Page 12 of The Battery
Finally.
Then he tried to move past me, but this conversation was far from over. Now that I saw his tipping point, I needed to drive my message home. I used my size to my advantage.
As Cody attempted to slink by, I barred his way again. But this time, I used my left hand to grab a handful of his shirt and then press him against the wall of the corridor. I didn’t shove him hard, but with enough force to snap his attention. With wide eyes, he stared in disbelief. I raised my right hand to point a finger two inches from his face.
“You’ve got talent, Cody.Realtalent. But you’re letting your emotions get the best of you and itpisses me offto watch talent succumb to baser instincts. You need to get that shit in checkfast. You could be an asset to this team if you just get control of yourself. I saw it. The fourth inning against the Winds? You…”
In my tirade I had lost track of myself. I thought I pushed too far. Cody’s wide eyes showed too much fear. I lost the balance of what I was trying to accomplish and now I’d scared the poor guy into…
Oh.
No.
That wasn’t fear.
His pupils had blown wide. His body was relaxed against my grip. His eyes moved between the tip of my finger in his face, to my lips, to my own eyes. Rapid bouncing between all three, as if he had a critical decision to make.
I felt my own breath catch. The moment went from a lecture to the potential for something physical in the span of an eye blink. I froze in the moment, warring between a desire for companionship and a need to win. Those two were not a pair bond.
Cody made the decision for me. His lips trembled as his mouth parted a fraction. He blinked, carefully jutting his head forward. My eyebrows climbed as his mouth opened, tongue extending to capture the tip of my finger. I exhaled, still frozen, as Cody let out a light, barely perceptible moan when he sucked my finger to the first knuckle, pulling my hand forward. Then farther, past the second knuckle. Down to the webbing. My index finger danced with his tongue inside his mouth, hot and wet. He had his eyes closed as if he savored the taste of me.
I tightened the grip of my left hand in refusal to let go. I pressed the bulk of my body against his. I felt him growing harder by the second and my reaction mirrored his. He suckedso hard on my finger I thought he’d pull the thing off. I stayed locked in the moment now that my surprise of his action abated. He opened his eyes, saw my hunger and determination. My dominance.
I yanked my finger from his mouth, hooked my left hand against his neck, and brought our lips together in a fury of connection. His mouth was open before we met, that dancing tongue of his ready and willing to meet mine. I drove myself down and into him, extending my tongue as far as it could go to taste him fully. Cinnamon. A lot of cinnamon. I savored it.
On a whim of desire, I snaked my right hand around his back and sank it into his workout shorts. He let out a smalltutof surprise that I swallowed in my mouth. He grabbed two handfuls of my biceps as I dipped my spit-soaked finger between his ass, then fish-hooked it at just the right spot. Cody took in a sharp breath as I pressed inside him.
A louder moan escaped his mouth and echoed down the concrete corridor. I pulled my left hand away from his neck and smacked the palm against his mouth. His eyes grew wide, now disconnected from our kiss and focused on another touch. I drove my finger in farther and a louder sound rushed out of him, now muffled by my hand.
“Shh,” I said as I worked my finger. He wiggled his hips, still moaning. “Shut the fuck up.” Though I said it, I no way in hell meant it. I hadn’t been this turned-on in months. “You gonna be quiet?” I asked as I removed my hand a fraction. He nodded. “Good.” I twirled my finger, then pumped it in and out. Cody’s head slammed against the concrete. He exhaled a heaving breath. Parted his closed eyes. Looked right at me.
He opened his mouth to say something, but a door slamming somewhere in the distance made both of us jump.
Like cockroaches with light, we both scattered. I pulled out of him, turned, and beelined it in one direction while Cody wentthe other. I didn’t look back at him. Just lowered my head and pulled out my phone in feigned ignorance of the maintenance worker walking by.
I adjusted my stiff cock before I reached the clubhouse. The thing wouldn’t go down. I knew it wouldn’t if I didn’t take care of it. The thought of Cody’s mouth, his ass, carried me to the privacy of a restroom stall. I let my fantasy run wild with what he might be doing in the moment. Hopefully the same.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cody
The ceiling fanabove my bed spun lethargically, as if it had better things to do than provide its primary function.
Kinda like me, I thought sardonically, then snorted out a pathetic laugh. The sun had only just risen, and I barely got any sleep. Freddie wanted to get in early to the stadium and asked if I wanted to join him. The team would be heading out tonight to Ottawa for a three-game series against the Diamonds, then on to Harrisburg for another three-game series, this one against the Stags. I was staying home for all six games. Not that they were cutting me, but there was a certain rotation for relief pitchers, especially rookies, and I wasn’t needed. I had until our next game against the Libertines on the twenty-fifth.
Eight days. Of… freedom?
Practice, you moron.Three other rookie relievers would be staying. Two of them were part of the Assholes. The thought started a fire in me as I recalled Leo’s demands to slough off whatever they threw at me.
Leo.
I had been on my way to the utility room. The humdrum, unmodulated noise of the stadium’s machinery beat negative thoughts into submission, as if the sound were an unstoppable force. Without my headphones to sink into, I needed the solace of the room. Which was when I had run intohim.
I rolled in my bed to look out the window at a burning sky alight with shades of crimson and pink. I snaked out a hand and slapped the machine on my nightstand. The white noise cut off and invited in the warbling song of spring fledglings. I tried tofocus on their coos, the lilting way they sang up and down the scale. What kind of birds were they? What did they look like?
What did Leo look like without clothes? What kind of lover was he under the sheet?
Aggressive, probably. And everyone had a good idea of what he looked like without clothes. He had enough ad campaigns for designer underwear or fancy perfume that required him to be glistening in moody lighting. All I had to do was google it.
