21. FRANKIE
TWENTY-ONE
FRANKIE
I had thought Jackson left to grab some food.
The guy eats an impressive amount, which I suppose makes sense given his size.
I assumed he’d be coming back upstairs with it, but after fifteen minutes, I got antsy and figured I’d see if maybe he was eating downstairs.
Which would have been terribly rude, because excuse me, sir, where was my invite?
Or…maybe Paulie had finally given in to the urge and killed him.
I was not prepared to walk by Easton’s room and hear Jed’s voice droning on about how to give a blowjob. Like, how fucking cute can you get? Jackson’s sitting there, his giant self squeezed into this little armchair, while my roommates lecture him on gay sex.
I want to make it good for you.
Yeah, we will have no problems there. He already has the most important piece covered—he cares about his partner’s pleasure.
I close my door, spin us, and push him until his ass hits my bed. I step between his legs.
“What do you want to experience first?”
I let my hands drift over his shoulders and down his biceps. I squeeze and stifle my groan. Rock. Fucking. Solid. I swear I can’t even dig my nails in; they’re that hard.
I tilt his chin up and hover just before his lips. “Want me to suck you off?”
He draws in a quick breath, steals some of mine right with it. His fingers shake on my waist. I glance down and whimper. He’s in gray sweatpants, and they do nothing to hide his thoughts on my suggestion.
I rest a hand on his thigh. Just the top. Don’t move it.
Those thick, strong quads tremble beneath my palm, and it’s unbelievably heady. This six-foot-six thoroughbred of an athlete is a quivering mess for me. “Or we could start with hands.”
His chest lifts and falls, his breaths already choppy. “I-I think the minute you touch me, it’ll be all over.”
I slowly slide my hand from his thigh. “Would you prefer to touch me?”
“Yes,” he says hoarsely. “I’d like to see you. Explore you.”
I shiver. Not going to say no to that. I step back and pull my silk button-up sleep shirt over my head. Those blue irises go dark as they scour me. I tease the waistband of my matching royal purple shorts.
“Want to do the honors?”
He nods eagerly. Mmmm. It’s what I love about opening a guy’s eyes to sex with a man. I’ll show you a whole new world like Aladdin. Frankie is one hell of a magic ride.
His hands slip under the silk fabric of my shorts instead of going to my waistband. He swallows hard. His gaze flicks down to my shorts then back. “I like these,” he rasps. “They’re, um, small.”
“You like my legs?”
His fingers drift through my dark, coarse hair, slide around and tease just below my ass. Fuck. I let out a slow breath. Control. Slow. Jackson needs slow.
“Yes. And your ass.”
“I work out.” I wink.
He laughs, but it’s so deep with lust I barely stop myself from jumping him.
He’s so sexy it hurts. And I need to keep my hands to myself.
Which is nearly impossible with what’s straining against his sweats.
Everything about this man is meaty. Every.
Thing. And I’m Italian. I love my meat. Capicola.
Sopressata… My gaze dips to his dick, and I swallow hard. Salami. A whimper slips out.
He stills. “Bad or good sound?”
“Both? Mostly good. It’s so damn hard not to touch you. It’s almost painful, babe.”
“Oh.”
Something flashes across his face. Something that almost has me stepping back. Because Jackson Olander just went from the nervous, charming guy I’m used to, to the man who’s one of the hottest center field prospects in professional baseball.
His hands slide to my waist, and in the next moment, I’m airborne. My stomach swoops, and then my back hits the mattress. Damn. I’m usually the bigger guy in my hookups. So, being tossed around? I am not complaining.
He’s instantly over me, forearm planted next to my head, rock-hard dick pressed into the side of my hip.
Our eyes stay locked as he slowly skates a hand down my side, and my skin twitches under the gentle touch.
He traces over my hipbone. Back and forth.
I let out a shaky breath. Those fingers curl under my waistband.
Tug. My sleep shorts slip down, and before I know it, they’ve disappeared.
His gaze finally leaves mine. It drifts slowly down me, and I feel it. It prickles over my skin everywhere it touches. It sweeps over my collarbone. Teases over my pecs. Pauses at my nipples. He bites his lip.
“Big fan of nipple sucking,” I say roughly.
His intense gaze is unsettling. I feel like this must be the way he studies tapes of baseball. So focused. So zoned in.
“Just in case that’s helpful.”
He slowly lowers his head, eyes locked on mine until the last possible moment—then his lips land on my skin.
I let out a shuddery breath. Those lips play over my skin, dance around my nipple.
Then drag in the lightest sweep over it.
My dick goes from behaving to taking on a mind of its own.
And I know he feels it because he freezes.
I somehow keep myself from rutting into his abs, but fuck, he’s burning into me.
He lets out a hot whoosh, and my nerves spark to life. My nipple is trying to climb into his mouth at this point. Then, finally—finally—his mouth closes around me. His tongue flicks out, and my back arches off the bed, my hands flying to his head.
I have very sensitive nipples. Something Jackson picks up on quickly.
His hand grips my waist tighter, and he lays into me, sucking like he did on my neck earlier.
His tongue is pure sin with the way it swirls and slides over me.
His teeth graze ever-so-lightly over the tip, and a moan falls from me.
He trails a path of wet kisses over to the other side and repeats his torture.
I’m a squirming mess. I’ve given up on not grinding into him.
My dick slips over his abs as I thrust against him.
I’m leaking a ridiculous amount, and I’m a little nervous I might come like this.
I’ve had some close calls from nipple play alone before.
Add in a little friction, and Frankie is finito.
He nips my pec, and pleasure zips down my spine.
More. More teeth. Harder. And he does. Shit.
I must have said that out loud. I’m mindless right now.
Pressure is swirling at the base of my spine.
Every nip, every suck, zings straight to my dick.
He latches on and tugs hard, and a moan tears from me.
“Ohgodohgodohgod.”
And then he does something that kills me. Deceases me. I don’t even think that makes sense, but my brain has left the building. Jackson’s teeth dig into my pec while his tongue flies over me in quick, tiny flicks. My cock pulses, balls tight.
“Oh shit! I’m gonna—I’m gonna—Nope. Nopenopenope.”
I yank him off me, heave myself over to my nightstand, and scramble for my lube.
I roll back to him. “I’m going to last about five more seconds. Can I touch you? Please say I can touch you.”
His chest shakes with his choppy breaths. “Yeah. Free rein. Do whatever you want with me.”
Perfect. I shove him until he’s on his back and yank his sweats down to mid-thigh. I straddle him while squeezing a generous amount of lube into my palm. I coat both hands, then wrap one around me and the other around him.
We groan in unison. Fuck. I slide a loose grip down him. He’s thick, long, and cut. That mushroom tip is just begging for my lips, and my mouth waters at the thought of those ridges playing over my tongue. Soon. But for now…
“How long do you think it’ll take you to come?”
His blue eyes peer at me through heavy lids.
His gaze is everywhere, tracing over me, over where I’m stroking my dick, stroking his—like it can’t find a place to land.
His throat bobs, but his swallow does nothing.
His words still come out wrecked. “I’d say I could hold off a minute if I really tried. ”
I shimmy my way up and slide my dick against his. I wrap a hand around us, but I don’t move. Not yet.
I slide my hand over us slowly.
His lips part on a choppy breath, his eyes wide as he stares at our dicks together.
“I’m going to speed up.”
I keep up my torturous, unhurried pace.
“I’m going to squeeze harder.”
A muscle in his jaw tics.
“I’m going to move against you.”
I slowly rut into my fist, and my crown bumps against his.
His eyelids flutter, the cords of his neck straining.
“And I want you to fuck my fist, Jackson,” I say hoarsely.
I tighten my grip, and a deep grunt bursts from him.
I lean over him.
“Don’t hold back,” I whisper.
I drop my forehead to his and thrust into him as I gradually pick up my pace with my hand.
“Fuck my fist, Jackie.”
The broken sound that leaves his throat slices straight through my soul. It was a decade of repressed, suffocated need finally let loose. Let it loose on me, dolcezza. Let me give you this.
Our lips drag over each other as we buck into one another.
My pulse races, burning through my veins.
Jackson’s fingers dig into my ass, sharp and painful and possessive.
I can’t get enough of it. God. He’s so fucking strong.
His thighs clench beneath me with every thrust. I’m barely moving besides my hand at this point.
It’s all him. All two-hundred-eighty pounds of solid muscle thrusting into me.
And then I make a mistake.
I lift my gaze to his.
Lust-blown pupils swallow those pretty blue irises.
But they can’t hide the wonder staring back at me.
My breath hitches, my body falling out of rhythm.
Because I can’t handle what’s staring back at me.
I see it. I see this man finally feeling like he belongs in his skin for the first time in his life.
Everything he’s hidden behind is gone—laying bare the person he’d buried beneath. Raw, unadulterated Jackson Olander.
I drop my forehead to his, an emotion that’s almost unbearable because of its magnitude consumes me. “Jackie.”
It’s too much. The power of his body. The noises he’s making.
The pleasure spreading through me like a runaway train.
Jackson’s cock pulses against mine a moment before he goes stiff.
My head falls to his shoulder, and I cry out as the train finally crashes into me.
I shake violently, vision dotting over as I spill all over his stomach.
The only thing I can hear over the drumming in my ears is his long, deep moan.
My body jerks, another round of pleasure hitting me.
That is the sexiest fucking sound I’ve ever heard.
Low. Heated. Tortured. I need to make him come again when I’m not distracted by my own orgasm.
Because I want to drown in that sound. Drown in him.
I collapse on him, face buried in my pillow to the point I can barely breathe. But I’m boneless. Limp. Just a melty mess of bliss.
I manage to flop my head to the side. “I’ll get off you in one second,” I say into his neck.
His arms snake around my back, his knees lifting so my ass settles comfortably against his thighs. Mmm. That’s nice.
“Don’t,” he murmurs.
“We’re a mess. I can clean us up. Just need a second before my legs work.”
“Later.”
I push up until our faces are inches apart. I search those hazy blue eyes, that bright silver now stormy from his orgasm.
“I want to soak this in,” he whispers. “This moment. For a little while longer.”
My heart stutters. I nod, then drag a kiss over his lips. I settle back on him, my head falling into the crook of his neck. He’s right. This is big for him. No need to rush.
Life moves too fast as it is.
This will be over before we know it.