CHAPTER NINETEEN
MADDOX
The love I have for Stacy dims with every passing minute. We’ve eaten dinner, we’ve laughed, we’ve mocked, and it’s been great. Adding Damon into our dynamic, or rather, adding me into theirs, is easy. Damon tends to play mediator between Stacy and me, and now it’s fun for us to watch him get riled up.
But it’s getting late, and all I want to do is go to bed and show Damon how serious I am about being his boyfriend.
Stacy pours herself another glass of wine, and Damon and I share a glance. Our desperation for her to leave is mirrored in each other’s stare.
“God, you two couldn’t be more obvious if you tried,” Stacy complains. “Last glass, I promise. Then I’ll catch a cab and go home. Alone. Again.”
“You’re single by choice,” I say. “Don’t try to pull sympathy from us.”
“It’s not my fault this city is full of morons. They’re all either Wall Street wannabes who think their shit don’t stink, struggling artists who work in the food industry to afford rent, or divorced guys with more baggage than the turnstiles at JFK.” Her face screws up as those last words fall from her mouth. “Where are the guys who use their hands to work? Big and strong.”
“Jared’s in construction,” I mutter.
That’s all it takes. Stacy downs her glass of wine. “Thanks for dinner. Love you both.”
“We can walk you home,” Damon says.
She waves him off. “It’s two blocks. I’ll catch a cab.”
And easy as that, I love her again. I kiss her cheek and walk her to Damon’s door.
“Stop pushing me,” she grumbles.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not.”
As soon as she’s gone, I turn to Damon.
“Dishes?” he asks.
“Later. Or never. I’m okay with either of those options.”
He smirks and stands from his small dining table, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Wordlessly, we walk—okay, practically run—for the bedroom.
Damon spins in time for me to tackle him onto the bed, and we land with an oomph. “Someone’s eager,” he says against my lips which are trying to attack him.
“Yeah, I am. Been thinking about this all day at work. Do you know how hard … er difficult it is to hide a hard-on in work pants? Every time Stacy told me to get her something, I told her to fuck off.”
“She probably didn’t notice a difference in your attitude.”
“True.”
Damon cradles my face, and his thumb trails my jaw. “Maddy … if you’re not sure about this or have doubts—”
“I don’t. I want this.”
“I was going to say if you are you can fuck me instead.”
I pull back. “But you don’t …”
“I don’t never do it. I just prefer not to. It’s hard for me to come that way.”
“I won’t make you do something you don’t get off on. And I’ve been preparing for this.”
“Preparing?”
“I’ve watched a lot of gay porn this week when you haven’t come home until late. At first, I was all How does that not fucking hurt? but they seem to enjoy it. I want to try it.”
“Seriously, had you not blown me earlier, I could’ve come in my pants right now.” He kisses my neck. “So hot,” he murmurs. “But so you know, porn can be misleading. They generally edit out the prepping part.”
He pulls me down and then rolls on top of me. In charge and in control—this is the Damon that turns me on.
I try to lift his shirt up and over his head, but he refuses to let my lips go.
“We have to go slow,” Damon says. “I want to make it good for you.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t get naked.”
“Yeah, it does. I need restraint, because fuck, all I want to do is bury myself in you.”
“So, do it.”
Damon starts by undressing me agonizingly slow and kissing every inch of my skin. Open, wet kisses go from my collarbone to my nipples and down my stomach. He purposefully avoids my cock as he takes my pants off, and a tortured noise gets stuck in the back of my throat.
I want to fucking cry when he leaves the bed. “Where are you going?”
“I have an idea.” He wanders over to his closet and starts rummaging through the bottom.
“Is it your turn to look for a tie?” I quip.
“Nope, but I did remember something Noah gave me not that long ago. I was being a miserable asshole, so he threw it at me and told me to go fuck myself. Literally.” He pulls out an unopened box. “I never used it.”
“A dildo?” I ask, my voice pitching high.
“It’s smaller than me but bigger than my fingers. It’ll be better for, uh, stretching you.”
A nervous laugh escapes. “I love it when you talk dirty.”
“We don’t have to. Just figure it’d be less painful for you.”
I shrug. “What’s that old saying, in for a penny, in for a pound? Get it? In for a pound. See what I did there?”
Damon shakes his head. “You’re a dork.”
“But I’m your dork.”
Damon’s reaction is exactly what I’m hoping for. The heated stare he gives me when we’re in bed makes me wonder why I’ve never done the relationship thing before—other than with Chastity. It was different with her, because everything was about her. There was no leverage; no equal balance. This thing between Damon and me makes me understand what Mom meant when she always used to talk about giving up her dreams to be with Dad. I still want to travel, but right now none of that matters. Being with Damon is more important.
Why explore the rest of the world when the person who makes it go ’round is the man standing in front of me?
That’d be totally romantic to say aloud if Damon wasn’t holding a silicone dildo ready to shove in my ass right about now.
Damon throws it on the bed and moves to the bedside table for lube and condoms. Then he reaches back and removes his shirt.
“Finally, we get to the good part,” I say. When he drops his pants and boxers and steps out of them, I sit up and take his hard cock in my hand. As I go to wrap my mouth around it, he stops me.
“I’ve already had that pleasure tonight. This is about you.” He pushes me down on my back and lands beside me, pulling my hip toward him so we’re facing each other on our sides.
Warmth spreads along our naked skin. His mouth covers mine, and our tongues tangle as a callused hand runs down my back. Even years after his baseball career ended, he still has rough hands. I can’t hold back the moan when his finger slips into my crease and presses against my hole. Ever since I told him I was into ass play, he goes there every chance he gets. I half-suspect he’s been preparing me for this—easing me into the idea. I now crave the pressure there, and when he hits that spot inside me, I swear sex has never been that awesome. But it’ll be different this time. More.
When his finger leaves me, I let out an unmanly whimper. I cover it by grunting—deep and guttural.
Damon knows what I’m doing and chuckles. “Just a sec, baby.”
The telltale sound of the lube cap opening has my cock leaking precum. Hmm, interesting. I’ve developed a Pavlovian response to lube.
I don’t have time to dwell on that because Damon’s back, his mouth on mine and his fingers sliding inside me.
“Goddamn it, sonofamotherfucking fucker,” I ramble.
Damon smiles against my mouth. “I love when you don’t make sense.”
Something takes over me, and I officially have no control over my hips which thrust forward. Our cocks bump and rub against each other, and it’s so, so good—too good.
“Wait, wait, wait. Too fucking close.”
His fingers slip out of me, and it gives me time to catch my breath. He fiddles with the lube again, and then the cool, soft feel of silicone trails down my ass. Forget catching my breath; I’ve forgotten how to breathe entirely.
“I’ll go slow,” Damon murmurs.
I tense to brace myself.
“Need to relax or it’ll hurt.”
I nod.
“Maddy, you’re still tense. Kiss me.”
Our mouths distract me from the pressure between my ass cheeks as Damon inserts the toy inch by inch. The sting of stretching makes my arousal waver, but I know if I breathe through it it’ll be worth it as soon as—
“Oh fuck.” It brushes against my prostate, and even with the sting still there, I want more.
Instead of moving it, though, Damon leaves it in me and moves his hand in between us, gripping our cocks together and stroking in slow pulls.
My chest rises and falls in shallow pants, and my face and skin burn up.
“You’re so hot when you’re turned on,” Damon says and tightens his grip.
“You mean when you’re trying to fucking kill me.” I throw my head back enjoying the fullness in my ass and Damon’s hand on my cock. “Fucking hell.”
“I know you’re close when you start dropping too many F-bombs.” His hand releases us and goes back to the toy. He moves it in and out slowly, and I can feel him watching me for a reaction. “Does it hurt?”
I shake my head vigorously. “Fuck no.”
He continues to torture me with it—in the best way possible—until I’m breathing so heavy I can’t talk. “Can you take more?”
The same time I go to answer, he pushes the dildo back inside me harder. “Yes!” Fuck, yes. I can’t tell if it’s my mouth or my head that chants “More, more, more.”
“Roll over,” Damon whispers.
I shudder in anticipation as I turn over onto my hands and knees. Staring at him over my shoulder, I watch as he rubbers up and covers his cock in lube.
“Still with me?” Damon asks.
“Hurry up and fuck me, jackass.”
Damon laughs, and in one swift move, he removes the toy from my ass and lines up his cock. He pushes in, and I tense against the invasion. He’s a lot bigger. I take a deep breath.
“Babe?”
“I’m okay,” I choke out. “How far in are you?”
“Just the tip.”
“Fuck. Okay.” Another deep breath. I can do this.
Damon doesn’t push in any father but starts massaging my ass and lower back, trying to get me to relax. He squirts more lube in my crease, and it works enough for him to slide in a bit more. His groan has my cock twitching. The poor thing is confused. It doesn’t know whether to be turned on or go flaccid from the pain in my ass.
“I can stop,” Damon says.
“No, don’t.” I’m anything if not determined. “Keep going slow.” I close my eyes tight and rest my head on my forearm.
Just when I think this isn’t going to work, Damon reaches that glorious spot deep inside me. The stretching pain diminishes as Damon’s hips roll in small, shallow thrusts, making his cock rub over my prostate over and over again.
“More.”
“You sure?” Damon asks.
“Yes. I need …” The words die as Damon tests out a bigger thrust. It feels so fucking good. “Keep going,” I pant.
Damon keeps moving in and out of me, slowly picking up his pace.
“Fuuuuck,” I grunt.
“So hot. Tight.” His voice is strained.
“I …” I can’t form words. Nope. Brain is gone. Words no longer exist. I’ll be lucky if I can grunt like a caveman.
“What do you need?” Damon asks. “You need me to touch you?”
Fuck, yes. Friction on my dick is exactly what I need, but I can’t do it myself. My fingers are scrunched in the bedsheets, holding on for dear life while Damon’s hips piston and thrust deeper. The pain is completely gone and replaced with a growing need for more. More touching, more fucking, more, more, more.
Apparently, I’m a greedy bottom. Interesting.
I have no idea if my “Yes” comes out aloud or not, but Damon reaches around me and starts stroking in time with his thrusts which are now frantic and needy.
Every time he slams into me, pleasure zaps down my spine. Heat pools in my groin, and my balls draw up tight.
“Maddy,” Damon warns. He’s close.
We’re on the edge together, both trying not to let go. I explode first, my orgasm taking me by surprise. I shoot everywhere—the bed, Damon’s hand, and my stomach.
“Oh, thank God,” Damon says and shudders above me.
When he’s done convulsing, he collapses onto my back. Unable to hold both our weights, thanks to my muscles wobbling like Jell-O, I fall in a heap onto the mattress.
Damon rolls off me onto his back, breathing heavy, and I wince when his cock leaves me. Yup, gonna be sore tomorrow, but right now I couldn’t care less.
“I don’t think I’ve come harder in my life,” I mutter.
“I know I haven’t. Or maybe it’s been too long. I don’t remember what sex feels like.” Damon’s chest glistens with sweat as it rises and falls in fast breaths.
“I … uh, should clean up, but I can’t move.”
“Five more minutes,” Damon mumbles. He doesn’t even get up to ditch the condom. Just ties it off and dumps it next to the bed.
“Okay.”
Only …
“Babe,” Damon whispers.
“Gothefuckaway,” I slur.
“We fell asleep.”
“Then why are you waking me?” I grumble.
“Shower, then work. It’s morning.”
“You fucked me into a coma.”
“Uhh, yeah, good luck getting all that cum off you now it’ll be dry and gross.”
“Damn it.”
The ache in my ass makes me flinch when I climb out of bed.
“Are you okay?” Damon asks.
“Never better,” I say, downplaying it. I make my way to the bathroom to get the hot water running while I take a piss. My body aches everywhere, but it’s not all unpleasant. When Damon joins me in the shower, he steps up behind me, and his hands massage over my shoulders and down my back. I moan and throw my head back on his shoulder while he continues to massage my tired muscles.
“If I get a massage every time you dick me out, it should become a nightly occurrence.”
His lips land on my neck. “I’m okay with that arrangement. Your ass probably won’t be, though.”
“Right. Umm … will it always take that long to uh …”
“Adjust? Nah. Now you know what you’re expecting, it’ll be easier to relax and let it happen. Are you sore?”
“A little.”
“Will a blowjob help?”
“Help my ass?” I ask with a laugh. “Probably not. But there’s no way I’m saying no.”
Damon spins me so I’m pinned against the wall of the shower, and he sinks to his knees. Just like the first night I hooked up with Damon, I wait to become uncomfortable or for that feeling of wanting to escape. It’s like I’m expecting it to hit me each time I try something new with him. But as I stare down at him, with his gorgeous mouth wrapped around my cock and his big green eyes watching me in amusement as I can’t control my moans, all I can think is I could definitely get used to this.
***
I take a sip of my wine and stare at the woman who gave birth to me. I’m happy I’ve gotten to know her these past couple of weeks, but I still don’t see her as anything other than my crazy aunt. And I still have so many questions.
“Do you know anything about my birth father at all?”
Cheri plays with the cloth napkin in her lap. “He said his name was Jimmy.”
“Of course. Couldn’t have been something random that might not be hard to track down like …”
“Rumpelstiltskin?”
I laugh. “Right.”
“Would you really want to find him if we could track him down? I tried when I found out I was pregnant, but I had nothing to go on.”
I shrug. “I dunno. Probably not. Wouldn’t mind knowing if there were any genetic problems I’d have to be aware about. What if Jimmy’s an alcoholic with diabetes who has a heart condition? Shouldn’t I know these things?”
Cheri sighs. “As someone with a permanent illness, I don’t think you should worry about that stuff. When it happens, you deal with it. Don’t spend your life being scared of something that may or may not happen.”
“That’s good advice.” I take another sip of wine when my phone vibrates in my pocket. “Sorry, I should check that.”
“Go ahead.”
Damon:
Fun fact. Walking into an empty apartment and yelling SURPRISE when no one’s home isn’t as fun as you’d think it would be. Where are you?
Now there’s a visual.
Maddox:
Thought you were working late? I’m at dinner with Cheri.
Damon:
Damn. I guess it’s my turn to wait for you to get home.
“Is that Damon?” Cheri asks.
“I’m grinning like an idiot, aren’t I?”
“Yeah. You are.” She matches my smile. “He makes you happy, and that’s a good thing, hon.”
Damon:
Okay, I’m officially bored already. How do you do it?
I snort. “Sorry. I’ll just text him back to say I’ll be home in an hour.”
“We can leave now if you like?”
“You haven’t even touched your soup yet.” I’ve devoured my dinner, though.
“It takes a while to eat these days. Too fast and it comes back up again. Plus, the medication is screwing with my appetite. I could sit here and nurse this bowl of soup all night.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. Can I get you anything? I feel like I’m not doing enough. I can come to doctor’s appointments with you. Or I can—”
Cheri shakes her head. “You’re doing enough by letting me stay in your apartment and keeping me company. You don’t owe me anything, Maddox. Our lunches and dinners have been the highlight of … well, my existence lately.”
A lump lodges in my throat. “I’m happy to get to know you and glad you finally told me the truth.”
She reaches across the table and grips my hand. “I don’t deserve you. Giving you up was the best thing I could’ve done, but that doesn’t mean I don’t regret it. I doubt you would’ve grown up to be such a great person if you were on the road with me all those years. And now I’m here”—tears fall from her eyes—“I feel horrible that you’ve had to take me in.”
“Hey, it’s okay. You’re going through a hard time, and we’re family. It’s what we do for each other.”
“You should go home to Damon. Go have fun. I’ll finish my soup eventually, settle the check, and then head on back to your apartment when I’m done.”
I’m torn because while I should stay to make sure she gets home okay I really want to go home to Damon. “I know this time you were going to get the check, but how about I go pay and you use your money on a cab back to my apartment so I won’t worry about you getting home?”
“I seriously don’t deserve you.”
I stand from the table and lean into her, kissing the top of her head. “Don’t worry about it. Catch up again soon? Come for lunch again one day you’re feeling up to it?”
“Definitely.”
After settling the check, I can’t get home fast enough. When I walk through the door, Damon’s fresh out of a shower, only wearing a towel.
“You’re home.” A grin lights up his face.
My eyes rake over him, from his wet chest down to his happy trail.
“How’s Cheri?”
“Huh?” I pull my gaze away to meet his amused expression.
“Cheri. She doing better?”
“I think she’s okay. She doesn’t really talk about it much. I can tell the side effects are kicking her ass, though. She can barely eat anything or do anything …” I check my watch. One thing about seeing Cheri go through this is it makes me realize I need to take her advice. Don’t worry about the future so much and go out and have fun. “You should get dressed. We’re going out.”
Damon’s smile falls. “Where?”
“Out.” I’ve been wanting to drag Damon to the batting cages for a while now. I want to see him in his element—where he claims he’s most happy.
He eyes me warily the whole time he gets dressed and all the way to the subway too. “Okay, seriously. Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.” One I hope doesn’t freak him out like the last time we were at a baseball field.
“If you can’t already tell, I’m not a big fan of surprises.”
Of course, he isn’t. “Wouldn’t have guessed,” I say.
When we arrive outside the sporting complex, Damon tenses.
“Come on. You need to show me how you almost became famous.”
He rubs the back of his neck as I drag him inside. “I’ll be rusty.”
“You’ll still be better than me.” I’ve always been one of those guys who can play any sport. I pick shit up easily, but I was never a prodigy. Never enough to be great at any of them. “Come on, Lion King.”
A hand clamps over my mouth. “Please don’t say that too loudly.” Damon’s eyes dart around the nearly empty place. He doesn’t remove his hand until I nod.
“You really don’t like that name, do you?” I ask. “What are the chances of anyone spotting you here?”
Damon shrugs. “It happens sometimes—like at Chastity’s wedding. When I say I was everywhere for a while, I mean, I was everywhere. I was the next big thing before I’d even made it to the majors. I don’t like the billions of questions it comes with when someone recognizes me. What happened to your career? Where did you disappear to? They treat me like a has-been, but I’m not even that. I’m an almost-was, and I think that’s even worse.”
“Yeah, I can see how that would suck.” When he doesn’t reply, I squeeze his hand. “Did I make a mistake bringing you here?”
“Nah, I’d love to hit the cages with you. It’s just, anything to do with baseball makes me happy and bitter at the same time. Puts me in a weird mood.”
It’d be hard to hate something you love so much. “If you want to leave at any time, we’re gone.”
With a nod, he leads the way.
At the cages, Damon blows out a loud breath and runs his hand over the row of bats lined up outside the cage.
“Is this a ‘If you build it, he will come’ type thing?” I ask. “You waiting for a bat to speak to you?”
“Nope. The bats who speak to you are shit, because they won’t stop talking to keep their eye on the ball.”
“Funny guy.”
“You started it.” Damon picks up a bat and closes himself in the cage.
If smashing out ball after ball is his definition of rusty, I would’ve been in awe when Damon was in the peak of his career.
My gaze—surprisingly—isn’t stuck on his firm ass the whole time as he takes swing after swing. From his long arms to his powerful muscles, he’s amazing with a bat. And now I’m thinking about his bat and wondering how much longer it’ll be before he gets over it and we can go home.
I never thought baseball could be a turn-on.
He comes out of the cage sweaty but happy. His entire face glows, and his posture is somehow proud and relaxed at the same time.
I hope he’ll look at me like that one day, because I’m coming to realize I really fucking care about the guy standing in front of me.
“I thought pitchers were easy outs?” I ask. “You kicked ass in there.”
“I was decent at hitting. Not the best on the team, but I held my own. God, I’ve missed this.” His nostalgic tone and flushed glow makes my heart break for him.
Baseball was his life and now he has to live without it. He can go to games and watch from the sidelines, but the way he talks about it, it’s as if part of his soul died when he was injured and couldn’t play anymore. He speaks of the game as if it’s a living, breathing thing.
“When was the last time you played?”
Damon’s shoes apparently become fascinating to him. “Since the injury. I went through all that rehab, hoping, but when the doctor said I’d never regain full movement, it hurt too much to even try to recondition myself. Both physically and mentally.”
“How is the shoulder holding up?” I ask.
“Not too bad. How about we hit the night field at the back where I can pitch to you. Let’s see if you can hit my fastball.” His face morphs into that of a child on Christmas morning, and I realize we won’t be going home any time soon. I think in the world of priorities for Damon, it goes baseball, sex, food. But if this makes him smile like that? I’ll gladly stay here all night if he wants to.
“Pretty sure I won’t even be able to hit your slow ball,” I say.
“That’s not a thing,” he says and tries not to laugh.
“All right, but go easy on me.”
He doesn’t go easy on me.
Bastard.
The first ball flies past me before I can even blink.
“Come on,” Damon taunts, “that was only eight-five.” He points to the display, lighting up his speed.
“I’m so glad I’m wearing a helmet for this.”
“You have nothing to worry about. My precision has always been on point.”
“And you’re so modest about it.”
Damon sighs. “You think I’m bad now. Can you imagine how I was four years ago?” He looks at the baseball in his hand and squeezes it tight. Even from here the deep concentration line on his forehead is prominent.
Slowly, I walk toward him. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” he murmurs, still looking at the ball. “Just … this was my whole life. I’ve spent so long being angry at myself, at the world, at my coaches—even though I never told them I was in pain. I kept trying to rationalize that they were the professionals, they should’ve seen the signs. I know it was my fault. My cockiness and the pressure became too much, and I thought I was invincible. And it’s true I miss it. Standing here, holding this ball, I really fucking miss it. But, you know what?”
“What?”
“It doesn’t feel like home anymore.”
I smile. “That’s a good thing, right?”
“A really good thing.” He sniffs and lifts his head, and I pretend I don’t see the glimmer in his eyes. “You ready for more?”
“Bring it. But, uh, not too hard.”
He grins.
This time, I’m ready. I’m going to hit—
Bam, the ball flies into the net behind me.
He continues to throw bullets at me, but toward the end, I manage to get a few hits, and I’m proud to even accomplish that. Damon’s either too tired, sore, or he’s going easy on me.
“I think I better call it,” Damon says after a while. “My shoulder’s starting to pinch.”
“Thank God. I don’t know how much longer I could keep embarrassing myself.”
“You did better than I expected. That, or I really suck now.”
I wrap my arm around him as we make our way out to the front. “As if you weren’t going easy on me toward the end there.”
His face has guilt written all over it, and for a competitive guy to give that to me …
I lean in and kiss his cheek. “I might keep you. You’re good for my ego.”