pull it over my head and, with a burst of bravado, I tried to do the same for him.

It was accidental strangulation, officer, I swear.

Paul laughed under his breath as he unstrangled himself.

"Sorry. I'm, um, not great with ties."

"Don't wear them a lot?" he asked.

"I live in hoodies," I said. "The only time I wear a tie is for formal team stuff."

"Team?" he asked.

I flushed. "Uh, yeah. I'm on the Lassiter baseball team."

"A college boy and a baseball player." He grinned, and his eyes sparkled. "Hmm. I must have played my cards right somewhere." Then his grin widened. "So, should I ask?"

"Ask what?"

"You must have heard it before." He huffed out a laugh, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Pitcher or catcher?"

"On or off the field?" I asked him right back.

He tilted his head, considering. "Both, actually."

"I'm a pitcher," I said. "On the field."

He tugged at the top button of my shirt, finally pulling it open. "And off?"

Whatever you want.

I lifted my chin, aiming to demonstrate a bravado I didn't feel. "I'm open to all positions. I'm a team player."

"Fuck," he said under his breath, and pushed hard against me as he claimed my mouth in another kiss. This time he slid his fingers into my hair and tugged my head back, and I moaned in response and let it happen. I could feel the fingers of his other hand moving down my front, unbuttoning my shirt. When we broke the kiss, he slid the shirt off my shoulders and said, "So, what are you looking for tonight?"

I didn't have an answer so much as I had a sudden mental bombardment of images from every PornHub video I'd ever watched. Any response I might have made froze in my throat from sheer sensory overload, and I was suddenly terrified that whatever I said would be wrong, and would only highlight my total inexperience and show Paul that I had no fucking clue what I was doing. As though my silence didn't demonstrate that anyway.

"Okay, here's what I'm going to do to you," Paul said, his voice low. "If you're agreeable." He rubbed a thumb over my left nipple, and a full body shudder wracked me. "I'm gonna lay you back, right here, under the lights, and finger that sweet ass of yours until you come. Maybe eat you out too. How does that sound to you? "

I went with honesty this time. "Like fucking Christmas."

"Except it's me unwrapping the presents," he said with a wolfish grin, and tweaked my nipple. Hard.

I jerked, clinging to his shoulders reflexively as my entire body coiled tight. My dick got impossibly harder, and my balls throbbed, and for one agonizing second I thought I might actually come. Somehow I didn't—proof there was a god, probably—and I shivered with relief, dragging Paul into another kiss to hide my mortification.

He slid his hands down to my ass, and then to my hips. "Come on. Scoot on up there, baby."

I didn't know which shorted my brain out the hardest: the direction, or the way he called me "baby."

Insert Both. Both is good! meme here.

I somehow caught the edge of the counter and pushed myself up onto it. Paul helped with his hands under my thighs. Then he pushed into the space between my knees, and grinned at me as I reached out to fumble a couple of his shirt buttons open.

He had dark chest hair. Not a shag carpet I could make swirls in, but just the right amount to make my fingertips and palms tingle as I ran my hands over his pecs.

The island counter was cool underneath my ass, and hard too, and while it wasn't a big enough issue to overcome my desperate need to get off, a tiny voice in the back of my head did register that it was gonna be uncomfortable if he really wanted me to lie on it. But then Paul bent down and picked up our jackets, bundling them together and passing them to me.

"Lay down and put those behind your head for me."

Of course he already had the logistics figured out. I liked that. I'd always been hot for guys who took charge. It made me warm in a whole different way to realize that he'd taken my comfort into consideration too.

While I was busy wondering how I'd gotten so lucky, Paul was busy pulling off my shoes and socks and unbuckling my belt. I scrambled to help, yanking down my zipper and raising up on the heels of my hands so he had room to slide my pants and boxers off.

I laid back, sucking in a breath when my bare skin met the cold marble. I tucked my makeshift jacket-pillow under my head and set my heels on the edge of the counter. I blinked up at the lights above me, a shudder running through me at being so naked. Like, I was used to wandering through a locker room wearing nothing but skin, but this ? This felt so very different.

"Good boy," Paul said, his voice low, and my insides twisted in pleasure. My cock jerked against my belly, leaking precum. He reached out and ran a thumb over the head before wrapping his hand around my shaft and giving a single stroke. I arched my hips, fucking up into the heat of his touch, and a moan escaped me when he pulled his hand away.

I barely had time to mourn the loss before Paul was slotting himself into the gap between my knees, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his shirtsleeves to his elbows in quick, efficient movements, revealing tan skin, a dusting of dark hair, and sculpted forearms. I caught a flash of ink peeking out from under the fabric, and my mouth went dry.

Paul's lips quirked up and he lifted a hand to my mouth, pressing two fingertips against my lips. "Get these wet for me, gorgeous."

I opened my mouth and he pushed his fingers inside, a solid weight. I closed my eyes and swirled my tongue, dragging it along the length of his fingers and making sure they were soaked. Paul pulled his hand away and I opened my eyes to find him gazing down at me, pupils dark. He put his hands on my knees, nudging them further apart, and I let my legs fall open.

I had a momentary flash of embarrassment at being spread out on display, but it dissolved the moment Paul slid his hand into the cleft of my ass and started teasing at my rim with a spit-soaked finger. My dick throbbed, and I reached down to take hold of it, only for Paul to grab my wrist and move it gently back above my head.

"Let me take care of you." He dipped his head and kissed his way down my chest, stopping to tug at one nipple with his teeth. I panted and squirmed under his touch, already coming apart at the seams from the combination of being pinned down and told what to do.

And then he made everything a thousand times better by sliding his finger in my ass, right up to the last knuckle. It sank in easily and I jolted, my ass clenching for a second around the intrusion before I let out a long breath and relaxed.

Paul gave a low groan. "Did you prep for your date?" he asked me.

"Y-yeah." I shifted restlessly, wanting more.

Paul pressed a kiss to my stomach and straightened, working his finger in and out in a steady rhythm. "Good boy." His voice was low and dark, making my insides melt, but his eyes were bright as always. "What sort of an asshole would leave a boy as good and pretty as you waiting in a restaurant?"

I moaned, squirming and panting and desperate for more.

"You want more, baby?" he murmured.

I couldn't speak, only nod.

The first finger was joined by a second one. I let out a sharp breath, my fingers clutching tightly at the fabric of the bundled up jackets in an effort to stop myself from grabbing my aching cock. Fuck, it was only two fingers, but the way Paul was sliding them in and out, expertly twisting them and teasing my rim, had my entire body thrumming like a live wire.

"Doing so good for me," he said. The praise had my insides heating and my cock spurting out precum. Paul hummed and ran his free hand down my body, tweaking my nipple on the way, and dragged his fingertips through the mess on my belly before licking his fingers clean. It was filthy and hot all at once, and I fucking loved it .

"I'm gonna get my mouth on you now, okay?" he said, voice rough.

"Please, Sir," I gasped out, and my brain, which was barely functioning, screeched to a complete halt for a split second. Where the fuck had that come from?

I mean, I knew where it had come from. I just hadn't planned on going there.

I propped myself up on my elbows, ready to—I don't know. Apologize? Explain? But I only had a moment to worry I'd made things weird before Paul growled out, "Jesus, Nash. Could you be any more perfect for me?"

And then he buried his face in my ass.

It was fucking transcendent . A noise that was probably only audible to dogs escaped me as I fell back onto the marble, clutched the edges of the counter and stared up into the lights. Outside, the city glittered, and I was exposed on some guy's kitchen island as he snaked his tongue up my ass between his spread fingers, and it was better than anything I could ever have imagined. I felt dirty as hell, but also weirdly sacred, like some offering laid out on an altar while Paul worshiped me. I'd thought back at the restaurant having Paul's full attention focused on me was intense, but that was nothing compared to right now.

Paul worked my ass like a pro, hitting all my sensitive spots with his fingers and tongue, and drawing a symphony of indecent noises out of me. And any other time I might have been embarrassed, but right now? I was too turned on to care. My toes curled and heat raced up my spine as he worked his tongue deeper. Need built hard and fast inside me, tightening like a coil, and I wanted more . More of this, but harder, and faster, until I'd come so hard I shattered into a million pieces under the bright, hanging kitchen lights and Paul's fingers and tongue. Every single fantasy I'd ever had was coming true, but not fast enough .

Somehow the noises I was making coalesced into babbling words. Words like now , and more , and pleasepleaseplease . My vision blurred, and a hot tear leaked out the side of my eye and slid down my temple, vanishing into the sweat beading my hair line. I was fucking wrecked, and Paul should have been going faster , or doing more, or something , and I curled my fingers into his hair and pulled.

Hard.

He lifted his head and stared at me.

I let go of his hair, and slapped my hand down on the counter. "Sorry. Fuck, sorry."

Was he angry? Had I hurt him?

And then he flashed me that wicked grin of his, the one that made my breath catch with anticipation and the potential of a million different things he planned to do to me, and he straightened up. He licked his lips, and, just when I was barely coming to terms with that , he shoved two fingers inside me as casually as if he was checking my oil.

Like he owned me.

And right at that moment? He did.

A broken whine escaped me as he worked his fingers deeper. Paul's grin widened and he leaned down, his tongue rasping wetly up the length of my aching dick. Then he crooked his fingers and dragged them over my prostate, and the tension that had been building snapped like an overworked guitar string. Heat and pleasure flooded through me as I shot my load. My dick pulsed and ropes of cum spattered against my bare skin.

"Good boy," Paul growled out, and the words made me shiver for all the right reasons.

I lay sprawled across the countertop and tried to catch my breath as I came to terms with the fact that Paul had made me come without a hand on my dick. My limbs were heavy, and my entire body buzzed with a bone-deep satisfaction. I wasn't sure whether it was because of my mind-blowing orgasm or from Paul calling me his good boy, and I didn't care which .

Paul gazed up the length of my body at me, his eyes dark and his mouth curled up into a pleased smile. He eased his fingers out of me and wiped them on the tail of my shirt before reaching out and sliding his hands under my shoulder blades, pulling me into a sitting position.

I was shaky as a newborn colt, everything fuzzy around the edges, and I probably would have fallen off the counter if he hadn't wrapped his arms around me. I buried my face against his collarbone, inhaling the scent of expensive cologne and fresh sweat in a half-daze while Paul ran his hands up and down my spine in a soothing motion and I tried to remember how my limbs worked.

I slowly came back to myself, and now that I didn't have a tongue up my ass, I was all too aware of the cool marble against my skin. I squirmed, trying and failing to get comfortable. In the end I reluctantly lifted my head from where it rested and draped my arms around Paul's neck, with every intention of sliding gracefully off the counter.

Only it turned out my legs weren't quite functioning yet, so I ended up sliding down to the floor, landing in a messy heap at Paul's feet. But you know what? That worked too.

Because Paul had rocked my world, and now I planned to do the same for him. This might be a one-time thing, but I wanted it to be a night to remember—for both of us. And I'd always loved giving head.

I sat back on my haunches and looked up, running a hand over the solid bulge in the front of his dress pants. I licked my lips and swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. I wanted to taste him. "Can I blow you?"

Paul's nostrils flared. He rested a hand on the top of my head and tipped it back. "You wanna make me come, baby?"

"Yessir," I said, barely breathing the words.

Paul's grip tightened and his gaze grew heated. He unbuckled his belt and pulled it free with smooth, sure movements that upped his hotness level to around ten thousand before unzipping his pants and shoving them halfway down his thighs, along with his underwear.

My mouth watered at the sight of his thick cock where it sprang from a nest of dark curls, slapping against his belly. The tip was flushed pink and already leaking precum, and I leaned in, putting one hand on his thigh for balance and wrapping my lips around the head. Paul made a sound like he'd been punched, and satisfaction bloomed in my gut when he growled out a low, " Fuck. "

His hips rocked forward once before he tensed and stilled, a tremor running through his muscles. I glanced up to see him looking down at me with one eyebrow raised, silently checking I was okay with this.

I nodded, and just in case he was in any doubt I grabbed his free hand and pressed it to the back of my head before taking him in my mouth again, deeper this time. I wrapped my hand around the rest of his shaft and jerked him off while I started sucking his dick in earnest. He let out a low groan and started fucking into my mouth in short, desperate thrusts, while I closed my eyes and savored the weight and the taste of him on my tongue and inhaled his scent, a potent mix of sex and sweat.

The tang of precum burst across my tongue and I swallowed eagerly, moving my hand down to stroke and tease his balls. Paul let out a gasp and his fingers tangled in my hair. His grip was tight enough to sting, and I moaned around a mouthful of cock. Paul tensed, let out a bitten-off groan, and pulled out—and that was all the warning I got before he came all over my face.

He grasped his dick with one hand and worked it, releasing spurt after spurt of cum. Warm streaks painted my cheeks and chin, and I was pretty sure he even got some in my hair, but I didn't give a fuck. I was too busy watching Paul as he shook apart at the seams.

His head was thrown back, eyes closed and mouth hanging open, and the beads of sweat on his temples glistened in the overhead lights.

It was the hottest fucking thing I'd ever seen.

Like, I didn't think I was a sex guru or anything, but damned if I didn't take it as a compliment that he'd come that hard and fast just from a blowjob.

I hadn't even deep-throated.

Paul gave a full-body shudder when I rolled his still twitching balls in my palm, and he staggered back a half-step. He huffed out a soft laugh, looking down at me with a lopsided smile that suggested he was probably about as loose-limbed and fuck-drunk as I was right now. I grinned back.

I rose to my feet and even managed to do it gracefully—thank you, Coach Larson and those yoga stretches—and Paul reached out and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close. I ducked my head self-consciously, all too aware of the cum decorating my face.

Paul tipped my head up with a thumb under my chin and his smile widened. "My gorgeous, messy boy," he said, voice low.

I wasn't one of those crazy stalker types. I knew what this was. But damn if hearing Paul call me his boy didn't have me wishing it was true.

"Shall I clean you up and then make you dirty again?" he said, eyes dancing.

I ignored the ache in my chest and nodded, and he led me to the bathroom.

A couple hours later, I lay awake staring at Paul's bedroom ceiling.

I'd crossed a lot of things off my list tonight, that was for sure, and I tried to feel good about that, but I couldn't get past the fact that Paul hadn't fucked me. My body, for the record, felt so good—tired as hell, but good—it was just my brain that couldn't get with the program.

Beside me, Paul was breathing deeply as he slept.

He didn't even snore.

A hot, older guy in a suit who'd bought me dinner and then made me come three times, and he didn't even snore.

Perfect, right?

So what the hell was wrong with me that he hadn't fucked me?

I eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep, and when I woke up I was plastered along Paul's back with my face buried against the curve of his neck, my nose filled with the woodsy scent of his body wash. I wanted to stay there and soak up his presence, but when I lifted my head I noted the pre-dawn cast to the light in the room. I sighed and rolled over, checking the time on my phone.

5.30 AM.

I did some quick calculations. I needed to get back to where I'd parked last night and drive back to Lassiter in time to get ready for the rescheduled game in Fredericksburg today. A couple of Red Bulls and I'd be pitching the game of my life, right? Probably not, but Coach didn't need to know I hadn't been tucked up in my bed all night like a good little team player. I could just tell him I was having an off day.

The sensible thing to do would have been to leave now and avoid any awkward post-non-fuck conversation where we both tried to avoid mentioning that I hadn't turned out to be what Paul was looking for after all, yet I found myself draping one arm around him again, my fingertips dancing lightly over his chest and abs. He was just as tempting out of a suit as he was wearing one, and it was taking all my willpower not to run my tongue over the lines of ink swirling down his bicep.

Paul stirred at my touch and rolled over toward me. His eyes opened and he shot me a lazy smile. Then he stretched like a cat, his muscles flexing in a way that made my insides flutter. " Hey, gorgeous," he said. His voice was rough with sleep, and it was sexy as fuck.

"Hey," I said. "Sorry if I woke you."

He gave a casual shrug and propped himself on one elbow, watching me with dark eyes as his gaze raked over my bare chest, and in that moment I wished desperately that I was Paul's type, and I had a sudden urge to sink to my knees and beg him to keep me.

Except, he didn't want to keep me. For all his talk about how good and perfect I was, he hadn't even wanted to have me.

I needed to get out of here before I embarrassed myself. I opened my mouth to tell him I'd get out of his hair, but before I could say anything he pulled me closer and kissed me, and his mouth was so soft and warm and his kiss so all-consuming that by the time he pulled back I'd forgotten everything except my own name.

I stared at him, wide-eyed. He grinned back and said, "What time's your game, beautiful?"

"It's, uh, one?"

A smile lit up his features. "Perfect. How about I feed you and then drive you to where you need to go? How does that sound to you?"

I cocked my head. That actually sounded great. What it didn't sound like was Paul trying to get rid of me. Weird. But then again, maybe he'd just been raised to be a gentleman.

"I don't want to take up your day."

Paul shifted so he was sitting against the headboard, and a tiny crease appeared between his brows. "Nash, I'd like to spend the morning with you. Unless you don't want that?"

"I do want that," I said, "only, don't feel obliged or anything." My insides twisted as I hurried to add, "I get that I'm not what you wanted."

The crease deepened. "What makes you say that? Someone who looks like you and wants to be my good boy? You're exactly what I want. "

"But you didn't fuck me," I blurted out.

Okay, apparently my need to know what was wrong with me overrode any desire I might have had to keep a shred of dignity. Which was totally fine and not at all embarrassing.

My face burned and I ducked my head, unwilling to look at Paul and instead doing my best to stare a hole in the bedsheets.

He let out a sigh, and then he gripped my chin and tilted my head up so I was looking at him. He raised an eyebrow at me and said, "I was hoping we could do that next time, if you're agreeable."

I blinked. "What?"

He huffed out an embarrassed laugh. "Baby, I hadn't planned on bringing anyone home. The only reason I didn't fuck you was that I wasn't exactly prepared."

It took me a second to get what he meant. "So, you don't have…"

"I don't have condoms. It didn't even cross my mind until we were back here, and I was hardly going to leave you spread out on the counter while I went down to CVS."

Relief washed over me like a summer shower, and a smile spread across my face. "So you do want to fuck me?"

"Baby, if you didn't have a game this afternoon, I'd be making plans to spend the day buried in your sweet ass."

I swallowed at the mental image of Paul settled between my spread thighs, that thick dick of his filling me up while he told me how I was his good, obedient boy. A shudder ran through me and my cock throbbed. "We could make time now," I said. "Doordash does condoms, right?"

He raised that eyebrow again. "The first time we do this I'm taking it slow and making it good, sweetheart. Trust me, I plan to wreck you so thoroughly that when I'm done you won't be able to walk, let alone pitch a game."

Holy shit.

A high pitched whine escaped me.

Paul's smile widened. "So is that a yes? "

"Yessir," I murmured.

Paul groaned. "Fuck me, I do love a polite Southern boy. You sure that's what you want to call me though, baby?"

Wait. Was he asking what I thought he was asking?

I hesitated, and the hand that had been under my chin slid around and gripped the back of my neck, firm and reassuring as he waited for my answer. And really, last night had shown that Paul might be everything I'd ever wanted. So, maybe I could have this too?

I took a deep breath. "No, sir."

"Tell me, there's a good boy."

There was enough force to his words that my brain registered it as a command, and my answer slipped out of me in a breathy voice I barely recognized as my own. "I want to call you Daddy."

"Fuck, baby." Paul's grip tightened just for a second, and then his hands slid down my back as he tugged me across to his side of the bed and kissed me, hard and desperate and filthy. My dick hardened instantly—partly from the kissing, and partly from the rush of actually calling someone Daddy. I'd imagined it, but the real thing was a thousand times more intense, and it had my blood sizzling in my veins and my entire body thrumming like a live wire.

I moaned against his mouth as I scrambled into his lap, running my hands over his broad shoulders, greedy for more touch, more skin, more everything . We might not have time to fuck properly, but honestly? I was so fucking turned on right now, Paul just existing could make me come in under thirty seconds.

Hell, if he called me a good boy again in that rich Boston accent of his, I'd probably go off like a bottle rocket.

Paul tangled his hand in my hair and tugged gently to tilt my head to the side. He kissed along my jawline, and I was seconds away from grabbing my dick and jerking off when my phone buzzed. Paul lifted his head and nodded toward the bedside table in silent query.

"Ignore it," I panted out.

He grinned and went back to kissing the side of my throat.

The phone buzzed again. And again.

And again.

Paul pulled back. "You wanna get that, gorgeous?"

I groaned and shook my head, but I moved off his lap and sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing my phone. There was a series of texts from Tanner.

Bro, where are you?

Are you okay? Your car's not here.

Your guy better not be a serial killer.

Do I need to call the cops?

I suppressed a sigh. Of course Tanner was looking out for me. He was my best friend, and we had each other's backs. I sent a message back.

I'm fine. And serial killers aren't hot guys in suits.

My phone buzzed again.

I've watched enough Hannibal to know that's a lie.

I snorted. Tanner had made it through exactly one episode before he'd tapped out.

Hannibal freaked you out so bad that you went and stayed with Charlie until your brothers took down that elk head in the living room.

Rude.

I grinned at my screen.

Thanks for checking in. I'm heading back after breakfast.

You can tell me all about your hookup while we're on the bus.

Absolutely not. A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell.

I tossed the phone onto the bedside table and a hand settled on my shoulder as Paul sat next to me, his thigh pressing against mine. His voice curled warm and smoky in my ear. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Tanner was just checking you didn't have me chained up in a basement somewhere."

Paul let out a soft laugh that turned into a thoughtful hum. "You know, we never did get those handcuffs out. Is that something you'd be interested in?"

I sucked in a sharp breath. "Fuck, yes."

"I'll put it on the list for next time." Paul said, and kissed my cheek. Then he wrapped a hand around my hardening cock and gave a single, firm stroke that had me bucking up into his grip. "Now, you want me to jerk you off, baby?"

And tilted my head back, leaned into his touch, and said, "Please, Daddy."

After we got each other off—and I was right about it taking under thirty seconds—we showered and Paul fed me breakfast. He dropped me at my parked car, kissed me goodbye, and said he'd be in touch.

So of course I promptly spent the next three hours second guessing myself on the drive back to Hopewell. Like, sure, he'd given me his number and asked about my schedule, and he'd said he wanted to see me again. Hell, he'd even joked about coming to a game and checking me out in my baseball uniform.

But Royston had said a lot of things like that too, and then ghosted me. And if I thought about it, was the kind of guy who picked up random college kids in restaurants really someone whose word I could trust? I mean, I'd been more than willing to go home with him, so that wasn't the issue, but I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that it had been a lucky case of being in the right place at the right time. Someone like Paul—someone clever, hot, and experienced—was hardly going to waste his time chasing a college kid.

Despite my normally sunny outlook, I couldn't shake the feeling that it all seemed too good to be true. By the time I got back to Lassiter I'd managed to convince myself that all Paul's talk of there being a next time was nothing more than empty promises, and my post-date-slash-orgasm high was a distant memory.

I had just enough time to have a snack and change into my uniform before we got on the team bus and head to Fredericksburg. I was one of the first aboard, and I settled into a seat near the back and stared out the window, doing my best to ignore the hollow ache inside.

I should have been happy. I'd just had the night of my life. Being with an older, more experienced man who took charge had been everything I'd hoped it would be—and somehow, that made it worse. Because now I knew what I was missing. But the odds another hot suit daddy would ever walk into my life, take one look at me, and decide to take me home were about as good as the odds of Coach Larson ever making the hot teacher list at Lassiter.

A sigh escaped me just as Tanner dropped into the seat next to me and nudged me gently. "Hey. You okay?"

"Of course," I lied. "Best night ever."

A worried crease appeared between his brows. "You sure? Because if I'd been dicked down by a guy who looked like that I'd be over the moon. But you're acting like your hamster just died."

I shifted in my seat so I was facing him and pasted a smile on my face. "Better?"

"Fuck, no. Now you look like a Stepford wife."

"Since when do you know what a Stepford wife is?"

"Since I started dating Charlie." His expression softened. "Seriously though, are you okay? Something didn't happen, did it? Like, something bad?" The crease between his brows reappeared.

"No, nothing like that," I said quickly, before he got the wrong idea. "It was good. It was better than good. It was—" My voice caught on the sudden lump in my throat. It had been fucking perfect, and now it was done. I swallowed. "I'm just tired."

Tanner regarded me for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. If you say so." He reached forward and tugged the brim of my baseball cap down. "Try and sleep, and I'll wake you when we get there."

And then Coach Larson got on the bus and made sure we were all accounted for. After that, he shouted at us for a bit about how we were having a great season but that didn't mean we could slack off, and then the bus rumbled to life and we were off.

I spent most of the trip gazing out the window. The landscape flew by in a blur as I debated whether to text Paul and tell him I made it home safely. It was tempting, but at the same time, it wasn't like he'd asked me to call .

No, he'd given me his number, and said he'd be in touch. So now all I could do was wait for a call that would probably never come.

The bus rattled to a stop and Tanner nudged me. "Hey. We're here."

I sighed and sat up, rolling my neck to work all the kinks out. A glance out the window showed we were in the parking lot of Mary Washington where the game was being played. The sky was clear with no sign of yesterday's rain clouds, and the brightness of the day seemed to mock my darkening mood.

We grabbed our bags and shuffled off the bus, Coach checking our names off his clipboard as we did so. I was last to leave and I followed Tanner down the bus steps and around the front, and I was so busy staring at my shoes that I didn't even notice Tanner had stopped walking until I ran into the back of him.

"Bro!" he said in a low, urgent tone. He grabbed my elbow when I went to step forward, holding me in place as he peered around the front end of the bus. "Is that your guy?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your guy," he repeated. "The one from last night. I think he's waiting for you."

My breath caught in my throat and I pulled loose from Tanner's grip, stepping around him to see. And yep, there in the parking lot two rows over from the bus, leaning against the hood of his Audi with his arms folded over his chest and scanning the players, was Paul.

His whole face lit up with the force of his smile when he spotted me and my heart did a backflip.

Paul was here. He was here and he was waiting for me. I stood, frozen in place. I was desperate to go see him, but I was pretty sure Coach would have something to say if I disappeared from the squad.

As if reading my mind, Tanner nudged me. "Go on. Just be quick. "

A glance at Coach found him deep in consultation with one of the assistant coaches. When I looked back at Paul he'd unfolded his arms and was now leaning back on his hands, spread out like a feast, and I knew an invitation when I saw it.

As Coach waved the rest of the team forward and they started across the parking lot towards the gates, I walked quickly over to where Paul was waiting instead. Even though it was barely a dozen steps, I found myself breathless.

Paul straightened at my approach, and his smile widened. "Hey, gorgeous."

"What are you doing here?"

Smooth, Nash. Real smooth.

Paul didn't seem offended though. "I wanted to see you again, and I knew where you'd be."

"Oh." I wanted to say something clever and flirty, but my head was still spinning at the knowledge that Paul had driven all the way to Fredericksburg. For me. He hadn't been lying about staying in touch after all.

Paul cleared his throat. "So, I know I said I wanted to see you again, but after you left I got the feeling that you might think I was just being polite."

I bit my lip. "It had maybe crossed my mind."

He stood and took a step toward me. "Royston was a fool to walk away from such a pretty boy. Such a good boy." My breathing hitched, loud in the space between us, and the corners of Paul's mouth quirked up in a smile. "You want that, Nash? To be my good boy?"

Was he asking me to date him?

I really, really hoped so, but the whole Royston thing had made me cautious about hot guys who promised and then didn't deliver.

"Do you mean like a casual thing?"

It wasn't what I wanted. I wanted the full daddy experience, and I wanted Paul to be the one to give it to me. I mean, now that I'd had his tongue up my ass I was pretty sure I'd do anything to experience it again, and if all he was offering was the occasional hookup, I'd take what I could get and be grateful. I just needed to be sure of where I stood before I made a fool of myself by assuming Paul wanted to date me.

I'd already been humiliated once this weekend, and I wasn't keen to repeat the experience.

Paul reached out and cupped my cheek, making my heart race. His fingertips rasped against my skin and the scent of his cologne filled my nostrils as he leaned in and spoke in a firm tone that left no doubt who was in charge here. "No, gorgeous. I want to date you, and I expect it to be exclusive. I don't share my boys, Nash."

Oh.

Paul was watching me expectantly, one eyebrow raised, and I didn't even try to keep the smile from spreading across my face as I said, "Yes. You. I mean, please."

So smooth.

I blushed when I heard the word salad I'd just blurted out, and tried again. "I mean, yes, I'd like to be your boy."

Paul either didn't notice or didn't care about the way I was tripping over my tongue, because he just grinned. "That's what I hoped you'd say."

My own smile was so wide my cheeks ached, and it was taking everything in me not to pull him into a kiss, just to make sure this was real. But out of the corner of my eye I saw that the rest of the squad had reached the gates and Coach was looking around.

As much as I wanted to stay here, I had a game to get to.

"I gotta go," I said, tipping my head in the direction of the team. "Are you staying to watch the game?"

"Of course. I plan to come to as many of your games as I can, baby."

Heat flooded through me, both at the nickname and at the thought of someone in the stands who was there just for me. Still, it felt only fair to warn Paul he might be wasting his time. " You might turn up for nothing. Coach rotates the lineup so I'm not always pitching."

Paul gave me a slow, hungry smile as his gaze traveled up and down my body. "If you're dressed like that, it'll be worth the trip. Because those pants are criminally hot. And I should know. I'm the one with the handcuffs."

That startled a laugh out of me.

Paul laughed too before leaning in closer and murmuring, "In fact, seeing you in that uniform is giving me all sorts of ideas. Wanna meet up later? We can do all the things we didn't do last night. Including the cuffs."

Hearing Paul talk dirty to me in that low, silky voice of his had the hairs standing up on the back of my neck and my blood running hot.

I stepped forward and he grabbed my waist and tugged me close, then slid his hands down over my hips and around to cup my ass. I could feel the heat radiating off his palms and warming my skin through the fabric, and I gave in to temptation and leaned in and kissed him, hard and desperate, tangling my fingers in his perfectly styled hair.

He groaned against my mouth and a thrill shot through me. "If you can get away after the game, I can drive you back to Lassiter later tonight."

I was nodding before he'd finished speaking, just in case he changed his mind and the opportunity slipped away. "Yeah," I said breathlessly. "I can do tonight. I'll tell Coach I'm meeting my boyfriend after."

My heart beat faster at the thrill of saying the word— boyfriend —out loud.

"It's a date." Paul grinned, his eyes creasing at the corners. Then he leaned in and kissed me again before pulling back and giving my ass a gentle slap. "Now get out on that field and make your Daddy proud. And afterwards I'll take you home, peel you out of those damn pants, and wreck you."

I swear, I almost swooned like Scarlett O'Hara .

Paul raised an eyebrow and made a shooing motion, and I couldn't keep the smile off my face when I jogged over to join the team. Excitement and anticipation coursed through me, and when I glanced back over my shoulder to find Paul staring unabashedly at my ass, I had to take a couple of deep breaths as it struck me that this was really happening.

Somehow, I'd landed myself a hot older boyfriend who not only shared all my kinks but was sexier'n hell. Later tonight, he'd promised to take me back to his place and wreck me—and as I was starting to realize, Paul was a man of his word.

I couldn't wait.