Page 154 of Hiding in the Outfield

I try. I really do. But it’s closing in on eight p.m., and he has to leave for the airport in five hours.

“It’s going to be hard.”

“Really hard,” I say thickly.

“But it’s temporary. We’re going to figure this out. Look at how much we’ve figured out already, and it’s only been a couple days.”

If he says so.

“When can I see you again?” I whisper.

Lines pinch his brow, and he worries his lip. “I don’t know. When I get back to the office, I can see what my schedule looks like. Then compare it to yours. See when you’re home and when I can take time off lines up.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Worst-case scenario, we have to go a couple months without seeing each other. Once off-season hits, you’ll come right back home to me.”

My eyes fall closed. Home to him. It sounds like heaven. “Am I greedy for not wanting to wait that long?”

He chuckles, and my eyes snap open. A teasing glint fills that warm brown gaze. “You can be as greedy over me as you want, loverboy.” His eyes flare. “That was quite the line drop back there.”

“It was the truth.” I scoop him into my arms and carry him to our bed. “And.” My mouth finds his, and I tug on his bottom lip. “I’m going to be really fucking greedy.” Kiss. “I want.” Kiss. “Every second.” Kiss. “Of every day.”

I toss him onto our bed and blanket him. “I want your sass.”

I push his sweatshirt and shirt up, fingernails lightly scoring his skin. “I want your skin.”

He helps me push his shirt over his head. I trail kisses down his neck to his chest and tongue a nipple. “I want these.” I bite down gently, and his sharp inhale slices through the room.

I kiss down his stomach, nuzzling into his happy trail, reveling in the coarse hair against my cheek. My gaze flicks up to his, and my lips curve. “I want your bolognese.”

He pushes up to his elbows, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as his mouth tries its damnedest to break into a smile.

“I could always freeze some and send it to you,” he teases.

I growl and nip his hip bone. “Fresh. Only fresh.”

He sighs dramatically. One that I cut off when I yank the button of his jeans free and unzip his fly.

I jerk them down to his thighs and groan. Today he’s wearing simple white boxer briefs. But they’re so. Fucking. Small. I slide my hands under him and palm his round ass. My dick jumps against the fly of my jeans.

“I want you in every single pair of your goddamned sexy underwear.”

“All at once?” He arches a saucy brow. “Now wouldn’t that look silly?”

I shake my head as I mouth his slowly hardening dick. “Sass. So much sass.”

He moans, a hum of pure satisfaction.

I push away and admire the view; the thin white fabric is practically transparent now that it’s wet from my mouth. I lick my lips.

“Need. Now.”

I hurry to stand so I can pull his jeans the rest of the way off, then yank my own shirt over my head while he kicks out of his briefs.

“I want all of you.”

My eyes don’t leave his sexy, lithe body. That glowing tanned skin, curling dark chest hair. His slim jaw, pouty lips, high cheekbones shimmering with the soft, glittery powder he likes. He’s beautiful, but not just that. No, he’s striking. Because when I look at him, it’s like a gut punch. Every single time. My body’s shock at being in the presence of such brilliance.