“Who is it? Some reporter?”
“No. It seems you have a VIP guest. And he left a note.”
My skin tingles. It would be crazy. But I’m feeling kind of crazy today. I take the note and unfold it. A touch of pleasure shoots down my spine when I see the monogrammed RR.
The man has his own fucking stationery.
Figures. That’s so very British. But the thing is, I don’t think he’d be this polite in bed. I think he’d be a dirty fucking bastard. And I’d like it.
I read the note.
I think you’d look fantastic in a rooster design. But really, I’d want you to model it for me. If you’d like that, come find me in Suite 616.
I am so there.
I look up, meeting Owen’s gaze from behind his Clark Kent glasses. “Best kind of note,” I say.
“Some guys leave very, very good notes,” Owen says, then tips his forehead in the direction of 616. He doesn’t need to tell me twice.
I’m heading down the corridor to the private suite that overlooks the ballpark. Is he going to be here alone? With his assistant?
No idea.
But I have no idea what pitchers are going to throw at me and I step up to the plate every day. I’m good at the unexpected—I thrive on it.
I knock on the door to 616, and my body tingles with anticipation. A few seconds later there’s a click, then the opening of a door, then the sexy man from the club comes into view.
In the twilight, he’s even better. He’s all carved cheekbones, stubbled jawline, and bright brown eyes. Yep. He’s Tom Ellis, but even better, because he’s real and he’s mine.
“You found me,” I say easily.
“You left an excellent trail of clues,” he says, all cool and unflappable.
“Are you saying I wanted to be found?” I step inside, and he shuts the door behind me. Desire pulses through my body as I unabashedly admire him, from his snug-fitting jeans to his dark brown hair I want to hold on tight to.
Then, he’s on me. He just fucking pounces. He pushes me up against the door, grabs my wrists, holds them tight against my sides and runs his nose along my neck.
I shudder everywhere. My dick throbs in my jeans. And sometimes I’m a man who likes to take control, who likes to be the scene, but here, now? I’m desperate to be devoured.
“You definitely wanted to be found. You wanted to tempt me. You wanted to taunt me,” he says.
I lean my head back, giving him more room to slide those wicked lips along the column of my neck. He sweeps hard, hungry kisses across my jaw, up to my ear.
“Yes. I wanted to tempt you. And that’s what you want,” I say.
To emphasize my point, I sneak a hand between us and squeeze. He’s so damn hard already, the ridge of his erection filling my palm fantastically. I stroke and rub him through his jeans as he presses hungry kisses along my skin.
“That makes me think you’re practically begging for me,” he rasps in that wildly sexy accent.
“I’ll beg for it.”
“I bet you would. I’d like you to right now.”
My eyes scan the private suite. “That’s why you got this suite, I bet. So you could call me here after the game?” The thought thrills me. Wickedly.
He just shrugs casually, like this is no big deal. “Perhaps I did.”
“Perhaps I want to then.”
I squeeze him harder, pleasure bursting through my cells at the prospect. He pulls back to look at me. His eyes glimmer with filthy deeds. “Show me then. Show me how good you can beg for my cock. Show me how much you want to take it to the back of your throat.”
I undo the top button on his jeans, slinking a hand just inside and teasing his happy trail. I give the man what he wants. A plea. “Please, Rafe, let me suck you hard and good.”
He points to the chairs by the window, overlooking the field, and I shiver in anticipation.
“Hmm. Did I get this suite for this moment? I wonder.” He moves toward the seats. “This is where I was when I watched your game. When you hit that home run.” He tosses me a lascivious look. “I think I’d like to know what it’s like to have an all-star athlete on his knees, begging me to fuck his mouth.”
The shiver turns into a full-body shudder. I ache with lust. It courses through me, filling my veins, flooding my senses.
Insisting.
He sinks down in the chair, unzips his pants, and takes out his cock.
Long, thick, pulsing.
My mouth waters. My dick throbs.
His eyes swing from me to the floor. “Get on your knees, Gunnar. Get on your knees so I can fuck your throat.”
I hit a home run, caught a scorching grounder, and now I’m going to take a fantastic dick to the back of my throat.