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“These are my favorite,” I tell her, gripping two handfuls and rubbing my thumbs across her peaked nipples. “Your entire body is like a canvas painted just for me. You’re perfect… every dip and curve, made just for me.”
She tilts her head back, lost in the moment, and I can’t stop watching her.
“Fuck, Greer, just like that… keep going, baby. Make me come.”
I’m not usually able to climax in this position, but if she continues to ride me like she is, taking me fast and deep, I’m going to.
The second I feel the base of my spine begin to tingle, I grip her hips and meet each thrust with my own and together, we fall.
Half an hour later, after round two in the shower, I’m hanging on the edge of wakefulness when Greer turns in my arms, placing her chin on my chest.
“Did you always picture yourself here?” she asks, stroking her fingers lightly through the spattering of hair on my chest.
“In bed with the most beautiful woman in the world?”
Nudging me with her body, she chuckles sleepily. “No, here… playing major league baseball, winning a division title, having a successful career.”
“I think that last thing is questionable.”
“Oh, come on, Mack, you know you’ve had a great career… have a great career. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like it’s over.”
I lazily draw circles on her back, feeling so relaxed. “I know what you meant, and I do know I’ve had success, but I also know I’ve made some bad decisions and lived a little carelessly. So, I wouldn’t doubt that other people might have a different perception.”
“New Orleans loves you. The Revelers organization loves you. If you ask me, I say let the haters do what haters are going to do. I heard a wise man once say to go where you’re celebrated, not where you're tolerated. That’s always stuck with me and I apply it to basically every aspect of my life. The people who see your value and worth, they’ll be there. Those who don’t, fuck them. You don’t need them anyway.”
I chuckle, leaning closer to kiss the top of her head. Three words I’ve never said to anyone except my mom and a few close friends are on the tip of my tongue, but I hold them back.
“You’re right. I think I just get caught up in the chatter and gossip. Aiden likes to get his feathers ruffled and usually, I don’t let it bother me, but with my consistent knee problems, I know that my time on the field is coming to a close and I don’t know… I get anxious. A lot of people count on me and I don’t ever want to let them down.”
Greer is quiet for a moment before she asks, “Who do you count on?”
For a second, I really contemplate that question. My knee-jerk response would be my team, my friends… my coaches. But I know that’s not what she’s truly asking. “I don’t know.”
Her arms wrap around my chest and she tightens them into a hug.
The gesture causes a lump to form in my throat and before I know it, I’m hugging her back.
“It’s okay to let someone take care of you every once in a while.”
Humming into her hair, I roll back to my original position and pull her until she’s on top of me. She rests her chin on my chest, and even in the darkness of the hotel room, I see her, like really see her and my chest tightens.
“Tell me more about your mom,” she prompts. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I’d like to know about her.”
Most of the time, the second someone brings up my personal life, especially my past, I clam up and deflect, but I don’t want to do that with Greer. I trust her and I want her to know everything there is to know about me.
“Off the record?” I tease.
“It’s always off the record when it comes to you and me. I don’t share.”
Fuck.
“Well, she’s strong, hard-working. She works at one of the charities I helped start,” I begin, brushing a strand of wayward hair behind Greer’s ear. “I think you’d like her.” I know she’d love Greer. “She’s kind-hearted and willing to give the shirt off her back. But growing up was hard. Now that I’m older, I realize it was probably harder on her than it was on me. I know I already told you my dad was an alcoholic, but it was worse than that. I don’t ever talk about it to anyone, but when he would drink, he liked to hit my mom and sometimes he’d turn that anger on me when I’d step in to defend her. So, once he was gone, it was a relief, but it was also the lowest point in our lives. Being a one-income household in a small town with little to no resources meant we often did without. My mom worked several jobs just to make ends meet.”
“Were you by yourself a lot?” she asks.
“Typical latch-key kid, but I had baseball, and all the coaches and players were like a second family… Kind of like now.”
She sighs and it sounds sad, so I tip her chin up, forcing her to look at me.
