“Do I get to pick which—”
“Shirt.”
I narrowed my eyes, grabbed the hem, and tugged the material over my head in one motion. Bennett’s gaze darkened instantly, tracking the movement, like he was memorizing it.
“Damn,” he muttered under his breath.
He threw the fourth one right down the middle, and I crushed it, a sharp line drive straight over his head.
“Your turn,” I said, voice a little breathier than I intended.
He didn’t hesitate. Off came his shirt, revealing the lean, sculpted lines I’d only gotten glimpses of before. Broad chest, defined abs, and that tantalizing trail of hair that disappeared into his waistband.
He tossed the shirt aside and rolled another ball over in his hand, completely unbothered by the fact that we were both now topless in an empty baseball stadium.
We kept going like that—pitch, swing, strip. I lost both of my socks, because I refused to go barefoot in the dirt, and he added his hat, headband—which really shouldn’t have counted—and track pants to the growingpile beside the mound.
By the time the clouds started rolling in heavier, he was down to his green boxer briefs and socks. He lobbed another pitch, slower this time, eyes locked on mine. I swung and tipped it weakly.
Another foul.
“Pants off, Arabella” he said, voice low and rough.
I laughed, breathless, hands on my hips. “I don’t know. I still have a scrunchie in my hair.”
“Thank God,” he admitted, gaze dragging over the light sheen of sweat darkening my sports bra and my exposed skin flushed from exertion and . . . something else entirely. “Because once your bra comes off, I’m not sure I’ll remember how to throw straight.”
The air between us crackled, thick with heat despite the cooling breeze. A raindrop hit my shoulder, then another.
Bennett glanced up at the darkening sky. “Shit.”
“You’re not afraid of a little rain, are you?”
The clouds opened without warning, cold rain dumping down in sheets.
He grabbed my hand. “You win. Now let’s get out of here.”
We sprinted, laughing and slipping on wet grass as we gathered up our abandoned clothing in our haste. By the time we burst through the clubhouse doors, we were soaked through, shivering, and completely alone.
He steered me toward the team’s shower suite, flicking on the light. “You get warm. I’ll grab us some towels and—”
I caught his wrist before he could leave, heart hammering louder than the rain on the roof. My fingers went to the hem of my sports bra, peeling it off in one fluid motion. His sharp inhale echoed off the tile.
The leggings went next, along with my panties. I kicked them aside with my shoes until finally, I stood bare beneath the fluorescent lights.
Bennett’s eyes raked over me, dark and hungry.
“Your turn,” I said, voice steady despite the butterflies rioting in my stomach.
He discarded his underwear and socks before I could finish catching my breath.
Holy shit, that’s a penis.
A very large, uncut penis.
I stared openly, unapologetically, because how could I not? It was right there, thick and half-hard already, curving slightly upward with that smooth head peeking from the uncut foreskin.
“Wow,” I blurted before my brain caught up. “It’s bigger than I expected.”
