Page 78 of The Battery
I nodded a yes. So far so good. No pain. Only ecstasy.
I heard him disrobe and wanted to look behind me, but he commanded me not to. I waited, dick throbbing, ass pushed out as I heard him jerk himself off for a moment. Then, slick fingers inside me.
Fuck.He used his own pre-come to lubricate his fingers. My body came alive with pleasure as he sought my prostate and rubbed at the perfect angle and rhythm. I moaned into the comforter of my bed.
He pulled his fingers out, then thudded his heavy cock between the cheeks of my ass. He slapped it a few times and I gyrated to entice him.
More gentleness, though the firmness of his grip told me how much he wanted to let loose. He rotated me and helped me turn, though I didn’t need much of it. In a heartbeat, my legs were up and on his shoulders at a good bend. Flat on my back. This was strikingly similar to the position my physical therapist often had me in.
Not a coincidence.
Leo’s hard cock rested atop mine as he kissed my calves. I stared at him, his dick leaking pre-come like a fucking faucet. It just steadily came out of him like he was slowly coming. I hadseen this many times before, but it still never ceased to turn me on. I reached down and used some as lubricant to jerk myself off. I made a fist for his cock and he fucked it slowly while his hands rested on my legs.
We hadn’t had a conversation about full sex. Yet. It was in the cards. But once again, I sensed Leo’s strange reluctance at another progress point.
“Let me see you come,” Leo said. He dipped a finger inside me and moved the pad of his fingertip just right. A wave of pleasure hit me and I jerked my cock suddenly faster. My chest moved rapidly. I knew I had to make this quick before pain settled in. I jerked myself harder, faster, Leo’s finger darting in and out of me, showing me how he’d fuck me when the time came. My mouth dropped open. Eyes squeezed shut.
I hit ecstasy in a slow scream that reached a crescendo. Leo’s voice soon followed as he came seconds after me. Come decorated my body like paint thrown from a brush. I bucked my hips into myself, felt Leo grinding against me.
His lips were back on my legs, kissing me as he came down. I wanted him atop me, those lips slowly bringing me back to earth. Softly. Lovingly.
I opened my eyes. Leo’s chest slowed as he carefully let my legs down.
While I caught my breath, Leo disappeared into my bathroom to grab a hand towel. He cleaned me up, then helped me to my feet. He remained curiously silent, his gaze distant. Internally, I warred with myself. I knew the feeling—spent, endorphins rushed out of the system, ready for sleep. Often, men had no appetite for anything but sleep after sex and I didn’t want to corner him and ask about his feelings.
He grabbed his clothes off of my floor and gave me a quick peck on the corner of my mouth. “Breakfast date?” he asked as he pulled away.
I smiled. Gave him a kiss square on the lips. “Come down when you smell the bacon.”
He gave me another kiss. “Done.”
Then he was down the hall to his room. I slept well, as I often did in this magic bed he bought me. But I wanted more.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Leo
If I couldgraph my September, it would show two inverse lines. One, let’s call it the red line, climbed steadily upward from such a low, low position. Each point it advanced felt like a new me, an undiscovered portion of my psyche that delighted in its reveal. The red line gave me a kind of hope I didn’t know existed. The more it climbed, the more I knew with certainty it was headed toward the ultimate goal of something I never thought achievable: love.
Then there was the blue line. That had started at the top and dropped, tumbled, fell, with every passing game and every loss, despite the wins. I never liked magic numbers, or the statistics the Smart People used to determine outcomes of the regular season. I knew enough that it kept me apprised of our situation. The lower that blue line fell, though, the more I squirmed at the thought at losing my shot to win something good for Uncle Andy.
We kicked off September with a series win against the Barracudas, who were leading the division at that point. Later, we swept our games with the Annapolis Hawks with our home field advantage. Then we lost two out of three games against the Ottawa Diamonds, which gave us our first indication on how tight the Wild Card race would be as the month dragged on. But our confidence still held strong. We aimed for clinching postseason, not the Wild Card.
With Cody’s attendance at the games, though he was not playing, he became something of a coach in the bullpen. His rivalry with the amorphous Assholes had turned a new leaf, andthey started listening to him more. His coaching (and I firmly believe itwasbecause of Cody) allowed us to win a key game against the Brawlers. This game had been one of the most pivotal of the regular season.
Cody and I celebrated afterward in our new favorite way.
Mid-September came like an ex with a vengeance. A mix of wins and losses, nothing to give us any better sense of direction. We fought like hell in every game, dumping everything we had into each one. Cody had begun to lightly throw again, though he was forced to dial it back until his muscles were better. The Assholes had shifted into a genuine friend group for him, and it was somewhere around the middle of the month he revealed his collective name to all of them. I advised against it and it turned out I was wrong. They loved it. They jokingly bullied their way everywhere they went. “’Scuse me,theAssholes coming through,” they would often say. Everyone got a kick out of it.
We all but fought every time we played against the Brawlers. The crowd practicallydemandedthat we drain onto the field at some point in each game. Quinn never stopped doing this shit. Admittedly, the Riders weren’t opposed to starting arguments either. All of us were on edge as we duked it out through hits, throws, and catches.
But that blue line kept sinking. The Barracudas were rising. In the American League East Division, it was quickly becoming obvious that the Jacksonville Barracudas would clinch a spot in postseason. Not the end of the world, due to the way the game has changed in the last few years. The Wild Card was a playoff spot given to the best teams who didn’t win their division. However, only three from the American League were given permission. Which meant we still had work to do. Still, we played like we would clinch postseason without having to fight for the Wild Card.
A doubleheader against the Brawlers pushed us further ahead in the Wild Card race and dropped those fuckers back. They fought like hell and let their odious spirit get the better of them. Like cornered cats, they lashed out irrationally instead of playing calm and controlled. Like the Riders. I thanked my lucky stars that I had the foresight to predict this and make the switch to the winning team.
On September twenty-sixth, our trajectory changed. The Barracudas clinched the AL East Division Title, which eliminated us from contention. But not from postseason. We were still in the running for a Wild Card spot. Across the entire American League, only three of us could secure that and the Riders hadnoother option.Ihad no other option. My pennant for Uncle Andy became the sole focus of my existence.
Cody’s beautiful red line hit a plateau. He knew it did. I knew it did. He didn’t get mad or try and push us together when we got home. He knew I needed to focus on and off the field. He called it hitting the pause button. September skyrocketed my affection for him, but toward the end we both knew we had to take it easy for a short (a very, very short but effective) spell.
