18. Shawn
Shawn
Blaze was vague about exactly how experienced he is, but the fact that he’s apparently not some backwoods player does make me feel better about my own fumbling attempts at seduction.
Maybe if I were doing this with someone else, someone I didn’t trust as much, it would be awkward, but touching him, tentative though I may be, isn’t cringe or embarrassing.
It’s exciting. Everything feels like color TV after a lifetime of black and white.
Blaze’s beard on my skin, his lips on mine, his hands everywhere.
I can smell the day on him, but it smells good.
It’s a smell I’m familiar with after spending more of my life in a locker room than in my own apartment: the clean, strong smell of man.
But I’ve never been turned on by it before.
At least not consciously. I wonder how deep this has been buried, wonder if I should be more curious about why being in this position has never occurred to me before.
I mentally shrug—who cares? I’m here now, and it’s exactly where I want to be—Blaze pushing me into the sofa with his big, strong body, and everything he does making me want more.
His crotch lines up with mine and, oh yeah—that’s the stuff. The pressure of someone else’s body on mine, the catch of our cocks as they drag together through our jeans. It’s good. It’s too good. It’s—
“Shit.” I’m coming in my jeans, wet and sticky and not at all expected.
“What?” Blaze says, distracted by nibbling on my left pec. “Okay?”
“Uh.” What do I do now? Tell him?
He lifts his head instantly concerned. Of course.
“I, um, came.”
His pupils dilate visibly, and his mouth opens.
“You feel good,” I mumble, feeling heat rise in my face when he doesn’t say anything.
“You came in your jeans because of me?”
“Yeah.” My cheeks feel like they could start a pilot light.
He kisses me swift and hard. “That’s so hot.”
“It is?” It smacks more of inexperience and lack of self-control to me.
“Shawn, I’m trying so hard not to come right now, you have no idea,” he says, and I believe him. His honesty is as comforting as always.
“Oh, well…go ahead,” I say awkwardly. “Or maybe you want to—”
His hand is on his belt buckle and fly before I can finish the sentence.
He flicks open his jeans, and I catch a glimpse of dark boxers, and then the head of his uncut cock springs out from the slit in the fabric.
I can’t see the whole thing, but it’s wine-dark and thick, thicker than mine.
He wraps his hand around himself and squeezes, then strokes, not fast to get off, more like to slow himself down.
It’s riveting watching Blaze touch himself. He looks so sexy. My sticky cock twitches in my pants. This is more fun than playing a doubleheader.
“Is it okay if I—” Blaze inches up to straddle my hips, the crown of his cock pointing at my abs. “I need—”
“Yes, yeah, do it,” I urge, because letting Blaze come on me now seems like the only thing I want to do for the rest of my life.
“Shit, yes fucking hell oh my god fuck yes—” I’ve never heard Blaze say a string of words like that, and it’s almost as if he doesn’t know he’s saying them as the first jet of his release hits my skin—it’s hot, and there’s a lot of it.
He gasps, his gaze fixed on where he’s painting me.
I don’t know where to look—at his red-with-exertion face, or at my glistening wet torso, or at his cock, from which he’s milking the last pearly white drops.
It all looks good, smells good, feels good.
He lets go to touch the ribbons of spend on me, glances up with wide eyes, as if he can’t believe he did that. “Fucking hell, Shawn.”
I let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “That was amazing.”
“It was?” He looks startled, then pleased. “Yeah, it kind of was.”
I push myself up on my elbows so I can meet him for a kiss. I’m swiftly getting addicted to the feel of his whiskers on my skin. “Wanna take a shower?”
“Together?”
“Yeah, it’s big enough.” The large glass stall is probably roomy enough to fit four burly guys. Not that I want to test the theory out. Blaze is more than enough for me.
“I—” He looks like he wants to say yes, but I already feel disappointment welling up in my chest. “I better go home. Brooke probably took care of Misty, but I should make sure. And I have an early morning tomorrow. Taking some guests out on the lake. Kayaking.”
“Sure. Of course.” He’s not on vacation, like I am. He has responsibilities and work. I’m a selfish prick for even thinking about insisting he blow all that off for me.
“But you said something about a date? One we both know is a date this time?” He tucks himself away, buttons his fly and belt. “I’m free tomorrow night.”
I pivot away from dejection and focus on the next time I can see him. “A date. Yes. Good idea. I mean, it was my idea, but—”
“Six o’clock?”
“Sure, six. Tomorrow. For a date. I’ll…” I was about to say pick him up, but I don’t have a vehicle. Not to mention I have no idea where to take him on this unexpectedly high-pressure date.
“I can pick you up,” he says, rescuing me again. He finds his shirts over the side of the sofa and climbs off me in order to put them on.
“Okay. Thanks.” I sit up, feeling slightly tacky as the come on my skin dries in the cold air.
Tacky in more ways than one. Not that I regret anything, but I’d sort of been looking forward to continuing the physical stuff.
I’d just been warming up. I reach for my own shirt, but I’m just going to hit the shower anyway, so I drop it to deal with later.
Blaze is lacing up his boots, not looking at me. I don’t regret anything, but maybe he does? Otherwise, why would he be jetting out of here so fast?
“You sure you have to leave?”
He knots his boots. His gaze skates over my chest before he meets my eyes. “Yeah, I do.”
I swallow with difficulty. “Okay.”
“To be honest, I don’t really want to. But there’s Misty. And I think if I stay…”
“What?”
“I won’t want to leave. Like, ever. And it’s—I don’t know. I don’t want to rush things. It’s your first time. You should make sure you’re only doing what you feel comfortable doing.”
“I was just getting started,” I say, slightly frustrated at his consideration. “You don’t have to worry about me, you know.”
“Worrying is in my DNA,” he says. “I worry about the people I care about.”
“And you care about me?” I say, unable to resist.
He looks at me, not a hint of irony on his face. “Yeah, I do.”
I get it then, that this isn’t a casual hook up for him—not really.
If he were the kind of guy who just wanted to get off with someone, he’d be way more experienced than he is.
And that makes me feel better than the orgasm did.
My whole life I’ve been able to count on one hand the people in this world who truly care about Shawn Camden, the human being, rather than Shawn Camden, shortstop.
That number has grown by one.
After he’s gone, I make my way to the shower, wash off the sex and the sweat from the day.
I touch my lips, imagining I can feel Blaze’s on mine.
Part of me can’t believe I took the risk, but the other part is absurdly proud of making a move.
Because being with Blaze feels right in a way I’ve never known before.
The only trouble is what it means that I found this magical, precious thing with someone who lives in this out of the way piece of nowhere. I’m a long way from my life in Hartford.
But isn’t that what I’ve been trying to get my head around? That even if baseball is behind me, there’s more to life than the game. There’s more to me than the game. If that’s true, then where the hell do I go from here?