by Roz Lee
He sprang to answer the knock on his door—a full hour later than he’d expected it. One look at his lover’s face confirmed his fears.
Closing the door behind him, Sean resisted the urge to put his fist through a wall. Maybe I’m wrong. Please, God, let me be wrong.
“What took you so long?” he asked in what he hoped was a normal tone.
Bentley stood facing the window, his hands fisted on his hips, his head dipped low. It was tempting to go to him, to offer comfort, but he sensed it wouldn’t be welcome. Whatever put his friend in his current mood was something he couldn’t fix. He was sure of it.
He raised his head without turning around. “I almost didn’t come at all.”
Sean helped himself to a beer from the mini-bar then, after twisting the lid off, sank to the edge of the bed facing away from the window. Whatever Bent had to say, he didn’t want to look at him when he said it. “Why?”
The room’s AC came on, went off again. Sean waited. The hell if he was going to drag it out of the man.
“I don’t know any other way to say this, Sean, but to just say it. We’re done. We can’t see each other again.”
A chill not attributable to the room’s temperature raced along his spine. He’d expected Bent to end their relationship, but the reality of it hit him harder than a fastball to the head. Tears blurred his vision. He blinked, trying to keep them from falling.
“Why?” He cringed at the pathetic whimper of the word.
“Ashley and I have set a date for the wedding. Christmas.”
“What the fuck?” He was off the bed, rage burning hot enough to melt the ice around his heart spurred him into action. “Why haven’t you told her about me? About us?”
Rounding the bed, he took a few steps but stopped before he got close enough to do something he would regret, like throwing Bentley through the window. “You’re seriously going to marry her. I don’t fucking believe this.” Un-fucking-believable.
Bent turned to him. The anguish on his handsome face almost brought Sean to his knees. But anger won over hurt. “So, what? You’re feeling like a man now? You’re going to throw away what we have together because you’re too much of a coward to tell her the truth?”
Bent raised his gaze to Sean’s. “I’ve never lied to you about my relationship with Ashley. I’m a fucked up son of a bitch, but I’m not going to let the perverted side of me ruin the rest of my life.”
“Perverted? You think what we have together is perverted?” That one word was all he’d heard, and it felt like a knife to the gut. “God, you’re an ass, Bentley. You deserve to be miserable for the rest of your life if that’s what you believe.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I just want to be like everyone else, Sean. Can’t you see? I want a wife and kids. I want to be normal. Ashley is my chance at the kind of life I want. I have no intention of sneaking around for the rest of my years seeing my gay lover on the side, worrying every second about someone finding out and telling the world.”
Tears streamed down Bent’s cheeks, his shoulders shaking. “I love you, Sean, but I can’t keep going back and forth between the two of you. I hate myself for what I’m doing to Ashley. Face it—there’s no future for us. There never was.”
The weight of reality all but crushed him. Bentley is right. He’d let himself imagine a future with this man when there wasn’t one. At least not one they could show in public, and sneaking around was for teenagers, not grown men.
Ah hell.
“Come here,” he said, forcing his feet to move.
Bent leaned into Sean’s embrace. It felt good to be held, comforted, even though the last person who should be showing him compassion was Sean Flannery. But for the first time since he’d committed to the wedding date, he began to believe he might survive.
“You don’t hate me?” he sniffed against one strong shoulder.
“No. I don’t hate you. I love you. I’ll always love you, Bent. No matter what.” Sean’s big hands stroking his back were as reassuring as his words. “I understand why you’re walking. I was stupid to think we could make a relationship work.”
“I hate doing this to you.”
Sean pushed him away enough so he could look him in the eye. “I’m sorry, Bent. I dragged you into a relationship that was doomed from the start. I knew better, but I couldn’t help myself. I’ve wanted you for so long.”
Bent sniffed back tears. “I could have said no, but I didn’t. If we lived in a perfect world, I wouldn’t have to choose, but we don’t. If we continue like we are, I’m going to lose you, and Ashley.”
“You’re right. We can’t continue seeing each other this way. I want you to be happy. That’s all I want.”
His heart swelled with love for Sean. He hadn’t expected him to understand any more than he expected Ashley to if he’d ever found the courage to tell her.
“I have no right to ask…but can I stay…for a little while?” He let every bit of desire he felt for him show in his eyes, praying it was enough.
“You know what’s going to happen if you do.”
The gravel in his voice encouraged him. He leaned in, placed his lips on Sean’s jaw, and murmured, “I know. I need you, one last time.” His fingers went to work on Sean’s belt buckle.
“Goddamn it.” He pressed down on his lover’s shoulders, forcing him to his knees.
Letting Bent stay was so not a good idea, but he couldn’t bring himself to say no. Just a few weeks ago, he would have given anything to hear this man say those words. They’d come a long way in a short period of time, but it was over. Fuck if he was going to pass on one final night with the man he loved. He might be an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid.
Shifting his feet to keep from toppling over, he let his head fall back. He stared sightless at the ceiling while the man worked to free his cock. His trousers pooled around his ankles. His skin tingled, and his cock strained against his tight briefs.
Bentley cupped him through the fabric, teasing the beast within.
“Goddamn it,” he hissed. “Don’t fuck with me, asshole, or you’ll regret asking to stay. I swear to God, you will.”
“Don’t fucking move,” he warned, continuing his exploration, “unless I tell you to.”
The command in his lover’s voice, tinged with a hint of sadness was like a stab to the heart. He glanced down. His eyes were closed, his hand hidden by Sean’s shirttails.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded. Did he not have any idea what he was doing to him?
Bent looked up at him. “Memorizing, asshole. Unbutton your shirt. Leave it and your coat on—just keep them out of my way.”
Memorizing. Oh, fuck.
Sean clenched his jaw tight, loosened his tie then he unbuttoned his shirt. When he worked the last button free, anchoring the sides open with his fists on his hips, Bent dragged his briefs down to his knees. His cock sprang out like a rookie player taking the field for his first Major League game—proud and eager to please.
“You’re fucking huge.”
He flexed his hips, stabbing his appendage toward the place it wanted to be. Bent slapped it away, and Sean saw stars.
“Shit.”
“I told you not to move.” Bent gripped his thighs. Wrapping his fingers around to the back, he slid his hands up to grope Sean’s ass cheeks. “I want to take my time. I want to memorize everything about you then I’m going to drive you out of your mind, so you won’t forget me.”
“Jesus, Bent. I won’t forget you.”
“What do you want? Tell me what you want.” His mouth was so close to his cock his hot breath washed over it.
“I want you to shut the fuck up and suck my dick.”
Without another word, Bent gave him what he wanted.
“Ah, fuck, that feels good,” he hissed, fighting the urge to shove his cock down his lover’s throat. In the few months they’d been together, Bent had learned exactly what he liked. Alternating between taking him de
ep then sucking just the head while he swirled his tongue over him, he brought Sean to the brink.
“Jesus,” he said through gritted teeth. Unable to remain still, he wrapped his hands around the back of Bent’s head to hold him steady. The man grunted once, but then he wrapped his arms around Sean’s thighs and relaxed his facial muscles.
He fucked his mouth hard, pumping with short, jerky thrusts that pounded his stomach against his lover’s face. He didn’t care. Like a freight train out of control, he barreled toward the inevitable crash. When it came, it buckled his knees. If not for the strong arms supporting him, he would have fallen as wave after wave of ecstasy rolled through him.
When he had spent himself completely, Bent eased away from him. With a not too gentle shove, he pushed him back on the bed. Weak, Sean made no protest when his lover rolled him to his stomach, parted him, then with no ceremony, drove his cock home.
“Christ!” He shifted, easing his entry, allowing him to go deeper. God, it felt good. Like always, the man fucked hard. Never cautious, he was always physical—demanding complete surrender, and surrender was something Sean was always willing to give.
Lying beneath him today, he opened his heart and his body in an effort to absorb his lover’s pain. He’d do anything to prevent his suffering, but in the end, this was all he could do—be there for him now then let him go later.
The fucking was raw, brutal, and unforgiving—intentionally so. They’d both be sore tomorrow, a reminder of tonight. As if he would ever forget.
The rod shoved up his ass grew harder, and Sean braced for the violent finish he sensed coming. The thrusts grew shorter, faster. With an oath, Bent erupted. Sean savored each throbbing spurt, savored the flush of liquid heat signaling his lover’s satisfaction.
Long moments passed while the only sound in the room was the soft swoosh of the air conditioner and their ragged breathing. Sean fisted his hands in the bedspread, waiting. Softening, Bent slipped from him. The sound of him adjusting his clothing tore at Sean’s heart. Christ. They hadn’t even bothered to undress. They were right back where they’d started—fucking like strangers meeting in cheap hotel rooms.
It hurt more than he wanted to admit that all the man had wanted from him was a quick, hard fuck, but damned if he would say anything. His ass stung from the brutal assault. His dick, half-aroused despite its recent satisfaction, ached for something it could never have again.
It was over. He’d been well and truly fucked, in more ways than one.
A gentle but firm hand touched his ass a moment before sliding beneath his shirt and suit coat to the small of his back. It rested there for the span of a heartbeat. A benediction. A thank you. An acknowledgement. A declaration.
Then it was gone, leaving behind an invisible brand he would carry with him the rest of his days.
Sean lay silent, eyes shut, listening to Bent’s footsteps cross the carpet—the door opening then closing as his heart walked out of his life.
* * *
Bentley made it to the stairwell, climbed up two flights before he collapsed in the corner of a landing. His chest felt like someone had used a rusty can opener to pry open his ribcage and remove his heart.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Wrapping his arms tight around himself, he tried to breathe through the pain, but each breath was another one he took without Sean in his life, and there was no comfort in it.
You did what you had to do.
He sat there until the cold from the concrete surrounding him numbed the pain.
Chapter Eleven
Shit.
Everything on him hurt, including his dick, which hadn’t seen anything but hand action since Bentley sucked him off almost two months ago. It was nothing short of torture to be around him almost every day while acting as if nothing was wrong. At least they had eased into a tentative friendship the other players seemed to accept without question.
A small part of him hated Bentley for the way their relationship ended, but deep down he understood there was no other choice. Even though it killed him to pretend in front of the world, he wouldn’t trade a single minute of time spent with him.
The day after their breakup, he’d made a decision. He couldn’t risk another trade that would take him away from Bentley, which meant he had to get his shit together. He had to play harder than he’d ever played in his life. First base was his, and he was going to keep it. The team had recently brought up a kid from the Minor’s who had his eye on Sean’s position.
Not going to happen.
The way he figured it, he had two options. He could hustle to keep his job, or he could die trying. Either way, he’d stay in Dallas. He didn’t dare hope anything would change in regard to Bentley, but he was going to stick around, just in case—he’d never thought Bent would admit his feelings for him, but he had. There was always hope.
* * *
Bent swore under his breath.
What the fuck is he trying to do? Kill himself?
It wasn’t the first time since he’d walked out of Sean’s hotel room he’d questioned the workings of his former lover’s mind. He’d become a loose cannon on the field. He slid into impossible situations and went after foul balls no one had any prayer of catching. His stats were better than they’d ever been.
Watching him slide into second base, Bent cringed. Every time, he worried if their first baseman would get up, and if he did, would he still be able to walk. Holding his breath, he glared across the field. Sean rolled to his good hip, came up on one knee, and rising, brushed red dirt from his uniform. The crowd cheered along with everyone in the dugout except him. He wanted to throttle him, not cheer for him.
Yeah, having a runner in scoring position was huge. Tied at three runs each in the eighth inning, if the Mustangs were going to win, they needed to score now, not later. A go-ahead run would bring Jeff Holder to the mound in the bottom of the inning. With the best record in the League, Jeff was the closer no one wanted to face. He could pitch two shutout innings, easy, but the offense had to put a run on the board, or they’d be wasting his talents.
Bent was surprised to realize none of it mattered to him if Sean’s career was the price paid for it. There were other games, other ways to win this one.
“He’s going to do that one too many times,” he muttered, “then where will we be?”
“Accepting our World Series rings?” Chip Matthews, a bench sitting, second-rate, green behind the ears infielder clapped him on the back. “At least the old man is showing some hustle.”
“You think all it takes to win is hustle?” He was in the kid’s face. “Let me tell you, asshole, all the hustle in the world won’t make up for a lack of common sense. Another injury could end his career, not to mention put a serious hole in our lineup. So why don’t you—”
“Stand down, Randolph.” Doyle Walker’s firm hand on his shoulder urged him to back away. “Flannery is fine. Leave the kid alone, all right? Don’t you remember your first week up from the Minor’s?”
Bent shrugged, stepping back. “I was never as stupid as he is.”
“Yes, you were. You just don’t remember.” He advised the rookie to watch and learn before sending him to join the rest of the team at the railing.
“I don’t know what’s got into you, Bentley, but whatever burr you have up your ass, you better pull it out—fast. You haven’t had your head in the game for a couple of weeks. If we’re going to make the playoffs, we need you to give one hundred percent.” His tone brooked no argument. He wiped a hand over his face then sighed. “Look, if you need someone to listen, I’m here for you. Anytime.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll take you up on the offer sometime,” he lied. No way in hell was he telling the team manager he was fucked up because he’d broken up with his gay lover who just happened to be the Mustangs first baseman, or he was afraid his fiancée would leave him if she found out. That conversation had career killer written all over it.
“You good?” Walker asked.
“I’m good. Sorry. The kid got under my skin. I won’t let it happen again.”
Thwack!
The sound had them both jockeying to see what was happening on the field. Having hit a grounder past the second baseman, Ramirez sped toward first trying to beat the throw from right field. With two outs, Sean had been running almost before the ball left the bat. He rounded third base then headed home.
A seasoned player, Flannery didn’t look up to see what was happening on the field. The play was at home plate, and his only chance was to slide in under the throw.
Bent held his breath. Sean folded in two then launched himself, head first at the plate. The hometown crowd roared their approval. Hands extended, Sean belly slid the last six feet. Dust flew. His hand brushed the white rubber pentagon a fraction of a second before the catcher’s glove brushed his arm.
The dugout emptied. Bent didn’t move, didn’t breathe, until Sean popped to his feet, a big smile lighting his face, then he joined the throng celebrating the go-ahead run. When it was his turn to congratulate the man of the hour, he grabbed him in a man hug, clapping him on the back.
“You’re a crazy son of a bitch. You know that, don’t you?”
“I know.”
They broke apart then walked back to the dugout with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders.
* * *
Bentley dropped his duffle bag in the laundry room off the kitchen and, after grabbing a beer from the refrigerator, trudged into the den. He wasn’t surprised to see Ashley curled up on the man cave-sized sofa. Glancing at the television screen, he stifled a groan.
“Why are you watching the press conference?” Coming around to sit next to her, he slung his arm over her shoulders, pulling her in close.
“Sorry I missed your game,” she said, turning into him for a quick kiss. “I had another late night.” She pointed to the screen where a repeat of the night’s post-game press conference ran. “Can you introduce me to him?”