Baller's Baby: A Bad Boy Romance Read online

  “Stay with me, please?”

  I hate the way my voice breaks when I ask him to stay. I hate having to ask him at all. His shoulders drop forward, and he hangs his head for just a second before kicking off his shoes and pulling back the covers. His long, lean body sprawls on the bed next to me, and I take advantage of it, wrapping my leg around his and laying my head against his chest in the crease of his uninjured arm.

  “Talk to me,” I say.

  “What do you want me to say?” he asks, looking down at me.

  His hand is running up and down the length of my spine, and with each pass, my heartbeat accelerates even more. I’m trying to control the way his touch makes my body react, but it’s not working. Every time I’m around this man, I want him more than the last. If it wasn’t for the fact that the doctor said no sex, PERIOD, then I’d already be half-naked, and talking wouldn’t be on the agenda.

  “I don’t know. Tell me something. Tell me everything. What’s your favorite food, color, band?” I ask in a moment of desperation when his hand dips lower down my back and his finger trails across my hips. My aching core can’t take much more of this. I need to get his attention on something else, and now that I think about it, I don’t really know anything about him other than his love of basketball. I want to know more. I want to know everything.

  “Hmmm, let me see. My favorite food would probably be Granny’s fried pork chops, homemade mashed potatoes, fried okra, corn on the cob, and peach cobbler,” he says after thinking for a minute.

  “Oh my God, Kiptyn, that’s not a food. That’s a whole meal. Good Lord. Mmm, peach cobbler sounds so good right now, though.”

  “It's the best. I'll have to call her and see if she’ll make you one. I know you and my little man will love it.” His body goes rigid for a moment, and I wonder what he’s thinking, but then the moment passes and he’s back to rubbing circles along my back like nothing happened, so I let it go.

  “Does your Granny live around here?” I ask, because this is the first time he has mentioned any family other than Camryn to me. I’m curious to know who all he has. Will I ever get the chance to meet them?

  “You can meet them anytime you want, baby. Mostly, I just keep in contact with my Granny and Cousin Bo. My mom and dad were both killed in a car accident when I was nine, so I lived with my Granny after that. I didn’t think you would want to with the situation, but I’d be honored to introduce you to them. I have no doubt that they will all love you.”

  It takes me longer than I’d like to admit to realize that I spoke my earlier thoughts out loud and he was answering them, and then I feel my face blush with embarrassment. I can’t believe I just invited myself to meet his family. Who does that?

  “Thank you, Kip. I’d love that.” I crane my neck back and kiss him on the jaw. The coarse grain of his five o’clock shadow tickles my lips. I love it.

  “Your turn. What’s your favorite food?” he asks.

  “See food,” I say, straight faced.

  “Sea food?” he asks.

  “Yep, I see food, and I eat it.” My stomach growls at that moment, and we both burst out laughing.

  “Looks like someone is hungry right now,” he says when he’s able to contain his laughter. I just nod my head, unable to speak yet.

  “Do you want something quick and easy like a hot pocket, or are you ready for dinner?”

  “Dinner?” I don’t know why I say it as a question, but that’s how it comes out. He just shakes his head at me and climbs from the bed.

  “Do you want a snack to hold you over until it’s ready? I can grab you some strawberries or grapes.”

  I shake my head no. “I can wait. Thank you though.”

  I roll onto his side of the bed and curl around the pillow he was just using. He was only lying on it for twenty minutes at the most, but I can still smell his scent all over it. I inhale deeply and hold it in, savoring it. He leans down with one leg still on the bed and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear before laying his lips against mine. I don’t think he planned on giving me more than a simple peck, but the moment his lips touch mine, sparks erupt between us.

  Instinctively, I run my fingers through his hair, pulling him in closer. I open my mouth beneath his, and my tongue darts inside his warm mouth, playing tag with his own. My free hand traces the muscles along his biceps up to his shoulder, and then down his chest to his abdomen. When I reach his hips, his body becomes rigid and I freeze.

  "I know what you're thinking, and I promise I'm not trying to seduce you. It just feels nice to have you close to me."

  "You are such a terrible liar," he replies with a laugh. "I know you. I know how your breath hitches when I get close. I know how your cheeks flush as you undress me with your eyes, and I know without a doubt the way your heart races when I kiss you. You want me, Skila Parker, as much as I want you, but we’re both out of luck."

  I can only imagine the look on my face in this moment. I can't think of anything to say. Not even sarcasm can save me. Hell must have frozen over. I open my mouth to speak several times, only to close it again. He smiles a stupid smile and bites his top lip. His breath is just as ragged as my own right now, and judging by the erection in his tight pants, I think he wants this just as much as I do, but we both know it can’t happen. Not right now.

  "Stop that shit. Don’t be an asshole,” I say, and he laughs loudly, pressing his forehead to mine.

  "You, my dear, are turning red. Did I hit the nail on the head or what? Don't be hatin’."

  "Oh, there's no hating going on. Maybe resisting the urge to throat punch you, but no hate," I whisper, trying to keep my tone serious.

  His laughter is contagious, and before I even realize it, I'm laughing too. "Asshole."

  "Nah, if I were an asshole, I wouldn't be here right now, would I?"

  "No, I guess you wouldn't." A smile slowly creeps across his face as he leans down and rests his head on my swollen belly.

  "Damn, woman. You really are hungry." About that time, he sits up in a flash.

  "Holy shit. Little man just tried to go all ninja on me. Seriously, he just kicked me in the head."

  I smile and shake my head. The laughter building in my chest is almost painful.

  "Ninja baby? You know what? I think I like that." Kip smiles and traces circles over my now exposed belly.

  I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation. "Don't stop that . . . ever."

  Kip pauses for a moment, laying his hand flat on my belly, feeling the baby kick against his palm. He’s very active this afternoon, and I can tell Kip loves every minute of it.

  "We've definitely got to get this one into sports."

  "Of course. He’s gonna play basketball, just like his daddy," I say without thinking.

  In my heart, Kiptyn is the baby’s daddy—unless he’s changed his mind. He lifts his head and searches my eyes with his bright blue ones, searching the depths of my soul, it seems, and then he leans down and kisses me again.

  This time, my breath is hitching and my toes are curling. If he would just reach down and touch me, I'm sure I’d melt on the spot. All it would take is one touch, just one. I will him to touch me, wiggling beneath him while his mouth devours mine, but his hands never leave the side of my face. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to alleviate some of the pressure building there, but nothing helps, and then, without warning, Kip pulls away, kisses my forehead, and walks out of the room, leaving me in a complete state of helpless arousal.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Kiptyn

  Leaving her panting like she had just run a five-mile marathon probably wasn’t the best move, but fuck, if I stayed in that room with her one more minute while she clung to the front of my shirt and kissed every part of my soul, then I wouldn’t have been able to keep from making love to her, and the doctor had been adamant about not having sex. The last thing I want to do is hurt her or the baby, so I pull away from her and flee the room like the coward that I am.

  Wh
at she said about the baby being a basketball player hit me square in the heart. If there’s one thing I know for certain about Skila, it’s that she isn’t a vindictive or mean person.

  I may not know her favorite color or food—something I realized and plan to rectify as soon as possible—but I do know her character. She would never have said something like that to me just to hurt me, which means that she does still want me to be a part of her and the baby’s life. She still wants me to be the father.

  Hearing those words come from her lifted a weight off my chest that I didn’t even know I was carrying. We still have a lot of stuff we need to sort out, but knowing she wants to do it together leaves me with a sense of hope I didn’t have earlier. Things are already looking up.

  Grabbing the skillet from under the cabinet, I place it on the stove and turn to grab the chicken from the refrigerator. A buzzing on the counter interrupts me. Swiping my phone from the bowl on the island, I answer the call.

  “Sup, man?”

  “Yo bro, what’s up?” You home?” Chris asks.

  “Yeah, why? What’s up?” I ask.

  “Not shit. You wanna get out for a while tonight? I’ve got a house full and too many to please on my own, bro.” He laughs into the phone. I hear the music in the background and someone yelling his name from somewhere else in the house.

  “Nah, bro. I’m good,” I say. The thought of touching another woman makes my stomach turn like I swallowed month-old soured milk.

  “Damn. Are you kidding me? That chick still got you strapped down?” he asks.

  “Fuck off, Chris.” There’s no heat behind my words, but he gets the meaning. Skila is and has always been off limits. He knows that. Nothing has changed.

  “All right, bro. If you change your mind, hit me up.”

  “Yep,” I say and hang up without another word. It bothers me that he keeps inviting me to do this shit with him. I’ve told him over and over again that I don’t want any part of it, yet every time he’s out, he calls me up. It’s almost like he doesn’t want me to settle down and be happy.

  Last night is a perfect case in point. If I had called Jordan then, he would have brought my ass home where I belonged and dropped me off with a six-pack. Not Chris. He took me to a fucking strip club and then let me leave wasted with his fucking keys. Who fucking does that to a friend?

  Opening the chicken breast filets, I lay them in a glass dish to marinate while I get the other ingredients together. I'm making Sky my famous chicken fettuccine alfredo with sundried tomatoes. I know she’ll love it. Hell, she loves everything. I hear a whimper come from down the hall where Sky is, and my heart stops for a second before speeding up and leaping out of my chest. If she’s in pain, any pain…

  I race down the hall and slide to a stop outside the bedroom door of the master suite. I hear a low moan, followed by a breathy exhale of my name.

  “Kiptyn.”

  She moans into the still room. Peeking in through the crack of the barely opened door, I see the sheet shift and her bare leg sprawled across the bed. I push the door as easily as I can and hold my breath as it glides open a hair more. I can see more of her now.

  The silky soft sheet is bunched around her waist and dips across her hip to cover one leg, leaving the other completely bare. I watch as she takes one of her breasts in her hands and squeezes it before pulling on the taut nipple. Her eyes are closed, and her head is tossed to the side. She is so fucking beautiful. I could stand here and watch her for days.

  Her other hand is tracing feather light touches across her clit. My cock is hard as a rock just watching her. I want to replace her hand with my own and take over, but something about this is so intimate, so provocative that I can't move. I can only look.

  She dips lower, raising her leg when she does so, and slowly slides one finger into her glistening pussy lips. Another moan escapes her beautiful lips, this one deeper, more like a growl of pleasure. She slips back out and rubs the wetness across her most sensitive spot again. Her legs twitch, and my breath hitches in my throat. I want to be the one to make her twitch and scream with pleasure.

  Her hand freezes, and when I look back up, her chocolate eyes meet mine. She looks shocked and ashamed to be caught doing something so beautiful and natural. I hate it.

  “Don't stop.”

  My voice sounds strange to my own ears, rough and ragged. She hesitates, unsure. I lean against the door frame and pull my hard, swollen cock free from the confines of my jeans. Taking it in my hand, I stroke it slowly from the base to the tip and back again. My balls are tight as fuck. I want to be buried inside of her, but the sight of her growing baby bump reminds me exactly why I can’t.

  “Touch yourself, Skila.”

  She holds my gaze for another moment before her fingers trace across her stomach, rubbing light circles on the stretched skin. Her hand wanders up and across one breast, to the other and back again, teasing. Her nipples harden. She’s still watching me, or rather, watching my hand, as I slide it up and down the length of my dick. She licks her lips, and my cock jumps in my hand.

  “Touch your clit for me.”

  Her hand slides down her stomach to the crease at the top of her thigh and then darts over to the top of her pussy, where her hand rests lightly on top of her clit.

  “Rub it. Use two fingers.”

  She obeys immediately, and the sight of her doing exactly what I tell her to do is empowering. I start to pump a little faster, up and down on my cock, only slowing to rub the moisture beading at the head around the tip. She hasn’t quit circling her clit. Her head is thrown back and to the side again, and her breath is labored. My hips thrust out as I stroke over and over.

  “Slide one finger in.”

  Fuck. I watch as her middle finger slides inside of her. She takes her time, enjoying the tortuous journey. When she pulls it back out, her finger is coated in her wetness. She slides it back in and out, over and over again, each time grinding her palm against her clit when she’s as deep as she can get. Her skin is flushed, and I can see the sheen of sweat coating her brow.

  “Two,” I say, and this time when she slides out, she reenters with her ring finger too. Her hips rise off the bed, and she calls out my name.

  “Look at me, baby,” I demand.

  Her eyes meet mine, and I pump my cock faster and faster as she slides in and out of her slick folds. I feel my balls tighten. My legs are shaking, weak as fuck from standing here while I jack off, but I refuse to look away from the beautiful midnight goddess before me.

  I feel my orgasm start at the base of my cock. My long, slow strokes are now short bursts of rapid movements. Skila’s hips are raised off the bed, spread wide for me. I can see every single move she makes, every time she slides her long fingers in, and when she wiggles them upward to touch that spot that feels just right for her. Her eyes widen, and her mouth forms a silent “O” right as my seed shoots out the tip of my cock, and I slump, exhausted, against the door frame.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Skila

  I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT JUST HAPPENED. Who does that? This isn’t some E.L. James novel. I didn’t sign a contract, and yet . . . I’ve never felt freer, more liberated, more open in my own sexuality, and let's be real here—there weren’t any whips or chains. We masturbated together while the other watched, and it was hot.

  Hot as fuck.

  I refuse to feel ashamed of that. I’m a grown ass woman. If I want to experiment, then I can. Period.

  Kiptyn walks out of the adjoining bathroom with a warm washcloth and wipes the sticky moisture from between my legs before tossing the rag to the laundry basket in the corner and crawling in the bed with me.

  “Well, I was going to cook dinner, but how do you feel about pizza instead?” he asks.

  “Pizza sounds great,” I say with a laugh, thankful that he isn't even going to bring up what just happened.

  “Do you want to rent a movie while I order?” he asks, passing me the TV remote. I scroll through
the options on the ON DEMAND page and settle on Pawn Sacrifice. It looks good and intriguing, and I’ve already seen the rest of the stuff. I click buy and then wait for Kip. He comes back into the bedroom ten minutes later, carrying a large pizza and two glass bottles of Coke. My stomach shows its displeasure at being made to wait by letting out a loud growl.

  “Oh my God, feed your son before he eats me from the inside out,” I joke.

  “We can't have that.” He places the box in the middle of the bed and passes me a napkin. I don’t waste any time in devouring the first slice. It feels like I haven’t eaten in days. Kiptyn just leans back against the pillows, watching me shove pizza down my throat. I don't bother chewing. What's the point?

  “Hey, don't judge me. I’m eating for two here,” I say when I take a second to breathe and sip my soda.

  “I wouldn't dare. I’m just wondering if I need to call Dominos and have them bring another ten or so pizzas.”

  “Shut up,” I say, slapping at his bare stomach. Even though he is joking with me, I know he doesn't mean a word of it. Kiptyn goes out of his way every day to make sure I know how beautiful he thinks I am, so even though I have marinara sauce on my face and dripping down my chin, I know he still sees perfection. I can see it in the way he looks at me, the way his eyes light up, and the tiny dimple that appears when he gives that half-ass grin without even knowing it—like he’s doing right now.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Nothing. How’s your arm feeling?”

  “It's all right. I took my pain medicine a few minutes ago, so it should ease up soon.” His words make me feel like shit. I hadn’t even been thinking about his shoulder. I just wanted to change the subject. I know it has to be hurting him. He was supposed to start physical therapy today, but after everything else that happened, it kind of got pushed aside.

  “Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to rub it?”