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roosterforme · 6 months

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How You Play the Game Part 3 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After two days apart, the continuous phone calls and texts have Bradley running up to meet you near Los Angeles for game three. He likes all of it, every minute with you. And then you tell him that his favorite part is your favorite part, too.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst, masturbation, oral, and smut (18+)

Length: 7100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

You woke up with Bradley's big arm wrapped around you. His alarm was going off, but he was still asleep. You rolled over so you were facing him, but he just pulled you closer.

"Where you goin'?" he mumbled, eyes still closed. "Stay here, Ace."

Your smile was enormous as you bit your lip. "Bradley," you whispered, kissing his nose. "You have to go to work."

"No." He pulled you impossibly closer as you laughed.

"Your alarm is going off." He muffled your words with his lips on yours, and he rolled you onto your back as he kissed you.

"Don't care," he murmured, pressing kiss after glorious kiss to your lips. But then you laughed, and so did he, because his alarm kept getting louder and louder. "Do not move an inch," he whispered, pinning your hands above your head on the pillow and easing himself away from you. "I'm serious, Ace. I want to pick up right where I'm leaving off."

You giggled as you watched him climb out of bed and walk naked across your hotel room. The early morning light filtering in through the curtains lit up his tan skin. He was beautiful. His skin still looked summer sunkissed, and you tracked him with your eyes as he located his phone on the floor.

"I told you not to move," he growled, climbing back into bed and crawling toward you, his big hands immediately holding both of yours.

"I didn't," you whispered with a smile, turning your head to the side as his mustache brushed your ear. Then he eased his body back where it belonged, right on top of yours. What a thought. He was already familiar. You shouldn't feel this comfortable with someone you literally just met. You shouldn't be thinking about the next time you were going to see him.

"Now where was I?" he muttered, frowning at you like he couldn't remember. "I think I was right about here." His kisses were probably the only thing you needed right now. Each one was more exciting than the last, and you wound your fingers in his pretty hair. He was hard against your thigh now, never shy about his reaction to you.

You wanted him. There were eighteen condoms left to use. But when he broke the kiss and ran his thumb along your bottom lip, you pouted a little bit. "You need to leave."

He shook his head just slightly. "I need to stay."

"No, no, no, Bradley. You told me to tell you that you had to go to work today. You told me last night to tell you that the planes won't fly themselves, and that you aren't allowed to spend the day with me."

"Never said that," he whispered, and your eyes fluttered closed as his thumb grazed your cheek softly. "I'd never tell someone as pretty as you that I wasn't going to spend the whole day with them."

"Bradley," you whimpered, and he sighed.

Then he buried his face against your shoulder and kissed you there. "It's just that I want to spend as much time with you as I can. While I can."

He said he would get a ticket to game three just to see you. Just to be with you up near Los Angeles. Your voice was soft as you asked, "You'll really come to game three tomorrow night?" You felt vulnerable. You never felt this way. You had to have the biggest bark and the biggest bite in your line of work, and you were always ready to be on offense or defense. But you didn't feel like you had to try so hard with him. You felt like you could breathe and enjoy yourself.

Bradley's lips were on yours again, and then he said, "I'll buy a ticket on my lunch break today. And when I text you, are you going to respond?"

"Yes," you whispered with a grin. "As long as you go to work like you're supposed to."

"Yes, ma'am," he rasped. "I can't wait to see you tomorrow night. And I can't wait to read your article later today."

You were basking in the warmth of his words, but when his lips started a trail down your chest, you knew you needed to be the responsible one here. "Go. To. Work."

He groaned as he rolled off of you again and stood with his hands on his hips. You propped yourself up and looked up at him as he gestured toward the floor. "Eighteen more condoms. Am I taking them for safe keeping, or should I leave them with you?"

You tapped your lips with your index finger and asked, "Are you going to need them between now and the next time I see you?"

Bradley scoffed and said, "I already told you, Baby, I like you the best. I was only joking about the blue feathers. I'm absolutely not going to try to hook up with the other Ace."

"Go to work!" you said, howling with laughter as you launched the pillows at him one at a time as he tried to get dressed.

Then he had a big smile on his face as he picked up his Padres jersey and leaned down to give you one more kiss. "Keep this until I see you again. You looked so cute in it, thought you might want to wear it around."

You took it in one hand and wrapped the other around his neck to pull him close. Just one last kiss to hold you until tomorrow night. "Bye, Bradley."

"See ya, Ace."

He left in his jeans and undershirt, closing the door softly behind him. And then you were alone with his jersey, eighteen condoms, and the aching need to see him again. So you pushed your apprehension aside and decided to keep fooling yourself into thinking this was all a good decision.

-------------------------------

"You are distracted," Nat said as Bradley slid into the seat next to hers at lunchtime, his phone in his hand. You'd sent him a photo of you sitting at the desk in your hotel room wearing his jersey.

"Am I?" he asked, examining every inch of the photo before he started typing a response.

Nat gasped, and he looked up at her. "It's the sports writer! You went to the game!"

"I did," he said slowly, still typing a message. "And I'm planning on going to game three in Anaheim tomorrow night if I can find a ticket. And I'll probably go to each game after that too, because this is the kind of girl I've been dreaming of my entire life. She's cute, funny, smart, loves sports, and she's great in bed. And I just want to spend my whole day with her." He looked up and smirked.

"Doesn't she live in New York?" Nat asked, and Bradley could already feel his face falling.

"Yeah," he grunted, hitting send on the text message that said, "Let me take you home where you can wear all my clothes, and then I can take them all off of you."

"Be careful," Nat warned before biting into her sandwich.

"Weren't you the one who told me you could see me with six kids? Like a soccer player and a ballerina?"

Bradley hated the pitiful look she gave him. "I don't want you to get hurt."

That was the whole fucking thing. Bradley knew you could hurt him. It hurt the night after game one when he went home alone and then didn't hear from you in spite of the fact that he had given you his phone number. And it hurt him to think about you in New York where you lived, or in some other random city covering a sporting event. Because his home was in San Diego. And it would be next spring at the earliest before you'd be back to cover more baseball here.

"I'm not gonna get hurt, Nat. It's just a fling." As soon as he said the words out loud, he wanted to take them back. They were all wrong, and they made him feel dirty. He'd had flings before, and they didn't feel anything like this. He'd been having occasional casual sex with Shannon for probably a year, and she never lingered in his mind after he threw away the condom and watched her leave.

"Okay, well maybe you should reconsider going up to Anaheim tomorrow night?" Nat pressed. "I know I encouraged you to see her again, but maybe that's actually not the best idea."

"Nat, I know what I'm-" Bradley looked at his phone as another photo came through. In this one, you were lounging on the hotel bed where he'd spent the night with you wrapped up in his arms, still wearing his jersey. But it was open in the front, and your left hand was on your right breast.

Ace: I kind of miss you. I keep putting off leaving for my exclusive interview with the Angels' bullpen, because my hotel room smells like you.

"Fuck me," Bradley muttered, rubbing his free hand along his face.

Nat snatched his phone, and he let her have it. "Wow. Wow. Bradley."

"I know," he groaned.

"She's hot. And that message is beyond flirtatious."

"Yeah," he said, his voice precariously close to a whine. "Nat, I like her. I like how she writes her articles, and how I know her favorite team now. I liked how she felt in my arms all night."

"You slept over?!"

Bradley didn't reply. He just took his phone back and saved the photos. Then he sent you another text.

I'd rather you do an exclusive interview with me instead. I think you'd really appreciate what I have to say.

Ace: By all means, tell me what you would say if I interviewed you, Bradley.

I would say you look sexy as fuck in my jersey right now. And that thing never had it so good.

Ace: You're right. An exclusive with you would be much better.

"Now you're just ignoring me," Nat said as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. "I'm going to sit with Bob."

Truly, Bradley hadn't heard a word she said. He also hadn't eaten any of his lunch. He had to inhale his sandwich while he walked back to the classroom for the afternoon, because yes, he was distracted.

-------------------------------

Your boss was really riding you today. Apparently your submissions at 11:58pm after the first two games really had Greg Pfeffer rattled, because that was the first thing he said when you talked to him. The second thing he said was that he needed you in Boston as soon as you wrapped up in California. Apparently there was nobody else on staff he trusted to handle the Bruins head coach as well as you could.

You knew what your strengths were. You were smart, crafty and organized. But you were also a woman. And sometimes the men you interviewed responded to you differently than they would another man. In a good way. You always seemed to be able to get more information out of players or coaches than anyone else. Just yesterday afternoon you managed to get two of the relief pitchers from the Angels' bullpen to admit they weren't quite sure how to throw to the Padres shortstop.

And then one of them asked you out to dinner.

Never in a million years would you agree to that. You loved your job too much. And that was immediate grounds for getting fired right there. Honestly, there was no way he really thought you'd agree, right? Also, there was the fact that you'd decided it was better to eat some mediocre takeout back in your hotel room while you texted Bradley.

But now it was Tuesday morning. Game three was happening tonight. And those texts while you ate dinner had turned into a phone call with Bradley. The two of you ended up talking for two hours before you could hear him trying not to yawn. He had been so sweet, you had to threaten to hang up on him.

But you could still hear the last thing he said to you. "I should have driven up to see you tonight after work. Even just for an hour. Can't wait for tomorrow, Ace."

And what were you supposed to do now? You had hours to kill before you had to be at Angels Stadium. You were still wearing nothing but Bradley's jersey while you laid in your bed in the hotel across the street from the stadium just outside Los Angeles. You buried your nose in the fabric; it still smelled like him. He smelled so good. There was no way you could wait a few hours for him when just the feel of his Padres jersey brushing your nipples was making you squirm with need.

You let one hand slide down the curve of your belly, and when you closed your eyes, it was easy to pretend like he was the one touching you. Because his body had been as sure as your own, like he already knew what to do with you. Inch by inch, your fingers moved closer to their goal, and when you started rubbing your clit in slow circles, you thought about Bradley's voice. About the deep, raspy register and the way he called you Ace.

When you touched your breasts with your other hand, you realized your hips were already up off the bed, thrusting slowly as your fingers worked your clit. Images of Bradley's handsome face and flushed cheeks flashed through your mind. The eager look in his eyes when he touched you. The feel of his arms wrapped around you while he slept. The way his breath felt on your neck all night long. The morning rasp of his voice as he seemed to instinctively know he was with you in the still dark hotel room before he had opened his eyes.

"Oh, god!" you whined as you ran your nose along the collar of his jersey, inhaling his scent in short gasps as you clenched, imagining his heavy cock inside you. The swirl of your fingers became erratic as your hips thrust two more times, and you were coming hard for Bradley.

When your body collapsed back onto the bed, you were almost startled to open your eyes and realize you were alone. Your loud breathing and soft whimpers were filling the room, but you were too deliciously sated to feel embarrassed about what you'd done. You should probably be getting a shower so you had time to pre-write some of your article about game three. You had emails from Greg about your successful interview article with the Angels' bullpen to respond to. But instead you reached for your phone and texted Bradley.

---------------------------

Ace: How early can you get up here today?

It sounded to Bradley like you still missed him even though he hadn't seen you since very early yesterday morning. He read your exclusive interview five times today already, and he was wondering if you'd indulge him and read parts of it out loud later tonight. And then he groaned as he turned on a shower in the locker room. He'd probably barely make it to the game for the seven o'clock start time, and tomorrow was a work day.

Tomorrow was also game four. Bradley was the world's worst Padres fan at the moment, praying that the Angels would tie up the series and take this whole thing to seven games. Because he didn't even want to think about what his life was going to look like when the World Series was over and he was no longer running himself between two cities to see you.

He made the shower a short one, dressing in some snug jeans and a clean Padres shirt before running out to his Bronco.

I'm leaving work now, Baby. See you at the stadium?

You'd given him the address of the hotel you always stayed at along with your room number just in case he finished work early. You had also managed to procure a ticket in the nosebleeds for him to get inside the ballpark; he just had to give his name at Gate E. But he was going to have to turn around and drive the nearly two hours back to San Diego either late tonight or well before dawn tomorrow. He just hoped you'd want to see him again tomorrow night, because he would do it all again.

There was traffic. "Fuck," he groaned, actually pulling up onto a curb to go around someone. He ended up fighting through gridlock the whole way up Angels Stadium, cutting back and forth between the highway and backroads. He paid forty dollars to park in the preferred lot next to Gate E, and then he sprinted up to the entrance along with other fans who were hoping to make it to their seats before the first pitch.

Bradley gave your name and then his own at the window, and he was immediately admitted inside. "Can you tell me where the entrance to the press box is located?" he asked. The security guard gave him a long stare.

"Do you have credentials?"

"Nevermind," Bradley muttered, taking the ticket that was being handed to him and pulling out his phone. His heart was pounding as he listened to someone singing the national anthem while he fumbled trying to make a call. He placed his right hand over his heart, not wanting to be a complete prick as he picked a direction to rush off in as he called your phone.

"Hi," you said very softly when you answered. He loved your voice. Memories of the late night phone call filled with your soft giggles washed over him.

"Baby, how do I get to the press box?"

"Unmarked green door near section 133. I'll meet you there."

Bradley hung up and ran around the first base side of the concourse, narrowly dodging some teenage girls and a beer vendor as the singer wrapped up their rendition of the song. And then he saw the green door as it opened, and your eyes met his.

"Shit," he gasped, feeling his feet slow before speeding up again. You looked perfect, and your beautiful smile was just for him as you let the door close behind you and came running.

And then you were in his arms with your hands at the back of his neck and your lips pressed to his ear. "Hi," you whispered as you kissed along the side of his face just as the fireworks signalling the start of the game were launched, and the entire stadium was cheering.

Bradley carried you to the door as you laughed softly. "I liked your exclusive article," he told you. "Read it five times today." That earned him a kiss on the lips, and then he watched you pull your lanyard out of your back pocket to unlock the green door.

"I think you're my biggest fan," you replied as he carried you inside and set you down.

"I absolutely am, Ace." Then you were pushing his back against the wall, your lips ghosting over his in the relative private of the vestibule that opened up into the press area buzzing with people.

"I need you to be very well behaved tonight," you scolded with a little grin that made Bradley lean down and kiss you hard.

"I will," he promised, loving the needy little sound you made.

You ran your fingers along his neck as you said, "I have an assigned seat in here. And my boss has been on my ass all day. No spilling any beers on me, I don't care how badly you want to lick it off later."

"One time and I have a reputation..."

You bit your lip and looked up at him over your shoulder as you turned toward the other reporters. The game was about to begin as you pointed to some folding chairs, and he grabbed one on his way past. Then he wedged it in front of the countertop where your computer was sitting, between your chair and the wall. He sat down and then you settled in next to him, right there in his personal space.

Bradley was smiling at you, and you were smiling right back. "Stop distracting me," you told him, barely turning in time to watch the Angels' pitcher throw the first strike of the game. "You're very distracting."

He draped his arm around your back as you started filling out the pitches on your stat sheet and typing away at the same time. "Thanks for securing that ticket for me. Wouldn't want to miss the chance to see you."

"It was god awful expensive. Even for the worst section in the stadium," you replied without looking at him.

Bradley's jaw dropped. "You paid for it? I thought maybe you got it comped or something. I could have found one online myself."

You just shrugged as the Angels left the field only to be replaced by the Padres for the bottom of the inning. "I got it for half the price you would have been able to."

Bradley knew that was still at least five hundred dollars. "I'll pay you back."

"No," you said softly as you looked down at your keyboard almost like you were embarrassed. Then you shrugged again, a little more aggressively this time. "It's okay."

But Bradley cupped your chin and gently guided your face so you were looking at him, your eyes unsure and hesitant. "I'd have had no problem paying full price. I just wanted to see you."

He ran his thumb along your bottom lip as you asked, "Is that really why you're here though?"

Bradley's brow scrunched in confusion as he examined your face. He knew the game was going on, but you weren't fighting him about missing a pitch or two. "Why else would I battle through traffic for two hours?"

You swallowed hard and whispered, "Because you wanted to fuck me again."

Bradley's stomach dropped. That was so far from the truth. "No, Ace. I wanted to spend a little time with you." You were silent now, but you weren't looking away as he added, "Sleeping with you is incredible, sure. But that's not why I'm here. I don't have to drive four hours round trip to get laid. I have six pack abs. But in order to see you tonight, it required driving up from San Diego. And when I tell you that I don't care if you invite me back to your hotel room tonight or not, I mean it."

Then you were kissing him and tugging him closer to you by the front of his shirt. And the Angels must have scored, because the rest of the stadium erupted in near deafening cheers. But you still didn't care to look away and find out exactly what was going on. You just kept kissing him, and your hand skimmed up his thigh, and Bradley had to pull away.

"Ace, if you keep doing that, you'll make me look like a liar," he gasped as the cheering finally started to lessen.

You chased his lips with yours and asked, "What do you mean?"

Bradley kissed you one more time and then leaned back in his seat, glancing down at the fly of his jeans where he was plainly a little hard for you. His voice was a little tight as he adjusted himself. "Truly, sleeping with you is not my priority tonight, but you turn me on."

Your hand was still resting on his thigh as you turned toward your computer and typed one handed. "How embarrassing... logging in to SportsCenter to watch a replay while I'm sitting right here in Anaheim." But you were smiling, and Bradley let his hand come to rest on top of yours while he caught his breath. It took you a minute to get your score sheet updated correctly, and then you were focusing on the players once more. But your hand still brushed his leg, and your fingers occasionally laced with his as you watched the game.

Occasionally you murmured something about a stolen base or an earned run average, but Bradley was barely watching anything except you. All he knew was he hoped the Angels won. All he wanted was to stay with you as long as possible.

When you kissed him sweetly during the seventh inning stretch, one of the other writers turned and said, "You brought your boyfriend again, New York?"

"No, Jack. He's actually my intern," you replied smoothly. The older man just looked between you and Bradley and then turned around.

"Intern?" Bradley mumbled. "Damn. I got demoted. Someone called me your boyfriend the other night." You started laughing as Bradley said, "What's next? Your dog walker?"

"I don't have a dog," you told him, smiling at him brightly and squeezing his thigh.

He laughed, too. "You want me to be your personal food fetcher?"

"Now that is something I could actually use."

Bradley was on his feet immediately, filling a plate from the catering stations and grabbing a bottle of water.

-----------------------------

Nothing felt as rushed tonight. Sure, you kept pulling Bradley in for kisses in the parking lot on the way to his retro Ford Bronco, but you didn't feel the need to immediately drag him back to your room. Not when he looked so gorgeous in the moonlight. Not when you felt golden inside since the Angels had managed to pull out a win. There would be at least five games. You were hoping you had at least two more chances to see him.

You shivered as he opened the door for you. "Bradley," you said with a laugh. "I told you my hotel is just on the other side of the parking lot. It's the hotel I always stay in."

"I'll drive you over," he whispered, kissing your cheek as he helped you in. Then you gave him an appraising look as he closed the door and jogged around to the other side. Was he really not planning on joining you in your room? The idea sent a jolt of sadness through you. But tomorrow was Wednesday, a work day for him.

"Bradley?" you asked softly as he pulled out of the spot. You could already see your hotel from the end of the aisle, and he turned to smile at you.

"Yeah, Baby?"

You closed your eyes and whispered, "Do you have to leave right away? I want you to come up."

He didn't answer immediately. He pulled up to the entrance and put the Bronco in park and ran his fingers through his hair. "I wish I could say no to you. Just to prove my point."

When you leaned across the console and said, "I don't want you to say no to me right now," he shifted back into drive. You giggled as he pulled forward a little quickly and whipped into an empty parking space.

And then you were walking backwards through the lobby, coaxing Bradley along as he said, "I shouldn't be coming up with you. I have work in the morning. And I told you I'm just here for your company." But he was smiling, and he was the one to push the button to call the elevator.

Then it arrived, and the two of you were the only ones inside when the door closed. You tucked yourself against his chest when he opened his arms to you. "Just come up for a little bit?"

"A little bit," he confirmed, kissing the top of your head. "While you write your piece?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed, kissing his neck. "Or you could stay for a while."

His arms were warm and so solid around you, and you heard him murmur, "I could stay for a while."

You pulled him down the hallway, laughing at the dopey grin on his face. "You could stay longer. We're only going to get a handful of these nights together. And I like it when my hotel room smells like you the next day."

He snatched the key card from your hand and unlocked the door, ushering you inside with his lips on yours. He tossed the key somewhere on the floor as the door closed behind him, and you dropped your computer bag with a soft thud.

"This is a nice room," he whispered against your lips as he untucked your blouse and got one big hand on your lower back.

"You didn't even see it yet," you gasped as he started sucking on your neck.

"I'll look at it later."

And then you were under him on your bed, both of you fully clothed except for your shoes. Bradley was running his lips and his mustache along your neck at such a leisurely pace, you were afraid you might actually melt.

"Is that my jersey?" he asked, his gaze moving to the pillow next to your head.

"Yeah," you whined as his tongue met the sensitive spot behind your ear. "I wore it last night and this morning."

Bradley groaned, and then you felt his hands at your waist and your hips. "I'm a weak man. A very weak man when it comes to you, Ace." And then his groan just got louder as you reached down for his hands and guided them slowly to the button of your jeans. He made quick work of it and the zipper, easing his fingers inside the waistband of your underwear. "Baby, you have an article to finish."

He kissed along below your belly button, and you whimpered as you said, "I'll finish it in time. I promise." And then he was yanking your pants down and pressing his lips to your bare thighs as he worked your jeans and underwear all the way down your legs and off. He settled in with his face buried in your pussy, just like last time. Just like the first time. You'd never been with a man so willing and eager to do this.

"You're fucking soaked," he moaned, lapping up along your slit before separating you with his nose and kissing around your opening.

"Bradley!" you whined, because he was already so invested. So you let him go for a few minutes, and it felt good. So good, you were almost convinced he could get you off this way if he took enough time to do it. But after a few more minutes, you tugged gently on his hair. When he met your eyes with his lips on your clit, he looked annoyed.

He released you, much to your immediate displeasure, and asked, "Why won't you let me get you off like this? You stopped me the other night, too."

You pressed your lips together and looked at the ceiling before you answered. "It'll take forever."

Bradley sighed, and a second later, a jolt of pleasure rushed through you. When you looked down your body at him, he was swirling one long finger around your clit. "I'm in no rush. Other than you needing to submit your article in an hour and a half, we've got time."

"You must like a challenge."

Bradley raised one eyebrow at you, but his finger never stopped that slow, delicious swirl that had you bending one leg and running your foot along his side. He kissed the inside of your knee before he looked at you and said, "This is not a challenge. This is a privilege, Baby. You just tell me what feels good, and I'll get you there."

You couldn't be sure if it was his words or the way he was touching you, but when your pussy clenched gently around nothing, you were whimpering his name and agreeing. And then his mouth was trailing the softest kisses along your folds. You could tell you were dripping wet by the way his tongue glided so smoothly along. And then Bradley reached around your hips and tilted your body up at a slightly different angle that had his nose bumping your clit while he ate you.

He kept changing things up. A soft roll of his tongue would turn into a nibble. And then the nibbles would turn into suction with just the most beautiful amount of pressure. But his mustache was just fucking special, the way it felt rough and yet so fucking necessary.

"Fuck," you whined softly. He was so good. But you'd felt this slow build before, and inevitably your partners ended up getting tired or annoyed by how long it took you. Bradley's movements were sure and steady, however. And now he was plucking at your clit with his lips, and your thighs tightened around his head.

"Good?" he asked, breathing a little heavy.

"Yes! Don't stop!" you praised, your hips rocking with each little grab and release of his lips. He squeezed your hips as if he was letting you know he would get you off like he promised, and then he swirled his tongue slowly around your clit before licking a long stripe down with the tip of his tongue.

"Do that again," you demanded, your voice barely a gasp. And once again he treated you to that swirl of his tongue. "Fuck." And the long stripe downward. "Oh."

"Again?" he asked, his voice raspy and amused.

You tangled your fingers in his hair and tugged as you said, "Don't you dare stop, Bradley." But he was already back at it with that perfect tempo and his prickly mustache. This time, when he licked down, he kissed his way back up, and you made the most desperate sound. "Again."

"I got you, Ace."

His tongue. His voice. His hands. His hair. His ridiculous nickname for you. "Oh god damn!" you whined, your voice breaking as you keened. The words and sounds were burning at the back of your throat before they could be released in a way that made any sense at all. And you rolled your hips slowly against his mouth as he cupped your body. You were close. So close. So-

"Yes!" you nearly screamed as tears stung at your eyes. Bradley grunted as you pulled his hair but he didn't stop. You were practically riding his face with one leg thrown over his shoulder when you felt yourself gush. His face was still buried in your pussy, but when he finally looked up at you, he was panting.

"Ace," he groaned, his face all wet from you. He was licking his lips like you were the most incredible thing he'd ever tasted in his life, and even though you were still enjoying some little aftershocks, you needed more.

"I want you to fuck me," you said softly, and then his wet lips and chin were on yours. And you did taste pretty incredible as he bucked his fully clothed body against your core.

"I won't last," he grunted. "Not after that. God, you're perfect."

Your body felt flushed all over from his compliment. "I don't care. I just want to feel you."

"You need to finish your article," he said, but he was already sitting back on his knees between your legs and unzipping his pants. He winced as he pulled himself free, his tip an angry, swollen red.

"Oh," you gasped, already clenching again at the sight of him. You scampered out of bed and nearly tripped on your way to your suitcase. "Eighteen condoms," you muttered, digging around until you found one of the double packs.

A few seconds later, you were rolling one of them down his length. He'd barely gotten his pants pulled down to his thighs by the time you were bending over the bed for him. And then he was filling you up, and his arms kind of caged you in. And his mustache was rubbing your neck. And your actual first name was on his lips. And you were thinking about things you knew you shouldn't. You were thinking about how much it was going to hurt when you left for the east coast.

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Bradley would have been embarrassed that he only lasted two minutes, but you didn't seem to mind. "I'll be better for round two. You just really wound me up."

You bit your lip and smiled at him as he removed the condom. "Going down on me made you hot?"

He looked up at you like you had two heads. "Yeah. Hell yeah. I'd spend the whole night doing that if you'd let me."

You looked ridiculously pleased with yourself as you grabbed his Padres jersey off the bed and slipped it on. "Maybe tomorrow night," you said playfully as you walked toward the desk and grabbed your bag on the way. "You coming?"

Once again, Bradley had you perched on his lap while you finished your article. You were cutting it very close tonight, and he was helping you proofread as you wrote. "You misspelled umpire," he whispered, pointing to your computer screen.

"Thanks," you replied softly, correcting your error.

He didn't want to distract you at all, but he wasn't sure how long you wanted him to stay. It was three minutes until midnight. He was at least an hour and a half away from home. He needed to be at work in eight hours. But the way you were acting like he belonged with you was keeping his mouth shut.

You submitted your article at exactly midnight and then you turned to face him. "Are you ready for round two?" you whispered, grinning. "Round one with you was already way better than when I got off earlier today."

Bradley froze with you in his arms. "What the hell happened earlier today?" he asked, hating that he immediately felt a little jealous.

But you leaned in and kissed him softly, your lips brushing his as you said, "I thought about you while I got myself off."

"Fuuuck," he groaned, wrapping you tighter in his arms. "That's hot, Ace."

Bradley was still hanging out of his jeans, and his cock was rubbing your thigh as he got hard for you. You were running your fingers through his hair as you rubbed your pussy along his length. Then you reached behind you on the counter and held up another condom, and when Bradley nodded, you opened it. And then he was inside you again.

You went slow, with breathless fluttering kisses along his face. He tucked his hands inside the jersey, wanting to feel as much of your smooth skin as he could. "At least two more games," you whispered. "I have the Angels to thank for winning tonight."

Bradley laughed softly, bringing his hands up to your breasts but keeping his eyes on yours. "Let's keep this thing going."

"Mmhmm," you moaned. And then you kissed him like you and he had been doing this for years already. As if you knew what he needed. And maybe you did, because he was starting to think he needed you.

"Ace, Baby." You were coming for him, absolutely coming undone in his arms as you moved your body. He wanted to tell you to make it last all night, but it was too good. And he was right there, too.

As you pushed his hair back from his forehead and let your cheek find his shoulder, your phone rang. Bradley jumped a bit, but you didn't seem concerned.

"It's probably just Greg. My boss," you said with a kiss to his cheek.

"Okay," Bradley grunted as you stood and left him to dispose of the condom.

"Greg," you said calmly when you answered the phone. And then Bradley heard someone yelling at you. He was on his feet, brow scrunched in concern. This guy was loud, and you didn't even have him on speaker phone. And he wasn't letting you get a word in. You just hummed in agreement as you paced around the room, but when Bradley caught your eye, you headed back over.

"It's okay," you told him with your hand over the speaker of your phone. "He doesn't like my nearly late submissions," you said with an eye roll and then a smile. Then you gently pushed Bradley down into the chair again before pacing away. And he was suddenly inadvertently privy to your email inbox.

At the top was your article submission receipt which you were currently telling your boss was time stamped for midnight, and that you didn't actually need him to call you from home in New York where it was three in the morning. Then Bradley's eyes fell to no fewer than six emails that had all been sent from different media outlets this evening.

[email protected] Opportunities With MSN Sports

[email protected] Sports Writer Positions Open Now

[email protected] Looking For a New Opportunity?

[email protected] We Have the Perfect Position For You

[email protected] We Need You - Join Out Team!

[email protected] Join the Sports Team With Highest Salaried Positions

"Damn, Ace," Bradley muttered, eyes scanning everything he could see without scrolling down further. But something told him there would be more of the same if he did. Everyone wanted you.

"Sorry," you muttered, having ended your call without Bradley even noticing. And now you looked a little apprehensive.

"Your boss was yelling at you," he remarked as he stood.

"Oh," you said with a little shrug. "He's always like that. Ranting and raving is how he operates."

Bradley glanced back at your computer screen briefly. "Well I wish he wasn't shouting at you. Your articles are always the best."

You clearly wanted to say something, but you planted your hands on your hips and tapped your foot on the floor. "Bradley... I know it's late, and you have to get back home for work and everything... Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

He didn't have to think about it. "Yes."

And then your expression melted into a smile as you climbed into bed, still wearing his jersey. Bradley watched you pat the spot next to you, and he zipped up his jeans and climbed in as well.

As you yanked the covers up over both of you, Bradley pulled you close so your back was pressed to his front. "Will you come back tomorrow night? If I can get you a ticket?" you asked him so softly, he held his breath to make sure that was all you had to say.

As long as you were in southern California, he would come to you. "I'll be back up no matter what, Ace." And after you kissed his hands and laced your fingers with his, he added, "I can't believe you thought this right here wasn't my favorite part about being with you."

Your breathing was evening out, and Bradley thought perhaps you were already asleep. But then you said, "This is my favorite part, too."

-------------------------

She asked him to stay until she fell asleep. Oh, Ace. He's a mess already. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 4

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