Scoring With Him (Men of Summer, #1)

by Lauren Blakely

Things I’d like to know—why elevators shrink the second you enter them with a guy you’re hot for. Can someone explain that law of physics?

With the Arizona sun opening its eyes above the horizon, I crank up the tunes, blasting a mix of Pearl Jam and Nirvana, Soundgarden and Alice in Chains.

I want to make him laugh again. It’s an infectious noise, and I just dig it.

“I thought we weren’t going to flirt,” he says. “Is it flirting if you’re telling the truth?”

Why the hell did I say that to him earlier? Why did I tell the shortstop that I wanted to sleep with him? Oh, yeah. Because I do.

“I’m already jealous of the possibility of you fucking someone else,” he says, a plain admission that scorches me.

“And what you said this morning?” he prompts, like I didn’t remember it perfectly. “Yeah?” I ask, letting him lead this conversation wherever he’s taking it. “Grant,” he says, his tone shifting, full of vulnerability and heat. “It’s driving me absolutely crazy.”

“You and me fucking would be the worst idea ever. And yet I can’t get it out of my head.”

Grant Blackwood is under my skin. He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever met, and it’s not just his body, his face, or his eyes. It’s . . . him. Who he is. How he is.

“God made sex with a man the most pleasurable thing ever in existence, and I don’t want to miss any aspect of it.”

“Fuck it.” I inch closer, lick my lips. “Kiss me, rookie.” He smiles. “Hell, yes.”

I’ve kissed before, but not like this. This feels like sex.

I haven’t forgotten how forbidden we are. He’s more off-limits than anyone else in the world. And really, of all the queer men on the planet, why does the guy I want so damn badly have to be my teammate?

Yes, I like sucking cock, and I think I’m good at it, but feel free to be the judge of that yourself,”

“I want to see you on your knees taking my dick between those lips. Want to see you crawling up on the bed and settling between my thighs to swallow my cock,”

“I want to make you feel good too,” I say, letting him see beyond my bravado. Stripping bare. “I want you to teach me how to make you feel good.”

Everything about having Declan in my hand is intoxicating. It fries all my senses. It sends my system into overdrive.

“I need some space, or I will throw you on the bed and fuck you right now,”

It’d become our thing. Grant would call me Ruth and I’d call him Gehrig, and we’d joke about it the next day as we went for a run.

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.

“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.”

His finger’s in my ass, his mouth is on my dick, his hand is on my balls, and it’s official—I incinerate.

“Is it serious?” Emma asks in a gentle voice with no judgment. I scratch my jaw before I answer, my throat tightening. We aren’t serious, Grant and me, so the answer should tumble from my lips. A quick, fast no. But no is wrong.

“What are you going to do?” The next word that comes out tastes like sand. “Nothing.” That’s the only answer in the whole universe. There’s nothing I can do about the way I feel for Grant. And the way my feelings grow stronger every day.

“What are you? Like the Santa of sex?” Miguel puts in. “Maybe I am. Or Oprah. You get sex! You get sex! You get sex! Everybody gets sex!” he says, imitating the TV star handing out cars.

Do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be for me not to touch you at the game?” “How hard?” I grab his hand and bring it to my crotch. “This hard.”

As his hands rope into my hair, he lets out a desperate sigh. “God,” he pants. “You’re just . . . my undoing.” And he’s mine.

I curl a fist around his dick, unleashing a carnal groan as I feel his hot, hard length, then as I slide my thumb over that first, delicious drop of liquid arousal. I bring it to my lips, smear it over them, and lick it off.

He climbs over me, covers me, and fucks my mouth with his tongue. Hungry, greedy kisses. Consuming kisses.

He kisses me like he’s never enjoyed kissing this much. Maybe that’s crazy, but I feel all sorts of crazy tonight.

“I have to have you, Grant. I can’t get enough of you. Your skin, your scent, your body,” he says, raising his face as he nears my cock, then buries his nose between my thighs, inhaling me.

I kiss my way down his body, making him writhe and groan, curse and shudder. And I memorize each sound, each sigh. I save it for later—for when this ends, for when I need to get off.

This isn’t just sex. At least not for me. It’s so much more. And I kiss him that way, so he knows in my touch what’s happening in my heart. I want him to feel consumed in every way, like I do.

After a hot, heady minute, he grabs my face. “Stop. We need to fuck. Now.”

“Can I sit on your dick now?”

He’s hardly in me. And he already looks enrapt in pleasure. It’s a good fucking look, so damn good it helps me breathe.

I sit on his dick, taking him all the way. “Oh fuck,” I grunt. “God yes,” he says at the same time.

I feel him everywhere. It’s this close to good. Not quite yet though, and I want it all. I want all the feelings.

I lift up again. His eyes swing to where we connect, and he trembles, his breath stuttering. “So fucking sexy,” he says, his hands curling tighter around my hips, like he owns me. And as I drop down, he does. Oh hell, does he ever own me. Heart, mind, body.

I’m really into you, rookie. That drives me on. The recall. Makes me hotter, wilder as I fuck his cock, and he fucks me.

As I ride him, I get to know his body, get to know what makes him tick. The answer? Me.

“I’ll fuck you so good, rookie.”

“So fucking hot. You taking me,”

All I know is I’m being fucked by a guy I’m crazy for. A man I’m unequivocally falling for.

“Gimme your mouth. Kiss me while you fuck me,”

“Jack me. Please, Deck. I’m begging you,”

“Yes, fucking yes,” he groans as I come and come and come into his hand, while Declan fucks me into the mattress, then stills, tenses and groans for days. “You feel so good.”

I feel spectacular as a man comes inside me for the first time in my life. Not just any man though. The man I’m pretty sure I’ve inconveniently, stupidly fallen in love with.

“So, how do you feel?” “Besides well fucked?”

“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.”