His Miracle Baby: A Bad Boy Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  He groaned, pushing my head down and fucking my lips. I worked him as best I could, going faster and faster, not caring about anything but tasting his hot cum in my mouth.

  And then he groaned and came. I could taste him warm on my tongue. I swallowed every drop, not holding back, not stopping. He groaned as he came in hot spurts, back into my throat.

  Finally he finished, and I cleaned him up, licking every last drop.

  “Fucking hell, Charley,” he said. I climbed into his lap. “You’re one fucking incredible woman.”

  “Thanks.” I nuzzled up against him. “Are you going to disappear again tonight?”

  “Probably,” he said. “But who cares? I’m here now.”

  I nodded, and we held each other like that. I felt incredible, hot and comfortable and content. Bull’s big arms wrapped around me and held me tightly as we breathed together, our bodies sweating, our skin pressed close.

  He was right. I didn’t care if he stayed over or not.

  His being close was more than enough.

  18

  Bull

  I was a very stupid man with a very dangerous addiction.

  Charley’s little pussy was unlike anything I’d ever tasted before. I’d had my fair share of pussy, but Charley was something else completely. I didn’t want to immediately leave as soon as we were finished. I even found myself wanting to stay over.

  I couldn’t, though. That was too far and too soon. Plus, she was a damn journalist.

  But that didn’t seem to stop me from making stupid choices.

  Back in the gym, Calvin was having a leg day and I was working on my back. I’d left Charley’s place around three in the morning, after she was comfortably asleep. It was around ten in the morning now.

  I glanced over at Calvin. “I want you to meet someone,” I said.

  He grunted. “That girl?”

  “Which girl?”

  “From the party, man. Don’t play stupid.”

  “Fine. Yeah, her.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “Can’t pretend like I’m not curious as fuck.”

  “But you can’t be a dick about it.”

  “Am I ever a dick?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, fair point.” He grunted again, finishing his set. “I won’t be a dick. Scout’s honor.”

  “Don’t give me that shit.”

  “Fine. I’ll be nice.”

  “Good.” I finished my set and grabbed my phone. I shot a text to Charley.

  “I gotta say, Bull. I’m fucking surprised.”

  “Don’t be an ass.”

  “Are you with this girl?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “So why am I meeting her?”

  I sighed. “You have a good eye for people. I want your read on her.”

  “Damn. You really love me, don’t you?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Are you getting all sentimental?”

  “I’ll beat your ass, Calvin.”

  “Okay, okay. Yeah, man, I’d be happy to meet her.” He leaned against the exercise equipment. “But why is shit complicated?”

  “I can’t really say,” I answered. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know, or you don’t want to say?”

  “Mostly I don’t want to say.”

  “Shit, man. You’re being so fucking cryptic.”

  “I know.” Charley texted me back. I sent her another message. “How about meeting her in a half hour?”

  Calvin laughed. “Okay, sure. After we’re done?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Fine.” Calvin shook his head. “You’re one strange motherfucker, Bull. You know that?”

  “I know it.”

  I got back to work and the chatter stopped.

  I knew it was weird to bring Charley around Calvin, but I was getting so fucking sucked into this girl. I needed another set of eyes on her to really see if she was what I thought she was.

  Sure, she was a journalist, but she was good. I knew she was good. She wasn’t going to fuck me over in the end, even if she easily could. I wanted to trust her, but I still had some reservations.

  Calvin could maybe help. He had a really good read on people, and I always took his opinion as gospel. If he said a guy was trash, he was trash. If he said a guy would work hard, he would work hard. Calvin just knew people, like fucking magic.

  Well, not like fucking magic. He wasn’t perfect. Calvin made mistakes. But I trusted the guy, and I could already see that I was in way over my head at this point. I wasn’t going to spot and act on any red flags on my own.

  We finished our workout and hit the locker room. My driver had gone to pick up Charley since she had agreed to use a sick day. My excuse was to take her out to lunch, but really I just wanted Calvin to meet her.

  After the showers and the bullshitting, we headed out front. I got a text from my driver saying that they were five minutes out, so we sat down on a low stone wall and looked out across the parking lot.

  “You ever wonder why we do this shit?” Calvin asked me.

  “Do what?”

  “Play ball. You know.”

  “What else would we do?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Become doctors?”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “Nobody is going to want me to be their doctor.”

  “You get what I’m saying. Why don’t we do something important?”

  I gave him a weird look. “Where is this coming from?”

  “I don’t know. We’re fucking killing time, so I was just asking.”

  I looked out at the cars and frowned. “Truth is, I don’t have a fucking answer for you. I do it because I’m good at it.”

  “You could be good at other things.”

  “I’m a dangerous man, Calvin. Maybe I could have become a fucking thug or something. Playing ball is better than killing guys.”

  “Probably,” Calvin said, grinning.

  “Probably,” I agreed. “But we have it good, man. We sacrifice our bodies and maybe even shorten our lifespans, but we live like fucking kings.”

  “That’s the fucking truth.”

  Just then, I saw the car pull up. We watched as Charley got out of the car and waved up at us. I grinned and Calvin waved back as he walked over.

  I felt a pang in my stomach. She was wearing short jean shorts and a green shirt, loose and draping but still managing to show off plenty of skin. She looked fucking incredible, her long hair falling down along her shoulders.

  “Hey, boys,” she said.

  “Charley.” I hopped down from the wall. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Well, when you get invited to lunch with Bull Dixon, you don’t say no.”

  Calvin laughed and hopped down from the wall. “Charley, nice to meet you. I’m Calvin.”

  “I know who you are,” she said. “I’ve seen you on TV.”

  “Caught a game or two?”

  “Once or twice.” She smiled. “You’ve got one hell of an arm.”

  “Don’t inflate his ego,” I said. “He’s enough of an asshole already.”

  “He seems okay,” Charley said.

  Calvin grinned at her. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

  “I don’t know. You seem pretty easy.”

  They laughed together, and I smiled. She turned toward me. “Ready to eat?”

  “Always am. Give us a second?”

  “Okay.” She headed back to the car and got in.

  I looked at Calvin. “Well?”

  “Well what, man?”

  “What do you think, dickhead?”

  “She’s a nice girl.”

  “Come on, no weird feelings? No fucking Spidey senses tingling or some shit?”

  He laughed and shrugged. “Nothing. She’s a nice girl.” He paused. “But you do know who she is, right?”

  I cocked my head. “What do you mean?”

  “She works for NSPN, man. I remember her. You don’t forget an ass like
that.”

  “Careful,” I said.

  “Seriously, you know that, right?”

  “I know.”

  He frowned, glancing at the car. “And you’re cool with her being a journalist and all?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Haven’t decided.”

  “Ah, shit. I see what this is now.”

  “What?”

  “You want me to make you feel better about fucking a sportswriter.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “Yeah, it is, brother.” He laughed, shaking his head. “You think you’re the first player to fuck a journalist?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m not.”

  “It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “Players don’t date them.”

  “Maybe.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “But since when did you give a fuck about that?”

  “Good point.” We shook hands. “All right then. I have your blessing.”

  “You don’t have shit. I think it’s a bad idea to date her, but I know you’re going to do it anyway, and she seems okay.”

  “Good enough.” I walked over to the car.

  “Later, Bull.”

  I waved and then got into the car. Charley was sitting there, smiling at me.

  “What was that about?” she asked.

  “Just player stuff.” I scooted across the seat and took her chin in my hand, gently kissing her lips. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” she said, smiling.

  I knocked on the partition, and the driver pulled out.

  19

  Charlotte

  It was a little strange that Bull wanted me to come meet him at the gym before lunch, but I wasn’t about to complain. Truthfully, I was just happy I was getting to see him at all.

  He left in the middle of the night again. I knew he would, but it still stung a little bit when I woke up to his absence. I didn’t even remember getting into bed, and probably Bull had carried me there.

  Which was surprising. He could be so tender when he wanted to be, although most of the time he was brash and crude. But after we were finished, and we were just holding each other, the man was practically gentle.

  It made me want to kiss his lips softly and smile as I looked into his eyes.

  Lunch was good, though I could tell there was something happening between us. He took me to an expensive place and told me to order whatever I wanted, which of course was just his way of showing off.

  When the meal was over, we were back in his car. I felt nervous, though I didn’t really know why. He leaned against the door.

  “Come back to my place,” he said.

  I smiled at him. “Really?”

  “Of course really.”

  “It’s just that you’ve always come to my place. I don’t think I’ve been there without a big party full of people.”

  “There’s a first for everything.”

  I laughed. “Okay then. You didn’t need to bribe me with lunch first, you know.”

  “Not a bribe. More like trying to warm you up.”

  “Isn’t that basically a bribe?”

  “Maybe,” he said, grinning. “Are you complaining?”

  “Not really.”

  “Good.”

  The driver got going and we fell into some small talk about his upcoming season. Bull seemed optimistic about his team’s chances, and I had to agree. The Bears historically were a pretty good team, but they had fallen onto some hard times lately. With Bull at full health and Calvin playing great, they looked like they had a real shot.

  He was open and honest about his playing, and I wished I could take notes. In most interviews, Bull danced around the subject and gave a bunch of bullshit responses, the sort of generic answers most athletes gave when they were exhausted and right off the field. He liked to repeat those platitudes with a knowing little smile on his face, frustrating reporters.

  But alone with him in the car, he was actually talking about playing like a normal person for once. He seemed to worry a lot about his concussions and about his knees, but otherwise couldn’t wait to get out there and smash some guys to pieces.

  It felt good to be in Bull’s confidence. I knew that was exactly what I’d wanted from the start, but now I felt like I had actually earned it. Maybe I was going to have to break that trust, and sooner than I wanted to, but I wanted to pretend like it was okay for a little bit.

  Sitting in that car with Bull, I wanted to pretend like we were normal people. I wanted to pretend like I wasn’t a journalist pretending to be something else just to get a story. I wanted to pretend like Bull wasn’t a notorious bad boy. I wanted things to be different, simple. Maybe I even wanted the mafia to not be involved in any of this.

  So I sat there and listened to him talk about practice, about working out with Calvin, about getting past his aching and tired body, and I just didn’t think about any of it. I concentrated on him and blocked everything else out.

  That had to come to an end, though. Eventually we had to get to his apartment. I wished it didn’t happen so soon, but it was only a fifteen-minute drive from the restaurant back to his place.

  Fifteen minutes of pretend. That wasn’t much, but it was something.

  We pulled up outside his apartment building and got out. I followed him up into the building and into the elevator. We rode it up to his apartment, not talking much but standing close, our shoulders touching.

  When those doors opened, I knew I had to go back to reality. I fingered the lipstick camera in my bag and looked around, wondering what I should try to get a picture of.

  “So this is what it looks like without all the drugs and the people.”

  He grinned at me. “Home sweet home.”

  It looked clean. I figured he had people coming and cleaning it for him, but I was a little surprised. The place was extremely modern and tasteful, maybe even a little reserved. I always had assumed that a single guy living in a big apartment would make it look like a man cave or something like that, but Bull clearly knew what he was doing with his interior decorator.

  “Want anything?” he asked.

  “I’m okay.”

  “I have a personal chef; I think she’s actually here right now.” He walked over toward the hallway. “Marta!”

  An older woman, maybe in her late forties, stepped out. “Yes, Mister Dixon.”

  Bull cringed. “Stop calling me that.”

  “Okay, Mister Dixon.”

  “Marta, this is Charley.”

  I walked over and shook her hand. She had a pleasant smile and looked more like his mother than his personal chef.

  “Nice to meet you,” she said.

  “Same to you. How long have you been working for Bull?”

  “Oh, years,” she said. “I practically live here during the week.”

  “And she’s lucky,” Bull said. “I overpay her and she barely has to work.”

  “This man eats out far too much. You should be treating your body better, Mister Dixon.”

  He sighed. “Okay, Marta.”

  “Can I make you two something?”

  “No, thank you,” I said.

  “How about those little shrimp things,” Bull said. “Maybe we’ll have a few of those.”

  Marta laughed. “Coming right now.”

  She turned and walked away, back into the kitchen, Bull grinned at me.

  “She’s nice,” I said.

  “She was the first person I hired, and the best decision I ever made,” Bull replied.

  “Why’s that?”

  “We get along,” he said. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

  I discreetly got the camera from my bag and snapped a shot of Marta in the kitchen as we walked past. Bull didn’t notice a thing as he led the way.

  We went down the hall and stopped in front of one of the extra bedrooms. I hadn’t been inside any of them yet, since I’d gotten the distinct impression they were basically sex rooms when parties were happening. Bull opened the door and
we stepped in.

  “Here it is,” he said. “What do you think?”

  This was what I had expected when I came into Bull’s apartment. The walls were covered in sports memorabilia, signed jerseys, and pictures of Bull with various other athletes. There was a bed and an end table, but the room was mostly shelves packed with things like trophies, rings, signed baseballs, and so much more.

  I walked over to a shelf and started looking at what was inside. It was enclosed in glass and I stared at one of the baseballs, my head cocked.

  “Holy crap,” I said. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Babe Ruth,” Bull said proudly. “One of my prized possessions.”

  “How did you get this?”

  “Lots of money; that’s how. There’s a Jackie Robinson one there, too.”

  I looked, and sure enough, there was Jackie Robinson’s name scrawled across another beat-up looking baseball.

  “I can’t believe this. I guess you’re a big baseball fan,” I said.

  He laughed. “Huge fan, but don’t tell anyone.”

  “I love baseball.” I shook my head, staring at the balls. “These are incredible.”

  “Sometimes I come in here and just stare at them. I wonder about the men who wrote their names, about their lives. I can’t help but wonder if they were like me.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I think that was a different time, though.”

  “I’m not so sure. Ruth loved to drink as much as anybody today. Just because it was a long time ago doesn’t mean people weren’t a bunch of partying assholes like we are now. People don’t change all that much.”

  I nodded, looking at the other stuff. He was probably right, though I couldn’t imagine anyone living as hard as Bull did. He was a singular man, and I was more and more impressed with him every day.

  “Take a look at this,” he said. He held up a trophy.

  I took it from him and laughed. “Peewee football?”

  “MVP,” he said, grinning. “This is the first football trophy I ever won. I mean, the first trophy I earned, not counting all those bullshit participation awards.”

  “Is that your Maxwell Award?” I asked, laughing. “You keep your peewee football trophy next to your Maxwell?”