Winning With Him (Men of Summer #2) by Lauren Blakely

“They’re just temporary. The owner was so stoked about the win, he made these for us in November so we’d all have temporary rings. The real ones are being made by Tiffany’s with four-carat diamonds or something and we’ll get them in a pre-game ceremony on Opening Day at home.”

“Awww. I’m so sorry you don’t have a real one to wear yet,” he says, mocking me.

“Do you want to wear it? Like it’s my letterman jacket. You can. Just for tonight,” I tease. “But you gotta give it back in the morning.”

He shakes his head, grinning. “Sure, wise ass. And then I’ll make you kiss the ring.”

“Like, make me get down on my knees and kiss it?”

His smile burns off. In its place is heat and fire on his lips. “You on your knees . . .”

A zing of pleasure skims down my back. “You like that image?”

“I like all the images going through my mind right now, Grant,” Declan says, his voice hot and rough at the same time.

“Gonna keep those to yourself or maybe share?”

Declan parks an elbow on the table, stares at me with those deep brown eyes that can read all my lust, all my desire. “Let’s see. I’ve got a long list of images. Of wishes. Starting with—I want to get all your clothes off. Get my mouth all over you. My lips. My tongue. Want to taste you. Everywhere. Find out if you’re as sweet and dirty as I remember. Learn if you have any new ink. Lick it. Kiss it. Tug on your nipple piercing with my teeth,” he says, his eyes straying down to the outline of the metal under my shirt. “And yes, I noticed that the second I walked in, and you better have worn a shirt that tight to wind me up.”

I barely have time to rasp out a yes before he continues doling out a dirty dream list.

“And I really want to discover if I can still drive you insane with my mouth, my fingers, my hands, my cock. My entire body. I want to get naked with you. So. Damn. Soon.”

And I incinerate. I’m a volcano as his hot gaze rolls over me like a scorching summer day on the equator.

A flush races up the back of my neck, and I’m not sure I can talk again. But it’s important to me to be the one to ask. Just like I asked him to drinks, I want to be the one to ask for the next thing too. This is me being ready. Being who I am.

My voice is dry as a husk, but I manage simple and clear words. “Spend the night with me,” I say, my gaze pinning his.

Declan hums appreciatively, inching the slightest bit closer before he stops himself, maybe remembering we’re in public. But then he slides a hand under the table, and on my thigh.

I. Die.

The gasp that falls from my lips is the most carnal sound I’ve made in my life, and I really hope no one can hear it but him.

“You know that’s all I want. Evening, night, morning,” he whispers.

“Take it. They’re yours,” I say.

“Consider it done.”

His fingers spread over my thigh and my dick twitches in my jeans, thumping against the fabric.

Get closer, it’s saying.

Now, fucking now.

Seconds later, the cheery waitress returns, deposits the margaritas and says, “Here you go. Need anything else?”

“A fire extinguisher?” I say, under my breath.

She tilts her head, narrows her eyes. “Excuse me?”

“A couple glasses of ice for my friend?” Declan suggests, all deadpan as he slides his palm along my thigh, turning me inside out with lust. I grit my teeth so I don’t moan.

“Of course,” she says.

He shakes his head, squeezing my leg harder. “Actually, we’re just fine. Thanks for these virgin margaritas.”

“You’re very welcome,” she says, then spins on her heels and walks off.

Once she’s gone, he slowly turns his gaze back to me. His dark eyes glimmer with reckless desire, with years of longing.

Same here.

Same fucking here.

I arch a skeptical brow. “Friend? I’m your friend?”

He shoots me a sly smile. “Yeah. You’re my friend. I want you to be my friend,” he says, and the damn butterfly brings its friends to my chest now. They are swarming me. “But I’m pretty sure you’re about to be my lover again too. And that’s also what I want.”

“I want that as well,” I say, and my answer makes his eyes spark with something like happiness.

His fingers graze my thigh, and I nearly lose my mind from the way he touches me under the table, the way his hand slides closer to my crotch. I’m throbbing for him.

Desperate.

With his right hand, he lifts the margarita glass. With his left, he travels across to the hard ridge in my jeans, then presses the heel of his palm on my erection.

Shuddering, I bite my lip. Pleasure rumbles everywhere in my body.

I try to keep my eyes open, but I want to close them and sink into this sensation.

His touch.

For a few seconds, I let go, shutting my eyes, feeling like I’m in another world. One of dirty, filthy bliss.

When I open them, the glass is near his lush mouth. “I wonder how it really tastes on your lips,” he muses.

“Bet you want to find out,” I tease.

Declan takes his time before saying anything. He just rubs the outline of my cock while he stares at my mouth. “Bet I will.”