Forever His Baby

by Airicka Phoenix

  “You going to be okay, Sloan?” Jeremy Shaw watched Sloan tumble awkwardly out of the truck cabin, the knuckles white around the door handle.

  “Fine,” he muttered around gritted teeth.

  His back screamed as he fought to remain upright. Sharp fingers of pain lanced up the small of his spine to spider web across the width of his shoulder blades and coil into a tight ball at the back of his neck. The effect had chisels piercing his temples. And to think the pain had been worse earlier that day and had calmed down considerably.

  “I am so sorry,” Jeremy went on, following Sloan towards the house.

  “It’s fine, Jer,” Sloan mumbled, wishing the boys would leave so he could lick his wounds with a little dignity. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  And it wasn’t. It had been Sloan’s own fault. He’d been too caught up in thoughts of the previous night, of Lily and the baby and seeing that ultrasound and hearing that tiny heartbeat that he hadn’t been paying attention to the sheeting they’d put down to protect the hardwood. His foot had slipped and he’d lost his hold on the sofa he and Jeremy had been balancing between them. The unexpected jerk and the weight of the heavy piece of furniture had wrenched the muscles along his back and the pull had been horrendous. He would have passed out, or thrown up if the guys hadn’t been there.

  “Do you need something?” Jeremy darted past Sloan and yanked open the door for him, making Sloan growl deep in his throat, his pride taking another ding. “I could get you an ice pack.”

  “I’m fine!” he said a little too sharply. He softened his tone. “It’s okay. I hardly feel it now. Go on home.”

  Looking hesitant, Jeremy stood there a moment longer before giving a slight nod and trudging back outside.

  Alone, Sloan shuffled to the sofa and propped himself up on the armrest. He planted his hands on his knees and leaned forward as far as his protesting back would allow him.

  He needed a bath, an entire bottle of aspirin and a bed. What he lacked was motivation to follow through.

  The bells above the door jingled. The floorboards creaked as someone stepped into the foyer. Head still bent, Sloan rocked it slowly from side to side in frustration.

  “I’m fine, Jeremy. Go home!”

  Light footsteps shuffled into the sitting room and paused.

  He groaned inwardly. “Jesus, Jer, I said—” He raised his head and started at the small figure watching him back. Definitely not Jeremy. “Lily?”

  She offered him a hesitant smile and a small wave. “Hello.”

  He tried to straighten. His back disagreed, so he stayed where he was, hands still braced on his knees. “What are you … everything okay?”

  Lily nodded. “I came to thank you…” Her eyebrows furrowed as she took him in. “Are you okay?”

  Groaning and forcing himself upright, Sloan nodded. “Fine. Just a small moving accident. It happens.”

  “Moving accident?” She moved closer. “What did you hurt?”

  He waved her away. “Just my back. Pulled something. It’s not a big—”

  “It is a big deal!” she argued. “Do you have any idea how serious that is? You should be resting.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her, endeared by the determination in her eyes. “Sweetheart, I’ve been doing this for four years. If I lay down every time I get hurt, I’d never work.”

  Her lips pursed together tightly. The disapproval etched into her face was amusing.

  “You could seriously hurt yourself,” she snapped. “What good will you be if you damage a nerve, or worse?” She seemed to draw herself up to her full height, which still only came to the center of his chest. “Get in bed.”

  Tossing her purse down on the sofa, she marched into the kitchen. A second later, he heard the water running.

  “I don’t hear you leaving!” she called.

  “Chicken soup is for sick people,” he called back.

  The water stopped. He heard a clink of metal striking metal and then she was back, dusting her hands down the front of her skirt.

  “I’m not making you chicken soup,” she said. “Will you please get into bed?”

  For someone who had never had anyone take care of him, Sloan wasn’t sure what the protocol was. He could tell her no, he supposed. He wasn’t about to take orders from a pint-sized woman he could pick up and toss over his shoulder. But his curiosity got the better of him and he shuffled in the direction of the stairs. It wasn’t until he was halfway up that he realized she was following him.

  “Going to make sure I follow orders?” he teased.

  She raised her head and peered up at him. “No … maybe. Go on.”

  Shaking his head, he continued up, grimacing with every step and the pressure pulsing along his back.

  In his room, he gingerly lowered himself down on the edge of the mattress, kneecaps clutched tightly beneath his hands. He would have cursed as every breath was stolen by agonizing pain, but he couldn’t unclamp his teeth to do it.

  “Can you raise your arms?”

  Eyes he hadn’t realized he’d squeezed shut flicked open and he blinked in surprise to find her standing in front of him, so close, all he had to do was reach out and she’d be in his grasp.

  “What?” That single word croaked out wrapped in tension.

  “I need to take your shirt off,” she murmured. “Unless you want to keep it on. It doesn’t matter either way. It’s just easier.”

  Damn it, what are you doing, Lily? He wanted to ask. But he was just too sore to care. He couldn’t get a hard on even if he wanted in that moment.

  With a nod, he raised his arms and tried to twist his shirt hem around his hands, but that only pulled the tendons, making his back scream. Then Lily was there, peeling the filthy, sweaty fabric off him and tossing it aside. She was too damn close now, standing in the V of his thighs. Her chest was inches from his face, the soft mounds swelling against the cotton material of her dress. She smelled amazing, sweet and fresh like a meadow of flowers.

  “Lie down.”

  The request was said quietly, but it was the slight tremor in her voice that sent fire coiling in the pit of his stomach and his gaze flitting up to her face.

  Her brown eyes met his, a pink flush warming her cheeks. Her lips were parted, soft and inviting. His hands balled into fists on his thighs, a poor substitute for restraint when all he wanted to do was bunch the fabric of her dress, pull her into his lap, and connect the trio of freckles on her chest with his tongue as she sank him home deep inside her.

  “Fuck!” He growled in pain as the head of his cock cut into the teeth of his zipper—so much for being unable to get an erection.

  “Does it hurt a lot? Should we get you to the hospital?”

  Her misdirected concern almost made him laugh. There was nothing the hospital could do for him, except maybe arrest him for the world’s biggest boner.

  “They won’t help.” He rubbed a hand over his face, grimacing at the grit and grime coming off his brow. “I should take a shower.” A cold one.

  “Okay.” She took a few safe steps away from him. “Do you need help undressing?”

  He pushed up to his feet and her neck craned back as he loomed over her. “Baby girl, you come near my pants right now and I guarantee we will never leave this room.”

  Not waiting for a response, he stomped out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom. He closed himself inside and took the longest cold shower in history.

  Clad in a towel and water droplets, Sloan returned almost twenty minutes later, expecting Lily to have gone downstairs, or left, but he found her sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for him. She shot up when he walked in, a pink wave rolling up her slender throat to fill her face.

  “How do you feel?” she asked hurriedly.

  His fingers tightened around the towel. “The shower helped.”

  She nodded slowly, but made no move to leave. “I filled you a hot water bottle.” She gestured nervously towards the nightstand where the water b
ottle sat propped against the lamp. “If you lie down, I’ll—”

  Without thinking, Sloan took a measured step towards her, trapping her between him and the bed. “You’re awful adamant to get me on that bed, Lily.”

  If possible, the pink in her cheeks turned a dark shade of crimson that went all the way up to her hairline. “It’s not … I wasn’t…”

  “Towel on or off?” He couldn’t help teasing her.

  She dropped her face forward and squeaked something that sounded like, on.

  Biting the inside of his cheek, Sloan slipped around her and climbed facedown onto the mattress. The reclined position pulled all the muscles in his back and he groaned. The place at his hip dipped and her heat burned into his side. He jumped when her fingers grazed the valley between his shoulder blades. His entire body stiffened reflexively. Self-consciousness made him want to get up, to twist away from what she would undoubtedly see and feel. The jagged maze of scars may have been hidden by a whirlwind of tattoos, but it was harder to hide to the touch.

  “Lily, don’t…” He winced at the pathetic croak and prayed it was too muffled by the pillow for her to have heard him.

  “Relax,” she whispered as she worked her fingers over the bunched muscles, never once pausing to ask why his back felt like someone had taken a lawnmower to it.

  He had no idea where she learned to do magic with those tiny hands of hers, but every prod and knead tore a moan of pleasure from him. It was as though she were reaching straight through his skin and untangling every knot. Then, when she traveled down and dragged the heel of her hands down the lengths of his legs to his feet, Sloan whimpered.

  “Jesus, baby girl. Don’t stop.”

  She worked her thumb into the instep of his feet, down the hollow and over each toe before paving her way back up his body to his back.

  Limp and sleepy, he closed his eyes and let himself fall captive to her beautiful assault. But when he opened them again, the room was painted the blue-black of dusk, his alarm placed the hour at a little after ten and the entire place was thick with the rich scent of meat, spices and vegetables.

  Groggy with confusion and sleep, he pushed back the sheets that had been tucked around him and slid out of bed. He dressed quickly and ventured below in search of the smell.

  He found Lily in the living room, curled up on the sofa with a book in her hand. The lamp next to her was the only light in the entire house. The rest of it sat in still darkness.

  “Lily?”

  Her head came up, her eyes wide in surprise. She set her book down when she spotted him and hurried to her feet.

  “You’re awake!”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “What are you doing here?”

  He instantly regretted his question when embarrassment colored her cheeks and she seemed to shrink back.

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” She must have thought that sounded strange, because she made a face. “Maybe I’m also a little too used to always being here. I’m sorry.” She snatched up her purse and began edging towards the door. “I should go. There’s stew in the kitchen. It should still be warm, but you can heat it up if it’s not.” She hesitated. “Okay, goodnight.”

  “Lily, wait.” He crossed to her. “You don’t have to go.”

  She shook her head. “I should. I need to remember Cole’s not here anymore and…” She laughed, but the sound was hollow and didn’t reach her eyes. “I know how much you always hated when I came over.”

  It was true. He had hated when she would skip in through the door, blonde locks a shimmering cap around her shoulders. She would always smile at him from across the room and wave before darting upstairs to track down Cole. It infuriated him that he wanted her to run to him, to throw herself into his arms and let him kiss her senseless. He wanted her on his bed, chattering on about whatever was on her mind. He wanted her laugh to fill his room. It always baffled him how Cole never saw that his best friend was one of the most beautiful women in the world. It certainly made Sloan question if his brother’s taste ran to women, because no hot blooded male could have sleepovers almost every night with a girl like Lily and not want to fuck her. Sloan was in the room across the hall and all he could think about was spreading her open wide and tasting that sweet place between her legs. So sue him if his perpetual blue balls made him cranky. Who could blame him? If anything, his control needed a fucking medal.

  “Goodnight, Sloan.”

  Tangled in the memories of her coming down for breakfast in tiny shorts and a tank top, Sloan was almost not fast enough to stop her before she reached the door. He caught her hand and dragged her away from the possibility of escape.

  “Stay.”

  Chapter Five ~ Lily

  Lying in Cole’s bed, watching the light from outside the window reflecting across the ceiling, Lily listened as the house settled in for the night. The hum of silence was a familiar one. She’d heard it often over the years. Even the view was the same. Cole would always leave her the bed and he’d crash on the floor. There was never anything remotely romantic between them. Never. Even their single night together had been filled with awkward giggles and even more awkward petting. Neither of them had wanted foreplay and had even undressed themselves before climbing beneath the sheets.

  There was nothing there the other hadn’t seen before. They had already gone through the whole curious stage years before where they’d stripped naked in front of the other just to see. Then they’d gotten dressed and gone down for cookies. So that night, when he’d strapped on the condom and climbed over her, Lily had told him to just do it. He had spat on his hand, rubbed it over his semi hard cock and then positioned himself at her opening. Then he’d plunged inside … and missed. He missed two more times before she had to guide him.

  It had been painful, sweaty, and unpleasant. She hadn’t come and was glad when he rolled off her, breathing hard.

  “Did you…?” he’d asked.

  “No. Did you?”

  He’d looked down at his flaccid cock lying limply against his thigh. “Yeah.” He had shifted up onto his elbow. “Do you want me to…?”

  Lily had laughed, because the last time Cole had tried to finger her, she couldn’t stop giggling. “No! I’ll deal with it when I get home.”

  “But you’re okay?”

  She had shrugged. “Yeah, I think so.”

  And she had been.

  While most girls wanted someone they would be with forever, Lily had never been under that illusion, because the person she wanted forever didn’t want her. But Cole would be and who did she trust more than Cole? He would always be her best friend. That meant something.

  But Cole was gone now. She was left alone in his bed as his brother, the man she desperately wanted, lay snoozing in the room across the hall. It was a country song waiting to be written.

  Sloan had offered to drive her home after they each finished a bowl of stew. But Lily knew his back was still hurting him and he refused to let her walk home alone. They agreed she would stay until morning, bunking in Cole’s old room. She just hadn’t anticipated how much she would hate that. Even while wearing one of Cole’s t-shirts and snuggled under familiar sheets, the bed was too big and lonely. What more, she was still tingling from earlier when she had helped Sloan remove his shirt; she hadn’t missed the way he’d been watching her breasts, breasts that had tightened with the hopes that he would take them into his mouth. She had secretly begged him to undo the tiny pearl buttons on her dress, pull her into his lap and fill her with the erection she could just make out beneath his jeans.

  He hadn’t, which was probably a good thing since the bleeding had slowed considerably, but hadn’t stopped and even if Sloan had torn off her clothes and thrown her on the bed, not very much would have happened, which was just her luck.

  Grumbling, she turned onto her side and watched the night shift outside the window.

  It was the tantalizing scent of coffee that lured Lily awake a few short hours later. She stret
ched and yawned before pushing back the covers and making her way downstairs.

  Sloan stood at the counter, back to her, taking timid sips of the mug in his hand. He was topless again and his feet were bare. The flannel bottoms he wore hung dangerously low on his hips.

  Lily watched him, tracing the intricate swirl of symbols clashing in a solid mass of colors across the length of his back and intertwining down his arms. They had always seemed so random, but she had felt what they concealed, because while the images hid them from view, the raised ropes of scarred flesh was impossible to miss under the touch. She had wanted to ask, but there was no real need to. Cole had told her about their father, about the drinking and the beatings. Yet while Cole’s body was as flawless as a baby’s, Sloan’s back was a maze of horror hidden behind a beautiful wall of ink.

  It made her insides ache with so much pain and anger. Cole had never let her come over when his father was home. But she had seen him in town, always disheveled and stumbling around with a bottle in his hand. The night their mother had died, Lily had wanted to come over, to stay with Cole, but he had begged her not to. She had gone over the next morning to find the place in pieces. Shattered pieces of glass, furniture, and books lay everywhere. It was as though someone had filmed a scene for Terminator in their living room. Lily had been horrified by the blood that smeared the floors and walls. That was when Cole told her about his dad stumbling home drunk after the funeral and Sloan shoving Cole under the bed and facing their father alone as he had ever since they were little.

  Lily’s heart broke every time she thought about it.

  “Morning.” Sloan offered her a slight smile over the rim of his coffee mug.

  Lily shook free of the memories and willed herself to relax. “Morning.” She took a careful step closer. “How’s your back?”

  He rolled his shoulder in a shrug. “It’s better.”

  He moved to the table, set his cup down and hefted up his top off the back of a chair. He swung it on and pulled the hem down over his waistband.