Page 150 of The Play

“Cheers,” Grant said, and clinked their glasses together.

“You wanna dance?” Deacon asked.

Grant hadn’t let himself overthink after the game, and now didn’t let himself overthink, either.

“Yes,” he said.

“God, I’ve wanted to do this since we left the stadium,” Grant groaned as Deacon pinned him to the door just inside his townhouse and kissed his neck.

Deacon lifted his head. “Me too,” he said, his dark eyes gloriously intense and intent on Grant. Like nothing could move him from this moment.

“But it was fun to go out too, with your guys. Not as Mr. G, but as me,” Grant murmured.

“I know you were worried the publicity of being together would make things tougher,” Deacon said. “Do you still think that’s true?”

“Yes. No. Maybe.” Grant sighed. “It was really fun tonight. This was the good side of it. Do I still worry that the public pressure will get to be too much? Yeah. Of course I do. But it’s easier to dismiss that voice, now.”

“I hope so. ’Cause I love you—and I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

Grant believed him now. Had always believed him, but it had been easy to lose that certainty in the face of all the worry.

But they’d worked through that, and they were past it now. Tonight had proven it.

“I love you, too.” Grant paused. Leaned in farther. Felt Deacon’s erection against his own. But he didn’t need that kind of proof. He’d never doubt Deacon’s desire, not when he was looking at him like that. “Take me to bed.”

Would he ever get used to Deacon leaning down and just picking him up? Using all that strength to carry him up the stairs, barely even breathing hard as he deposited Grant on the edge of his bed?

No. No, he absolutely fucking would not get used to—or tired of—that situation.

Deacon leaned down and was about to kiss him again, fingers working on Grant’s remaining buttons. All great things, which he really did want, but also . . .

“Hey, wait—” Grant said, reaching out a hand and just enjoying the feel of Deacon’s strong chest underneath his fingertips.

“What is it?” Deacon rocked back on his heels.

“I’ve just . . .never seen your bedroom before.” Grant looked around, surprised that it looked so basic. Blue comforter. Pale beige walls. The furniture was dark wood, with plain lines. While the simplicity of it all reminded him of Deacon, nothing about it felt particularly personal, either.

“And you wanted to?” Deacon’s voice was wry.

“Wanted to for some time now,” Grant admitted.

“Wanted you here for some time now,” Deacon said and leaned down again.

This time Grant didn’t stop him, just sank into his kiss.

Deacon’s mouth was hot and insistent on his, but while the man might be insanely powerful, with muscles that made Grant whimper, he’d never once felt like Deacon would overpower him.

And maybe this was evidence of the trust between them, but he wanted it now.

He wanted to be overwhelmed until he didn’t know anything other than Deacon.

His tongue stroked Deacon’s, Deacon groaning into his mouth as Grant’s palm pressed against the erection in his jeans.

“What do you want?” Grant asked, his mouth slipping from Deacon’s, down to the intoxicating plane between his ear and his collarbone. Nibbling there until Deacon’s fingers dug into the bare skin at his waist.

“You.” Deacon’s voice was breathless. “Only you.”

Grant wiggled back on the bed, Deacon following like he was helpless to do anything else. “Take me,” he said. “Fuck me. Own me. Love me.”

---