5. Webber
My head dropsto the bed, my forehead pressed into the quilt as I relish the burn from Jonathan’s thumb in my asshole.
Jonathan. That’s new. I don’t know anyone who calls him that. He’s been Fox since college, since before he got drafted, and barely anyone even calls him by his full last name. But damn if I didn’t enjoy him making me say it for him.
“Lube?” he asks.
I point to my duffel on the luggage rack just outside the closet. “Small pocket on the front,” I say, my voice muffled by the fabric underneath my face. “Condoms are in there, too.”
“Got ‘em.”
The bed dips when he pushes his knee into it behind me, dragging his hand up my leg from my ankle to my ass and squeezing. “You sure you don’t catch? This is a catcher’s ass.”
I laugh. “I’ve played every position there is. I caught for half a season my senior year in high school. Hardest six weeks of my life.”
“I do love when infielders realize that it’s not nearly as easy to squat behind the plate as they think it is.”
I roll back over and wrap my hand around my throbbing cock, stroking it as I stare up at him. “You’re a fucking beast on that diamond, Fox.”
“Jonathan,” he whispers.
“Jonathan,” I answer with a nod. I don’t know why that’s important to him, but I’ll gladly call him the Sultan of Brunei if that’s what he wants after the way he sucked my soul straight through my balls and into his throat.
“Why’d you roll over?”
“I wanna look at you when you fuck me for the first time,” I say quietly, hoping he understands it’s important to me — like me calling him by his first name.
He nods, clearly agreeing without understanding why. “Show me that ass, handsome.”
I spread my legs and lift my hips, palming my balls and stroking my dick for him.
“Yes,” he hisses, popping the cap on the lube and warming a bead between his fingers. The moment he makes contact, I melt further into the bed, my eyes going half-lidded and my spine dissolving into mush.
“Open me up, Jonathan,” I whisper. “Please.”
“I fucking love when you beg,” he murmurs as he pushes two fingers into my ass.
“I’ll beg for you whenever you want. Just don’t stop.”
His nostrils flare as his fingers delve deeper, and I draw my knees up so he has better access.
Watching his face as he works me open is like watching a master at work. He’s determined and focused and completely in the zone, just like he is on the field.
“Holy shit, that feels so good,” I murmur as I lift my hand to push a hank of hair that drapes over his forehead.
He smiles up at me and reaches for a condom, tearing it open and sliding it on in seconds. “It’s about to feel so much better.”
“Come kiss me?” I ask.
His smile softens, and he crawls up my body, dragging his cock through the slick valley of my ass, the head bumping against my hole as he captures my lips and the gasp that escapes at the pleasure of his touch.
He keeps kissing me while he reaches between us, holding his dick and pressing the head into me. The initial sting gives way nearly immediately.
“You’re taking me so well, handsome,” Jonathan says as he feeds the rest of his dick into my ass, his other hand propping him up on my chest.
I’m speechless from how fucking amazing he fills me. I feel him… everywhere. My jaw clenches, my fists clutch at the blanket underneath me, and my eyes squeeze shut.
I’m too close. Too fast.
“What’s wrong?” he asks as his hips meet the flesh of my ass.
“You’re so— You feel so— Damn it, Jonathan. It’s too good. I’m gonna come too fast.”
He slides out slowly, almost agonizingly so, and says, “Open your eyes, Greyson.”
I peel my lids open, and it’s all I can do to focus on his fucking beautiful face. “Okay, they’re open.”
“Look at me.”
My eyes meet his, and I blink, forcing my eyes to fix on his. He smiles down at me.
“There are no limits to orgasms.”
I huff. “I know that, Fo—Jonathan.”
He winks at me. “Good boy.”
“Shit,” I say, wrapping my fist around the base of my dick. “You can’t say shit like that to me and expect me to keep my shit together.”
“Say shit one more time,” he says, chuckling at my unoriginal use of profanity.
“And you say I’m sassy,” I grumble.
“Grey, listen. I have nowhere to be. I told my sister not to expect me for dinner or breakfast. Do you have plans tomorrow?”
“Not really,” I answer with a sharp inhale as he pushes back inside me.
“Then we stay here, holed up in this hotel room until we run out of condoms.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “And then what?”
“And then we go buy more.”
I laugh, and now it’s his turn to wince. “Fuck, your ass is so goddamn tight around my dick.”
“I have an idea of how you can loosen it up a bit.” I wink up at him, and he drops to his elbow. Just before he sucks my bottom lip between his, he thrusts hard up into me.
“I like your idea.”
His hips cant back, and he whispers, “You ready?”
“Give me all you’ve got, big guy.”
He powers into me, and the noises we both make as he fucks me into oblivion will likely get me kicked out on a noise complaint. But I can’t seem to give a single fuck.
And then there’s his fucking filthy mouth.
“Look at you, taking this cock.”
“God, Grey, your ass is perfect.”
“You’re such a fucking good boy for me, aren’t you?”
When the fuck did I develop a praise kink?
Every word, every touch, every thrust pushes me closer and closer to coming, and he hasn’t even touched my dick. And he won’t let me touch it myself.
I haven’t come without stimulation in years, but I swear if he pegs my fucking prostate one more ti?—
“Fuck!” I roar as he does just that, pushing me from the edge into the fucking canyon into a free fall. “Jonathan!”
“Take. This. Fucking. Dick,” he says, punctuating every word with a hard, deep thrust until he can’t hold out any longer.
He comes hard, pulsing inside my ass and wrapping his hand around my cock, stroking me until I’m exquisitely, excruciatingly empty.
“Well. That was…” I start but trail off.
“Round one. That was round fucking one.”