Page 52 of Gross Misconduct

His hot breath dances on my lips. I scrawl my fingers through his beard.

“You and your fucking beard,” I mutter against his lips. “You should shave this fucking thing.”

“Not until the end of the season, Ringer.”

“Call me Ringer again, you fuck.”

He smiles at me but says nothing. What did I tell you? Asshole.

Griffin pushes up one of my legs, letting our bodies get closer as rain streams down our faces and clothes. His woodsy cologne and manly scent, a bit of permasweat mixed in, gets me dizzy with desire. His hands press into my back as I’m pulled flush against his chest. His cock digs into my hip, taunting me.

I grip his cock over his jeans. He lets out a raspy moan and hisses into my mouth. I can get drunk all over again on these noises.

“This is the part where you usually run off,” I say.

He stares at me, his eye blown wide and heavy lidded, the lust raging through him just as strong as it is with me. Good, it should be. I should always elicit raging lust within this man.

I stroke my hand over his cock, back and forth, giddy with the thickness I can detect. He puts his hands on my chest, a little unsure, maybe a little scared, which catches me off guard. There’s a hesitant exploration. It’s a moment of tenderness in this tornado.

I unbutton my shirt and let him put his hands on my bare chest, heat and want sizzling inside me as his fingers slip over the light hairs around my pert nipples, which are as hard as my cock. He gives them a firmer pinch than before, forcing me to throw my head back and moan.

My breath pounds in my ears. My lungs can’t keep up. I want him to split me open. I need his touch. We are on a road with nothing but green lights.

“I’m going to give you the best fucking blow job of your life,” I say, the statement coming out as a threat.

“You better.”

Fucker.

I shove him backward until he’s up against his truck. I get on my knees, landing in a puddle, but I’m already soaked. The rain makes his shirt stick to his chest and belly, emphasizing each muscle, each lump. I grip his cock through his jeans.

“You’re not running this time,” I warn him as I unbutton his jeans. He doesn’t stop me, nor does he stop me from unzipping his fly. A lamppost above illuminates us, providing just enough light to navigate pulling his cock from his boxers. He tries to help, but I shove his hand back. I can’t trust he’s not going to end this. If he really wanted to end this, he could.

His hard cock juts out. Fuck, it’s bigger and better than I dreamed about. Yes, I did dream about it and might’ve been late to practice one morning from cranking it in bed. He’s unabashedly hairy down there, almost like he wants someone to dare ask him to clean up.

“We should probably go somewhere—” Griffin starts.

I shove his cock in my mouth, refusing to let him finish that sentence. If we move from this spot, the moment could be over. He could bolt. We have to get this over with and out of our systems.

That’s what this is. Getting out of each other’s heads by giving head.

He throws his head back against his truck, letting out a groan silenced by the pouring rain. For my ears only.

I take his cock down my throat, letting its salty heat shudder through me. I reach up his shirt and land on his hairy gut. I push down to the base, letting him completely fill my mouth.

“Suck me, Jack.”

I swirl my tongue over his crown. “You better be liking this.”

He unleashes a groan that rivals the thunder in volume.

I suck him hard and fast, knowing that some lovely couple could walk past the alley any second and stumble upon us. That fact makes me even hornier.

He pulls his cock out of my mouth. Rude. He smacks it on my tongue.

“How badly have you wanted this, Ringer?”

“Not as bad as you,” I shoot back.

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