Page 4 of All Bats are Off (Rose City Roasters)

Brock

T ucker was on me before the front door slammed shut. His lips tore into mine as his rough hands roved my body, eventually landing on my ass. Not that there was much for him to grab onto—I hadn’t been blessed with curves and muscles like him, no matter how many Pilates classes I attended.

“Fuck,” he groaned, trailing his teeth down my neck, chasing my racing pulse. “You don’t know what you do to me, Heller.”

“Tell me,” I managed between ragged breaths.

My god.

My body was on fire; my heart pounded in time with my throbbing cock. The fact that I was still able to formulate a coherent sentence was a goddamn miracle. Things were moving too fast, yet I couldn’t get enough.

Tucker dug his fingers into my ass, lifting me until my toes barely scraped the floor. Damn. There was something super sexy about being thrown around—consensually, of course—by a dude with thighs made for crushing watermelons. And he had—crushed watermelons, I mean. That TikTok video lived rent-free in my brain.

There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if Johnathan Tucker wanted to fold me in half and fuck me sideways, he absolutely could.

And I would let him.

A deep, guttural moan fell from my lips when he positioned me over his thigh. His answering chuckle sent goose bumps prickling down my spine. I clutched at his biceps, gasping at the solid mass under my palms. I could barely wrap my hands around the top of his arms; they were so thick. He moved my body the way he liked, undulating my cock back and forth across his thigh.

The friction was delicious, but I wanted more, needed more. Needed everything. I didn’t care that I was practically humping him in the doorway or that my neighbors would surely give me hell tomorrow for the noise.

“Tell me, Johnny ,” I cried. “What do I do to you?”

“Fuck.” He growled into my neck like a rabid vampire from one of my favorite movie franchises. “The way you say my name.”

“You don't like it?”

“I fucking love it. Too much.” He nipped at my neck and reached for my belt buckle. Fuck, maybe he is a vampire. “Nobody calls me Johnathan or Johnny, not even my own mother.”

“Mm,” I moaned as his fingers undid my belt. “How about we don’t talk about your mom while your hand is in my pants?”

He smiled against my skin. “Noted.”

I let my head fall back against the door and tried to focus on the feeling of his mouth sucking a bruise into my collarbone while he tugged at my zipper. His fingers curled into the waistband of my briefs, and my breath hitched.

“I'm guessing you bottom?” he asked, voice muffled by the collar of my shirt.

“Vers.”

“Me too.” He lifted his head, fixing me with a pointed glare. “But I would really, really like to fuck you tonight. At least for the first time.”

Oh, fuck.

If the rumors about Tucker’s sexual prowess were anything to go by, tonight was going to be a late one. The devilish glint in his eyes told me he knew exactly what was running through my mind.

“Any objections?” I shook my head. “I'm going to need you to say it, Heller.”

“Fuck me, Johnny.”

“That's the plan,” he said, shoving his hand into my pants.

The sudden, direct contact of his calloused palm on my cock ripped a guttural groan from deep within. My eyes rolled back into my head as I thrust up into his fist.

“Well, hello. What’s this?”

I didn’t bother asking for clarification; I knew he was talking about the lorum piercing at the base of my dick, a souvenir from my one-and-only rebellious phase in my early twenties.

“I dated an emo raver in college,” I explained. “He talked me into it.”

“Birkenstocks, bracelets, and a pierced cock.” He chuckled and nipped at my chin. “You continue to surprise me, Heller.”

My cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Don't be embarrassed,” he said, stroking the sensitive skin of my shaft with the pad of his thumb, lightly toying with petite gold ring on the underside. “I like it.”

“Yeah?”

I moaned, unable to stop myself from pressing into his touch.

“Oh, yeah.” He dropped to his knees, yanking my pants and boxer briefs down to my ankles in one swift move. My cock jutted out, hard and already dripping with precum. “Anything I need to know about handling your hardware?”

“Watch your teeth.”

“Got it. I was just tested last week, by the way,” he said without missing a beat. “You?”

“Six months ago, but there hasn’t been anybody.” I trailed off, groaning when he pumped his hand up and down my shaft. “ Sweet fuck, Johnny. I need your mouth on me. Now. ”

His chuckle was deep and husky as he leaned forward and swallowed me deep. I cried out, slapping my palms against the door and bucking forward to chase the wet, hot suction.

That would have been too easy.

Tucker’s hands closed around my hips, pinning me to the wall as he worked my cock with his lips and tongue. There was never a doubt who was in control here.

He licked and sucked, humming as he swallowed me. I tried to memorize every detail—his lips stretched wide around my girth, his nose brushing my stomach every time he took me all the way down, the way his tongue teased my piercing like a fucking sucking candy. There was no hesitation, no gag reflex, no fear of the size of my cock. Tucker knew exactly what he was doing, and even better, he did it with fervor.

This was just as much about his pleasure as it was mine.

He moaned and whimpered, his hands squeezing my ass and pulling me deeper still.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me come.”

His eyes glazed over with lust and a string of saliva dribbled down his chin. It was a sight to behold—Johnny Tucker, renowned baseball star and acclaimed sex god, on his knees for me—and it was ten times better than anything I had ever conjured up in my fantasies.

I cried out when he abruptly pulled me free and lowered his head, tracing a path down the underside of my cock and around my balls with his tongue. He fisted my shaft, pumping it once, twice, a third time, and all the while his tongue never let up. I was torn between begging him to keep going and pleading for him not to stop.

“ Please, Johnny.”

A wicked grin spread across his face. In a heartbeat, I was back in his mouth, his throat fluttering around every inch of my cock. I threaded my fingers through his hair, guiding his head up and down. Not that he needed it. If anything, I was the one who needed something, anything to keep me grounded.

“Are you going to let me come here?”

He didn’t answer—he couldn’t, not with his mouth overflowing with cock.

A groan built in my chest when his hands curled around my ass, spreading me wide. My thighs burned with the effort of staying upright, and just when I thought I might crumble to the floor, a saliva-slicked finger breached my asshole. It was the spark needed to ignite the flame and send me skyrocketing over a cliff.

I threw my head back, moaning his name as Tucker continued sucking me dry. He didn’t let up until the last pulse of cum had spilled down his throat.

When he pulled off, he sat back on his heels and grinned.

“You look pretty proud of yourself.”

He licked his lips.

“Damn right. Best thing I've tasted all day.” His hands kept me anchored against the wall as he stood up to his full height, towering over my five-foot-ten frame. “Do you have a bed?”

“What?”

We had passed the point of rational thinking about two seconds after he’d put his mouth on me.

“A bed,” he said, nipping the spot behind my ear that drove me crazy. “Take me to it.”

“You expect me to move from this spot?”

He nodded. “Unless you would prefer I fuck you right here.”

I eyed the hardwood floors, quietly mulling over my options. It didn't take long for me to decide. An aching asshole was one thing; bruised knees were another. Especially for a thirty-four-year-old man with little-to-no meat on his bones.

“Right. Bed. Down the hall. Let’s go.”

I stepped out of my pants and shoes and tried not to stumble as I led the way to my room. It didn't escape me that Tucker was still fully clothed, whereas I was bare from the waist down. Winnie the Pooh-ing it, I guessed you could say.

“Nice place,” Johnny called from behind me.

“Thanks.”

If he wanted the full tour, he was going to have to wait until later. Much later. For now, I needed to get fucked by the Johnathan Tucker.

I didn't bother with the lights as we entered the bedroom. The glow from the moon illuminated everything like a beacon, calling us to the bed at the center of the space.

Tucker spun me around and kissed me before I had the chance to climb onto the mattress. The taste of beer and pomegranate was surprisingly pleasant. There was nothing delicate or tentative about his kisses. He parted my lips with his tongue and swallowed every moan whole, raw, as if they fed the fire burning between us. As if he wanted to possess me, body, heart, and soul.

And I would let him . . . at least for tonight.

There would be plenty of time for doubts and overthinking tomorrow—I could teach a master class in both—but not tonight. No, tonight was for me. It had been years since I’d done something as impulsive as this. I could count my one-night stands on one hand, my relationships on the other, and still have a few extra digits to finger my asshole.

One thing I never did, however, was hook up with pro athletes. Yet here I was, breaking all my rules for the baseball player whose ass was my screensaver.

Our tongues danced, tasting, caressing, exploring one another’s mouths as I ran my hands along his arms, clinging to the strong, powerful muscles holding me up. Tucker guided me back, his lips never leaving mine, until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed.

“Lie back,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

He shook his head. “Normally, I would be into that. With you, I prefer you use my name.”

I nearly swallowed my tongue when he grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head before tossing it to the floor. Oh, hell. I had never seen a more perfect specimen of a man. His broad, bare shoulders narrowed to a trim waist and six-pack abs, the kind that made me want to run my hands—or tongue—down every ridge just to feel them.

I sat up on my elbows, watching carefully when he went to work on his shorts. The floor show had been a stunning opening act, but I was beyond ready for the main attraction.

“Take your shirt off, Heller.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I was more than happy to oblige, especially once I got a look at his impressive cock. It was longer than mine, thicker too, and it hung heavy between his legs. I licked my lips, eager to get a taste.

He kicked his pants to the side and smirked.

“You can suck my cock later.” He climbed on the bed and crawled up my body. “After I have your ass. If that’s what you still want?”

All hail the consent king.

“Fuck yes,” I answered in no uncertain terms.

“Good.” He smacked a wet kiss on my lips. “Now get on your knees.”

“Are you always so bossy in the bedroom?”

I felt the heat of his gaze even as I rolled to my front. It was too easy pushing him like this. Fun, too. In fact, now that I thought about it, that was what had been missing from my past few sexual encounters—fun.

A sharp crack against my ass had me lurching another inch up the bed. “I prefer demanding.”

“Of course, you do,” I mumbled under my breath.

I half-expected a second smack. Instead, a surge of electricity shot up my spine when Tucker pressed his lips against my freshly spanked skin.

“You don't know me well enough to judge, Heller,” he said, his tone firm, and then his lips were on me again, licking and kissing the stinging skin of my ass.

“Now, Johnny. I need you. Now. ”

“Lube?”

“In the bedside drawer,” I answered.

He retrieved the bottle within seconds. The next thing I knew, there was a slick finger prodding at my asshole, never entering me, just teasing. I rocked back, trying to lodge him deeper.

“Damn, Heller.” He groaned when his finger met resistance. “You’re tight. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please, don’t stop.”

He pressed a quick kiss to the base of my spine. “Don't worry. I'll take good care of you.”

Between the promise of his words and the tender kisses dotting my back, I felt the tension ebb away. When he finally slid a finger inside, it felt . . . different. I hadn't been lying when I’d told him it had been a while, and the sensation was both foreign and exciting.

“More,” I demanded, needing him deeper.

He chuckled.

“Not yet,” he said, slowly adding a second lubed-up finger.

“Now.”

He smacked my ass again. This time, the shock was accompanied by a tingle of pleasure. Fuck, that felt good. It had been way too long since I’d felt the weight of another body against mine.

Tucker slowly scissored his fingers. The slight burn gave way to a fullness that made my cock jerk. My head dropped forward as I concentrated on the incredible sensations flowing through my limbs. He kept a steady pace, playing my prostate like a skilled guitarist, not too fast and not too slow, just enough to drive me insane.

The next smack against my ass came unexpectedly, and I let out a deep, throaty moan. Damn, I was close to coming for the second time tonight and Tucker hadn’t even gotten inside me yet. The anticipation was killing me.

I rocked my hips backward, hoping to encourage him, and he slipped his fingers out. “You ready for me?”

“God, yes.”

I looked over my shoulder just in time to see him roll a condom down his impressive length, following it up with another squirt of lube. The blunt tip of his cock nudged at my entrance, and my breath caught as he slowly pressed inside, giving me a moment to adjust to the invasion.

“Easy, baby,” he crooned against my shoulder, making me shiver. “Breathe.”

He worked himself inside me, inch by delicious inch. Our groans filled the room, mingling with the gentle hum of the AC. He fucked me with slow and shallow strokes until eventually, his pelvis pressed flush against my ass. He held himself still, even when I rocked back against him again, seeking some relief for the tension that had built up in my body.

I dropped forward, pressing my forehead against my cotton sheets and taking a second to savor the fullness, enjoying how my ass squeezed against every ridge of his long, thick cock.

It wasn't enough; I needed more.

I wanted to feel him for days, think about him every time I sat down to edit a podcast or pen my latest Substack note.

I glanced over my shoulder, and my lips curled into a smile at the sight of him watching his cock enter me. His eyes strayed to meet mine when I bucked forward until just the tip of him remained lodged in my ass, and then I pressed back again, impaling myself on the full length of his cock in one stroke.

“Fucking Christ,” he cursed, voice guttural and needy. His hands flew to my hips, holding me in place as he let out another string of curses. “That's how you want it?”

My moan was all the answer he needed.

He tightened his grip, reared back, and slammed into me over and over. The slap of skin against skin was punctuated by the dirty sounds slipping past my lips and his harsh pants. I let him move me, fuck me the way he wanted, the way we both needed, enjoying the tight grip of his fingers marking me as his.

He quickened his pace. “You take my cock so well, baby.”

Baby. This man undid me.

I fucked him back, meeting him thrust for thrust. When he shifted his position, I saw stars.

“Oh, fuck ,” I cried.

“Right there?”

I nodded.

He repeated the motion, scraping over that spot that drove me nuts. “You going to come for me?”

Another nod.

I jerked forward when his hand reached around to palm my cock. Our movements grew increasingly erratic. Tucker’s thrusts were so powerful, they forced my arms to buckle, dropping me to my elbows. Still, he continued fucking me into the mattress, one hand tangled in my hair, the other tugging on my swollen cock.

“Come for me, baby. Come for me,” he chanted, jerking me off with a tight grip while he plowed into me from behind.

The friction was too much. His name tore from my lips as the first pulse of ecstasy rocked me, followed by another until, at last, the coil in my belly snapped and I shot a stream of cum over his hand.

“Johnny,” I screamed again, shuddering through my orgasm.

He let out a string of expletives, his pace turning erratic before he slammed inside of me and held his hips tight against my ass. A groan of pleasure echoed around the room as he came, pulsing inside of me and filling the condom with his seed.

When the rush finally passed, Tucker wrapped me up in a bear hug, gently tugging us both down to the sheets. I guess that makes me the little spoon. His sweat-drenched chest glided over my back as his breathing slowed to match mine.

Fucking. Hell.

Forget Pilates; Johnathan Tucker could make a fortune with his workout regime. My muscles hadn’t been this well used in years.

“That was . . .” I struggled to find the appropriate words. Some journalist I was.

“A good fucking start.”

I glanced over my shoulder, meeting his devilish grin. “Seriously?”

“Did you think we were done?”

I laughed and then groaned when my muscles rippled around his softening cock. Tucker was still buried to the hilt inside my ass, hairy legs tangled with mine.

“I don’t think I can take anymore.”

He arched a brow. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“I’m serious. You broke my asshole.”

“Don’t worry, Hell.” He speared a hand through my hair, gently pulling it away from where it stuck to my neck. “I can kiss it better.”

I don’t know if I can survive that.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” I asked him, acknowledging the elephant in the room. One of us had to.

Tucker was a twenty-seven-year-old pro-baseball player who spent half the year living out of hotel rooms and the other half partying up and down the West Coast. I was a thirty-four-year-old sports reporter whose distaste for flying was second only to club music. It was a match made in disaster, not to mention a conflict of interest. We faced enough public scrutiny as it was. Was another steamy night or two worth the backlash?

And there would be backlash. The “Tucker Fuckers,” aka Tucker’s die-hard fan club, would have my head if I hurt their fearless leader in any way. And my editor—along with the entire journalistic community—would have mine if they had any idea what had gone down tonight.

“Let’s just call this what it was: a one-night stand.”

“What if one night isn’t enough for me, Heller?”

The air between us thickened, and the words caught in my throat. I didn’t have a response for him because truth be told, I didn’t want this to be a one-time thing, either.

“What if that’s all I can offer you, Tucker?”

I could tell by the look in his eyes and the slight drop of his shoulders that he wasn’t happy with my answer, and even less thrilled by me using his last name. It was safer that way; we had already crossed too many boundaries for one night.

His eyes, full of hope, dimmed a little, but his voice held steady. “I guess it’ll have to be enough.” He smirked. “For now.”

There was no time to protest his ominous promise. Not when he trailed a hand down my side, tracing the lines of my body until he reached my cock.

“Tucker—”

“You said one night , Heller. Not one time. ”

Damn this man and the way he made me fumble my words. Something told me our night was just getting started . . . and it sounded a lot like the crinkle of a foil wrapper.