Scoring With Him Read Online By Lauren Blakely - Read Scoring With Him(34) Online free

Declan

I had no idea sex could be like that.

That good. That close. That connected.

After I pull out, I wrap an arm around Grant, nuzzle my face against him. His skin is shiny, a post-sex sheen that I want to savor, selfish bastard that I am right now. “You smell well fucked,” I murmur against his neck, inhaling the sweaty smell of him, the musky scent of our bodies having come together.

“I feel well fucked,” he says, all hoarse and gravelly.

“Good. You should.” I draw another lungful of him, loving his scent. But while I want to stay here, my nose buried in his neck, I’m not that selfish. I need to ditch the condom, and we both should shower. “Let’s clean up,” I tell him.

“Yes, boss,” he deadpans.

We’re in and out in less than four minutes, then we return to bed. I strip the messy cover, grab a new one, and flop down next to my lover.

My guy.

I’m still basking in endorphins, bathing in the afterglow, and I just want to lie here and fall asleep, drift off into dreams.

But I don’t want to end this night too soon.

Plus, there’s the matter of this man who probably can’t walk straight for a couple hours.

“So, how do you feel?”

“Besides well fucked?”

“Yes. Are you sore?”

Grant shakes his head. “Just a little. A good sore, like after a workout.” His brow knits. “But tomorrow? Will it be worse?”

“Probably just sore,” I say, honestly. “Don’t worry—you can still catch the game.”

“Damn well better be able to,” he says, then his expression goes thoughtful again. “Will I always feel like this?”

“Practice makes perfect,” I tease.

“I like the sound of practice. And hey, I’m a competitive athlete, so I’m willing to train and train hard,” he says, showing me that playful side I dig.

“So, I take it that means you like sex?” I crook a grin. I mean, I am pretty sure he had a fan-fucking-tastic time. But I don’t want to assume.

He sighs contentedly, his voice tired. “Just a little.”

God, he looks good like this. All stretched out and satisfied, his features relaxed, his smile soft. But when he turns his gaze to me again, his blue eyes flicker with a hint of concern.

Oh, hell.

I know why.

I’m in my own head, but I need to be thinking of him.

He’s got to be wondering how it stacked up for me.

I run my hand over his pecs, my fingers playing with the fine dusting of chest hair, remembering how I felt a few nights ago after The Lazy Hammock when we stopped on the side of the road. I use those same words. “Wow. You are just wow,” I say.

“Yeah?” His voice pitches up, like he needs confirmation. “Was I? Okay?”

His words are breathy, nervous.

But I’ll have none of his worry.

I can’t let him think he was anything but everything I wanted.

“You’re out of this world,” I say, running a finger down his chest. “You’re a moonshot. You’re a grand slam over the fences. That’s you, rookie. You’re my walk-off home run.”

His smile grows wider, more relaxed. “You sure?”

I tilt my head, trying to figure him out, to understand why he would doubt me. “You didn’t think I enjoyed it? Did you not like fucking me?”

“I loved it. It was amazing. I just want to know . . . if . . . I mean . . . you’re so much more experienced than I am. I have no idea if I’m . . .” He nibbles on the corner of his lips.

“Any good?” I supply.

“Yeah,” he says on a harsh swallow.

My hand glides down his stomach, over his abs. “Grant, there is no man I want more than you. No one I want to fuck so thoroughly. No one who turns me on like you.” I kiss his smile, wanting to add and there’s a reason for that. But I don’t know how to venture into those shark-infested feelings waters now, or whether I should. Clean and simple is my MO, so I keep it that way. “You do it for me. You just do.”

“You really do it for me. In kind of every way,” he says, putting himself out there once again.

Like he always has.

Since the morning he said he wanted to sleep with me. Since the night he told me he was a virgin.

Does he realize what’s happening here? Does he feel all the same things I do?

My chest tightens with need. With desire. But none of it is sexual. All of it is real.

I am . . .

My God . . . Emma nailed it.

I am besotted with Grant Blackwood.

And that’s all new. Entirely virgin terrain. Words stick in my throat. My mouth goes desert dry. A wrecking ball slams into me.

It’s so obvious it’s embarrassing.

It’s so patently apparent what’s happening to me.

I’ve spent my adult life with neat, compartmentalized off-season affairs. I meet men, I date them, I romance them. We do it up right. Fly to exotic locales, drive fast cars, play hard, fuck harder.

And I say goodbye at the end.

With barely a second thought. Never a look back. When endings grow complicated, I work even harder to keep the men in the past.

I control everything, and I need that control to keep my life together. To keep baseball in the center of it all. Baseball—the thing that saved me from my father, that saved me from me.

And now, I’m tempting fate.

Gambling with my most prized possession. The game I love.

And for what?

My chest clutches, my heart hammering viciously against my rib cage since it knows the answer, has for some time now.

For this.

This soul-deep connection.

Grant Blackwood is my undoing because he gets me. He understands me. He gives more of himself to me than anyone ever has.

I want him beyond these walls, beyond this room, beyond tonight.

Only, I can’t have him for keeps.

There is no way for us to work.

But at least there’s tonight. I reach for his gorgeous face, slide a thumb along his jaw, and lock eyes with him. His blue orbs flicker with vulnerability and something new too.

Hope.

Just raw hope.

“I’m glad you waited. I’m glad it was me,” I say, starting with that bare truth.

Grant’s lips curve in the start of a smile. “Me too.”

“Being your first was incredible. Sex with you was incredible,” I add.

A light shrug comes my way. “I have nothing to compare it to, but I’d have to agree.” He stops and corrects, “Wait. Hold on. I can compare it to my fantasies, and it was better. Worlds better.” He’s found his confidence again, but he doesn’t have to be all swagger and charm with me. I love seeing all his sides—his insecurities and his fears. I love, too, helping him through some.

And having him here to help me through mine.

Like this one—offering a real and true piece of my heart.

But he deserves it.

“Do you know why it was so good between us? So good for me?” I ask, digging down deep to find the guts to say something truly daring, something incomparably risky.

“Tell me.” His tone latches onto mine, hangs on my every word.

“I’m not more experienced than you in some things. Because with you, I feel like I’m experiencing everything for the first time too,” I say, trying that on as I start into a topic that’s terribly new. It’s like stepping off a cliff. I’ve no idea what’s down below—if I’ll land on soft grass or jagged rock.

His voice is quiet in the night. “How so?”

My heart climbs into my throat, and I wince. This is so fucking uncomfortable. This out-of-control feeling wrenches my guts.

Grant and I, we’re out of control. We’re spilling past all my boundaries. Scrambling over all my walls.

But I don’t want to stop. I want more, and more, and more.

I swallow roughly and pour out as much of my heart as I can possibly spare. “I am so crazy for you, Grant. I don’t know what happened in the last few days, but that’s how I feel. Out-of-my-mindcrazy. I know this has to end, but I don’t want it to end. I want you to be mine,” I say in a rush of words and emotions, and horribly messy feelings—feelings I wish I didn’t have. But they’re here. Lodging into my chest, wedging into my brain as I add, “All mine. Only mine.”

Grant’s blue eyes sparkle with wild hope, and his lips hook into a grin. “I’m falling so fucking hard for you,” he says, and that’s it.

I’m just done.

I’m too far gone.

I grab him, kiss him, and give him everything I can.

For now.

Because that’s all we have.

When we break the kiss, he gives a helpless shrug. “Sorry, not sorry.”

“No apologies. I’m in this too. I’m so far in this, and I wish we could last.”

The catcher on my team lets out a sharp breath, his eyes brimming with sadness, resignation. “But we can’t.”

There is no question mark.

Since there’s no question.

We are impossible.