Chapter 11 Batter （and other things） Up!
Batter (and other things) Up!
Gonna dance for you, Finnie.
All the ways his mate might mean that flash through Finn’s mind. It hits him in pieces—how many times he’s already seen this, and hadn’t known what he was looking at.
Remembered moments from the kitchen where Finn had glimpsed rolling hips, or Grayson dropping low, only to pop up with his ass out after he’d dropped the remote—all accompanied by hummed bars of a familiar (and favorite) old song.
And those were only the moments Finn had been present for over the past few months.
Had he been practicing all this time?
“Holy fuck. He’s going to what?” Rowan squeaks mid-thrust, interrupting Finn’s mental gymnastics. “Did you all know about this?”
Intrigued and clearly not thrilled to be out of the loop, Rowan sounds halfway between impressed and offended.
“I missed out on practice? You guys are so mean. I—”
Of course, they hadn’t told Rowan. As Luca said, if Rowan knows, everyone knows. He’d have been too smug not to lord it over Finn at the earliest opportunity, ruining the surprise.
“Shut up, Ro,” Finn growls, eyes locked on the vision before him—because nothing, not even Rowan’s commentary, could pull him out of this moment.
“Ready…alpha?”
Finn is torn between hell, yes and fuck, no.
The first because Grayson’s peach of an ass is hanging out of the bottom of those booty shorts, and his smooth, leanly muscled thighs glitter in the gold spotlight.
The latter, because no one has ever done anything like this for him before, and Finn isn’t sure it’s not going to make him cry or come—maybe at the same time.
In the end, he settles on the former and embraces his emotions. “Yes, please,” he manages. “Show me what you’ve got.”
With a deep chuckle that makes the hair stand up on Finn’s neck, Grayson pulls Finn over to the single chair at the back of the stage. Pushing him down, he runs his finger over Finn’s lower lip, caressing the wet insides before sliding the wet digit into his own mouth and sucking it with a moan.
“This is so hot,” Luca moans.
Rowan has him impaled, but Gideon is busy tying his hands to his thighs, using his belt and Jay’s. His perfect little dick is standing high and is an uncomfortable shade of purple.
Leave it to Gideon to rig bondage on the fly. He’d probably made sure Jay wore his heavy black belt with all the extra holes on purpose.
With a finger under Finn’s chin, Grayson pulls his attention back to him. “Eyes on me, handsome. Don’t look away.”
He moves into the shadows, and Finn braces. Unable to relax, he crosses his arms, then moves them to the tops of his thighs before settling them on the sides of the wooden seat.
To Finn’s right, the windows stretch wide and tall—glass lacking any sort of protective tint. Anyone glancing up from the stands could see in, if they looked hard enough. It’s unlikely, but possible. And that thought? It curls around Finn’s spine like fire.
When the main lights dim to molten amber, it hits him that the whole stadium could see them or burn to the ground around them, and he still wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away. For the next three and a half minutes or longer, Grayson will have his undivided attention.
The distinct piano intro of Annie Lennox’s I Put a Spell on You drips from the sound system, slow and wet, slinking through Finn’s blood.
I put a spell on you…
He emerges from the shadows stage left, slipping into the waiting spotlight, the warm light burnishing his skin gold. Pausing, he slides a long thigh out to the side, running a hand up his ribs and vanishing into his hair. Blue eyes flash, but he doesn’t look away, holding Finn captive.
The music rolls low and sultry as he sinks into the beat, grinding in a slow, deliberate circle. His ass juts out, the shirt fluttering open behind him like the wings of something dangerous.
You better stop the things you do…
He bends forward at the waist, ass pushed out toward their mates on the couch, his head dropped low.
There’s a gasp and a groan from the couch. Maybe Jay or Luca, but Finn can’t look; he promised.
Dropping into a crouch, Grayson spreads his knees wide.
One hand anchors behind him while the other stays at his side, and he thrusts upward in a smooth pump.
His cock strains against the fabric, a thick line of heat visible.
His shirt slips aside just enough to reveal the glint of that silver chain.
Finn’s grip on the chair tightens, fingertips gone white.
I ain’t lying…
Grayson lifts again, abdominals flexing hard as he powers through the movement, his thighs opening and closing. Then his hand slides low—right between his legs, pressing down with a soft, breathy moan that doesn’t sound like performance at all.
Behind them, Jay hisses. Luca’s gagging groan is unmistakable, even with the bassline throbbing through the box.
You know better, Daddy…
The tempo shifts, and Grayson lets it take him. Turns fluid and fast, head tipping, hips snapping, hands tangled in his own hair. He chases the music until it stills him again, just inches from Finn, breath ragged and eyes alight.
He stands tall, legs wide, left arm lifted as he rolls his body from shoulder to hip. The shirt slides off his right shoulder, catching for a second before slipping free.
A smooth pirouette follows. He tugs at his hair, lets his hands skim down his sides—slow and firm—until they reach his chest. One hand finds his nipple ring and gives it a twist, just hard enough to make him gasp.
Then his arms go behind his back, wrists clasped like he’s offering himself up.
Because you’re mine…
“Pretty…” Gideon groans from the couch.
Grayson winks at Finn, pink tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth. He knows exactly what he does to them.
On beat, Grayson drops to his hands and knees. One leg kicks out to the side for balance as he thrusts downward again and again, back arched, ass flexing with every motion. The spotlight catches each shifting muscle, skin sheened with sweat, all of him defined and gleaming.
Using the power in his arms, he slides backward across the floor—slow and deliberate—until his ass is pressed flush against Finn’s knees. Right as Lennox breathes I love you, I love you, I love you, he stops moving.
The room stills.
Finn’s hands twitch on the edge of the chair. He wants to touch so badly. Slip them under the hem of those shorts. Just a brush of skin.
Grayson rises to his haunches, pulls the shirt from his body, and tosses it to Leo without looking.
Catching it, the beta brings it to his nose.
Grayson’s back is long and lean, muscles shifting beneath skin slick with sweat. Finn wants to lean in, drag his teeth over the nape of his mate’s neck, bite down until Grayson gasps.
“Uh, uh, uh, no touching,” he says over his shoulder, as if he knows Finn has reached the edge of his restraint, fingers twitching. “I’m not done. Hands on your thighs.”
Velvet over steel, Finn sucks in a breath at how low his mate’s voice has gone.
As Lennox sings her final lines, Grayson stands, pulling the waistband of his shorts down, revealing teeth marks where one of Finn’s mates has left their mark.
Rolling his hips, he deliberately puts one leg on each side of Finn’s thighs.
It brings that perfect ass closer, until Finn feels his fangs drop a little with the urge to add to the bruise. Mark his mate as his.
Finn barely holds back, claws sinking into the arms of the chair, the wood groaning under his grip.
Because you’re mine…
The music loops, slipping into a second play through. Grayson lowers himself again, hands planted on the floor, legs spread wide. If he were naked, Finn would already be on his knees, tongue out, tasting the heat where his mate is always sweetest.
The bend flows into a roll—something between a somersault and a slow-motion offering. He ends on his back, body arched, head tipped back in something that looks like ecstasy. One hand drags red across his cheek, smearing his lipstick in a streak. He looks debauched in the best of ways.
Leo groans. “Holy fuck.” His phone wobbles in one hand, the other clearly working beneath his waistband.
Grayson doesn’t look at him. He’s crawling toward Finn now, all long limbs and lazy grace.
When he reaches the chair, Grayson runs his hands up the insides of Finn’s thighs—slow, like he’s savoring every inch—until he finds the heat trapped in Finn’s shorts. His claws drag over the length of Finn’s cock, finally catching at the zipper. A shiver jolts through him before it finally gives.
Thank the Goddess Jay hadn’t made him come during the first pitch. He’s so hard now it almost hurts, all that blood heavy and deep, throbbing with every rapid beat of his heart.
“So hard,” Grayson murmurs, almost amused. “Is this for little ole me?”
Finn opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out.
Grayson doesn’t seem to need one.
When he gets the zipper down, Finn’s cock is waiting to push free, slick at the tip.
“Mmm. So wet, too,” Grayson whispers, just loud enough to cut through the music. He drags a finger through the mess, then wipes it across his lips like gloss. Sucks it off slow, eyes on Finn the whole time.
“Yum.”
Then that wicked grin breaks across his face. His fingers pop the button of his own shorts, tugging the front open with a practiced flick.
It’s only now, with the shorts peeled open and Grayson straddling his lap, that Finn sees the entire chain.
One silver line wraps high around Grayson’s throat, another traces low across his belly, nestled in sweat-slick skin.
All attached to one beautiful glittering line that disappears into the open waistband of those shorts.
“Oh, Goddess…” The words slip out, low and reverent.
Grayson leans in, voice teasing against his ear. “Wanna see?”
Yes. Fuck, yes. Show me everything.
“Please,” Finn whispers, throat dry.