I bite my bottom lip. “Are you, you know . . . able to exert yourself?”
He lifts a brow. “On the field, or in bed?”
I feel a blush creep over my cheeks. “Both.”
He lightly chuckles. “Both. Curious to put me to the test?”
“No.” I shake my head, even though I don’t mean it. It’s the furthest thing from the truth actually. The minute I saw Holt on my doorstep, I knew I needed him right then and there. I wanted to feel his lips on mine, his body taking charge, his hands roaming, touching, feeling. But I don’t know if now is the time. I’m not sure if he came over for that. Clearing my throat, I say, “So, you’re okay, then? Do I need to worry about your heart?”
“Leave the worrying to me. I’m good.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Good.” I get up from his lap and stretch my arms above my head. “It’s getting late.”
“Yeah, I should probably get home.”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant I wanted to change into something else.”
His eyes scan me. “You’re wearing sweats and a sweatshirt. How could you be any more comfortable than that?”
“I’m wearing a leotard underneath.”
“What?” He laughs. “Why?”
“Zoom training. I wanted to look nice up top, but kept it casual on the bottom with my sweatpants.”
“So you wore a leotard? Like a ballerina?”
“No.” I chuckle and take off my sweatshirt, showing the stylish V-neck tank leotard I bought on sale. “Usually, people wear them tucked into dress pants. I wore a cardigan with it, but skipped the dress pants and opted for sweatpants.”
His eyes are zeroed in on my cleavage. “You wore that to a Zoom meeting?”
“I had a cardigan on.”
“Even with a cardigan, your tits don’t go away.”
“It’s not that revealing.” I nudge his foot.
“My penis begs to differ.” He motions to my hip. “It’s cut high. I can see skin.”
I glance down at my low-riding sweatpants and then back at him. “You’re supposed to wear high-waisted dress pants with them.”
“I don’t care what you’re supposed to wear with it. I care how you look in it right now, and you look hot.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s a leotard, nothing special about it, but I need to get out of it.” I push my sweatpants down and toss them in the hamper
“Baby.” I hear Holt shift in the chair and when I turn in his direction, he’s sitting forward, hands clasped in front of him, his eyes trained on me.
“What?”
“You’re killing me.”
“In this?” I motion to my leotard.
He leans back and rubs his hands over his thighs. “Yeah, in that.”
My heart trips as his teeth roll over his bottom lip in this sexy, come hither way. It shoots a wave of lust and confidence through me in a matter of seconds. Before I can stop myself, I walk over to him, push him all the way back, and then straddle his lap. He sucks in a sharp breath as he smooths his hands up my legs to my hips.
I lean forward and press my breasts to his chest as I bring my lips to his neck and kiss up the strong, muscular column.
“Jesus,” he sighs as his hands float to the back of my leotard and connect with the high line of the fabric that leads to the thong back. “Is this . . . a thong?” He sounds amazed.
“Can’t be having panty lines in those dress pants,” I say, my mouth traveling up to his jaw.
“Let me see,” he barely chokes out.
Smiling, I lift off him and stand. His eyes are hazy, half-lidded, as if I just drugged him with my kisses. Seeing him like this just spurs on my confidence, so I turn around for him, spread my legs, and bend at the waist.
“Shit,” he mutters.
He doesn’t get to say much more before I’m backing up on his lap again and pressing my back to his chest. I take one of his hands and place it on my stomach to hold me in place as I slowly start to roll my hips over his already hardened cock.
God, that feels amazing. Knowing I turned on this man, this fun-loving, sexy-as-hell man.
“What are you doing to me, baby?” he whispers, his lips dancing across my ear, sending a wave of chills down my arms.
“Having some fun.” I slide his hand up and across my cleavage for a brief second and then bring it back down to my stomach. He sucks in a sharp breath and I can feel my nipples harden from his warm breath across my neck.
I continue to roll my hips over his lap. Then I bring his hand up to my right breast, separate his fingers, and close them around my nipple so he pinches it. I arch into him from the pressure of his fingers and then let him have free rein as I grip the back of his neck for better leverage.
“Hell, you’re hot.” He slips his hand to my cleavage, and when I think he’s going to roam to my other breast, he slips his hand under the fabric and grips my bare breast. His large palm cups me while his fingers find my nipple, and he pinches again, but this time, a touch harder.
A bolt of lust sears through me, pooling between my legs, creating an inferno of need. I need him, but I want to please him even more. I want to know what it feels like to have his mouth all over me, his hands roaming my body, my mouth on him.
I want to know what he tastes like, what it feels like to have him in my mouth, running my tongue up and down his length.
I want to pleasure him. I want to watch as he becomes unhinged, as he can’t take the way I bring him to climax and finally gives in.
I want to make him feel crazy. Satisfied. As if he can’t get enough. How I feel.
Rolling my hips, I press down farther, feeling just how hard he is, but I want to feel him in my palm. I want to feel his bare cock and run my tongue up his thick length.
Desire desperately takes over me as I move his hand away from my breast and slide down between his legs. I kneel before him and reach up to his waistband to undo his jeans. Staring down at me, heavy eyes connected with mine, his teeth rolling over his bottom lip, it’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.
I slip my fingers under the waistbands of his boxer briefs and jeans and pull down. He lifts up, assisting me, and as I pull them down, I keep my eyes trained on his cock and watch as it strains toward his stomach when released.
My mouth waters.
My legs shake beneath me.
My hands beg for a feel.
From behind, Holt pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his corded chest and the thick muscles stretching from his shoulders to his defined pecs, to his perfectly indented abs and the tight V in his hips. And then he reaches down and wraps his large hand around his cock. Starting at the base, he begins to stroke himself, and I watch.
Like a voyeur.
My eyes are trained on his thick shaft, the way it grows stiff in his hand, the veins that pop and become more and more defined with every stroke.
I marvel at the pre-cum at the tip of his cock and the strain in his muscles as he remains self-controlled. How do I change that? How do I make him unhinged?
I wet my lips as my hands glide up his thighs. They bunch under the feel of my nails dragging over his skin, and when I reach his center, I don’t take over. Instead, I reach for his balls with one hand and carefully roll them in my hand.
“Babe,” he says in a weak voice.
I move my thumb down the seam of his balls, applying just enough pressure so it’s stimulating and not tickling him. When I reach the bottom, I circle around his scrotum and return to the seam, repeating the movement as if I’m tracing a figure eight. I glance up in time to catch his eyes rolling to the back of his head. His legs widen even more and his hand pumps harder.
Fascinated by his reaction, I continue the movement. Pausing mid stroke, counting to three, and then continuing. He wiggles under me and his breathing grows heavier, so I release him and bring my hands back to his inner thighs.
“Fuck, baby. Please keep t
ouching me.”
I smile. I love that I’ve made him desperate. I love that he calls me baby. I love the control I have in this moment, and I’m going to take advantage of it. I move my hands inwards again, and when I grow close to his balls, I draw my thumbs over the seam, one right after the other, as I continue moving my hands inwards.
“Hell,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and emitting a hiss as I apply more pressure.
“That okay?” I ask.
“Fucking phenomenal.”
Pleased, I keep going , drawing away and then moving in, slower and slower, letting him get used to the pattern. The entire time, I watch his hand dragging up his thick cock. He pauses and rubs his thumb over the tip, and then his hand falls back down to the base. His forearm flexes, the muscles firing off as he brings himself pleasure.
“How often do you jack off, Holt?”
“More often since you’ve walked into my life,” he answers, his voice strained.
“Think about me?”
“All the goddamn time.”
Wanting to touch him, to be the one who makes him come, I take his hand and slowly remove it from his cock, which twitches against his stomach as I grow closer. Pre-cum slides onto his stomach, and I swipe it up with my finger and slowly move it along the length of him. It’s a light touch, but it still causes his cock to jump. Needy, desperate for more.
“You have such a hot dick,” I say, moving more between his legs, adrenaline starting to pump through me as I wet my lips again and lower my head.
I grip his cock and bring it to my mouth. I trace my lips with the head and then open my mouth just enough to take in the tip. My tongue swirls around the top as my right hand falls to the base and starts pumping.
“Jesus, fuck,” he mutters, pressing his hand over his eyes. “Baby, that feels so fucking good.”
His encouragement spurs me on, and I bring him deeper into my mouth, just deep enough that he touches the back of my throat for a second before I pull back. He makes a muffled sound, so I repeat the movement.
I get lost in the feel of him sliding over my tongue, in the way I have to open up wider than I ever have before. I live for the groans falling past his lips and for the way my hand slides up and down his shaft.
I’m mesmerized by the way his hand slips into my hair, the pass of his thumb across my cheek while I suck on his length, pumping him, making him take sharps breath of air.
A rush of excitement builds deep inside me as his head rolls back, his muscles tense, and his breath becomes extremely labored.
I suck harder.
I squeeze tighter.
I pass my free hand over his balls again, moving my fingers underneath them and drawing a smooth line over the seam, back and forth. Back and forth.
Sucking.
Squeezing.
Teasing.
More and more and more . . .
“Fucking hell, baby. I’m going to come.”
I don’t let up. I keep my pace. I want to taste him. I want to see him lose all control.
“Babe . . . ahhh, fuck.” His legs tense under me. His cock swells in my mouth, and then he comes.
He comes hard, the sound of him turning me on more than I expected.
I continue to suck and pump him until he’s completely sated and depleted of all strength.
“Mother . . . fucker,” he says on a heavy breath.
I stand and head to my attached bathroom, where I grab a washcloth and wet it down. I return to him and smile to myself as I watch him trying to catch his breath, his cock still impressively hard, his hands dragging over his face, as I lean down and clean his cock.
I head back toward the bathroom, but he calls out, “What are you doing?”
“Getting changed while you pull it together.” Smirking, I shut the bathroom door and lean against the wall. I push my hands through my hair and stare at myself in the mirror.
Oh my God, I can’t believe I just did that.
My cheeks are flushed. My lips are red from sucking. My limbs are shaking with adrenaline.
Wanting to calm myself down, I get ready for bed. Stripping down to nothing, I pull on the Brentwood Baseball shirt Holt let me borrow at the beach the first time we hung out, use the toilet, wash my face, and finally brush my teeth.
When I leave the bathroom, Holt is sitting on my bed. His shirt is on now, his briefs and pants are pulled up, and his arms rest on his legs.
Is he planning on leaving?
He must catch the wave of insecurity that flashes through me because he says, “I don’t know what you want me to do. You were in there for a while. I hope . . .”
“I was getting ready for bed.” I walk toward him. “Are you, uh, leaving?”
“Do you want me to leave?”
I shake my head. “I was hoping you’d stay the night.”
He smiles. “Good answer.” He reaches behind his head and shucks his shirt, dropping it to the ground, along with his jeans and socks. I stare him down, hand on my hip.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He scoots back on my bed and flips the covers down. “Getting comfortable.”
His vulnerable side has been hidden and he’s back to his teasing, joking self. But the look in his eyes when my mouth was on his cock, the white flag he flew, surrendering his body to me . . . that will be tattooed onto my brain, reminding me how much more of that side of Holt I want.
I turn off my overhead light, and the moon shines through the window, providing just enough brightness in the room for me to see Holt’s handsome, chiseled face as I fall into my bed. He slips under the covers as well, and we face each other as we lie down on my pillows.
He reaches out and cups my cheek. In a serious tone, he says, “You know how to blow a cock.” I laugh out loud and his grip tightens. “Baby, I’m not kidding. That was the best blow job of my entire life.”
“And how many have you have?”
“Doesn’t even matter. I can’t remember a damn one. But what you just did to me . . . hell, I’ll be a sixty-year-old man with damaged knees remembering the time my girl blew all previous blow jobs right out of my mind.”
“Damn right, I did.”
His hand slides down my shoulder. “This shirt looks really hot on you.”
“Yeah?”
“Fuck yeah,” he says, his hand moving down to my hip. “You wear it just for me?”
“I wear it almost every night.”
His brows rise in shock. “Really?”
I nod, not worrying that my admission might make me look desperate. I think we’re past that by now.
“Reminds me of you.” I shrug.
“Babe.” He reaches around to my ass and he pulls me closer. “You make it seem as though you actually really like me.”
“Maybe I do.”
His hand lowers to my thigh and then slides up and under the shirt. To his surprise, he realizes I’m not wearing anything underneath.
“Hell,” he mutters. “If you expect me to keep my hands to myself, you might want to ask me to leave right now.”
“I have no rules in this bed.”
“None?” he asks, his eyes narrowing, almost turning sinister.
I swallow and wet my lips. “None.”
He smirks, and then in a deep, commanding voice, he says, “On your stomach, baby.”
“What?”
“Lay your pretty body on your stomach.” He pulls my hip toward him and lays me flat on the bed. His hand runs over the curve of my back as he says, “I’m going to make you come like you made me.” His voice spreads a whisper of arousal over my skin as his hand meets the hem of the shirt and starts to drag it up. “Get on all fours.”
The command in his voice has me obeying immediately, even though I’m unsure what he has in mind.
“Perfect.” He drags the hem of my shirt all the way up to the back of my neck, exposing my backside and breasts. I feel his eyes scan my body before he moves and inserts his head under my
chest, just below my breasts. “Hell, baby, your tits are so goddamn hot.”
Unable to see what he’s doing, only feel, my nipples harden right before I feel a light swipe of his tongue. From the unexpected touch, I suck in a sharp breath, my stomach hollowing out.
“You okay, babe?”
“Yes,” I say, sounding more desperate than anything.
“You trust me?”
“I do.”
“Good.” And then he pinches my nipple.
“Oh God.” My head falls forward and arousal spikes down my spine, straight to the spot between my legs.
With one hand, he rolls my right nipple, while his mouth works the left, light flicks, tiny sucks, teasing me. Having him beneath me like this, playing with my breasts, but touching nothing else . . . it’s erotic, a position I’ve never been in before, and a position I’m sure I’ll remember for a long time.
His free hand presses against my stomach. The warmth of his rough palm causes my stomach to hollow out as he slowly moves it south, past my belly button, right above my pubic bone, and that’s where he keeps it as he switches his mouth to my other breast.
Hot and wet, he sucks me in, and my back arches, bringing my chest closer to him, begging for more. My arms start to slowly shake beneath me, wavering, not from being tired, but from the way Holt is making me feel, the way he’s carefully and intricately playing with my body.
He rolls my nipple between his fingers over and over again and his mouth labors on my other nipple, sucking, nibbling, pulling gently with his lips.
“Yes,” I mutter, just as his hand trails down farther to my slit. His finger slides to the crest, where he lightly flicks against my burning skin. “More.”
His lips suck me in harder, and I cry out in pleasure as his finger slips across my clit.
“So fucking wet, baby. This just for me?”
“Only for you,” I say as he keeps moving south.
“Spread your legs more.”
The tenor and command of his voice has me shaking as I spread wider for him, exposing myself to his touch. I can feel how turned on I am from the way his fingers move so easily over my clit. He plays with my clit for a few seconds, rubbing it, causing me to catch my breath with every pass, and then he inserts one finger while pinching my nipple at the same time. The combined sensations have me falling forward.
The Strike Out Page 15