Page 83 of Bad Ball Hitter

“Drake,” I cry out, loving how he fills me—so full and complete.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” I breathe out, my eyes drifting shut as his hips move. The friction feels so good; it’s like we’ve never been apart. I moan and grip his waist, pulling him closer to me. “So good,” I mumble between parted lips, feeling him slide deeper. This might not be the start we wanted, but it still feels right.

His breaths come in short, heated pants against my skin. We continue to move together, our bodies tangled in sweaty sheets. Frissons of pleasure surge up my spine with each of his thrusts that hit the right spots. I can’t get enough of him—his scent, his taste, his touch.

“Look at me, Lila,” he grunts, his voice gruff with desire. I open my eyes and meet his gaze. His chocolate brown eyes darkened with lust, a raw need that mirrors mine. There’s something else there, too, something that looks a lot like love.

I moan as he thrusts into me again. His brows furrow in concentration, the intensity etched on his face, making my stomach flip. He’s so focused on pleasing me, and it sends a jolt of pleasure through me.

Drake groans and leans down to capture my neck with his teeth, nibbling softly as he slams into me harder. He smells like sweat mixed with masculine musk and soap—a scent that makes me want to inhale deeply. The roughness of his stubble against my skin only heightens the sensation. He kisses me passionately as he fucks me slowly, taking his time to savor our reunion. His free hand curls around my hip bone, guiding our hips together in harmony.

A soft growl escapes him when he feels how wet I am for him. He speeds up their pace, pounding into me harder until I can feel every inch of his length inside me. The bed creaks beneath us—a reminder that this is real. His hot breath fanning across my ear sends shivers down my spine as he whispers dirty things that make me moan louder than before. It’s clear that he wants to take back what he thought was lost, claiming it again with his mouth on my skin and dick deep inside me.

“Drake,” I whimper as he continues to drive deeper inside me. Each stroke feels better than the last—filling me, stretching me.

He groans, burying his face into the crook of my neck as he pounds into me harder and faster. The tension between us is electric as ripples of sensation pulse through my veins with each wave of ecstasy.

“I love you,” he breathes against my skin as I shatter beneath him.

His words cascade a flood of warmth down my spine, and it’s almost too much to handle. A moment later, he follows me, collapsing onto the bed next to me as we both pant for air.

We lay there momentarily in silence, staring at one another, our chests rising and falling. His eyes gaze at me with an intensity that turns my heart inside out. For a moment, I am lost in the depths of his emotion. It’s not just lust. It’s raw and powerful, and it’s love.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. The words hang in the air between us like a sacred promise.

I studied him for a second, my mind reeling, trying to process what we’d just shared and what it could mean for us. “Drake, I love you, too,” I whisper. “And I’ve missed you this week so much. I just…”

He seems to understand my struggle. One of his hands slides up my body until it cradles my face, his thumb tracing slow circles on my cheekbone. “I know,” he says softly, “Take your time, Lila.”

Time. That’s what we need—time to sort out our tangled feelings and heal old wounds. But looking into his eyes right now, I can’t help but feel that everything will turn out okay despite the unknown of test results and baseball teams. We’ll be okay.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Drake

“What a heart-wrenching conclusion to what began as a stellar season, Les. With the Royals’ victory eliminating them from the wild card contention, this is a tough ending to swallow.”

“Yes. The future of Bad Ball Hitter Drake will undoubtedly be a point of interest. His absence will be deeply felt if the circulating rumors hold any truth. Drake has delivered an outstanding performance this season, tallying an impressive 144 RBIs and maintaining a .327 batting average. Both he and Rick have been truly formidable this year.”

“Will next year be the year we finally bring it home?”

“We can hope. It’s a shame to see it come to an end. Well, folks, that’s a wrap for the year. This is Les…”

“And Joe.”

“Signing off from Fenway. We’ll catch you in the spring.”

To say the locker room is anything but gloomy would be a lie. The only noise is low grumbles. Today’s loss was rough. We were tied one to one until the ninth when their first baseman hit a bloop single that found a hole between the infield and outfield. That’s all it took for that speedy fucker to get on base and steal the next to plates. A suicide squeeze drove the runner home, ending our season with a huge disappointment.

For some players, like me, it’s the end of the road. They won’t be back.

I glance around at the other players, less giddy than I thought I’d be.

“Gunner, you best be calling if you land on the West Coast.”

I toss my extra batting gloves and cleats into my gym bag. We have until the end of the week to clear it out, but I have little to grab. I never wanted to camp out here, so I brought nothing other than necessities. But there’s something in his tone that grounds me.

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