35. My Shameless Confession
35
MY SHAMELESS CONFESSION
Gunnar
I thought baseball wrung out my body. But baseball has nothing on this man.
After my first—and sadly, my last—good, hard fucking from Rafe Rodman, I’m exhausted in all new ways. I’m sore all over. But I’m also tremendously hungry. We take a luxurious shower in his temple of a bathroom, then I pull on the purple briefs with the red devil on the crotch, and I’m about to make a dinner plan when I decide to tease Rafe.
I stride into the bedroom where he’s grabbing clothes from the top drawer of his bureau.
“Bonus show for you,” I say to the man, then give him a sultry look and show off my barely-there clothes.
He hums his approval. “Yes, those were indeed made for you,” he says.
I think that’s literal. “Does that mean I get to take them home? As a keepsake?”
“They’re yours, Gunnar. Of course I want you to have them.” He sounds so earnest, and poignant too.
It stings my heart. On the one hand, it’s a sexy memento. On the other hand, it’s fucking underwear. “I’d actually rather have something besides underwear to remember you by,” I say drily.
He closes the distance, comes up to me and cups my chin. “I care deeply about what I do. You inspired me. You inspired these . Please know when I say I had them made for you that it means something to me,” he says, vulnerable in new ways.
Well, shit. I was a dick.
Rafe’s a designer. This is his passion, making people look good and sexy.
“Sorry. I sounded callous.” I glance down at the design and add, “I love them.” Feeling daring, I press a kiss to those lush lips of his.
When the kiss ends, he pulls on a pair of soft black pants.
And wow.
Rafe should be a model for low-slung pajama pants. This pair hangs seductively on his hips, showing off his V and his abs.
“I think those pants are my new obsession,” I say, licking my lips as I stare wantonly. “Just look at you.”
“I’m glad you approve,” he says.
My stomach rumbles. “I’d approve of food too.”
He stares sharply at me. “Did you think I wouldn’t feed you after I fucked you?”
“Better after than before,” I say with a wink as we head out of his bedroom. “I haven’t eaten all day, and I’m hungry as fuck.”
He tips his forehead to the living room. “Let’s order something,” he says. Then, with a curious look on his face, he asks, “Unless you want to go out? In your briefs?” His eyes roam up and down my body, the fucking flirt.
“Nah, let’s stay in, and I’ll torture you by wearing next to nothing.”
“Oh, trust me, it is only incredibly sexy torture seeing you walk around my home wearing hardly anything.”
But as I walk away from him, I’m acutely aware that his fantasy of me and his designs doesn’t have an encore.
After midnight, we sit at the island counter in his sleek, modern kitchen, polishing off banchan and bibimbap from a Korean place he loves. I indulge in a beer, and we talk, the topic turning to our families after I tell him Mom and Charlie came to the game with the Comets.
“How did she enjoy New York?” Rafe asks.
“Loved it. It was perfect—food, baseball, and The Met,” I reply. He raises an eyebrow skeptically, and I confess sheepishly, “Well, Mom likes art and I like making her happy.”
“Sounds as though you did,” he says.
I’m comfortable enough to ask about his parents, and he’s comfortable enough to answer.
“They’ve been gone a decade now,” Rafe says. “Which doesn’t seem possible.”
“You still miss them?” I ask, though I can see that he does.
“All the time.” He sips his drink and sets it down. “I wish I could have taken care of them in their retirement like you’ve done for your mother. That’s a true gift.”
“For her and me, both,” I say. I don’t take for granted that I’m able to provide a modest but comfortable life for Mom.
“But I love taking care of my employees,” Rafe says with passion that shows he gets it. “They’re family in a way.”
“I can tell,” I say, smiling gently.
“I want to do right by them.” Something in his voice seems to implore me to understand why he focuses so much on work. What helps his business helps his people.
“Rafe, trust me. I get it.” I can support his choice even if it sucks. “My teammates are like family too. And my family is family. I understand putting them first, even though it’s hard.”
He reaches across the counter to squeeze my hand. “It’s so fucking hard,” he says, eyes dark and sad.
But then he clears his expression, like we silently agree not to linger in the inevitable place where this obsession with each other has led—to the morning, when we end.
By the time we finish our meal, I’m full and exhausted. I stretch my arms overhead, then a yawn overcomes me.
Rafe grins, looking smug.
“What?” I ask, a little defensively. “Did you want to wear me out?”
With a sly grin, he says, “Of course.”
“I don’t want to be tired,” I whine. “I want to go all night.”
“That might be a little difficult.”
“I can go again,” I insist, mostly on bravado.
Rafe seems doubtful. “Are you sore?”
I shift uncomfortably on the metal stool. “Yes, but guess what? I’m sore after every baseball game.”
He chuckles. “Hopefully not in your ass.”
“Oh, I’ve been hit on the ass with a baseball.”
“ On the ass, not in the ass,” he says, like he wants to remind me where his cock was an hour ago. As if I could forget.
I laugh. “Fine. Prepositions are important,” I say as we clean up the dishes then crush the cardboard from the restaurant and set it in the recycling bin.
“But I’ll still try to convince you.” I pinch his butt, and whoa. He has a nice, firm ass.
“Gunnar,” Rafe chides.
“Is that tone because of the ass pinching or the suggestion we could go again?”
“It was about sex.” He turns to me in the galley of the kitchen, looking serious. He’s cute when he’s being intense. “We’re not fucking again. I’d be a terrible top if I did that. That’s not what a top does.”
I know that, but I got to give him a hard time. “Shame on you, Rafe. Don’t you know sex can be more than just anal?”
“Oh,” he says, chastened.
I slide up to him, chest to chest. “Did you know there are so many different things we can do?”
He rolls his eyes then yanks me close for a kiss. “I do know, but I thought you meant you wanted me to pound you into the bed again.” He says it in a deep, sexy rumble, like if he won’t fuck me with his cock, he’ll fuck me with his voice.
“Bet you’d like that,” I say, taunting him. “Bet you’d like to fuck me another night, then another, then another.”
He groans and drops his forehead to mine, holding me tight. “I want that so badly, but we can’t.”
I don’t want to stay in a funk, so I slip out of his embrace and walk to the floor-to-ceiling windows. I drink in the midnight view of the ballpark, savoring the lights of the city. It’s a king’s view and so fitting for Rafe.
But my eyes return to the ballpark. Only days ago, I went to a coffee shop near there with Owen, and he warned me to be careful when I’m with a lover in public.
I chew on that advice for a bit, and then part my lips to speak. “Rafe, my PR guy met with me right before I left for New York. He told me to be careful. That somebody might take a picture of me.”
His brow lifts. “With me?”
“Not you, per se. But if I’m doing risqué things. Things I like to do with you.”
“Ah. Smart man. It’s good to be cautious.”
“I don’t think I’ve been very careful with you,” I admit. This feels important to share. “But I hardly want to.”
He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
I drop my voice to a bedroom whisper. “I was so turned on when you got me off at The West House under the table. I was on fire when you told me I was an exhibitionist. Everything clicked. Everything made sense. That’s what I want. Those kinds of dangerous affairs.”
It’s a freely given confession as I share my desires with him—my deepest, truest ones.
“And sometimes, I do want to be private. Like tonight. But I also get wildly aroused when I’m doing something with you where I could be caught and seen.”
He rubs the back of his knuckles against my cheek as the stars wink beyond us in the night sky. “That’s why it’s your kink. It thrills you and it scares you, and that turns you on. But it feels good, doesn’t it?”
“So fucking good, Rafe.” I’m bold from the sex we had, saying, “I have so many fantasies.”
His eyes glimmer with heat. “Tell them to me.”
I close my eyes for a moment, seeing all the dirty deeds I imagine. “I imagined once that you had a yacht. Some opulent thing.” I open my eyes and meet his dark brown ones. “To be clear, I don’t want you for your money. But I could see you on a yacht, Rafe. And on this yacht, I pictured you fucking me out on the open water.”
He groans and slides his hand over the front of his pants where an ambitious erection tents the fabric.
“Or outside somewhere,” I say, encouraged in my quest to turn him on. “But if it weren’t for you, all of New York would’ve seen me jerking off a few nights ago.”
He drops his hand from his cock and cups my jaw fiercely. “I’d always protect you. I’ve always wanted to make it so you could experiment safely.”
I think back to New York when he had me turn my back to the window so no one could see me. To The West House where there are no phones. He has given me space to freely explore my fantasies with him. He’s made certain I’m safe. Even the private suite at the ballpark was risqué but controlled.
I look deep into his eyes and drop the sarcasm. “I’m going to miss you so fucking much.”
“I’m going to miss you more,” he says, and then grabs my face and kisses me roughly, making me moan into his mouth.
When he breaks away, it’s to take my hand, and we return to the bedroom. There are clean sheets on the bed; he must have changed them when I stepped into the shower before him.
We tumble onto the crisp covers and shove off the rest of our clothes. Then we’re naked together, bodies entangled, pushing and grinding against each other. Skin against skin, his chest against mine, our lips smashed together.
We can’t stop touching each other. This time, he lets me lead. I pin him on his back and rub and rock against him, thrusting. Then, as our groans turn louder, I slick up my hand with lube, slide it between us and get us off together.
Before we fall apart in the morning.