Switch Hitter (12 page)

Bent sniffed back tears. “I could have said no, but I didn’t. If we lived in a perfect world, I wouldn’t have to choose, but we don’t. If we continue like we are, I’m going to lose you,
and
Ashley.”

“You’re right. We can’t continue seeing each other this way. I want you to be happy. That’s all I want.”

His heart swelled with love for Sean. He hadn’t expected him to understand any more than he expected Ashley to if he’d ever found the courage to tell her.

“I have no right to ask…but can I stay…for a little while?” He let every bit of desire he felt for him show in his eyes, praying it was enough.

“You know what’s going to happen if you do.”

The gravel in his voice encouraged him. He leaned in, placed his lips on Sean’s jaw, and murmured, “I know. I need you, one last time.” His fingers went to work on Sean’s belt buckle.

“Goddamn it.” He pressed down on his lover’s shoulders, forcing him to his knees.

Letting Bent stay was so not a good idea, but he couldn’t bring himself to say no. Just a few weeks ago, he would have given anything to hear this man say those words. They’d come a long way in a short period of time, but it was over. Fuck if he was going to pass on one final night with the man he loved. He might be an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid.

Shifting his feet to keep from toppling over, he let his head fall back. He stared sightless at the ceiling while the man worked to free his cock. His trousers pooled around his ankles. His skin tingled, and his cock strained against his tight briefs.

Bentley cupped him through the fabric, teasing the beast within.

“Goddamn it,” he hissed. “Don’t fuck with me, asshole, or you’ll regret asking to stay. I swear to God, you will.”

“Don’t fucking move,” he warned, continuing his exploration, “unless I tell you to.”

The command in his lover’s voice, tinged with a hint of sadness was like a stab to the heart. He glanced down. His eyes were closed, his hand hidden by Sean’s shirttails.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded. Did he not have any idea what he was doing to him?

Bent looked up at him. “Memorizing, asshole. Unbutton your shirt. Leave it and your coat on—just keep them out of my way.”

Memorizing. Oh, fuck.

Sean clenched his jaw tight, loosened his tie then he unbuttoned his shirt. When he worked the last button free, anchoring the sides open with his fists on his hips, Bent dragged his briefs down to his knees. His cock sprang out like a rookie player taking the field for his first Major League game—proud and eager to please.

“You’re fucking huge.”

He flexed his hips, stabbing his appendage toward the place it wanted to be. Bent slapped it away, and Sean saw stars.

“Shit.”

“I told you not to move.” Bent gripped his thighs. Wrapping his fingers around to the back, he slid his hands up to grope Sean’s ass cheeks. “I want to take my time. I want to memorize everything about you then I’m going to drive you out of your mind, so you won’t forget me.”

“Jesus, Bent. I won’t forget you.”

“What do you want? Tell me what you want.” His mouth was so close to his cock his hot breath washed over it.

“I want you to shut the fuck up and suck my dick.”

Without another word, Bent gave him what he wanted.

“Ah, fuck, that feels good,” he hissed, fighting the urge to shove his cock down his lover’s throat. In the few months they’d been together, Bent had learned exactly what he liked. Alternating between taking him deep then sucking just the head while he swirled his tongue over him, he brought Sean to the brink.

“Jesus,” he said through gritted teeth. Unable to remain still, he wrapped his hands around the back of Bent’s head to hold him steady. The man grunted once, but then he wrapped his arms around Sean’s thighs and relaxed his facial muscles.

He fucked his mouth hard, pumping with short, jerky thrusts that pounded his stomach against his lover’s face. He didn’t care. Like a freight train out of control, he barreled toward the inevitable crash. When it came, it buckled his knees. If not for the strong arms supporting him, he would have fallen as wave after wave of ecstasy rolled through him.

When he had spent himself completely, Bent eased away from him. With a not too gentle shove, he pushed him back on the bed. Weak, Sean made no protest when his lover rolled him to his stomach, parted him, then with no ceremony, drove his cock home.

“Christ!” He shifted, easing his entry, allowing him to go deeper. God, it felt good. Like always, the man fucked hard. Never cautious, he was always physical—demanding complete surrender, and surrender was something Sean was always willing to give.

Lying beneath him today, he opened his heart and his body in an effort to absorb his lover’s pain. He’d do anything to prevent his suffering, but in the end, this was all he could do—be there for him now then let him go later.

The fucking was raw, brutal, and unforgiving—intentionally so. They’d both be sore tomorrow, a reminder of tonight. As if he would ever forget.

The rod shoved up his ass grew harder, and Sean braced for the violent finish he sensed coming. The thrusts grew shorter, faster. With an oath, Bent erupted. Sean savored each throbbing spurt, savored the flush of liquid heat signaling his lover’s satisfaction.

Long moments passed while the only sound in the room was the soft swoosh of the air conditioner and their ragged breathing. Sean fisted his hands in the bedspread, waiting. Softening, Bent slipped from him. The sound of him adjusting his clothing tore at Sean’s heart. Christ. They hadn’t even bothered to undress. They were right back where they’d started—fucking like strangers meeting in cheap hotel rooms.

It hurt more than he wanted to admit that all the man had wanted from him was a quick, hard fuck, but damned if he would say anything. His ass stung from the brutal assault. His dick, half-aroused despite its recent satisfaction, ached for something it could never have again.

It was over. He’d been well and truly fucked, in more ways than one.

A gentle but firm hand touched his ass a moment before sliding beneath his shirt and suit coat to the small of his back. It rested there for the span of a heartbeat. A benediction. A thank you. An acknowledgement. A declaration.

Then it was gone, leaving behind an invisible brand he would carry with him the rest of his days.

Sean lay silent, eyes shut, listening to Bent’s footsteps cross the carpet—the door opening then closing as his heart walked out of his life.

* * *

Bentley made it to the stairwell, climbed up two flights before he collapsed in the corner of a landing. His chest felt like someone had used a rusty can opener to pry open his ribcage and remove his heart.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Wrapping his arms tight around himself, he tried to breathe through the pain, but each breath was another one he took without Sean in his life, and there was no comfort in it.

You did what you had to do.

He sat there until the cold from the concrete surrounding him numbed the pain.

Chapter Eleven

Shit.

Everything on him hurt, including his dick, which hadn’t seen anything but hand action since Bentley sucked him off almost two months ago. It was nothing short of torture to be around him almost every day while acting as if nothing was wrong. At least they had eased into a tentative friendship the other players seemed to accept without question.

A small part of him hated Bentley for the way their relationship ended, but deep down he understood there was no other choice. Even though it killed him to pretend in front of the world, he wouldn’t trade a single minute of time spent with him.

The day after their breakup, he’d made a decision. He couldn’t risk another trade that would take him away from Bentley, which meant he had to get his shit together. He had to play harder than he’d ever played in his life. First base was his, and he was going to keep it. The team had recently brought up a kid from the Minor’s who had his eye on Sean’s position.

Not going to happen.

The way he figured it, he had two options. He could hustle to keep his job, or he could die trying. Either way, he’d stay in Dallas. He didn’t dare hope anything would change in regard to Bentley, but he was going to stick around, just in case—he’d never thought Bent would admit his feelings for him, but he had. There was always hope.

* * *

Bent swore under his breath.

What the fuck is he trying to do? Kill himself?

It wasn’t the first time since he’d walked out of Sean’s hotel room he’d questioned the workings of his former lover’s mind. He’d become a loose cannon on the field. He slid into impossible situations and went after foul balls no one had any prayer of catching. His stats were better than they’d ever been.

Watching him slide into second base, Bent cringed. Every time, he worried if their first baseman would get up, and if he did, would he still be able to walk. Holding his breath, he glared across the field. Sean rolled to his good hip, came up on one knee, and rising, brushed red dirt from his uniform. The crowd cheered along with everyone in the dugout except him. He wanted to throttle him, not cheer for him.

Yeah, having a runner in scoring position was huge. Tied at three runs each in the eighth inning, if the Mustangs were going to win, they needed to score now, not later. A go-ahead run would bring Jeff Holder to the mound in the bottom of the inning. With the best record in the League, Jeff was the closer no one wanted to face. He could pitch two shutout innings, easy, but the offense had to put a run on the board, or they’d be wasting his talents.

Bent was surprised to realize none of it mattered to him if Sean’s career was the price paid for it. There were other games, other ways to win this one.

“He’s going to do that one too many times,” he muttered, “then where will we be?”

“Accepting our World Series rings?” Chip Matthews, a bench sitting, second-rate, green behind the ears infielder clapped him on the back. “At least the old man is showing some hustle.”

“You think all it takes to win is hustle?” He was in the kid’s face. “Let me tell you, asshole, all the hustle in the world won’t make up for a lack of common sense. Another injury could end his career, not to mention put a serious hole in our lineup. So why don’t you—”

“Stand down, Randolph.” Doyle Walker’s firm hand on his shoulder urged him to back away. “Flannery is fine. Leave the kid alone, all right? Don’t you remember your first week up from the Minor’s?”

Bent shrugged, stepping back. “I was never as stupid as he is.”

“Yes, you were. You just don’t remember.” He advised the rookie to watch and learn before sending him to join the rest of the team at the railing.

“I don’t know what’s got into you, Bentley, but whatever burr you have up your ass, you better pull it out—fast. You haven’t had your head in the game for a couple of weeks. If we’re going to make the playoffs, we need you to give one hundred percent.” His tone brooked no argument. He wiped a hand over his face then sighed. “Look, if you need someone to listen, I’m here for you. Anytime.”

“Thanks. Maybe I’ll take you up on the offer sometime,” he lied. No way in hell was he telling the team manager he was fucked up because he’d broken up with his gay lover who just happened to be the Mustangs first baseman, or he was afraid his fiancée would leave him if she found out. That conversation had career killer written all over it.

“You good?” Walker asked.

“I’m good. Sorry. The kid got under my skin. I won’t let it happen again.”

Thwack!

The sound had them both jockeying to see what was happening on the field. Having hit a grounder past the second baseman, Ramirez sped toward first trying to beat the throw from right field. With two outs, Sean had been running almost before the ball left the bat. He rounded third base then headed home.

A seasoned player, Flannery didn’t look up to see what was happening on the field. The play was at home plate, and his only chance was to slide in under the throw.

Bent held his breath. Sean folded in two then launched himself, head first at the plate. The hometown crowd roared their approval. Hands extended, Sean belly slid the last six feet. Dust flew. His hand brushed the white rubber pentagon a fraction of a second before the catcher’s glove brushed his arm.

The dugout emptied. Bent didn’t move, didn’t breathe, until Sean popped to his feet, a big smile lighting his face, then he joined the throng celebrating the go-ahead run. When it was his turn to congratulate the man of the hour, he grabbed him in a man hug, clapping him on the back.

“You’re a crazy son of a bitch. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know.”

They broke apart then walked back to the dugout with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders.

* * *

Bentley dropped his duffle bag in the laundry room off the kitchen and, after grabbing a beer from the refrigerator, trudged into the den. He wasn’t surprised to see Ashley curled up on the man cave-sized sofa. Glancing at the television screen, he stifled a groan.

“Why are you watching the press conference?” Coming around to sit next to her, he slung his arm over her shoulders, pulling her in close.

“Sorry I missed your game,” she said, turning into him for a quick kiss. “I had another late night.” She pointed to the screen where a repeat of the night’s post-game press conference ran. “Can you introduce me to him?”

“Sean Flannery?” His heart almost leapt from his chest. “Why on earth would you want to meet him?”

“Are you blind? Look at him. I was so pissed at you the day he came to the house I hardly noticed, but I’m noticing now. He’s gorgeous. Listen to his voice. See the way he handles himself? He’s a natural on-screen personality.”

“You do know he has a job,” he warned.

“I know, but Ray Walters is going to retire at the end of the year, and we’re looking for someone to replace him.”

“I repeat, Sean has a job—one he loves, I might add, so what makes you think he would even listen to your offer.”

“I didn’t say I was going to make an offer. I just want to talk to him. You know, get a feel for the guy, maybe ask a few questions.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s having what could be his best season ever. A guy doesn’t just walk away from that.”

Sean’s segment ended. Ashley reached for the remote, rewinding the taped interview back to the beginning. Bent tried to remain calm. Damn, she was right. Sean had an easy, relaxed way about him on camera. He was quick on his feet, answering the reporter’s questions then transitioning from one subject to the next without hesitation. He could see him taking over the anchor seat on the weekly sports-talk show.

Ashley’s attention was on the screen for the better part of Sean’s interview, then she hit the pause button and turned to him. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she crawled into his lap. She wrapped one hand around his nape, toying with the hair above his collar while the other stroked his tie in a suggestive manner. His dick twitched, anticipating the same sort of treatment.

“Please, Bent? The team has a day off next week, right? Invite him over for lunch.”

“He won’t come.”
Please, God
.

“Why ever not? He’s your friend, isn’t he? Ask him, for me? Please? I could call him myself, but I don’t want him to know what I’m thinking yet. I just want to spend some time with him in a casual atmosphere, see what he’s like. See if he’s all show for the cameras but a jackass the rest of the time.”

“You think he’d be my friend if he was a jackass?”

“No, I don’t, but how well do you know him?”

Well enough.
“He’s a great guy, you can take my word for it. But he isn’t interested in leaving baseball.”

“Then we’ll have a nice lunch together, and that will be that.”

“No.” The last thing he wanted was to bring the two of them together.

“Then I guess I’ll have to make the call myself.” She sighed, and he recognized he was fighting a losing battle. She hadn’t gotten where she was in her profession by taking no for an answer.

“Okay, I’ll ask, but don’t be surprised when he turns me down. We haven’t always been on the best of terms.”

She stilled in his lap, and he knew he’d said too much.

“He’s the one you fought with, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Like I said, he’s a nice guy, but we’ve had our differences.”

“I saw you walking off the field with him earlier. It looked like you were getting along okay.”

“We have our moments.”

“Then you need to spend some time together off the field. This lunch will kill two birds with one stone, as they say.”

More likely kill two relationships. For a split second, he considered telling her the truth, but then he remembered why he couldn’t.
Time to change the subject.
He asked, “How’s work? Any light at the end of the tunnel?”

“Work is fine. Crazy. Exciting. I love what I do.”

“Don’t let them take advantage of you.”

“I won’t. I promise.” She kissed him, slow and sensuous. “Make love to me, Bent. I need you.”

He reached for the remote, clicking the button to remove Sean’s face from the screen. He was his past. Ashley was his future. He laid her back on the sofa then covered her with his body.

She was soft beneath him, and he wanted her with every fiber of his being. But even as he took her breast in his mouth, another image flashed through his mind, an image of a hard-muscled chest with flat nipples he’d learned could be sensitive, too. As he worked his way down his fiancée’s body, he tried to banish the memories of being with Sean, but they’d become a part of him, and he hated himself for it.

Ashley deserved all of him, not the half-man he’d become. But every time he thought about telling her, he remembered what he had to lose if she didn’t understand, and he chickened out.

Half a man in his heart, his body responded wholly to hers. Another sin heaped on the pyre of guilt building inside him, ready to spark into flame and consume him, body and soul.

You’re a sick bastard.

Sick or not, he
needed
her, needed to be inside her, needed to feel her heart below his palm when he closed his hand over her breast. He
wanted
her.

She opened for him, offered her essence to him. He took it greedily, lapping at her folds, burying his face in her wet pussy, biting and sucking until he was drunk on her scent and her juices. She clawed at his scalp, begging him for more. Out of his mind with lust, need, and crazy-assed guilt, he drove into her hard. She cried out, her head thrown back. The pain of her fingernails digging into his ass was fuel to the raging fire burning inside him.

He couldn’t stop, couldn’t temper his thrusts, even though a tiny rational voice in his head screamed for him to ease up on her.

She’s not Sean. She’s not Sean. She’s not Sean.

“Bent!” Her body convulsed, quivered with the powerful spasms gripping his cock. Garbled sounds came from her throat, but he still couldn’t stop. He pounded into her tight sheath, hard, punishing thrusts that rocked her body in increments toward the arm of the sofa. His ass burned where she clung to him, dragging him along with her until pleasure blinded him. He erupted inside her, shaking and shuddering his release, pouring his heart, his anguish, into her, one scalding spurt at a time.

Gulping air into raw lungs, he held himself above her, his one concession to her femininity. His shoulders screamed with the effort imposed upon them, but he absorbed the pain as penance for what he’d done. Still hard, he rocked his hips, reveling in the feel of their mingled fluids bathing his cock.

“I’m so sorry, babe. So fucking sorry.”

“What is it?” Concern laced her voice as she framed his face with her hands. Her thumbs brushed his cheeks. He thought he might die when he realized she was brushing tears from his cheeks.