Winning With Him

by Lauren Blakely

  I growl at him. “Don’t make me regret cheering you on.”

  Sullivan clears his throat. “From the look of it, I don’t think there’s anything Declan would do that would make Grant regret that.”

  I heave an aggrieved sigh, but I love how obvious we are. This is the good obvious. “Fine. Fine. You’re all right.”

  Holden raises a hand. “I have to know—did this start after the Sports Network Awards? Maybe right around that morning when Grant got that burger from DoorDash?”

  I stare, stony-faced, at them. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  43

  Grant

  We don’t stay for long.

  On the way home from the Spotted Zebra, Declan’s phone beeps. For a second, I tense.

  If it’s not his dad now, I suspect his father will be in touch soon. But we’ll deal with that together.

  Declan glances at the text message. “It’s a note from someone at the Alliance. Wants to know if I can go to that carnival this weekend. Do the dunk tank and pie toss as a celebrity guest.”

  “Will you do it?”

  He nods as he types. “Definitely.”

  In the past, Declan has had a different approach to charity, preferring to support with money rather than time. That’s awesome and I love that he puts his wallet toward what matters. But lately, he’s been volunteering, and I can’t deny that it’s so damn sexy to see him step up in a new way.

  It’s even sexier when he says, “Do you want to go to the carnival together?”

  I slow the car at the light, look at him with wonder, and say, “Yes, and you asking me to do that is so incredibly sexy that you need to fuck me when we get home.”

  He cracks up. “That’s all it takes? Me agreeing to go to an LGBTQ carnival with you gets me mandatory topping?”

  “Yup. I’m so turned on right now, I’m going to get on my hands and knees for you, and you’re going to screw me right off the bed.”

  “Maybe drive a little faster. And that’s mandatory.”

  After I shower, I crawl into bed with my boyfriend. As I wrap my arms around him, he dips his face to my neck, pressing a hot open-mouthed kiss against my collarbone. “Why is it that you smell so good no matter what?”

  “Because you’re attracted to my pheromones,” I say like it’s obvious.

  “I’m sure, but sometimes you have this smell like you came out of a barbershop. That gets me going. Sometimes you’re all sweaty like you just worked out. That turns me on. And then sometimes, you’re just all shower sexy. And that makes me rock fucking hard.”

  “So basically, I turn you on all the time is what you’re saying?”

  A sexy rumble is my answer. “You do.”

  “Do you think we surprised anyone tonight?”

  Declan laughs and shakes his head. “No, because you can’t keep a secret, evidently. I let you go to the game with our friends, my mom, and what do you do?”

  “I didn’t blab,” I protest.

  “You don’t have to blab. You probably had that dreamy, faraway look in your eyes.”

  “My grandpa used to say I got that look when I talked about you.”

  He drops a kiss to my jaw. “I bet everyone saw your dreamy faraway look.”

  “I bet they did. And guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t care. My life is an open book. Now everyone else gets to know the best part of my life—that I’m with you,” I say, nuzzling his neck.

  “I like you so much I’ll even post you on my social media,” he says.

  “Whoa. Shit is getting real.”

  Laughing, he reaches for my hips. “Get closer to me,” Declan urges, and I climb over him, straddling him, then lower my chest so our pecs rub together, our erections lining up.

  We kiss and grind and rub. When we’re both gasping and groaning, he grabs the lube from the nightstand, coats his fingers, and slides them between my legs, getting me ready to take him.

  Then I show him exactly how flexible a man who plays my position can be.

  “Stay flat on your back,” I tell him.

  Then, I ride his dick like it’s my toy.

  My man can barely move under me.

  All he can do is groan and grip my thighs, as I show him exactly how I can fuck his cock with my ass. His fingernails scrape down my legs, his face twisting and contorting with pleasure. He stretches his neck, the cords tight, the veins pulsing. “Do it harder. Take me deeper.”

  “You want me to work you over?” I ask as I bounce on his cock.

  “Go crazy on me,” he rasps out.

  And I do. I pound his dick faster, rougher, till he growls like an animal and grips my hips to still me. He sits up straight, stares at me with the most carnal look ever in his eyes. “Get under me. Now, fucking now.”

  “Thank you,” I say, scrambling off him, getting on all fours, arching my back, lifting my ass, and giving him all the access in the world.

  This was the first way I imagined him taking me. This was my original fantasy when I was younger, when I hadn’t been with anyone, when I had no idea how spectacular sex could be.

  Back then, I imagined a man like him wanting me like this.

  But wanting all of me too.

  Body, heart, mind.

  I wanted passion in my life. Wanted someone who was all in. I’ve always longed for a man to give me everything. Truly, though, I’ve longed for one man to give me everything.

  Him.

  I have Declan now. All of his body, all of his heart, and all of his love.

  “Get in me. Get in me now,” I grit out, practically grinding my teeth from the staggering power of lust.

  He slides all the way home. I see stars. Beautiful, bright, flashing stars. He drags a hand down my back, pushing my shoulders to the bed.

  “You look so good like that,” he rasps out.

  I turn my face, savoring the look in his eyes as he goes deep. Yes, this was what I wanted to experience.

  Passion.

  I had it with him. I lost it with him. Together, we found it again.

  Now, I know exactly what passionate sex is.

  It’s when you love.

  It’s when you trust.

  It’s when you give.

  It is us, in our bed, in our home, together at last. He takes me hard, covering me with his body, his stubble scraping my skin as he kisses my neck. “Want to come inside you, and you finish in me. Say you will, babe. Say you’ll fuck me just like this right now,” he growls in my ear.

  I combust. I burn everywhere. A forest fire eats me alive, wraps me in flames. There is no other answer but yes. “Yes. Do it. Give it to me now,” I urge.

  With a savage groan, he weaves his fingers into my hair, drives into me hard, then shudders, flooding me with his hot release. I grip the base of my cock, holding it tight to stave off the orgasm that pulses just below the surface of my skin. Gritting my teeth, I fight it like I’m trying to scare away a bear.

  With a wild breath, Declan pulls out, reaches for the lube, and tosses it to me. My man shifts to all fours. A few thrusts of my fingers to ease the way and get him ready, then I coat my aching length, notch the head of my cock against him, and sink inside.

  I grip his hips hard as I bottom out, his body squeezing me nice and tight. My breath comes in sharp gasps as a wild, needy burst of ecstasy charges through me, sparking everywhere.

  Noises rip from my throat, the sweet torment of a release just out of reach.

  So close. So damn close.

  He jerks his gaze back at me, eyes shimmering with lust. “Give it to me. I fucking love you. I fucking love you so much.”

  And that’s enough.

  Lust takes me hostage. I snap my hips and ride him all the way to dirty heaven. I come like a fountain from his words, his touch, his love, his possession, his passion.

  This is my fantasy. This is our reality.

  This is our life.

  And it’s spectacular.
/>   44

  Grant

  The next two days are a whirlwind of baseball games and schedules, phone calls and plans.

  Declan and I go super domestic in the mornings, figuring out what he needs and wants from his place in New York, and what he can donate.

  “I don’t want you to feel like this home isn’t yours,” I say, gesturing to the kitchen, living room, and beyond. “You can ship whatever you want, and we’ll make room for it.”

  As he drinks his coffee, he rolls his eyes. “Yes, I care about furniture so much.”

  “All I’m saying is if you hate my sex couch, we can get a new one.”

  “Gee. Can we please go to IKEA next weekend?”

  “Smart ass.”

  He leans across the counter and gives me a peck. “Furniture is whatever. I love our sex couch. I do request one ground rule, though.”

  “You and your rules,” I toss back.

  “You ready?”

  I straighten my spine. “Yes, we will have sex every day we’re together. You don’t have to make it a rule, man. I already plan on religiously following that.”

  Declan laughs hard, shaking his head. He slides his hand across the counter, reaching for mine. “The rule is this—I don’t want to be your kept man.”

  My eyebrows shoot into my hairline. “Was that a previous option? Because I feel like the trophy-boy thing goes the other way. I am four years younger.”

  I earn an eye roll for that sass.

  “Seriously, though,” I say. “What do you mean? Like, you want to split the monthly porn bill?” I brush my hands together. “Sure, done. You can pay me back with eleven dollars a month in coffee. We good?”

  He sighs heavily, shaking his head. “I’m going to sell my place in New York. And I don’t need to buy a place here since I’m living with you.”

  I shoot him a searing look. “No, you’re not living with me. We live together.”

  “Yes, and my point is, I want us to be . . .”

  For a second, it sounds like he’s going to say partners, and I’m not ready for that. Not yet. Doesn’t seem like he is, either, since he takes a breath, then continues, “I want us to be in this together. So, can I pay half the mortgage?”

  I bark out a laugh as I move around the counter, set my hands on his shoulders, and meet his eyes. “Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t have a mortgage. I own this house free and clear.” I sweep a kiss to his lips. “Just like I bet you did in New York.”

  He dips his head, laughing. “Yes, I owned it outright too.” He raises his face. “I guess that means I’m going to have to buy us a condo on South Beach.”

  I smile salaciously. “Miami, here we come.” I glance at the clock. “Want to go see my grandma and grandpa?”

  “I absolutely do.”

  We get in my car and drive across the bridge to Sausalito, where we meet my grandparents at a coffee shop that looks out on Richardson Bay. There’s a chance we could be seen, so we don’t hold hands.

  We have a plan for how we’ll come out.

  For now, I walk next to my guy, heading for the two people who are like my parents. They’re waiting in the back corner of the coffee shop, and Grandpa stands and smiles when he spots us. “Good to see you again, Declan,” he says.

  “And you too, sir.”

  My grandma rises too, and offers her hand to Declan. “I’m Kimberly Campbell, Grant’s grandmother. So great to meet you.”

  Declan presses his lips together tightly, his bottom lip quivering. “You are my hero,” he says softly, choking up as he brings her in for a hug.

  “Oh,” she says, surprised. “I didn’t expect that.”

  “A hug?” I ask.

  “No, to be someone’s hero.”

  “Well, you are,” Declan says, emotion thick in his voice. “Thank you for everything.”

  My throat tightens, and I try to swallow past the hitch in it.

  When they separate, Grandma still looks flummoxed. I don’t tell her why Declan adores her already. Some things are just between a man and his man.

  We spend the next hour with the two people I love like crazy, and when we leave, my grandpa pulls me aside. “It’s the good obvious,” he says.

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  Later that day, we’re getting ready for the carnival in our bedroom when Declan puts on his unicorn underwear.

  I whistle.

  “Hell yes,” I say, then twirl my finger in a circle. “Now turn around. Let me admire your ass from every angle.”

  He rolls his eyes. “I’m wearing unicorns, Grant. I am not twirling too.”

  I sidle up and rope an arm around his waist. “I’ll suck you off if you do.”

  Declan turns in a circle.

  “Oh yeah,” I say, then I make good on my promise.

  When I’m done, we get dressed, brush our teeth, and make our way to the door. As I grab the keys, I rattle off the names of some of the teens he’ll meet this afternoon. “There’s Topaz. She’s a track star at a school in the Presidio and is obsessed with Gossip Girl. If you know who Gossip Girl is, don’t tell her. She’s watching the series for the first time.”

  Declan holds up his hands in surrender. “No clue who Gossip Girl is.”

  “Nico is a wrestler in South San Francisco, and the president of the queer club at his high school. He’s more deadpan than you. Jason is the quarterback at a nearby school and he loves video games. He hasn’t come out to his teammates yet, but he says he wants to soon.”

  Declan repeats that all, taps his temple. “Got it.”

  I give him the names of the people who run the charity, then I snap my fingers. “Almost forgot. You know Asher St. James? Former soccer star? He’ll be there. He’s in town from New York, taking pictures for the Alliance.”

  “I assume he’ll want our picture?”

  “He’s an ace photographer. I’ll definitely want a shot of us by him,” I say.

  “So cute. Will you frame it too?”

  “Are you mocking me for liking you?”

  “A little.”

  “In that case, I will blow that picture up to movie-poster size and hang it right here.” I pat an empty spot on the wall in the foyer. “Does that meet your approval, roomie?”

  Declan laughs hard. “Yes, roomie. And then we’ll break in that wall.”

  I pump a fist. “Up-against-the-wall sex. I am here for that.”

  “Also, I’ll post the pic tonight. Before our games,” he says, and the fact that he’s taking that initiative sends a double dose of butterflies through me as we bound down the steps to the garage.

  When we reach the door, his phone buzzes.

  “Oh,” he says heavily, staring at the name on the screen.

  My chest sinks like there’s an anchor in it. I know who’s calling before he says another word.

  “It’s my father.”

  A flicker of concern worms through me. But just as quickly as the worry arrives, I dismiss it. I’m not worried about us. I care about him. I don’t want the thorny relationship he has with his father to weigh him down, but I also know this isn’t my battle to fight. My job is to be here for him, so I set my palm on his lower back, reassuring him with touch.

  His eyes say thank you as he slides his thumb across the screen, answering. “Hey, Dad.”

  A boisterous sound comes from the phone line. Like his dad is saying welcome back, that he got Declan’s text that he’s in town.

  “Yes, it’s been a crazy week.”

  Declan listens for a beat.

  “We can get together for a meal. Sure.”

  Another pause. I rub my palm across his back.

  “Maybe after my next away series,” Declan offers.

  I wince but try to stay strong. For him. With his free hand, he reaches behind him, and covers mine.

  “But listen, Dad, I need you to know something.”

  I blink. Know what? I’m dying to ask.

  “And it’s this,” Declan con
tinues. “If you’re going to ask me for money to pay off a loan, a gambling debt, or to save your business, the answer is no. If you’re going to ask me to pay for you to go to rehab, the answer is yes.”

  My eyes pop.

  A smile takes over my entire body.

  I let go of him, pump my fist.

  “That’s how it’s going to be. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a carnival to go to with my boyfriend. I’m living with Grant Blackwood. We’re together now and have been for a few months. I’m in love with him, and he is with me, so it’s good. Love you, Dad.”

  Then he hangs up, and I cup his cheeks and speak from my heart. “I am so proud of you.”

  He draws a deep breath like he’s settling himself. “Thanks. Me too.”

  Then we leave.

  Together.

  Epilogue

  Declan

  * * *

  Going public was never the hard part. I’ve had zero fears about telling the world who I love.

  My goal has always been that we would be the ones to tell our love story. As we pull into the parking lot near the field by the marina, a car zips down a small hill on a roller coaster a few hundred yards away.

  This is our time and our tale. We can tell it on our own terms. That’s what I’ve always wanted. For us to announce that we’re together.

  Not my dad.

  Not my teammates.

  Not my coach.

  Not the media.

  Not some random Instablogger.

  I want it to be our choice.

  As we step out of his car—our car—I meet his gaze across the roof, crooking a smile in his direction.

  He serves one right back to me, drumming his fingers as the San Francisco sun shines brightly overhead. “You ready?”

  “So ready,” I say, and that feels like my anthem lately.

  It took me more than five years to be ready. Took me losing him, trying to win him back and failing. Took us spending years apart so I could look into the mirror and learn who I was and who I needed to be. Took me making the commitment to change.