Page 29 of The Battery
My eyes shot open.
A distinct sound filled the space. Flesh on flesh. Mixed with a natural lubricant. Recognizable. Unforgettable.
I rotated under the sheets. “Are you…?”
Yep.
Fuck me, I thought. Leonidas Papadopoulos, the Spartan, completely nude, lying on his hotel bed, slowly jerking off his cock. And staring at me.
His dick ran like a faucet, something I had come to savor. The sight of how much precome this man produced awed me every time. Absolutely no need for lubricant, not even spit. I had tried to ask him once about it, if it was some kind of condition. He never answered. I didn’t care, to be honest. I enjoyed every drop of it.
“What are you doing…?” I asked. The answer was obvious.
“Can’t sleep,” he said between protracted breaths, “unless I get off. Wanna help?”
“Told you, I’m tired,” I said, my words belying my intense stare at his body. His musculature, the way his tattoos moved as he arched his body a fraction to enjoy his own hand. He closed his eyes, hips bucking into himself. His dick just wouldn’t stop leaking into his hand…
I turned away. Fully awake. Fully hard. But trying to play the game. I squeezed my eyes shut but all I could see washim. That fucking body of his, carved by nutritionists and trainers. Honed by the obsessive mind of a professional athlete. Wanting me to help.
And that sound. That distinct sound of his lubricated hand gliding up and down his cock. I could hear his breathing, the cadence I had come to learn as I kneeled during the nights sucking him down to the base.
An “I hate you” was on my lips but never left my mouth. I spun around and shucked off the sheets. I didn’t hate him. How could I? But I hated the gravity of him. He readjusted himself onthe bed as I pulled off my shirt, dropped my shorts and boxers, and climbed onto the bed fully nude. He parted his legs and let me kneel before him. I sank my head down on his cock without preamble after pushing his hand away.
I savored the taste of him. The sound of his slow moan. The tremble of his thighs under the grip of my hand. Seeing him so at ease, at my touch, brought me pleasure.Iwas doing this to someone like him. And he preferred that it came from me, above anyone else that he could have had.
He surprised me as I put my concentration on bringing him to completion. A tug came at my hair and I looked up curiously. With his left hand, he forced my mouth off of his cock, then replaced it immediately with two fingers of his right hand. I didn’t question it and went along with his direction. After a minute of my tongue dancing with his fingers, he further surprised me.
“Spin around,” he demanded. Soft, but with authority.
I blinked, not entirely sure what he meant.
“Spin. Around.”
I did so in a fumbling manner until I understood. He guided me when I was halfway. In a moment, I was locked in place. On my knees, astride his chest, ass facing him. With his left hand, he pushed my head back down on his cock. The spit-soaked fingers of his right hand plunged into me.
My mouth lost suction on his cock. I brayed out a moan as he worked my ass like he was ready to fuck me. I let the sensation carry me, swimming in the pleasure before remembering my place and dropping my mouth back atop him. I gyrated my ass to his rhythm, humping the air as if it would do something.
Then he started to stroke me off. Again, I moaned deeply at the new pleasure. He had yet to do something like this. Up until now, it was me on my knees bringing him to climax whileI jerked myself off. Now he reciprocated. He actually partook in this and holy fuck…
I started coming within a minute of him stroking me. Between that new sensation and the fingers inside me, I had almost no control. I painted the tattoos on his chest with my come as my body electrified. I heard him whisper something, though I couldn’t make it out, and a second later he was emptying himself down my throat.
I tried to remember to swallow. My body’s reflexes took over but it wasn’t without effort. My concentration was entirely on my own orgasm as I bucked into his hand to try and get every ounce of pleasure available.
I collapsed beside him after ensuring both of us were emptied. Our chests rose and fell while we took the slow staircase back to ground level.
I got him a washcloth so he didn’t have to move and cleaned myself off of him. I was tempted to tuck him in as a joke but thought better of it. He regarded me with that leveled stare of his.
“’Night,” he said as I put my pajamas back on.
“G’night,” I said.
I was asleep in seconds.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Leo
Cody sat nextto me at the far end of the dugout bench. His ass was on the edge, arms folded as he looked out onto the field. I had my left foot raised, my cleat pressed into a rung of the railing. My elbow rested on my knee to support my chin as I slowly stroked my beard. Cody was dialed into the Winds middle relief pitcher.
