Bad Boy's Baby

by Frost, Sosie

  I rinsed off in his expensive, beautiful shower with more soaps and oils, dials and temperature settings than a man like Jack Carson ever needed. The spa tub looked comfortable though. A good soaking tub was a quarterback’s best friend on Monday mornings. Also, a bottle of aspirin. And, of course, I remembered Jack telling me he often added a blow-job to his recommended prescriptions.

  It shouldn’t have tingled me to think that maybe I’d be the one giving him that small comfort after a hard game.

  I had nothing to wear, so I stole one of his shirts, the first thing my fingers brushed from the drawer. Of course it was a jersey. Wearing it would only boost his ego, but after last night? Maybe he deserved that swagger.

  The jersey was long enough to cover my behind. The black and crimson stripes looked better on him, but at least it’d shield most of my nudity from the man.

  Not like I wasn’t seared into his memory by now.

  He’d be forever in my mind.

  I tip-toed into the kitchen. He flipped pancakes and crisped bacon, bare-chested. It was as good an image as last night’s tensing muscles and dark tattoos cradling my body. I slipped onto a stool at the kitchen island, marveling at the brand new stove top, counters, and appliances that lined a professional grade kitchen.

  Jack was planning to say something smart. He glanced once over the jersey and his grin turned wicked.

  “Holy fuck, Kiss, you have no idea how bad I wanna fuck you while you wear that.”

  I tugged at the material, feigning disinterest with the name of his league rival. “I was looking for a Tim Morgan jersey, but I figured yours would do.”

  Teasing him didn’t have the intended consequence. His cock hardened, tenting his boxers. The spatula cast onto the counter, and he leapt at me, forcing me into a kiss.

  Everything inside of me melted, but I wasn’t ready to lose myself into that reckless, consuming passion again.

  We probably needed to talk.

  I thought so.

  Maybe?

  What was left to talk about? We agreed to make a baby. We had sex. Now the bacon was burning.

  I slipped from his arms to take his post in front of the stove, my bare feet chilled on the cold tile. It was the only part of me cold. Everywhere else burned like I struck myself with the grease.

  I flipped the pancakes as Jack’s hands wove over my hips. The heat turned to an inferno, and I whimpered as his lips brushed against my neck. He had bitten there last night. Now his mouth grazed over the sensitive little bruises and nips. Apologizing. Re-energizing. Seducing me all over again.

  I had no idea what to say to him, or how to even begin when my words dissolved into a sensual purr. I whispered his name. His grip tightened on me.

  “Did you have fun last night?” His whisper ached my core.

  His thick arms circled me, holding me, pinning me against the solid strength of his flexing, bare chest. It was almost too much. My mouth dried. I nodded instead.

  “Do you regret it?”

  I licked my lips, wishing he’d kiss me instead of making me talk.

  “Absolutely not,” I said.

  I heard Jack’s grin through his words, muffled in the sensitive hollow of my throat. “Did I hurt you?”

  “Hurt me?”

  “I took you harder than I planned.” He switched off the stove and lifted me up, setting me on the counter if only so he could move between my legs again. His blue-eyes flashed, mischievous, the gaze of a rogue looking to steal what he had already taken. “You turned me into an animal, Kiss. Couldn’t contain myself.”

  “I survived.”

  “Wish I had. Can’t stop thinking about you. If you knew how hard I was…”

  I knew very well how hard he was. I felt it pressing against me. I arched an eyebrow.

  “You still want more?” I asked. “Even after all of last night?”

  “Fuck yeah, I do.” Jack’s fingers grazed my bare leg, tickling up to the hem of the jersey. “Tell me that wasn’t the best sex of your life.”

  “Aren’t you a little smug?”

  “I deserve to be. I rocked your world.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Good Lord, Jack. You think everyone’s world revolves around you.”

  “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you aren’t still weak in the knees and wetter than hell because of me.”

  He knew the answer to that. I looked down, but my gaze fell only to the definition of his broad chest. The man was pure muscle, absolutely rock hard in every place his body had laid over mine.

  “You’re not wrong.” I wasn’t afraid to be honest with him. “I’ve never had a night like that. Never had anything like that before.”

  Jack frowned. “Not even with your ex?”

  “Especially not with Wyatt.”

  “What about before him?”

  Tricky, dangerous territory. “There…wasn’t anyone before him.”

  Jack took a step back. “You only had sex with one guy before me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  I didn’t think he’d understand. “Because I had a plan. Wyatt and I dated in college, we were getting married. I plotted out the kids and the jobs and everything. It was going to work. I prepared for a perfect life, everything I ever wanted.”

  Jack’s expression darkened. “Then he cheated on you.”

  My stomach flipped. I still wasn’t over that pain, even after a year. “Yeah. He…wanted a bit of freedom. He didn’t like the plan anymore, and, instead of telling me, he decided to sleep with my best friend. They…they got married after she realized she was pregnant.”

  “Sorry, Kiss.”

  “It’s fine. I thought I could just…power through it. I’d take what I wanted anyway. I haven’t really trusted anyone since then.”

  He nodded. “Makes it hard to get married and have all those kids, doesn’t it?”

  I shifted, my fingers clenching the counter. “I had a plan for that too.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  “I was…getting information on sperm donors.”

  Jack laughed. “Are you serious?”

  “It probably sounds crazy, but I’ve always known what I wanted from life. I …figured I could do it without the marriage and husband.”

  “Then I won’t feel so guilty for wanting to impregnate you.” Jack meant it as a joke, but I heard the desire in his words. “This arrangement worked out good for you.”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  Jack glanced over the jersey, my soft legs. I swear he saw right through the material to my bare flesh beneath. “I’ll take care of everything with this baby, Kiss.”

  “I doubt that, but thanks.”

  “I’m serious. I can handle the midnight feedings. Diaper runs. All that stuff.”

  “Do you know the first thing about babies?”

  “Not at all, but I can learn.”

  I reached for a strip of bacon, nibbling on the end. Jack stared at my lips.

  “Do you like kids?” I asked.

  “Hell yeah.” Jack tucked three strips of bacon into a folded pancake and dipped the improvised breakfast taco into syrup. He took a big bite and looked surprised when I gave him a skeptical smirk. “Of course I like kids. They’re great. They like fun. They don’t have any expectations or responsibilities. They like to have a good time. So do I.”

  “I figured as much.”

  Jack swallowed, his smile fading. “My kid will have all the fun there is in life. All of it. The amusement parks and toys and vacations and everything. They’ll have it all, because not every kid gets a chance to do something as simple as throw a ball with their dad.”

  I lowered the bacon. Jack’s eyes weren’t on me anymore. He focused only on a memory I don’t think he shared with anyone. It all started to make sense.

  He gave money directly to McGrin Regional Hospital. The pediatric ward.

  He didn’t want anyone to know about the donation.

  There was a reason for it.


  “Jack…” I drew his attention to me. “Why were you at McGrin Regional?”

  He pushed from the counter. My body chilled without him between my legs. It only flickered, but already I missed his smile.

  “My little brother died when he was nine,” Jack said.

  Oh. My breath escaped in a mournful gasp. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Leukemia. I was seventeen when it happened.”

  My heart shattered for him. Jack tossed the rest of his breakfast away. His hand trembled, and he curled it into a fist. He glanced at me, jaw tight.

  “He was one hell of an athlete. Or would have been.”

  “Is everyone in your family athletic?”

  “Nah. He was better than me. Did things when he was a kid I couldn’t do. If he hadn’t gotten sick, he could have done anything. Football, soccer, baseball. The fucking Olympics.”

  “It sounds like you really loved him.”

  Jack swallowed. “Yeah. He idolized me for some stupid reason. He loved going to my high school games. He cheered for me louder than my mom.” He paused, and I realized it was probably the first time he was telling anyone about this. “When he got too sick to come to the games, I brought in the recording, and we watched it together. The last time he smiled was while we watched a recording of the semi-finals. I forgot the snap count and ate a sack on the goal line. He rewound that play so many damn times I got pissed and broke the DVD. He thought it was hilarious.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Sam.”

  Jack paced the kitchen. I hated how painful it was for him, but he was telling me anyway. That was a gift, a revelation I doubted he trusted many to know.

  “Sam deserved a better life than that. I watched this little kid just…waste away.” He paused, a long moment while he remembered more than I felt right asking to hear. “The doctors did good though. They tried everything, and he was always taken care of. So I, uh…” He shrugged. “I figure I can give something back to the wing in his memory.”

  Was it okay to hug him? I pulled him close, tugging his hand, returning him to my side. “I didn’t know you had a little brother.”

  “I don’t tell many people.”

  “We could share the story. Let them see you donate. It’d help your—”

  “I don’t care about my image. That’s personal. He was my little brother. I’m not exploiting his memory.”

  I squeezed his hand. “It’s not exploiting. You’re in the spotlight, Jack. It comes with the territory. People need to see that other side of you.”

  “Why?”

  “Just the way it is. You’re a public figure.”

  “I never asked to be a role-model.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “And if this works? If we have a baby?”

  Jack stilled. He studied my body. “It will work.”

  “You’ll have to be a role-model for your son.”

  “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  “Because he’ll be my son.”

  I didn’t expect such conviction. Jack held my gaze, edging close to me.

  “Or she’ll be my daughter,” he said. “I’ll owe my kid everything, but I don’t owe the world some bullshit lie. I’m Jack Carson. I’m no fucking saint. What I do on my nights off, who I go out with, what I do, who I take home…that’s my business. I’m not going to let the league tame me because they think my reputation has anything to do with how well I play football.”

  “You can’t party forever, Jack. You have to grow up someday.”

  “And you can’t schedule your life down to the minute and hope that nothing knocks you off course.” He winked, brushing a hand over my belly. “Or hope that someone knocks you up.”

  I poked his chest, but my hand tickled over the thick muscles of his pecs. “You better take this seriously, Jack.”

  “I’m a serious as I get right now.” His grin charmed me even when I thought I could resist it the most. “Think it’s too early to take a pregnancy test?”

  I laughed. “Oh, you don’t know anything about the female body, do you?”

  “I know my way around it. No one’s complained yet.”

  “It’s too early to take a test.”

  Jack’s gaze hardened over me. He gripped the hem of the jersey and tugged it up, revealing my crossed legs. A firm hand to my knee pushed my thighs open, and he stared at my puffy slit, already slickening under his gaze.

  His voice was a heated, feral rumble. “Is it too late to keep trying to make a baby?”

  I shuddered as he leaned close, capturing my mouth and running a confident finger over my pussy. One little flick, and my body rocked with a dangerous pleasure.

  “We could probably…” I sucked in a breath as he circled my clit, but his hand immediately dropped to free himself from his shorts. I met his gaze. “Increase our odds…”

  His cock was hard, hot, and more than ready to try again. I gasped as the thick head pushed inside my core, still swollen and raw from the fucking last night. His growl warned me before he shoved every last inch within me. I groaned, grasping his shoulders, holding tight as he began to move.

  I wrapped my legs over his waist and commanded his kiss. Jack wasn’t a man who’d deny me. I melted against his lips and savored the feel of his body against mine.

  Hot.

  Strong.

  Close.

  Every movement explored my body and demanded my pleasure and stole from me the last defenses I cast for Jack. I could hide nothing from him while his cock stretched me and tormented me and delighted me. I never imagined experiencing such a passionate intimacy with him.

  I never thought I’d enjoy it so much.

  That I’d need it so much.

  That I’d love it so much.

  I came quickly for him, trembling against my own sudden realizations.

  It would be far too easy to fall for Jack Carson, to want the untamable and risk breaking my heart for the arrogant trouble-maker.

  I’d have to be careful I only gave him my body.

  I couldn’t risk giving him my heart.

  Chapter Twelve – Jack

  The team cheered as I dropped back, let loose, and threw a bomb that hit our receiver mid-stride for a sixty yard completion.

  Had it not been training camp—had we actually strapped on our pads and gone to work at a real game—it would have broken my personal record.

  Just gave me something to aim for this season. It was a good pass. It felt good. It looked good for the screaming fans and press attending our training camp.

  I could feel it. This was going to be my season.

  My year.

  My championship.

  Bryon finished his stretches and hooted at me. “Baby, you kicked it up a notch this offseason.”

  “Fuckin’ know it.” I took the bottle from the trainer but dosed myself with the cool water. Goddamned August was killing me, and it was only the first week of camp. “Just a preview of what’s coming, gentlemen.”

  Bryon revved the team up. “Watch out!”

  “Better start working up new nicknames. Play-Maker’s gonna become the stuff of dreams.”

  The guys laughed. Bryon mocked me, hands in the air. “Preach it, Jack.”

  “I’m the baddest motherfucker on this field. You best be calling your mommas on Monday. Ain’t no one rocking you to sleep Sunday night after you get fucked by me.”

  The team cheered, my offensive linemen heralding the charge with another blitz of profanity. My back-up nudged me.

  “Dude, there’s kids over there.” Matt wasn’t a stick in the mud, he was all the dirt in the damn pile. “Better watch your language.”

  “Jesus Christ, it’s a practice. Like they haven’t heard this shit before—”

  Coach Thompson’s voice was a shrill as the whistle. It silenced the field. “Carson!”

  What the hell. I was in a rhythm. Why the fuck were we stopping?

  I abandoned the practice and jogged to the coach
ing staff, strategizing over the playbook. The rest of the team buzzed the field, some running laps, some doing plays, most of the new recruits shitting themselves while trying to make a good impression.

  I guess I was in that position too. My contract renegotiation hadn’t started yet. I doubted they’d let me wallow through the last year of what I originally signed. It’d be a monumentally shitty idea for the team, especially after how good I looked at this year’s training camp.

  I was bigger than last season. Stronger. Fitter. I knew the offense better than the layout of my house. And I had a reason to win—not just because I was the most insanely gifted quarterback to enter the league in twenty years.

  I had my pride to regain. A lost game to forget. And they knew it.

  “Carson, you’re gonna watch your motherfucking mouth on that field.” Coach Thompson pointed at me with a pudgy finger. “In fact, you’re gonna shut that mouth. Throw the damn ball and do your job.”

  The insult cracked deep. I narrowed my eyes. “Haven’t I done that?”

  “You showboat when you got a ring on your finger to show what hot shit you are. You brag in the minutes after that final win. As of now?” He tapped his watch. “New season, Play-Maker. You’re on my time now, and there ain’t no winners or losers yet. You gotta prove yourself, same as anyone else.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  The coach was a beefy man, a former lineman that forgot he wasn’t burning thousands of calories in exercise a day anymore. He tried to intimidate me. Didn’t matter how many clipboards he held in front of his face, he wasn’t pissing with me.

  I took another drink and hoped it was the heat that made me so fucking irritable. I pitched the water bottle at my feet and turned back to my team.

  Coach Thompson snorted at me. “You think you’re special, Jack?”

  I’d shove that whistle down his throat. I faced him, eyes narrowed, every muscle in my body tensed and ready to prove that I was a one-in-a-million athlete that wouldn’t tolerate his bullshit much longer.

  “What the hell is your problem?” I pointed to the field. “I have fifty-two men I’m leading back to the championship. And you know what I’m gonna get?”