Page 131 of Hot Streak

Acceptance made him even impossibly hotter, and as he finally let his hand grasp his dick, he groaned.

“Slowly,” Jackson cautioned.

He did just as Jackson wanted, stroking himself at the kind of pace he knew Jackson would approve of.

“Can’t wait to see you like this again,” Jackson said in a hushed, intimate tone. It was still his sex voice, but it was more, too.

“Naked and at your mercy?” Connor choked out. He was already close, cock twitching in his hand, pleasure swamping him.

“In my bed. Sleepy and sexy, those big blue eyes blinking up at me like I’m some kind of prize, an actual fucking hero, instead of a washed-up baseball player.”

Connor could see it, the vision in Jackson’s mind, as easy as breathing. And he wanted it too, with a deep, painful longing he’d never felt before, never even imagined existed.

Jackson would give him an orgasm, make him work for it, wring it out of him, one devastating moment at a time, and then they’d lie together, and it’d feel just like coming home.

If Connor didn’t know how deep he was into this, the fact that sleepy, sweet vision was the thing that toppled him off into his orgasm would be enough to prove it.

“Oh God,” Connor cried out, and he was coming in long, hot stripes across his chest, shuddering against the way the pleasure grabbed him and wouldn’t let go.

“Shit,” Jackson ground out, a second later, and through his own orgasmic haze, Connor could hear his heavy breathing, the little gasps he made, and it was almost enough.

But as his come cooled on his stomach, he realized it wasn’t.

Because he was still alone, and Jackson was still too many miles away.

Connor was not usually given to melancholy. He didn’t sulk. That was Jackson’s department, for sure. But it was hard, now, to resist that pull. How easy would it be to fall into depression, not knowing when they’d ever see each other again?

But Connor pushed those thoughts away. Focused, instead, on the vision Jackson had painted.

“It’ll be like that again,” Connor said.

Jackson made a scoffing noise. Yes, he was definitely the melodramatic one out of the two of them.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Connor promised.

“I know,” Jackson said and sighed. “Doesn’t mean this doesn’t suck.”

“Sucking?” Connor asked, ears perking up.

God, maybe Maya was right, after all, and he was dickmatized.

But Jackson chuckled, exactly the way Connor had hoped. “It’s kind of amazing you ever thought you were straight, considering how into dick you are.”

“Just your dick,” Connor said.

“I’ll remember that,” Jackson retorted dryly, but Connor could still hear the affection in his tone. The trust. The loyalty.

Connor cleared his throat. “When the . . .uh . . .underwear comes in, do you wanna see?”

“Like a free preview?”

Connor couldn’t help his eye roll. “No, old man, like a thirst trap. You know what that is?”

“Yes,” Jackson said. “And no. I don’t want to see until you’re in front of me and I can actually touch you.”

“Really?”

Jackson laughed humorlessly. “You’re overestimating my ability to resist you. If I see that . . .I can’t promise I won’t go AWOL and show up in Tampa.”

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