Page 32 of Make My Heart Malt

“I never back away from a challenge.” With his hand on my waist, he lifts me and tosses me over his shoulder.

I squeal in surprise. “Where are we going?”

His large palm connects with my ass cheek. The echoing slap resonates through my townhouse. I’m enjoying the mixture of roughness and softness he’s been showing me. He gently massages the muscle.

“Somewhere a little more comfortable.”

When we reach the living room, he bends over and deposits me on the couch. I brush the hair out of my face and he’s standing in front of me, the bulge in his jeans calling to me like a beacon. There’s only one problem. He’s wearing entirely too many clothes. I reach to the waistband of his jeans. My fingers brush over the button and when I glance up, he’s staring at me, watching my every move. With my heated gaze trained on his, I pop the button on his jeans and pull the zipper down. Slowly, I peel the sides away and push them over his thick, muscular thighs until they hit the floor with a thud. I run my fingers over the outline of his cock. He sucks in a sharp breath.

“Is that a baseball bat between your legs?” I murmur to myself, but apparently not quietly enough.

“Only one way to find out.” He hooks his thumbs under the elastic, and he pulls the boxer briefs down. His cock springs free, fully erect and right in front of my face. I lift my hand and do my best to wrap my fingers around his girth. With my thumb, I swirl the bead of pre-cum around the tip. Needing lubrication, I collect what saliva I have in my mouth and spit it onto the head. I move it around as much as possible until I’ve coated most of his cock and my hand. I slide my hand down to the base and then up to the tip.

“Fuck. I love when you touch me. Feels so fucking good.” His fingers thread through my hair.

A stinging sensations spreads over my scalp as he curls his fingers in the strands, but I don’t stop. I continue to stroke him while occasionally wrapping my lips around the crown and swirling my tongue around the tip. I’m desperate to see him loose control. He thrusts his hips, pushing his dick into my hand. With each pass he gains more momentum.

“Fuck. I’m going to come.” His thrusting becomes more erratic in my hand until his hot cum spurts out, hitting me in my chest and sliding down my stomach. Eventually, his movements slow and I drop my hand. When his breath evens out, he bends over and rests his hands on the back of the couch, caging me in. “I think you deserve one more orgasm.”

I stir awake, but my eyelids have fifty-pound weights attached to them. My head throbs like someone played Wack-O-Dessa with a baseball bat for the last twelve hours. I groan and roll over. My hand brushes along something warm and my eyes snap open. A mop of dark brown hair, attached to tan, muscular shoulders, lays next to me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Alarms blare through my head, which does nothing to help my massive headache. Flashes of last night flit through my mind. Garrett came over. We talked. Had drinks. Lots and lots of drinks. Kissing. Touching. Fuck.

I jackknife to the seated position, ready to bolt out of here, but it’s my bedroom. Pinching my eyes shut, I rest my palm on my forehead as my head throbs in protest. Spots dot my vision as I hastily lift the blanket to see I’m wearing only my bra and underwear. I drop the blanket. What happened last night? I lift the blanket again only a little higher and I’m greeted with a tight and toned muscular ass. My eyes widen. Holy shit. He’s naked. I drop the blanket. I have my underwear on. Did we have sex? I scan the room for any telltale signs like a condom wrapper, but nothing. Instead, I find my favorite dark blue Minnesota Mallards jersey lying in a pile surrounded by buttons. I didn’t realize he has such strong, hateful feelings towardthe team. I move past the now-ruined jersey, but don’t see anything. Maybe we didn’t use protection? I lift the blanket for one more peek. Is it wrong I want to sink my teeth into the firm muscle? It must be from all the squats he does behind home plate. I bite my lower lip. Of course, it’s wrong. I scold myself. Releasing my lip, I pout. You can’t go around biting people’s asses. They taught you that in kindergarten. Maybe not the asses part but definitely the “no biting.”

“How many times are you going to look at my ass?”

My heart rate spikes. I’ve been caught.

“There’s a draft every time you lift the blanket. Plus, it’s way too early. Go back to bed,” he mumbles into the pillow.

“Why are you naked?”

He rotates his head to face me, causing his brown hair to flop over his forehead. “I always sleep naked.”

“Even in someone else’s bed?”

“The bed doesn’t care.”

“But I do.”

“Fine. You want me to put my underwear on?” He faces away from me and lifts the blanket, exposing his right butt cheek.

I grab the blanket and cover him again. “The damage to my sheets is already done. I have to burn them now.”

“I’m pretty sure your sheets enjoyed the company last night. By the way you screamed my name, you did too.”

“No.” I shake my head, but the movement makes my head pound even more.

“Oh yeah, you did. I’m sure all your neighbors know you had company last night.”

I slide down on the bed, willing it to swallow me whole. “What did I do last night?” I murmur.

“You gave me a very sloppy hand job.”

A boisterous laugh escapes me. I vaguely remember his face between my legs and our time on the couch. Pretty much everything after that is a blur. “I saw three different cocks. I did my best to pick the right one. I can’t say you did any better. I couldn’t tell if all the wetness between my legs was my orgasm or your saliva. You were like a Saint Bernard with a jar of peanut butter. I’m pretty sure you bruised my clit from all the sucking.”

A deep laugh rumbles from his chest. “And if you check under your fingernails, you’ll find some of my DNA from gripping my hair so tight. I’m surprised your voice isn’t horse from screaming my name.”

I shoot him a glare. “My voice is just fine.” Twisting around, I roll out of bed to at least put on a shirt so I’m a little less naked. While sitting on the edge of the bed, I glance down. What the hell? I peer over my shoulder. “Why do I have bruises on my inner thighs?” Did I fall last night and smack my thigh against something? I inspect the blue and purple skin closer. Are those teeth marks? “What the…” Those aren’t bruises. They’re hickeys. “What are you? A vampire?”

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