Wild for You

by Kendall Ryan

  My eyelids are so heavy, heavier than they’ve ever felt. But every time I drift away, I’m brought back to the faint lights and beeps of the hospital room when a nurse checks on me. I’m beyond tired, and Grant can tell.

  He leans across me, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. “It’s okay. You can rest now.”

  • • •

  When I wake from a dreamless slumber, it’s not Grant’s voice that rouses me.

  “Hey, baby girl.”

  My eyes crack open, just barely, to see my dad standing over me, holding a ridiculously elaborate bouquet. He lays the flowers across my knees and sits on the edge of the bed.

  “Daddy?”

  “I’m here,” he murmurs, and I suddenly feel like an infant again.

  Tears roll down my cheeks as I check the room for the real infant. Where is she?

  “Grant’s got her. Don’t worry.”

  Relieved, I sigh, and my dad reaches with cool fingers to wipe my tears away.

  “When did you get here?” I ask.

  “Grant called after you told him about the contractions. I caught a flight in the nick of time. I’ve never cursed airport security more, though. Thought I was going to miss it, but here I am. How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?”

  “I’m good.” I smile and then let out a laugh. “I’m really good.”

  “Good.” He sighs, clearly relieved. “My baby girl’s had a baby girl.”

  “Yeah.” I chuckle wetly through my tears. “Weird, right?”

  “Not weird at all. Does she have a name yet?”

  I think for a moment, biting my lip. I’ve thought about names a lot. I’ve thought about strong names, names that will promise to carry my baby into a protected life. Names that will say, Don’t mess with me. My mother raised me to be a warrior.

  “Don’t laugh, but . . . Hunter.”

  My dad reaches for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze to match the soft wrinkles around his smiling eyes.

  “That’s a good name. Fierce.”

  “Right? I think so too.”

  • • •

  Here I thought birthing a child was going to be the hardest part. Little did I know that breastfeeding was an entirely different beast.

  Lucky for me, Grant has stayed with me every night since we got the okay to leave the hospital, alternating nighttime feeding duty like a real pro with milk I pumped during the day. If I didn’t know for a fact that Grant was a bachelor, I would have certainly guessed him to be a seasoned dad.

  A really wonderful seasoned dad.

  And even though I haven’t told him, I’m so grateful I’m not alone. I wanted to prove to myself that I could do this, but now that seems like the stupidest idea in the world. Of course I could if I had to . . . I’m just so glad I don’t.

  “I’ve got this one,” he murmurs, when we both wake up to the sound of Hunter fussing through the baby monitor on the nightstand. He rolls out of my full-size bed that’s too small for him, and stumbles through the dark of the room.

  “Thank you.” I sigh, nestling deeper under the covers.

  “It’s no problem,” he says, and for once, I believe him.

  I can tell that he loves being needed. That he loves both me and Hunter, even if he hasn’t said so yet. He once spoke of his dream to be a dad, but I never took him seriously until now.

  Grant is an amazing caretaker. He’s helped with breastfeeding, with errands and emergencies, cooking and laundry. He’s been the one almost exclusively taking care of Hobbes, and with sleepless nights like this one . . .

  When Grant snuggles back into bed with me nearly forty-five minutes later, I welcome him with open arms.

  “How is she?”

  “Just grumpy,” he says with a chuckle. “But I held her until she fell back asleep.”

  “You’re the best.”

  He plants a soft, warm kiss against my forehead. “Get some rest.”

  And I do.

  27

  * * *

  Bittersweet

  Ana

  The first few weeks of child rearing prove to be an emotional roller coaster. There are plenty of sweet moments to match the frustrating, exhausting ones. Sometimes I’m impressed with my ability to handle it all. But nothing—and I mean nothing—could ever prepare me for the words that come out of Grant’s mouth on this particular evening at home.

  “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  His tone is so serious, I find myself suddenly nervous for what he’s about to say. I hold Hunter closer to me, her little face tucked away behind a nursing blanket. “What is it?”

  “Something happened today. I got a call from Coach. It’s Jason.”

  What?

  “What do you mean? What’s wrong with Jason?”

  That’s a name I haven’t thought of in weeks, and what a relief that’s been.

  Grant plants a hand on my knee, his eyes locked on mine with the promise that he’ll be as careful with his words as he can.

  Just say it! I want to snap.

  “He died.”

  He . . . what?

  “Ana, look at me.”

  I do, struggling to keep focused on his concerned expression. My mind is racing with thoughts and questions, but I can barely remember how to form words. “What do you mean?”

  “He got in an accident. It was a DUI collision.”

  “You mean . . . he was . . .”

  “Yeah.”

  My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. “Did anyone else get hurt?”

  “No.” Grant sighs. “There were some cuts and bruises, but everyone else is alive.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” I say, my voice low and forced. My lower lip trembles as a fat tear drips down my cheek and onto Hunter’s forehead. She gurgles, done feeding.

  Oh my God . . . Hunter.

  “Would you take her?”

  “Sure.” Grant lifts her small frame from my arms, propping her up against his broad shoulder to begin burping her. “All right, baby girl . . .”

  While Grant makes a slow, steady circle around the room with Hunter, I sit with this information. The man I spent years of my life loving, trying to please . . . is gone. Forever.

  By the time Grant puts Hunter down to rest, I’m full-on ugly sobbing, grief heaving through my body in sudden, violent bursts. He wraps me in his arms, locking me against him while I struggle to stay grounded.

  “I’m— I’m sorry!” I gasp between wails.

  “Don’t apologize,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my hairline.

  “I . . . I just— I feel awful.”

  “I know, I know.”

  Sobbing, I choke out, “No, you don’t!” How could he? How could he possibly know what this feels like?

  “Tell me.”

  “I don’t want to say it.” I sniff, trying to pull myself together.

  Grant holds me, not pushing me, but not letting it lie either. I need to say it . . . I know I do. I need to get this terrible thing off of my chest. And he knows it too.

  “I’m relieved,” I whisper, and the weight of a thousand bricks falls off of my shoulders. Despite the tragedy, despite the guilt—I feel so much lighter.

  “It’s okay, Ana. Whatever you’re feeling, you can tell me,” he murmurs, still holding me.

  I burrow my face into his chest, glad I don’t have to meet his eyes when I say this next part.

  “You should know. You should know that . . . I think he’s the father. I wish it weren’t true. I wish it so much. But it’s—the calendar.” When I choke on the last words, he rubs my back in slow, firm circles, urging me to breathe. “The timing. It’s gotta be him. He’s her father.”

  “Ana,” Grant murmurs, lifting my chin, and I meet his eyes, barely visible through the tears. “I’m her father. I don’t care about biology. I don’t care about timing. How could I? I was adopted, right?”

  I nod, a hiccup escaping my lips.

  “See? None of that matters. I love her
. I’ll always love her,” he whispers against my cheek, wiping my tears away with a sweet kiss. “Just as much as I love her mother.”

  I lift my face from his T-shirt and meet his eyes.

  We’ve spent weeks working alongside each other, weeks sleeping in the same bed and raising a baby together, doing all the things necessary to run a household, but we haven’t talked about us. We haven’t made love or kissed, or approached the subject of us as a couple.

  Grant has comforted me and held me, and changed diapers and cooked and done a million other things, but I didn’t know where we stood. I spent practically my whole pregnancy pushing him away, keeping him in a box. I told him I needed a friend, and that was true. But now, I realize, I’m ready for more.

  “Grant, I . . .” I pause and lick my lips.

  “I love you, Ana.”

  It’s the first time he’s said those words to me, and just like that, the walls I spent so long building to protect myself from the hurt that Jason inflicted crumble down.

  With a shaky inhale, I lean close and press my lips to Grant’s. “I love you too. So much. I’m sorry I’ve been so stupid, sorry that I spent so much time pushing you away.”

  He takes my face in his big hands, lifting my mouth to his. “Don’t be sorry. You needed time.”

  I nod. “Kiss me.”

  And he does, and it’s the perfect kiss—slow and sweet and tender. But it’s over long before I’m ready for it to be.

  When Grant pulls away, there’s a serious expression in his eyes.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Are you okay?”

  With an inhale, I nod. The news about Jason is devastating, and I feel for his family, but the truth is, I am okay. This entire past year has proven to me how strong I am.

  “We need to talk about us,” Grant says softly.

  I nod. He’s right. It’s way overdue.

  “I’ll start,” he says. “I’d like to tell you that I’m okay with moving slow, that you can take all the time you need, and we can move at whatever pace you’re comfortable with. But none of that would be true.”

  I swallow. “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t want to wait, Ana. I want it all. Us living together as a couple. As a family. I love you, both of you, so fucking much. This is all I’ve ever wanted. And so I hope you don’t hate me for pushing, but I gave you space, waited months for you to be ready, and now that we’re doing this—I can’t wait anymore. You’re mine now, sweetheart. Both of you.”

  “Yes,” I manage to say, my voice brimming with emotion.

  After that, he just holds me and lets me grieve the loss of Jason in my own way. And when we go to bed that night, we’re wrapped up tight in each other’s arms. It’s the best feeling in the world.

  • • •

  We don’t go to Jason’s funeral.

  Grant is thoughtful enough to send flowers to the funeral home in time for the service, and a couple of his teammates travel to the funeral. But with a newborn and my own mental health as our priorities, it’s better for our little family to stay home.

  Over the next few weeks, we’re visited by friends—Georgia, Becca and Owen, Elise, Bailey, Sara, and even Jordie. It’s a lot of social energy to dole out, but I’m grateful for every congratulatory smile and consolatory hug.

  The world keeps spinning, and Hunter keeps growing. With Grant by my side, Hunter in my arms, and Hobbes at my feet, I can’t ask for anything more.

  28

  * * *

  Taking Care of Business

  Ana

  I stand in front of my dresser wearing only a pair of panties as I dig through the top drawer, searching for a bra that will fit. I stopped nursing a few days ago, since I pumped enough milk to get Hunter through another month or so, and then I plan to switch to formula. I’ll be going to work soon, just part time, but this seemed like the best option to transition her to.

  It’s been eight weeks since she was born. We moved back into Grant’s condo last month, since it has more space and is much nicer than the apartment I’d rented. Plus, I only had a short-term lease and it was up for renewal soon, so it was the perfect time to go.

  Grant wanders into the bedroom, stopping short when he sees me standing here topless. “I just laid Hunter down for a nap,” he says, his voice strained.

  “Thanks,” I say, rummaging in the back of the drawer where I think I have a sports bra that might work. I packed up all my nursing bras, and none of my old ones fit anymore.

  Grant clears his throat, and I glance over at him, stunned for a second by the hungry look on his face. When my gaze lowers, I realize he’s as hard as a fence post below the belt, his pants tented out with a bulging erection.

  “Um . . .” My mouth lifts in a crooked smile. “Everything okay over there, big guy?”

  “Fuck. Sweetheart, can you put on some clothes?” He shifts and adjusts the front of his pants, looking almost like he’s in pain.

  Realizing for the first time that my post-baby body is still pleasing to him, I feel my heartbeat start to drum faster.

  My stomach has flattened out again, and though it’s still soft, I’ve been pleased that I’ve lost some of the pregnancy weight without really trying. My breasts are still lush, and larger than they were before. For the first time in a very long time, I’m flooded with feelings of desire.

  “I was trying to put something on,” I murmur, talking a step closer to him. “But nothing really fits.”

  Feeling bold, I stop just a few feet from where he stands. His gaze tracks hotly over my torso, lingering on my bare breasts. When I cup them in my hands and squeeze, Grant lets out a ragged groan.

  “Fuck.” He breathes out the word, watching me push my cleavage together.

  Between midnight feedings, spit-up in my hair, my changing body and hormones, adjusting to motherhood, and moving out of my apartment . . . the last thing I’ve felt lately is sexy. Which means I have a very neglected, apparently very horny man on my hands.

  Suddenly, I feel a little selfish. But it didn’t occur to me that just because I wasn’t ready for sex, Grant may have felt differently. He never let on. I guess I just assumed he was as tired as me, collapsing into bed each night with sex as the very last thing on my mind. I hate the idea that I’ve been neglectful. It’s time to remedy that.

  “You gonna put something on and cover up those gorgeous breasts, or what?” His voice is raspy, thick with unrestrained desire.

  “I could,” I whisper, slowly dropping to my knees before him. “Or . . .” I unbutton his jeans and slowly pull down the zipper. “We could take everything off together. You said Hunter’s asleep, right?”

  He nods quickly. “You sure?”

  When I tug down his boxers, Grant assists, pushing his jeans down too. They fall to his knees, and I have my mouth on him before he can say anything else. His hands slide into my hair as I welcome the first few inches of him into my mouth.

  He hisses out a deep groan.

  “Oh, I’m very sure,” I murmur with my mouth full of him.

  I’ve missed this. The deep, rumbling sounds that come from his chest. The taste of warm male flesh under my tongue. The dirty endearments he whispers as I suck and nibble on his firm cock.

  “Fuck, sweetheart. Yes.”

  “You like that?” I grin up at him, feeling bold and sexy.

  He nods, his eyes focused on his cock sliding in and out of my mouth. “Go deeper,” he rasps.

  I do, and Grant’s answering moan vibrates in his throat. It’s the sexiest sound.

  After a few minutes, he lifts me from the carpet and deposits me on the bed, where he proceeds to make a meal out of me—hungrily licking and sucking on my breasts, then kissing the pulsing spot between my thighs until I’m trembling and very, very close to orgasm.

  “Grant . . .” I moan, rocking my hips against his face.

  “You want my cock, baby?”

  I swallow a huge wave of desire and nod.

 
He joins me on the bed, positioning his big, broad body over mine, and then he’s pushing inside, inch by slow inch while I adjust. “Tell me if—”

  I cut him off with a kiss. “Don’t hold back,” I whisper against his lips.

  And he doesn’t. Moving with such skill and confidence that I’m reduced to whimpering sounds as I cling to his wide shoulders. Fastening his mouth to mine while his talented body wrenches two orgasms from me.

  Grant is an amazing lover—generous and decidedly confident. When he gets close, his measured strokes falter and he presses his mouth against my throat. With a low sound, he finds his release, and his cock throbs inside me.

  Afterward, he pulls me into his arms and holds me. “That was incredible,” he whispers, planting sweet kisses along my temple.

  “You looked like you needed that,” I say with a grin.

  He chuckles. “I really did.”

  I sit up and meet his eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  The doctor cleared me for sex at my six-week exam. Grant knew this. He’s known that for a couple of weeks now.

  He touches my shoulder, brushing my hair back with his fingertips. “Because you weren’t ready. Because I was fine jerking it in the shower every night until you were.”

  I shake my head at him. “You crazy man. I love you.”

  “I love you more.”

  Epilogue

  * * *

  Grant

  Nine months later

  “Well, that’s the last of it.” Owen dumps a final bag of ice into the cooler and stands back to study his work.

  “Thanks, dude.” I thump one hand against his shoulder.

  “’Course.” He grabs a bottle of beer from the cooler, twists off the cap, and offers it to me, then grabs another for himself. “This place is insane, man. Nicely done.”

  Pride warms me and I tip my chin as we both survey the estate spread out before us. “Thanks.” The Mediterranean-style house with white stucco and an orange tile roof came on the market a few months ago, and even though it’s more space than we need, I convinced Ana to come and see it.