“I am. And I bet you like it more than the bagel and peanut butter.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
But there’s no contest. Declan’s blow jobs are definitely better than peanut butter. I love how he licks and kisses the head of my dick, how he swirls his tongue down my length, how he takes me in deep.
It’s a beautiful sight—this man on his knees for me. His hands slide up and down my thighs. His lush lips stretch open wide. His gaze drifts up to mine, watching me as I watch him suck me off. Declan’s hands roam over my stomach and around to my ass. He grabs my cheeks hard, jerking me deeper into his throat. My mind spins and pleasure twists through my body.
After a minute like that, he has me in his clutches, cupping my balls, playing with my ass. Without warning, he pops off me and spins me around. “Hold onto the counter,” Declan says.
“Oh, fuck yes,” I gasp as I rest on my elbows, lift my ass higher, and wait for the thing I crave from him.
A dirty, delicious treat.
His big hands cover both cheeks, and he growls as he spreads my ass open. “I’ve been wanting to do this to you forever,” he murmurs.
With a naughty hum in his throat, he grips my cheeks, kneading and squeezing hard. He lifts his right hand, smacks my ass, then kisses the top of my crack.
I shiver, bowing my back, arching higher. “Yesssss. Please.”
“Mmm. I fucking love your ass,” Declan says like he’s worshipping me. If I thought he adored my cock last night, he takes his devotion to a whole new level when he licks down the length of my ass, then presses the most carnal kiss in the whole world against my hole.
“Unghhh,” I grunt. There’s no way I can manage words.
Declan’s noisy enough for both of us, though, as he flicks his tongue against me. He hums like this is his greatest wish, like he’s wanted nothing more than to have me this intimately.
This intensely.
His tongue lavishes attention on my entrance, with big, long licks and decadent moans, chased by hungry kisses, followed by just the right kind of swat. The I want your ass kind of swat, not the I want to spank you smack. There’s a difference, and the first turns me all the fuck on to the moon and back.
I shudder, arching and moving against his mouth. When he flicks his tongue there, right there, my dick jumps, leaking at the tip, throbbing as pleasure swirls inside me.
This was one of my fantasies of him. One of the things we never got to do before. I have to see this.
I crane my neck around and holy fuck.
It’s better than my dirty dreams.
The sight of Declan on his knees, worshipping me, sends adrenaline pumping wildly in my body. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen, and it’s happening to me. The guy I want—the guy I’m fucking crazy for—is going to town on me.
“You’re so fucking hot, Deck. God, that’s so fucking good,” I rasp, my chest heaving with a wild kind of pleasure that spirals and rockets higher.
My toes tingle.
My bones vibrate.
My whole body sings.
A brand-new sensation builds inside me like a relentless drumbeat as I sink deeper, dropping my head onto my hands on the counter—giving in completely.
“Yessssss,” I groan.
“You taste incredible,” he murmurs, then he consumes me again. It’s wild and intimate, filthy and beautiful.
He’s turning me inside out, taking me apart, opening me up, as I happily slide into a land of bliss. My body twitches with pleasure, and I’m desperate, so damn desperate to reach the edge. To grab hold of the ecstasy he’s promising me with every flick of his tongue.
I reach down between my legs, grab my aching cock. “I’m close,” I groan as I shuttle my fist along my length, eager for release.
My body jerks as I stroke hard and fast, and Declan doesn’t relent. He’s officially blowing my mind. Lust tears through me until I’m shaking everywhere. “Gonna come any second,” I warn.
He stops and spins me around again. Taking my shaft into his mouth, he swallows me whole, loving on my dick as I unload with a savage growl. Starbursts strobe behind my eyes, colors blasting my brain cells as my orgasm takes over my world.
“Yes, fucking yes.” My hands curl tight around his head as I shoot down his throat.
I can’t stop groaning, can’t stop panting. I don’t even think my legs work. They’re Silly Putty as he lets go of my dick, wipes a hand across his mouth, then stands, looking like a cat who ate all the world’s canaries.
I grab his waist, needing to hold on to him. “Whoa,” I say softly.
Declan stares at me lasciviously, licking his lips nice and slow, as if he just finished a feast.
I’m still moaning. Harsh breath staggers from my lips. My shoulders heave. “So, that was a really good bagel,” I tell him in between gasps.
He nuzzles my neck, laughing as he whispers against my skin, “You can have a bagel anytime you want, babe.”
Pretty sure I’m going to be taking him up on that offer again and again.
I pick up the bagel and finish it. Best I’ve ever had.
But soon, it’s time to go. After I give him a goodbye blow job, we kiss relentlessly at the front door.
We don’t make promises, though. Promises got us in trouble before. Besides, we already made a plan—the we’re-not-supposed-to-have-a-plan plan.
With a reluctant tip of his forehead, he reaches for the doorknob, then spots a Hawks cap on the entryway table. “My hair’s a mess. Any chance I can borrow your hat?”
“You know I like you in my clothes.” I hand him the cap then think better of it and set it on his head. Why waste one more chance to touch him?
When he leaves, I’m both sad and happy.
I try to hold on to the happy, though, as I straighten up the place, pull on a workout shirt, and change into compression shorts, since the Rafe Rodmans are not for the gym.
Before I go meet the guys, my phone lights up with a text from the man wearing my hat.
33
Grant
This is the kind of text I like getting from him.
* * *
Declan: Just ran into Crosby and Holden when I was leaving the coffee shop around the block. Pretty sure they won’t put two and two together about why I stayed an extra night in San Francisco and ran into them a block from where you live. Straight guys can be so clueless. It’s fucking adorable.
* * *
Grant: Ha! I know! I’ll throw them off the scent even more. It’ll be a blast.
* * *
Declan: Can’t wait to hear about it.
* * *
I leave a few minutes later, bounding down the steps in my workout clothes just as Holden and Crosby are heading up to my front door.
Crosby shoots me a curious look, gesturing to my hair. Hmmm. I have a feeling it’s still sticking up in all sorts of directions thanks to Declan’s fingers mowing their way through it.
“You’ve been DoorDashing on a Saturday afternoon?” Crosby asks.
I smirk, rolling my eyes as I flip him the bird. “Yeah, I had a burger and a blow job. Let’s go hit the gym.”
As we work out, the three of us get lost in our own worlds. I’m not a mind reader, so I can’t speak for Holden and Crosby, but I know where my mind is.
I text Declan as I kill it on the treadmill, sweat sliding down my skin.
* * *
Grant: Told them I DoorDashed. Had a burger and a blow job.
* * *
Declan: How was the burger?
* * *
Grant: Fanfuckingtastic. Was it a good one for you too?
* * *
Declan: The best. By the way, thanks for the hat. Smells like your shampoo. Which means I’m hard.
* * *
Grant: So, pretty much how it always is with you when it comes to me?
* * *
Declan: Yup.
* * *
Grant: I’d ask for a dick pic, but yo
u’re at an airport. You can send me one tonight.
* * *
Grant: Wait. Pretend I didn’t ask that.
* * *
Grant: I’m ignoring you for three months.
* * *
Grant: I’m ignoring you so fucking hard.
* * *
Declan: Watch it, rookie. You’re not ignoring me. No way. Also, you act like you can stop me from sending you a pic. But I will. I definitely will.
* * *
Grant: Score!
* * *
Declan: Hey . . .
* * *
Grant: Hey to you . . .
* * *
Declan: Thank you—for giving me another chance.
* * *
I smile as I hit four miles at a ten percent incline, running hard and fast. This feels amazing, like anything is possible.
* * *
Grant: Remember last night when you said therapy was like spilling your guts and hoping people still want to hang out with you?
* * *
Declan: I do.
* * *
Grant: I want to hang out with you more than ever.
Declan keeps his promise to send me a selfie that night. I make excellent use of it.
Since I’m generous that way, I send him one too.
He also makes use of it.
A few days later, I land in Arizona, step off the plane, and snap a shot of Camelback Mountain to post on my social media feeds. Four greatest words in the English language to a baseball fan: Pitchers and Catchers Report.
Declan Steele is the first person to like my post.
The next day, I go for a run around the golf course, stopping to take a picture of two herons. I don’t post that on social. I send it to him.
* * *
Grant: It’s Apollo and . . . wait . . . let’s give him a new name since that story has the “November Rain” problem too.
* * *
Seconds later, he replies.
* * *
Declan: Apollo and T.S. Eliot?
* * *
Grant: Done. I’ve renamed them.
* * *
Declan: I always suspected you were a revisionist heron historian.
* * *
Grant: Speaking of Eliot, I read The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. You told me it was your favorite.
* * *
Declan: And do you hate it like “November Rain”? It’s got some mixed messages in it too, I admit.
* * *
Grant: I don’t hate “November Rain.” I like the song, but not the sentiment. I like Prufrock. But I DID think this line could use some improvement. Do I dare to eat a peach?
* * *
Declan: I’ll bite. What would you change it to?
* * *
Grant: Do I dare to suck a cock?
* * *
Declan: Has anyone ever told you that you have the dirty mind of a twelve-year-old?
* * *
Grant: Dear God, I hope no twelve-year-old has my mind. It’s an X-rated carnival in my head sometimes.
* * *
Declan: What sort of games and rides are open at the Grant Blackwood Wonderland?
* * *
Grant: The Steel Rod Rub-Off Intimidator. The Down-and-Dirty-Rim-Job Merry-Go-Round. The Suck-Me-Off-In-the-Sky Ferris Wheel. The Great Double-Banger. The Flip-Fuck Fiesta. The Hot, Hidden Hand Job Tilt-A-Whirl. Oh, and the Sixty-Nine Simultaneous Jizzer.
* * *
Declan: You. Win. The. Text. Messages. Forever.
* * *
Grant: Thank you very much. Step right up and get your tickets. Don’t be shy.
* * *
Declan: I’ll take an all-access pass, please. Every ride. All day long.
* * *
Grant: I had a feeling you’d be buying a party pack.
* * *
Declan: I’m going to ride all your rides.
* * *
Grant: First choice?
* * *
Declan: That’s cruel. How can I pick? But if I have to, I’ve got a reel playing in my head of you and me sixty-nining.
* * *
Grant: It’s like we share a dirty brain sometimes.
* * *
Declan: Why not? We share plenty of other organs.
* * *
Grant: By the way, do you see how I’m running solo? I’d suggest you do the same. As in, you better not find a new workout partner when you go to Tampa.
* * *
He sends me back a gif of Robert Downey Jr. rolling his eyes.
* * *
Grant: I definitely deserved that.
* * *
Declan: You did.
* * *
I return to my audio book as I run, a smile sneaking across my face at the realization that not once have I wanted to throw my phone at the wall. I definitely don’t want to chuck it a few mornings later when I wake up to a hilariously adorable text from my favorite Comet.
* * *
Declan: Question. What does one wear clubbing?
* * *
Laughing, I write back.
* * *
Grant: Dude, are you planning your outfit for a date three months—no, more than three months from now?
* * *
Declan: Evidently.
* * *
Grant: I love it! You keep that up and you’ll be upgraded to the Platinum Gay Card in no time.
* * *
That earns me another eye-rolling gif. I reply with my best fashion tip.
* * *
Grant: Honestly, I want to grind against you no matter what you’ve got on. But jeans and a tight shirt that show off your smoking hot bod are enough for me. Why are you asking?
* * *
Declan: Just figuring I’ll need to work through my dancing issues in therapy too. Might as well get started now.
* * *
I crack up, loving this new self-deprecating side of him. Most of all, I love that he’s showing it to me.
* * *
Grant: For the record, I can’t wait to go dancing with you. And if dancing isn’t your thing, I’ll lead. All you’ll have to do is just move with me. I’ll make it nice and easy.
* * *
Declan: It’s not my thing, but I do want to go with you. I can tell it’ll make you happy.
* * *
Grant: It will make me so happy to dance with you.
* * *
Declan: That is all I need to know. I’m there.
* * *
A few days later, the position players arrive for training. Once the whole team is here, we convince the rookies that Crosby can do the triple lift. Sullivan, Miguel, Chance, and I cover them in ketchup and baby powder, and for the first time in six years I don’t feel a pang in my heart during this ritual.
Our manager appears, parks his hands on his hips, and laughs his ass off. “All right, gentlemen, and I use that term loosely, get your asses to work. Rookies, hit the showers.”
The rookies rush to the locker room while the troublemakers among us head to the dugout to put our condiment weapons away.
“Remember when that was us?” Sullivan asks.
“How could I forget?” I certainly can’t, but I can enjoy that memory now that it’s good again.
Better than good.
That’s life with Declan in it.
My life was good before. Hell, my life was great.
Now, it’s even better.
That night, Declan calls for no reason. “Just wanted to hear your voice,” he says.
“That’s the best reason to call.”
Winning With Him Page 21