Winning With Him

by Lauren Blakely

  The images flash hot and bright before my eyes. I shudder, my stomach knotting with need as he sucks me deep, as I piston my hips into his face.

  He grips my ass harder, hugs me tighter, squeezes my flesh with those big strong hands. The way he wraps his arms around my ass and jerks me deeper tells me my man wants his face fucked.

  I rock and thrust my hips, finding a rhythm for my dick in his mouth, right as I bring his where it belongs—deep in my throat. The sound of a cap opening registers but then falls away. I swallow his cock, lavishing all the attention in the world to his throbbing shaft.

  I can’t get enough of the way Grant smells. Both musky and clean, with a hint of manly sweat. He’s everything I crave. I drop his dick from my mouth to slide my nose in the crease between his thighs. “Ah,” I groan, getting a nice big hit of him. His scent jumbles my brain.

  But . . . his mouth on me fries all my senses.

  Kicks them into overdrive, sends blood pumping to my dick, my balls, and oh hello, my ass.

  Grant Blackwood is a sneaky lover.

  As he suctions my cock to the back of his throat, he presses a lubed finger against my hole.

  A full-body tremble shudders through me. “Yes. Fucking yes,” I growl while he sucks me deep, working that finger at the same time.

  Just so.

  Sliding in another, he crooks both fingers, going all come-hither in my ass, while my dick is wiggling and dancing around in his mouth.

  I’m not going to last.

  Nope.

  Not at all.

  I drop my head farther between his thighs, giving in to the wild bliss running rampant in my cells. “Yes, babe. Gonna come. Gonna come so hard.”

  I fuck his face, grind against his fingers, and grip his thighs, until a growl rips from my chest. All the pleasure in the world coils tight inside me, then I detonate down his throat.

  I unleash an orgasm that feels like a force of nature. Like a Category 5 storm. “Goddamn,” I grunt, my face in his crotch, my nose inhaling the sexiest man I’ve ever smelled, as I come so hard.

  Shuddering everywhere.

  Hell, my body is shaking and may be for days as I pant and moan.

  Then I laugh when my shaft becomes too sensitive. Grant slides off my cock, his fingers easing out.

  The second he’s free, he gives an order: “Lie down. Open your mouth wide.”

  Well, then.

  I scurry off him, move to the other end of the couch, and park a pillow behind my head. “Give it to me.”

  My sexy, naked, sweaty boyfriend prowls over me, a feral look in his blue eyes. When he reaches my chest, he straddles my shoulders, grips his cock, and slides a fist down his thick, glistening length, still wet from my saliva.

  I don’t just part my lips. I open all the way. And he fills me.

  He braces one hand on the back of the couch, his biceps and forearms rippling as he pumps his hips. I open wider, take him deeper, savor the taste of his arousal.

  “Look at you. Taking me all the way. Sucking me so hard,” Grant grunts. “Love your mouth. Love your tongue.”

  I urge him on with my hands, squeezing harder, making carnal sounds as I devour him.

  “So good,” he growls, his eyes slamming shut, his features twisting. Then he stills. Cries out, “Coming.”

  His taste floods my tongue, the flavors sending a heat wave over my body. I growl as I drink down my man’s essence, savoring every second of his release, of his moans, of his gasps.

  Then, he slides out of my mouth, moves down my body, and sinks on top of me, chest to chest. “Wow,” Grant whispers. “You are just wow.”

  He’s repeated my words back to me from more than five years ago.

  I run my fingers through his hair; it’s sweaty around the ends. I press a kiss to his forehead then whisper against his face, “Or maybe we are.”

  Grinning softly, he wriggles closer, wrapping himself around me. Arms, legs, hands, chests. We are tangled. “Don’t go anywhere,” he murmurs.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re stuck with me.”

  “Excellent. Especially now that you’re getting addicted to my Wonderland Amusement Park.”

  I laugh, running my fingers through his hair once more. “Getting addicted?” I snort. “I’m afraid there’s no getting. It’s happened. I’ve done it.”

  “Good. Because I’m keeping you.”

  “You better. I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper, making him a promise I know I’ll always keep.

  Grant Blackwood is the love of my life.

  At last, I’ve found my way back to him, and I’m never letting this man go.

  Like he wrote on a baseball—I feel the same.

  He means everything to me.

  39

  Grant

  The thing about being a pro athlete is you need to eat. That gives me the chance to show off my expert food-ordering skills once again.

  When I hit send on the DoorDash order with Crosby’s mom’s organic café in the city, a reply lands in a minute.

  Great game today! Order will be there in ten minutes. - Oscar

  Laughing, I show it to Declan.

  He arches a brow as he pulls his jeans back up. We’re in my bedroom, putting on clothes since the food is on its way.

  “Who’s Oscar?”

  “My regular,” I admit sheepishly.

  “You have a regular DoorDash person? Why not get a concierge at this point? Maybe you need a PA just for your food orders,” he teases as he snaps his jeans and pulls on his polo.

  Rolling my eyes, I put on shorts and a T-shirt. “Anyway, he knows me.”

  Awareness flickers in Declan’s eyes. “Ah, so I shouldn’t answer the door with you.”

  I flinch, hating that we’re hiding.

  I close the distance. “That’s not it. I just want to tell our friends first. I don’t want them to see on Twitter or some sports gossip site that you were spotted at my house,” I say, reaching for his hand. “And I don’t want the teens I volunteer with through the Alliance to find out from anyone other than me—than us, you know?”

  Declan smiles softly, presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’m not worried. Not about that. Not one bit.” When he pulls back, he runs a thumb over my jaw. “But when and how do you want to do this?”

  The corner of my lips quirk in a grin. “Well, I had an idea . . .”

  I tell him, laying out my plan. One that will kick in tomorrow night.

  “I love it. I’m all in,” Declan says.

  “Good. Now I have a little gift for you.”

  “I do love your gifts,” he says.

  We head to the kitchen, and I open the fridge, hunting for something I made for him. While I poke around the shelves, I give him a butt waggle—I’m thoughtful like that.

  He whistles his approval. “Yes, I like the view a whole lot.”

  I freeze. His words—I like the view—echo, filling my mind with ideas. I could get used to the view of him too. Right here in my house. Just like this.

  In seconds, I build the Jenga Tower of what that might look like. Him and me in my home.

  Is it too soon, though?

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah, sure,” I say absently, trying to focus on the task at hand, rather than create a wobbly tower for a future too damn soon.

  “You kind of zoned out for a minute.”

  I blink, collecting my thoughts. “I was just thinking of a fastball I called for the other day, wondering if it was the best one,” I lie, then reach for the pitcher of iced tea.

  Straightening, I turn, set the pitcher on the corner, and gesture with a flourish. “Ta-da.”

  “What have we here?”

  “I made you iced tea,” I say proudly.

  “Whoa.”

  “I know, I know. Prepare to be amazed.”

  He hums, lifts a questioning brow. “Is it any good?”

  I park my hands on my hips. “It’s tea. How hard can it be to make it good?”
<
br />   “Let’s find out,” he says, then spins around, scanning my cupboards. “Where do you keep the glasses?”

  I point to the cabinet with the cups. As Declan strides over to grab a glass, the ideas stack higher. But are they a Jenga tower? Will they come toppling down?

  He offers me a glass. “Want some?”

  “Yes.” I try to stay in the here and now.

  He pours two glasses, and I sit next to him on a stool at the counter, grabbing my phone. “I’m going to invite peeps tomorrow. To the game,” I say as he slides me a glass.

  “Sounds good. Are you telling them over text that you have a killer crush on the town’s hottest new athlete?” he asks as he lifts his glass.

  I shoot him a don’t-tempt-me look. “If that’s what you want me to say, I will.”

  Declan laughs, shakes his head, takes a drink. His eyes flash with approval as he swallows. When he sets down the glass, he wraps an arm around me, tugs me close. He drops his nose into my hair, inhales me, presses a kiss to the top of my head. Goose bumps cover me and I close my eyes and set down my phone without opening my texts. “This is the best worst iced tea I’ve ever had,” he whispers.

  I jerk away. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It tastes like sludge,” he says, but his tone says it tastes like heaven.

  “Why do you say it like that? Like you like my sludge?”

  “Because it’s so cute that you made it for me. It’s the sweetest thing in a long list of sweet boyfriend things you’ve done. Even if your iced tea tastes terrible.”

  “But I bought fancy tea bags. New Republic or something,” I say, gesturing to the pitcher of . . . well, sludge.

  “It’s not the brand. I think maybe you used twenty when you needed five.”

  I crinkle my nose. “There’s a recipe for iced tea?”

  Declan cracks up, tossing his head back. “Yes. It’s a thing you eat or drink like anything else. It has a recipe.” He heaves a sigh. “We really do need cooking classes, don’t we?”

  “Iced tea classes too,” I grumble.

  “But I love the thought,” he says.

  “I told you—I’m good at ordering, not making,” I say, then grab my phone again and brandish it. “I’m excellent at socializing. Let me get these texts out.”

  I fire off a group text to Crosby, Holden, Chance, Sierra, Sullivan, and Miguel, inviting them to the Dragons game tomorrow against the Chicago Sharks.

  * * *

  Grant: Did you hear the news? Former Coug Declan Steele is back in town, playing shortstop for the other team. Tix are on me. First pitch is at seven. In or out?

  * * *

  I fire off a note to River, inviting him, then I send a separate note to Reese.

  * * *

  Grant: Soooooo . . . Declan’s here. At my house. We’re together. As in together together. We have been since February. It’s amazing. We’re crazy in love, and I didn’t tell you because . . . we’ve been trying to figure out how to make everything work. But since he’s going to be in town it’s going to work better than I ever imagined. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. I’ll tell you everything next time I see you, but for now, do you want to go to the Dragons game tomorrow with a bunch of us? You and me can root for our boyfriends. What a crazy thought. Our boyfriends play on the same team.

  * * *

  After I hit send, she replies at the speed of light.

  * * *

  Reese: SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!!!!!!!!!!! I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU, AND YOU’RE IN TROUBLE FOR NOT TELLING ME.

  * * *

  I show the Reese exchange to Declan.

  He smiles like he can’t stop, then the doorbell rings. Bounding over to it, I say hi to Oscar, thank him, and bring the food to the kitchen. We eat and make a plan for telling the rest of our friends, then we go to bed, crashing together upstairs in my bedroom.

  Knowing he’s not leaving tomorrow is the best thing ever.

  In the morning, I wake to his arms around me, and his erection pressed against my back.

  He’s still the only man who’s ever spent the night.

  Pretty sure he’s the only one who ever will.

  When he stirs, I take advantage of our morning wood, turning around, pressing my body against his, and soon, very soon, he’s on his back, I’m grinding against him, and we’re enjoying the best way ever to wake up.

  A morning rub-off.

  After we clean up, we’re back in bed, curled together, talking, laughing, planning our day.

  I could get used to this view.

  The view of him.

  Him and me.

  The idea of us isn’t a Jenga tower at all. It’s Lego-block solid and steady.

  That means it’s time to ask him a question.

  40

  Grant

  The morning has brought with it three facts.

  1. Nothing worth having comes easily.

  2. If you want to be successful, you have to work at it.

  3. I want my relationship with Declan to be wildly successful.

  That means our lives won’t fall into place magically. Declan might be here in my bed on a Thursday morning, but will he be there the next day, and the day after that?

  I’m not worried he’s going to run off and leave me. I’m over that.

  Declan’s only been back in town for less than twenty-four hours, but I know what I want—that odd sensation I felt last night at the fridge.

  Once we’re up and about, and I’ve made a cup of coffee in the kitchen, I take a fueling sip, set down the mug, then swallow past the butterflies.

  Butterflies, not nerves.

  I refuse to be nervous. The man showed up last night for me. Told me he said yes to a trade for us. That’s why I want to go first. “So I’m going to work on learning how to make iced tea for you,” I tell him, taking that little step.

  Declan chuckles, then shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to. I want to do all these things with you,” I say, breathless. Hell, maybe I am a little nervous. Briefly, I turn my gaze to the kitchen window where the morning sunlight streams in. I snap my eyes back to him. “There’s a whole city out there. Where do you want to live?”

  He scratches his jaw. “What do you mean?”

  I push forward. I am bold. “Do you have a place here in the city?”

  “I don’t,” he says, shaking his head. “I need to sell my New York apartment.”

  “Did you get a hotel room here? Did the team give you one?”

  “No. When the traveling director contacted me yesterday to make arrangements, she asked if I needed a place. I took a chance. I figured I could stay with you for a couple days.” He swallows roughly, working his jaw over, a hint of nerves flickering in those brown eyes. “I can go to a hotel.” He sounds worried.

  I cut that notion off at the knees. I step into his space. Curl my hands over his shoulders. And I jump. “I want you to live with me. Will you move in with me? There’s no point in us having two separate places, is there?”

  Holy shit. My voice went up ten octaves. That was harder than I thought. But I’ve always spoken the truth to him. Now I’m simply speaking a big truth.

  A bold, love-drenched one.

  Like the sun peeking over the horizon, Declan’s smile rises, slow and steady, growing bigger, growing bolder. “You want me to move in with you right now?” He sounds . . . awestruck.

  I march forward with my question, powered by hope. “I do. Maybe I’m being presumptuous, but I feel like you’re probably going to be here every night you’re in town. Or I’d be at your place.”

  “Then, this is a practical thing?”

  Shaking my head, I step closer, sliding between the V of his legs. My hands travel down to rest on his forearms. “It is practical, but I’m not asking you because of that. I’m asking because I want to be with you, Deck. When I go home after a game, I want to see you, if you’re in town. When you’re done playing, I want you to come home
to me. I want to sleep with you, and I mean both ways—sex and sleep. I want to wake up next to you. This morning was heaven. It was a dream. You and me in bed together,” I say, the recall sending sparks over my skin.

  “You are the best way to wake up, rookie,” he says, all morning gravel and sleepy sexiness.

  “See? I even like it when you call me rookie. I’m that in love with you. And when you’re in love like this, you just want to grab all the time you can get with your person. You’re my person,” I tell him, emotions pouring out of me. And I can’t stop them, especially when he clasps our hands together.

  “You’re my person too, Grant.”

  I keep going. “When we have a morning off, like today, I want us to throw on some clothes and walk down the street to get a cup of coffee. Or go for a run. Or walk across the bridge. Or go to Crosby’s mom’s café. Or to Sierra’s bar. To get a not-drink.”

  Declan laughs. He threads his fingers tightly through mine, squeezing harder. “We are good with the not-drinks.” The smile never leaves his face. “We’re really good at a lot of things, Grant.”

  “We are,” I say, my heart thumping as we inch closer to this next step. “We figured out how to do the long-distance thing. You’ve been my boyfriend since February. Hell, we were together for all intents and purposes that day you called me after the World Series. That was us starting again. And here we are. I don’t want to be half together. I want to be all together.”

  He gives a firm, but tender tug on my hands. “Are you worried I’m going to say no, babe?”

  “Yes, I’m terrified.”

  Declan lets go of my hand to graze his thumb across my lower lip then presses a kiss there. “Don’t be scared of a thing with me. My answer is yes,” he says, intense and passionate. I breathe a huge sigh of relief as he keeps going. “I would love to live with you. I want to come home to you. I want to have a life with you. So much.”

  Then he stops, drawing a deep, soldiering breath, and I tense.