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.