To everything.
To us.
“Yes, fucking yes, coming now.” He shudders, hot jets of come spilling all over his hand.
Need overcomes me. I’ve got to have his release.
“Gimme,” I say, mouth open, waiting.
Declan lifts his hand, and I suck off his orgasm, getting high on the taste as he urges me on. “Come in me, babe.”
My orgasm wracks my body, hammering its way through me as I curse and shout incoherent cries of bliss as I climax even higher than I did last night.
Then, he’s right here with me, his mouth soft and tender, his lips seeking mine, somehow sealing all this impossibly hard, rough, passionate sex with a kiss that reminds me this is not the end.
It’s a whole new beginning.
37
Declan
Sex makes me hungry. Especially when I haven’t eaten in hours. After we shower, we walk across the street to The Lazy Hammock.
It’s like a safe house.
Plus, if someone sees us here, I can live with it, but I doubt it’ll be a teammate.
Once inside, River looks up from the bar, his brown eyes welcoming. He pushes his floppy hair off his forehead, then hustles over. “Good to see you two again. Table on the deck? In the far corner?”
“Yeah, same as last time, thanks,” I say since that spot felt the most out of the way.
The owner pats my arm, then winks at Grant. “Absolutely. Did you guys enjoy the day? I went hiking up Camelback Mountain, and if you haven’t done that yet, it’s a must. We have the best hiking here and fantastic views.”
“No. But I’ll give it a try next time I’m in Phoenix,” I say.
“And don’t you dare forget the Grand Canyon. Sunset there is sooo romantic,” he says with a wink as he guides us to the deck.
River doesn’t mention baseball at all. And I love it. I love that he’s simply an ambassador for the state of Arizona. When we reach the table in the corner, away from prying eyes, he shoots us both a grin as we sit. “By the way, it makes me so happy to see you two together again.” He clasps his hand to his chest. “Can I take the credit? I kind of feel like Cupid.”
Grant laughs. “Maybe you can.”
I reach for Grant’s hand across the table, taking it in public view.
Fine. This isn’t like kissing him at a ballpark.
But that’s not the point. I’m just making my intentions known in as public a way as I can.
River awws happily. “Let me know when you two want to order.”
“Actually, I’m ready,” I say, and I order a chicken salad and Grant opts for chicken and veggies.
“Athlete food,” I say, once River leaves.
Grant pats his belly. “Gotta keep the abs tight both for baseball and for this guy I’m seeing in November.”
“This guy you’re seeing likes you for more than your abs,” I say, feeling a little like an infatuated fool.
“But the abs help,” Grant says in a conspiratorial whisper, then he sends me a shy smile. “Is this our official first date? Kind of out in public and everything?”
“Seems it is.” I squeeze his hand harder. He squeezes back.
“Do you think any of the guys figured it out? That I was leaving to see you?”
I shake my head. “No, but you better play well tomorrow. So I’ll know I broke your streak.”
His grin is magnetic. “You broke my never-been-laid streak.”
I crack up. “So, what’s the verdict? You like topping me?”
“I love it. I love it all. I love sex. I want to have sex every night, every day. I want to do it again and again and again with you. I think you made me addicted to it.”
I growl. “Good. I want to service your addiction.”
“Service me all you want, Deck,” he says, letting my nickname roll around on his tongue.
“Still turns me on the way you say it,” I murmur.
“Good. Everything about you turns me on.” His brow knits. “But I have a question. That whole thing with you and sliders?”
“That’s a one-eighty.”
“Yeah, but I still want to know. It’s not true, is it?”
I grin, slow and easy. “Why ever would you say that?”
Grant hums, like he’s deep in thought, then taps his temple. “See, I replayed that pitch in my head. And I remembered the pitcher hesitated, that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t throw you his best slider. So, I found the clip on YouTube while I was waiting for you in the room.” I keep a straight face as Grant continues assembling the clues. “He threw you a cement mixer slider. That ball was begging you to hit it. And it became legend. But it wasn’t because you’re an evil genius with sliders. It was a bad pitch that you went yard on.”
Letting go of his hand, I slow clap. “Well, aren’t you just a regular Sherlock Holmes. Figuring me out.”