Scoring With Him by Lauren Blakely

Declan

Grant drops his forehead into his palm. “Skipper called me aside after the game,” he says.

“What’d he say?”

Grant adopts an older voice. “How’s it going? Is everyone nice to you?” He lifts his face, rolls his eyes. “Like he has to make sure no one’s going to beat me up for sucking cock.”

I sigh sympathetically. “Some of these older guys . . . it’s hard for them, so they think they have to be extra nice. We have to remember it wasn’t always this way. Hell, it wasn’t this way for a long time.” I tilt my head to the side, studying his face, the way his brow creases with worry, how his eyes are etched with concern. “But is that what's bugging you? Because honestly, you seem pretty tough. I don’t buy that one awkward exchange with the coach is turning you into a ‘fucking mess.’” I sketch air quotes. “Your words.”

Grant shakes his head. “He had me stay for an hour of extra batting practice with Tanaka. Said he wanted to work on things with me. I keep thinking it's a sign, right? I’m the rookie they bet on. The horse they can’t make run, and I’m not performing so they're giving me extra laps, extra runs, before they decide if they’re going to let me go or not.”

Oh, man. This guy.

My chest squeezes for him. “Is that what you think?”

The catcher shrugs, a little helpless. “Well, yeah. I’ve been playing well during spring training, and then I had one bad game, and all of a sudden, they’re all over me saying you’ve got to work on things. So, I bet not only am I not winning the starting job, I’m getting sent down. I called my agent, and she called the GM, and he said everything is fine. But that feels like the kiss of death. It’s like when a boss says he has my full support and the next day, they fire you.”

I set a hand on his back, run it up and down for reassurance. I’m about to tell him what it means when he builds up a new head of steam.

“I don’t want to get sent down, Deck. I really don’t. I want to prove to everyone that I can do this,” he says, a pained expression in his eyes. “You get it, man, right? I mean, we have to work that much harder than the others. Just to prove we belong.”

A fist grips my heart, clutching it. “I get it. One hundred percent.”

“I want to just fit in. Feel at home. Not feel like I have to work ten times harder. But I will work ten times harder. I have worked ten times harder. Know what I mean?”

I squeeze his shoulder. “You know I do.”

The rookie drags a hand roughly through his hair. “This is what I worked my ass off for, all those years. To build a new life,” he says, his voice strung tight with desperation. The sound of it makes it clear baseball is way more than a career for him—it’s a reinvention of his soul. I understand that deeply.

Innately.

I understand too, that I alone can put him out of his misery.

In a soft but clear voice, I cut in. “If I could get a word in edgewise, I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

“If it’s the answer to this, I would love that,” he says, sounding thoroughly miserable.

I ruffle his hair. Stifle a grin. “It means they like you, rookie.”

He jerks away. “What? No way.”

“It means they absolutely like you. Want to know how I know?”

“Yes.”

“They asked me to do that my first spring training. It’s a sign. They’re asking more of you and want to know how you handle it when you have to take on more responsibility. More time. More practice. It’s not bad, Grant. Not at all.”

“It’s good?” His voice is full of wonder and hope.

“It’s very good.”

He breathes out the biggest sigh of relief I’ve ever heard. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Even if they ask you to catch a scrimmage.”

“Wait. The bullpen catcher and minor leaguers on the roster have been catching most of the inter-squad games. Should I be worried if they ask me to catch one?”

I smile, shake my head. “No. At least, I don’t think so. I mean, they asked me to take extra batting practice, not catching practice, for obvious reasons. But my point is—it’s a good thing. They want to see you play—see how you perform. You’ve been starting most of the games, and they want to know you can handle the rigor, the attention, the bruising, punishing schedule.”

“I can definitely handle it,” he says, a note of pride returning to his voice.

“I know you can. But they want to know too. It’s a good thing.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” I hold out my hand for him to shake.

He takes my hand. Tugs me toward him. “Thank you,” he says in a rush of gratitude-tinged lust.

Grant kisses me deeply and passionately, exploring my mouth. Grabbing my face. Hauling me up on the bed. Pinning my wrists above my head. Pushing up on his arms. Staring down at me, playfully angry. “You let me get all worked up.”

I chuckle. “You worked yourself up, rookie. I had to talk you down first.”

“Before you could tell me the secret,” he says with narrowed eyes.

“I wanted to tell you, but you needed to talk it out.”

“I needed to know,” he grumbles, but does so with a smile. Then, with a deep exhale, he runs his hand through my hair, his touch surprisingly gentle. “I guess you knew what I needed.”

“I think I did. I was glad I could give it to you,” I say.

“I was a mess.”

I laugh lightly. “I know. You were all nervous and twitchy at the pool hall.”

He arches a skeptical brow. “But I thought you were ignoring me?” he asks, back to sassy, cocky Grant now.

My eyes sweep up and down the man above me. “Have you seen you? You’re hard to ignore.”

He hums. “How hard?”

I raise my knees, plant my feet on the mattress, yank him down between my legs. “Feel for yourself.”

“Mmm,” Grant murmurs, slamming his pelvis against my cock that’s warming up to come out and play.

“Yeah, you’re getting good at that, rookie.”

“At dry humping you?” he asks with a laugh.

“At showing me what you want,” I correct.

“It’s easy with you,” he says, swiveling his hips, grinding his hard-on against me.

I loop my hands around to his firm ass, sliding them down the back of his shorts, grabbing that hard, muscled butt of his. Angling him just so, in the perfect way for him to ride my cock someday. Someday soon. “Why is it easy with me? To show me what you want?” I thrust up, like he’s riding my dick, and hell, that is a fine image.

Grant lets out a long, hot shudder. “Don’t know,” he says, all husky as he works his ass against the ridge of my erection.

“You don’t know?” I challenge, squeezing that flesh, my fingers drifting down the seam of his ass—my playground for tonight.

“Maybe because you want to give it to me? That’s all I can figure,” he rasps out.

I smile. Wickedly. “That’s a good enough reason,” I tell Grant on an upthrust, one that I hope lets him feel how hard I am for him. Then, I bring his face down to mine, and whisper across his lips, “I’d like to introduce myself to your prostate tonight.”

Grant lets out a staggered breath. “Yes, please. Yes.”

I tug at his shirt. “Off.”

He nods savagely, slides away from me, and sheds his shirt, shorts, and boxer briefs.

I do the same, grab the lube from the nightstand, and climb on top, straddling him.

My dick slaps against his stomach, then I nod. “Gimme room. Want to be between your thighs.”

He widens his legs. “Like this?”

“Feel free to raise your knees. I want access.”

With zero fear, only excitement, Grant lifts his knees, plants his feet down, widens his legs.

I can’t resist giving him a preview. I kneel between those muscular thighs, slide my hands up the back of them, lift his legs up in the air, and get him in the perfect position for a pounding. “This position?”

“Yeah?” His voice is dripping with sexual intrigue.

“It’ll be one of your favorites.”

“For topping or bottoming?”

“Mmm. Bottoming. Feels so fucking good. I love being on my back.” I rock my hips, thrusting my cock in the air, gripping his thighs harder, pushing his legs farther apart. “The way you are right now? How does it make you feel?”

“Honestly? A little vulnerable,” the blue-eyed man beneath me admits. “But turned on too.”

“Good. That’s how I’m going to feel when you fuck me like this,” I murmur.

He stutters out a breath. “This is how you want it when I’m inside you?”

I stare down at Grant, my blood roaring. “Yes,” I say, since I want to wind him up, turn him on, get him seeing all the ways we can fuck. With no limits on roles. I might be teaching him, but I want him to discover how we can turn each other on. All the ways we can trade off. “That’s how I want you to fuck me for the first time.”

He just groans—a long, needy groan that makes my balls tingle. That lights me up. I slide my hand down to his ass, my fingers teasing over his skin. “Want to know why it’s going to feel so good for me?”

“Yeah?” he says, like he’s hanging on every word.

“Because I can look at you the whole time. I can see your face, the pleasure on it as you drive deep into me. Because I can enjoy the view of your body. And, when you fuck me like this, you can nail my prostate so damn good.” The glassy look in his eyes tells me he likes the sound of all that. “Let me give you a taste of how good that’ll feel.”

I let go of his legs, settle between them and grab the lube, as Grant slides a hand down his shaft, playing with his balls.

As I set to work on his ass, I stare at the sexy sight in front of me. This man I didn’t know a month ago. A man who has become a friend. A man I care about in ways I never expected.

A man I want to take to the edge and back.

So I begin.