18. Patrick

"Ineed a shower," were the first words Dane said as his lips left mine.

I was too breathless and stunned to reply. First, his entire team demanded I disrobe in public, serenading me with a lurid rendition of some song I'd never heard. Then Dane plants a kiss on my lips that rated somewhere between "holy shit good" and "Olympic medal performance." I tried not to swoon, but the longer his skin lingered, his tongue pressing lightly against mine, the harder it was to stay upright. Finally, when I thought he might raise the stakes on our public display of affection, reaching a hand around to grip my back, fingers digging into the meat of my butt, he declared the need to bathe?

No sooner had the words fallen out of his mouth had the bastard turned and stomped across the grassy yard toward his car. I stood there, staring, mouth agape, looking like a dazed, shirtless go-go boy watching a rich guy with a pocket full of ones walk out the door.

"Nice one, Patrick," Eduardo called from the cage filled with sweaty men. Others hooted and laughed, while some applauded. A few had left the dugout and were passing by me. Two hands found my shoulder in a sympathetic show of support. One's fingers found my left nipple, pinched, and twisted.

"Ow!" I yelped, leaping back, tripping over the bottom riser and falling onto the cold metal.

The pincher winked and strode away.

"You okay?" Eduardo approached, concern creasing his brow. He'd stripped out of his jersey in favor of a T-shirt whose sleeves had been ripped off. Massive biceps and shoulders, now exposed, bulged and gleamed with sweat.

"Fine," I said, grasping his proffered hand and rising from the cold, unforgiving bench. His fingers were like well-manicured sausages: thick and powerful, yet smooth and uncalloused.

"You handled us pretty well. We can be a lot." His smile was genuine … and dreamy. I tried not to stare.

"Yeah, thanks. Your team seems fun." I had no idea what to say. Dane was already at his car, loading his bag into the trunk, barely giving us a second glance.

"You really like Dane, don't you?"

I nearly missed a step. "I think so. We really just met a week or so ago."

"He's a good guy. Just take it slow and give him time." He patted my back like he was petting a deer at the zoo. "I hope to see you next week. You can continue your striptease. It will help team morale."

He flashed another brilliant smile, then trotted to where his car was parked on the opposite side of the lot from Dane.

I shook out my shirt and pulled it back over my head.

"You really didn't have to put that back on," Dane's voice rumbled with delight as he strode toward me. The crooked smile on his lips made me feel all tingly.

"You want me walking around shirtless? With all the hotties on your team?"

He grunted. "If you'd prefer one of those perverts—"

I nearly spat a laugh. "Says the guy who likes shoving people into refrigerators."

"Against fridge doors. I never shoved you into the fridge. That would be a hard fit without removing all the shelves."

I rolled my eyes. "Great. He's actually problem-solving stuffing me in with his cream cheese."

"I'd rather stuff you with my buttercream."

Now I groaned. "Sexual references involving food should be against your team's rules." He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. Someone was in a good mood today. "So, you want a shower before sushi?"

He nodded. "I stink." A sly grin quirked his mouth. "Think you could help me wash my back? I never can reach."

Given everything the team had just put me through, Dane's taunting was nothing. I barely flinched. "I'll even scrub behind your ears, but I can't be held responsible for what might happen if you drop the soap."

His mouth opened like he had a snappy retort, but none came out. I patted his cheek and walked toward my car. "I'll follow you, Stinky."

I glanced back long enough to catch him chuckling and shaking his head … and staring at my butt. That had me grinning on the whole drive to his place.

As we entered his house, he pointed toward the kitchen. "There's beer in the fridge. I think there's an unopened bottle of wine in the pantry. Help yourself."

He eyed me up and down one last time, then turned and vanished down the hall. A moment later, the unmistakable sound of water racing through pipes whooshed in a nearby wall. I meandered into the kitchen and opened the pantry.

"Barefoot? We're going to have to work on your taste in vino, Mr. Walker."

It was the only bottle, so I grabbed it and began searching for his corkscrew. The first drawer held towels, the second pot mittens, and the third was the typically dangerous assortment of utensils, old knives, and serving spoons one might expect in any American kitchen. Organizational skills only went so far.

"The corkscrew's in the drawer by the sink. Other side."

I nearly leaped out of my shoes.

When I turned, I nearly leaped again. Dane was standing at the edge of the kitchen in all his naked glory.

Deeply tanned skin drew taut over hard-packed pecs that crowned a perfect washboard. His happy trail of black hair curled just above the sea of, well, other curls, and the length of him hung limp and low.

Jesus, was he that big last time?I thought. My butt puckered, offering an emphatic, "Fuck, yes, he was bigger."

Great, now my brain and my ass are having a conversation about Dane's dick. I'm losing all control.

"Uh, okay." I tried to not fumble the bottle.

He stepped forward, cock flopping with each stride. He reached, opened the drawer, and pulled out the corkscrew, holding it up like a trophy. "Ta-da."

I blinked, trying desperately to keep my eyes on the gadget and not his … gadget.

"You want this?" His voice dipped to a growl as he lowered the corkscrew to his balls. "Come get it."

My eyes followed his movement, freezing on how his growing erection twitched.

"I've got your corkscrew," he said."

I stepped forward and reached down. His hand slapped mine away.

"Oh no. There's a price. On your knees."

I looked up. His jaw was set, his eyes fixed. There would be no wine without first taking a sip from Dane's straw.

The bottle thunked as I set it on the counter.

"Take off your shirt," he ordered.

When I balked, he stepped forward. "Lift your arms. I'd rather do this anyway."

The moment my hands were above my head, he had my shirt pulled upward, stopping so my face was hidden beneath the fabric. I nearly fell over when his tongue teased my right nipple.

"Oh uhhh," I said, losing my command of the English language.

One powerful hand gripped me just above the top of my shorts, his rough palms scratchy and hot against my unmarred skin.

His tongue circled and teased. Then his teeth clamped down.

"Oh fuck!" I jerked back.

His firm grip held me in place. His tongue soothed my wounded pride.

Snakes of pleasure slithered up my stomach and into my chest. I shivered.

His hand released my waist, and fingertips brushed upward, tickling my ribs, until they rested against my chest. He licked and teased with his mouth and kneaded with his hand.

I writhed beneath his touch.

"I've wanted you naked all day," he breathed. "Seeing you in the stands was such a turn-on."

"Really?" I yelped, too enraptured to say more.

"Fuck yes. I wanted to rip that shirt off you long before the team called for it," he rumbled. "Now I want it all. Will you be a good boy and give it to me?"

"Oh yes."

He reached around and smacked my ass. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

His hand gripped and squeezed. "You have the best ass," he groaned into my nipple. His breath tickled nearly as much as his tongue.

"I, uh, thought we were, you know, doing sushi." I could barely think through all the sensations.

His grip released my ass, then my nipple sprung free of his bite. I blew out a breath.

"After," he snarled. I'd barely had time to register the word before his fingers tore open my jeans, yanked down my briefs, and gripped the base of my cock. His hands were so rough, so worn. My balls ached in his grasp, but I dared not cry out. I welcomed the pain. I wanted anything Dane would give me.

He didn't ease into anything. His head plummeted, taking the length of me all the way to the back of his throat. I had to brace myself with a hand on the counter lest the jolt of ecstasy knock me over.

"Oh crap, Dane," was all I could think, all I could say.

His grip tightened. I winced.

His head bobbed as he growled deep and low, a wild beast devouring his meal. The thought of him ravaging me, claiming me, consuming me, heightened every sense my body possessed. It felt as if he'd crawled beneath my skin and made his way toward my chest, one insistent claw at a time.

My hands found his head, stroked his hair. My fingers, now alive with minds of their own, dug into his scalp.

He groaned, somewhere between a primal growl and a pleased purr. The sound echoed in my core.

I shivered again. My eyes had just rolled to the back of my head when all motion stopped. Dane's grip vanished, and his mouth lifted free. I felt him step back. When I opened my eyes, he stood a few feet away, staring. His eyes blazed, but the rabid hunger I'd felt before was gone.

He roamed my face, then down my chest, then lower. When his gaze met mine again, he closed the gap, gripped my face in both hands, and kissed me softly, slowly, with all the tenderness of a lifetime of love.

I thought I might die right there.

"I'll go clean up. The remote's on the coffee table if you want to watch TV. Make yourself comfortable."

I blinked once. Then again. By the time I blinked a third time, I was alone in the kitchen, shirtless, with my jeans and undies around my ankles and a throbbing cock drooping in the air conditioner's breeze.

What was all that? I was so confused.

First, we were going to dinner. Next, Dane was all hunger and desire and whatever that wolf-like thing had been. Then, out of nowhere, the wolf darted away, and Mr. Romantic appeared, all kissy and sweet and swoony. That last version of him nearly had my knees buckling.

I couldn't decide whether I was disappointed he didn't fuck me into another appliance, giddy he wanted to kiss me like a lover on Bridgerton, or thrilled my empty belly would finally get dinner.

I glanced up at the fridge. "Sorry, old friend. No fun for you today. At least you won't get smudged."

I giggled at my own silliness, then kissed my fingers and pressed them to the cold metal of the icebox.

My head spun as I replayed whatever had just happened. Who does all that in the span of a half-hour?

Dane Walker.

Yeah, he did that.

And I loved every second of it.