A Baby for the Boss

Turk takes a firm grip of my hand that translates to a deep twist in my tummy. Kissing my knuckles once, he walks me into the house where we are immediately surrounded by football players and music. Someone hands me a beer and I start to tell them I’m not twenty-one yet, but stop short of outing myself and take a long sip, grimacing over the taste. Thankfully, I don’t have to imbibe any further, thanks to so many of the players peppering me with questions, wanting to know how I recognized the correct strategy to win the game.

Is this really happening? They’re actually asking for my input?

Yes. They’re not intimidated or annoyed by what I’m saying—and that makes me wonder if I just came into contact with the wrong people too young. People who resented my brain instead of welcoming how it worked…and because of those reactions, I retreated into myself. Locked myself away.

Until this man came and turned the key. Let me out.

Made the world feel alive.

Encouraged me to be unafraid to make my voice heard.

Oh my God, I love him so much.

I look up at Turk and find him snarling at a member of the coaching staff for standing too close to me. His face softens when I squeeze his hand and lean into his side. “Not a fan of beer, huh, cutie?” he says gruffly, his nose moving in my hair.

“It’s fire water.” He laughs while I scrunch my nose. “It’s odd, though. I only took one sip and I already need the restroom.”

He nods. Takes a long gulp from his bottle. “Let’s go, then.”

A finger of lust tickles my belly, just knowing I’ll be alone with him soon.

I find myself being led through the animated throng of guests, up the stairs. Somehow Turk locates one of the bathrooms after only trying two doors and instead of waiting in the hallway, he guides me inside. Leaving the light off, he closes the door and presses me up against it, breathing hard against my mouth while wrenching my skirt down to my trembling knees, his thickness prominent between us. Impossible to ignore.

“You don’t really need to use the bathroom,” he says hoarsely. “Do you?”

“No,” I whisper, no longer surprised how easily he reads me.

And immediately I’m carried across the bathroom to the toilet. Turk sits down, using his foot to kick my skirt the rest of the way off and yanks me down onto his lap, his breathing shallow and out of control.

“I need to be inside of you again.” His mouth is flush to mine, his fingers yanking at the button and zipper of his pants, hips lifting—and then I’m being elevated quickly and brought down hard on his thickness, the raw length of it filling the entirety of me in one swift invasion and I scream into the wild kiss he initiates. At first I’m not even sure why I’m screaming. Because I’m surprised? Because it hurts? But…no, it’s none of those things. My body knows it before my brain. I’m screaming because I’m anxious. Turned on to the point of pain. My stiff nipples electrify a path down to my clitoris and I begin rutting Turk from above, my hoarse whines muffled against his sculpted mouth, my hips working furiously to drag his shaft in, out, inoutinoutinout, my butt held in the tight clutch of his huge hands.

“You never have to lie if you want to get me alone.” He says these words through his teeth, in between rushed breaths. “Just smile at me. That’s all it’ll take and I’ll be looking for the nearest closet. I’ll get you on this dick as fast as I can. Trust me.”

I’m riding him so hard and fast that my back teeth clack together. “You mean…in the future? I…I love you talking like that, Turk. Like there will be more of us.”

“Why?” He searches my eyes. “Tell me.”

How can I be anything but truthful when he is giving me a place to rub the most sensitive part of my body, encouraging me with his rolling hips and feverish eyes to be free and uninhibited? How can I lie to this person who reminded me in the space of twenty-four hours that I’m alive? “Because I don’t want to be alone ever again,” I whisper against his mouth. “Not after you showed me how good it feels to have you.” Needing to be as close as possible to him, I draw my shirt up over my head, drop it behind me, baring myself in more ways than one. “Stay. Please, stay?”

We slow the frantic mating of our bodies down and stare at each other, pelting one another’s mouth with halting breaths. “You mean that?”

Is that hope in his eyes? It’s hard to tell in the mostly dark bathroom, but I rely on instinct. On my gut. And I fling myself into the unknown with my trust in him as my only parachute. “Yes. I mean it. I don’t want to be without you.”