Page 86 of Hot Streak

“Push me away again,” Connor said.

Like Jackson even could.

You did it once before.

Yes, he had. In a last-ditch desperate attempt to prevent this very thing, but maybe it was inevitable. It was fated that Connor Clark would saunter into his life, casually demolish all of Jackson’s good intentions, and then probably walk right back out again.

Was it so wrong if he took all the parts of him that he could have, while he could have them?

Jackson didn’t know, but in the end, it didn’t matter if it was wrong or it was right, because he was going to do it anyway.

He leaned in again, pressing his whole body against Connor’s glorious one, and kissed him again, long and sweet and hot, and hoped that was answer enough.

Chapter 14

Connor felt like he was going out of his mind, like his skin was too small for his body, like Ro and TJ and the others must know what he and Jackson had been doing behind the shed.

But they’d come back, chattering loudly, inadvertently alerting him and Jackson to their incoming presence. It had been easy enough to slip back around the corner of the shed. Not so easy to pretend like nothing had happened.

Like Connor’s heart wasn’t beating a hundred miles an hour.

Like he hadn’t had his foundations rocked by Jackson’s mouth and his hands and the firm, muscled press of his body against his own.

His hands were still trembling a little, and he’d never been so hard in his whole fucking life. Not so simple to hide, considering how wet his clothes were. But it was dark, and Connor kept to the shadows, hoping that nobody would notice.

But when Ro suggested they head to the bar for a drink— “when we’re like this?” TJ exclaimed, pulling his wet T-shirt away from his chest—he’d met Jackson’s eyes and it was clear he’d noticed.

“They’re not gonna kick us out,” Deke claimed.

Which was probably true. It wasn’t like the bar they’d been to the last few nights was a white tablecloth establishment. But even with soaking wet clothes, Connor didn’t want to go to the bar and have a beer and pretend that he wasn’t going out of his mind with desire.

He didn’t have a great poker face, anyway, and he’d never be able to fake it, not with Jackson right there, dark eyes intent on his, promising everything he’d imagined and more, when they got back to the room.

“We’re going back to the hotel,” Jackson announced, not even giving Connor a chance to say anything. “I’m wet and it’s not cold now, but I’m fundamentally against being wet and clammy and the possibility of chafing.”

Kevin and TJ agreed, much to Connor’s disappointment. Because it meant he and Jackson couldn’t talk about what was going to happen once they were behind that closed hotel room door.

He could only imagine it, his fantasies feverish and becoming increasingly elaborate as they walked back to the hotel.

What would Jackson do, the moment that door closed?

Would he kiss him again?

Would he sink to his knees?

Would he use all those rippling muscles to simply rip Connor’s clothes right off?

Would he have time to overthink? Or would Jackson make sure that didn’t happen, kinda like he did when he was behind home plate, and Connor was on the mound?

The answer was none of the above.

The door shut behind Connor with a final click and Jackson only walked over to the dresser and began to pull clothes out of it.

“What are you doing?” Connor asked incredulously.

Was Jackson not . . .how could he not be just as frantically desperate as Connor? Sure, he was a little older, but he’d been around Jackson for long enough now to realize the man didn’t really do casual hookups. How long had it been since anyone but his right hand had touched him?

And yet he wasn’t shaking and trembling now, the way Connor was.

---