Chapter Ten
Iwake up pressed against a furnace. It takes my sleep-fogged brain a second to catch up and remember I’m in Aiden’s bed, wrapped in his blanket and caged by his arms. He has me tucked up tight against his chest, one of his muscular legs thrown over my hips to keep me pinned in place.
I’m so warm I’m basically melting into the mattress.
It’s comfortable in a dangerous way, like I could easily get used to waking up like this every day.
Aiden shifts behind me, a low, rumbling groan vibrating through his chest. He drags his face along the back of my neck, the morning stubble on his jaw scratching my skin. He buries his nose just below my ear and inhales, breathing me in as if trying to memorize my scent.
It tickles. A laugh bubbles up out of my throat, and I try to wiggle away, pushing back against his chest with my elbows.
“Get off,” I mumble, voice scratchy with sleep.
“No,” Aiden grumbles. He tightens his hold around my waist and rolls his hips, flipping us in one smooth motion so I’m pressed face-down into the pillows and he’s sprawled on top of me.
He’s made completely of solid muscle, covering my back.
He shifts his weight, slotting himself between my thighs.
My breath hitches as a rock-hard cock presses into the cleft of my bare ass.
He grinds down, dragging his morning wood over my hole in a slow, agonizing slide that makes my stomach swoop.
My pulse kicks up. This is my job now, my role in this arrangement.
I’m supposed to be pliant, submissive. I don’t fight it.
I let my muscles go lax, sinking into the sheets, spreading my knees a little wider to give him better access.
I bite my lip, waiting for his hands to spread my cheeks, waiting for the slick of lube or spit before he pushes inside me again.
I want him to. My own cock stirs against the mattress, leaking pre-cum as I brace for the stretch of taking him.
Instead, a blaring, obnoxious alarm tone goes off somewhere near my head.
Aiden groans loudly, cursing against my shoulder. He reaches blindly over me, his hand flailing on the nightstand until he smacks his phone screen to silence the noise. The sudden quiet leaves my ears ringing.
Aiden doesn’t get off me, but the sexual tension snaps. He rests his chin on my shoulder blade and sighs, blowing a warm puff of air across my skin.
“What’re you doing today?” he asks, his voice deep and rough from sleep.
I turn my head on the pillow so I can look back at him. “Not much. Hanging around the apartment, I guess. None of those places I applied to have called me back yet, so I’m just waiting around.”
Aiden frowns. His brows pull together as he traces a lazy circle over my hip bone with his thumb. “Don’t sit around here by yourself all day. Come to work with me.”
My eyes widen. “To the facility? Really?”
“Yeah,” he says, a slow smile curving his mouth. “You like baseball, don’t you? Come hang out in the dugout, watch me yell at some minor league guys who don’t know how to swing a bat without popping out.”
“I’d love that,” I say eagerly, probably a little too enthusiastically, but I don’t care. Getting out of the apartment and actually seeing something cool sounds incredible. I haven’t been to a batting cage since I was a teenager.
“Good.” Aiden gives my bare ass a sharp smack that stings deliciously. “Go get in the shower then.”
He rolls off me, taking all that glorious heat with him. I shiver in the cool air of the bedroom, pushing myself up onto my hands and knees. The loss of contact leaves a chill on my skin.
“You’re not coming in with me?” I ask, shooting him a teasing look over my shoulder.
Aiden sits up and scrubs a hand through his messy black hair. His brown eyes drop to my ass and then travel down to the hard cock swinging between my thighs. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he stares.
“If I get in that shower with you, we’re not coming out for another hour, and I’ve got a morning practice to run. Go. By yourself. Wash your hair and get dressed before I change my mind and bend you over that vanity.”
I laugh and scramble off the bed. I dash for the bathroom, my heart doing a stupid, happy little flip in my chest. This arrangement is wild and I’m definitely in over my head, but as the warm water turns on, I can’t help the grin taking over my face. I’m really having fun.
We ride the elevator down to the underground parking garage, my hair still damp from the shower. Aiden walks a few paces ahead of me, twirling a set of keys around his index finger. We weave through rows of boring silver sedans and sensible SUVs until he hits the unlock button on his fob.
Fifty feet away, the headlights of a red and black Camaro flash to life.
My jaw drops. I stop walking, staring at the low-slung, aerodynamic body of the car like it’s a mirage. “You’re kidding me.”
Aiden glances back over his shoulder, a smug, brilliant grin spreading across his face. “What? You don’t like her?”
“Are you insane?” I jog to catch up, running a hand reverently over the sleek black racing stripe on the hood. “This belongs on a racetrack, man. I didn’t picture you driving something like this.”
“Ryker complains every time he has to ride in it because it’s too loud,” Aiden says, pulling the driver’s side door open. “But I need something with a little kick. Get in.”
I sink into the passenger seat, buckling up. The leather hugs my sides, smelling like expensive car care products and Aiden’s body wash. He fires up the ignition and the engine purrs, a throaty, guttural rumble that vibrates up through the soles of my sneakers.
He hits a button to roll down the windows, cranks the stereo up until the bass rattles my ribs, and puts it in gear.
We launch out of the parking garage like a rocket.
The tires squeal as Aiden takes the corner onto the street, gunning the gas.
The acceleration pins me back against the seat and a breathless, exhilarated whoop tears out of my throat.
Aiden laughs, shouting over the blaring hip-hop track, steering with one hand on the wheel while the wind whips through the open cabin.
I hang my arm out the window, grinning like an idiot as the Seattle skyline blurs past us. I just feel alive.
The baseball facility is a sprawling complex on the outskirts of the city, complete with outdoor fields, indoor training cages, and rows of pristine turf.
We grab a couple of giant canvas bags loaded with bats, helmets, and practice balls from the trunk.
I lug one over my shoulder, following Aiden through the chain-link gates and into the dugouts.
It smells like fresh-cut grass, chalk, and sweat. A bunch of guys in athletic gear are already stretching on the turf, tossing baseballs back and forth. They look around my age, maybe a little older, all built and athletic. They shout greetings as we walk up.
“Morning, coach,” a tall guy with a catcher’s mitt calls out.
“Morning, Miller,” Aiden replies. He drops his bag on the bench and gestures to me. “This is Jax. He’s shadowing me today. Put him to work if you need an extra set of hands.”
I get a chorus of head nods and casual handshakes. It’s an easy, comfortable environment, reminding me of the intramural leagues I used to play back home. I take a seat on an overturned plastic bucket near the batting cages and settle in to watch.
It doesn’t take long for me to realize that Coach Aiden is a very different guy from the Aiden at home.
The playful, teasing guy from the apartment disappears the second he steps into the cage with his players.
He puts on a pair of dark sunglasses and a backwards cap, his posture shifting. He’s focused, sharp, missing nothing.
I watch him correct a batter’s stance, his voice carrying authority. “You’re dropping your shoulder on the follow-through,” Aiden tells the batter, stepping in to demonstrate the swing himself. “Keep your hands inside the ball. Drive it up the middle. Again.”
The players hang on his every word. Nobody talks back. They just nod and adjust. It’s fascinating. Seeing him in his element, commanding respect without having to raise his voice, makes my stomach weird and fluttery. He’s good at what he does, and watching him work is undeniably hot.
Around noon, the practice hits a lull. The guys break off into groups to grab water and sit in the shade of the dugout. Aiden stands by the pitching machine, wiping a layer of sweat off his forehead with the collar of his t-shirt. He catches me watching him and waves me over.
I jog over to the cage. “What’s up?”
“Grab a bat,” Aiden says, nodding toward the rack. “Let’s see what you got.”
“Oh, no, I haven’t played since high school,” I say, laughing nervously and rubbing the back of my neck. “I’m gonna embarrass myself.”
“Nobody cares. Come on, humor me.” He gives me a warm, persuasive smile, one that makes it impossible to say no.
I grab an aluminum bat from the rack, testing its weight in my hands, and step up to the plate. I try to fall into a natural stance, knocking the end of the bat against the rubber plate and pulling it back over my shoulder.
Aiden walks up behind me. He steps into my space, his chest brushing my back. I suck in a breath as his hands settle on my waist.
“You’re too stiff,” Aiden murmurs, his voice low so that the guys by the dugout can’t hear him. He grips my hips, physically rotating my pelvis a few inches to the left. “Square up. Bend your knees.”
His palms slide up my sides to adjust my posture. He reaches down my arms, covering my hands on the grip of the bat. “Choke up a little. Loosen your grip. You’re squeezing the life out of it.”
My pulse hammers in my throat. The physical contact is supposed to be coaching, but knowing what those hands were doing to me last night makes the friction of his palms against my skin electric. He nudges my front foot with his toe, widening my stance, then steps back.
“Alright. Keep your eye on the release.”