Page 67 of Tagging Bases

“Yes,” he growls. He scoots impossibly closer, his thigh pressed against mine, his breath hot on my ear. “Don’t leaveanythingout.”

I recount that night with Harrison, sparing no detail. I tell him how we snuck off to his hotel room and about the sloppy, drunken make-out session. I go into detail about our hands groping, hips grinding, and our clothes being frantically shed. I even mention how I moaned his name like a prayer as he brought me right to the edge again and again before I finally came undone.

Without warning, Charlie lunges at me, tackling meoff the curb and onto the damp grass of some random front lawn. Charlie lands on top of me with an “oof.”

Before I can catch my breath, his lips are on mine, hot and insistent. I melt into the kiss, my hands coming up to grip his hips and pulling him flush against me. Our tongues tangle, teeth nipping, as weeks’ worth of pent-up desire pours out of us.

I can feel Charlie, hard and straining against his sweats, as he grinds down on me. My cock throbs in response, aching for friction. Charlie rolls his hips, dragging his erection along mine, and stars explode behind my eyelids.

“Fuck, Charlie,” I groan, my fingers digging into the firm globes of his ass. He answers with a guttural moan, grinding faster, more desperately.

The wet slide of his tongue, the solid weight of him on top of me, the sinful noises spilling from his lips—it’s too much. I’m so worked up that I know I’m not going to last much longer.

As if reading my mind, Charlie ruts against me with renewed enthusiasm. His breath comes out in hot pants against my neck.

“I’m close,” he gasps out. “Daniel, I’m gonna?—”

I squeeze his ass, urging him on. “Me too. Don’t stop, man. God, please don’t stop.”

My hips snap up of their own accord, mashing the heads of our cocks together. The sensitivity causes Charlie to cry out with joy. His body goes rigid as his orgasm crashes over him.

The sound, the sight, the feel of him finding his release is enough to push me over the edge with him.

My cock pulses as I come hard in my sweats, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through me. My feet spasm, digging into the ground and kicking out tufts of grass. My eyes squeeze shut, and a growl rips from my throat.

Charlie collapses on top of me, boneless and spent. We lie there, chests heaving, hearts pounding, basking in the afterglow.

Eventually, the fog of lust starts to clear, and reality sets in. We’re sprawled on some stranger’s lawn, sweaty and sticky and very conspicuously post-coital. If anyone were to walk by…

“We should probably get back to the hotel,” I murmur, though I make no move to get up. Charlie hums in agreement, nuzzling into the crook of my neck.

“In a minute,” he mumbles, pressing a soft kiss to my pulse point. “I’m not done with you yet.”

A shiver runs down my spine at the promise in his words. I wrap my arms around my best friend, holding him close, and realize that I’m perfectly okay with this. With us.

I don’t care that we got each other off in public. I don’t care that we couldn’t even last more than a couple of minutes.

All I care about is that there is an amazing guy in my arms. The only thing that would make it even better is if Harrison were here too.

Chapter 24

Heart-Pounding Feelings

Harrison

April showers bring May flowers.At least, that’s what my grandmother always said. And I hope it’s true because I’m going stir-crazy not being able to tag buildings.

The rain has been relentless for the past week, and the forecast shows no signs of improvement. My spray cans sit untouched in the corner of my loft like punished children.

With a weary sigh, I lie back on my bed and stare up at the exposed beams, letting the pitter-patter of the storm lull me into an afternoon slumber. I get lost in a dream where Charlie, Daniel, and I are more than friends. A dream where I’m not the rebellious outsider but an integral part of their lives. It’s a beautiful dream, one that fills me with a warmth I’ve never known before.

And then it’s interrupted by my phone chiming.

I slowly open my eyes, the remnants of that beautiful dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness. My phone chimes again. I reach for it with a languid hand. The screen is bright, almost blinding, and I squint as I unlock the device.

The notification banner reads,Daniel Hollingsworth sent you a message on Instagram.My heart skips a beat. Daniel? Messaging me? I tap on the app icon, my fingers trembling slightly with anticipationand nerves.

As the direct message screen loads, I count to ten to calm my nerves. The message is brief, consisting of an address followed by a simple request. “Come over. We want to talk.”

---