She nods solemnly.
“You are so very smart, baby girl. Smart and eager to learn. Put those things together, and it means you’ll do amazing.”
“Besides.” Megan joins me, struggling just a little with her new belly. I rub it again, because I can never get enough. “This school is here to teach you. You aren’t supposed to know everything. You’ll be great.”
Cora wraps her arms around both of us and takes a deep breath. “Okay, mommy. You’re right. Adios!”
We kiss her and hug her again. We’ve barely got her backpack hung up before she’s settled at her table with her new classmates, chatting everyone up about her time in Venezuela.
“Oh, she’s going to be the big know-it-all,” Megan sighs good naturedly. “Of course she is.”
“I like her being a know-it-all. She’s going to own that class. Bonillas are meant to lead.”
“Speaking of leads…” Megan checks her phone. “We need to hurry home. I’ve got a listing to show a client in forty minutes, and I’m going to be late.”
“They’ll understand,” I wave her off. “It’s not every day your baby girl has her very first day of school.”
“I hope she loves it.”
I squeeze Megan’s hand. “She will.”
We head home to our obnoxiously big home in our new neighborhood. It’s old, wealthy, and close to work. I never thought I’d live in a place like this, but if we’re going to have the Bonilla baseball team we want, then we need the space to fit them all. This beautiful baby girl Megan is growing in her belly is only the beginning.
Megan slips ahead of me for the kitchen, eager to grab a cup of decaf before leaving again. She starts the Keurig and makes a face. “Decaf just isn’t the same.”
I lean against the entryway to the kitchen, watching my beautiful, pregnant wife move around the kitchen, putting up dishes and grabbing a coffee mug. She looks absolutely stunning in that tight little dress, emphasizing her baby belly and her incredibly huge pregnancy tits.
I’ve got to the get to Kauffman and she’s got to get to a showing, but my hands are already on my zipper as I come up behind her at the sink.
“You look so sexy today,” I murmur against her neck. She shivers a little but tries to push me away. I run my hands down her sides and up under her dress. “I’m sure your clients wouldn’t mind if you’re a little late.”
“Jamie,” She pleads, but only half-heartedly. “We both have work!”
“We just dropped our baby girl off at school. I think this deserves a little celebration.”
“We celebrated last night. Twice. Remember?”
I place lingering kisses down her neck and feel her press herself into me. Oh, I’m going to win. “Yeah, but that was celebrating that we kept her alive until school started. This is celebrating us dropping her off. There’s a difference.”
She turns to face me, trying to look serious, but I can see the want in her eyes. “You’re terrible. I’m a huge whale not fit for making love.”
I take her by the waist and set her on the kitchen island. Her thighs spread for me and I run my hands up them, straight to her waiting center. She gasps a little as I run my finger across her panties. “You are the sexiest woman I have ever seen in my life. Seeing you carrying our child turns me on more than you will ever understand, Megan. Let me show you the things you do to me.”
She rolls her eyes, or tries to, but ends up moaning instead as my fingers prod against her damp panties. “We’ve got to be quick.”
“Challenge accepted.” I’m in her almost immediately, the familiar feelings of lust and pure love taking hold of me.
She presses my face against her breasts and I kiss the swells as I thrust into her tight wetness. I’m not allowed to go anywhere near her nipples anymore because they are too tender. It’s a shame, because they are gorgeously large and pert all the time, just waiting to feed our baby, which gets me hot all over again. But I settle for kissing around them and carefully cupping them in my hands, so I don’t hurt her.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” I mutter in her ear. My thumb encircles her clit while my cock stretches and pushes into her. “You’re a goddess, Megan. You’ve always been sexy, but now you’re a goddess among us mere mortals, growing life with this incredible body.”
Her moans grow louder, so I suck gently on her neck, just below where her dress sits. A reminder of our morning tryst that her clients won’t see, but that she’ll feel. I love leaving these for her. I pinch her clit and she cries out, slapping a hand over her mouth.
“Don’t hold back,” I grunt in her ear. “I want your screams to bounce off of these cabinets.”
“The gardeners are outside,” Megan gasps. “The windows are open. They’ll hear.”
“Let them hear,” I growl. “The sound of you coming is my favorite thing in the world and I never want you to contain yourself, ever. Let it go, Megan. Come for me and fill this room with your screams.”
“God, you’re bad.” She whispers with a smile, bliss etched in her face. “So terrible.”
“So terrible and you love it.”
“Always,” She grabs my arms. “Harder, Jamie. Harder.”
We’re pressed forehead to forehead, so lost in the motions we can barely kiss. We share a breath as I plow into her tirelessly, my cock desperate to unload within her, but not until this gorgeous woman comes all over me.
I got her to squirt once, the night we made Baby Girl Bonilla, and it remains one of my brightest moments in the bedroom. If we had more time, I’d try it again. Maybe later tonight, after we tuck Cora into bed.
Megan squeezes my cock with a shudder and I know she’s so close. I suck on her earlobe and whisper, “God, I love you” and she’s done for, falling off that cliff into pure ecstasy. She comes so hard it almost hurts to be inside her, but the pain is exactly what I need to come with her.
Let the gardeners hear. I want the world to hear my wife when she’s coming, because it’s the best thing ever. I want everyone to know how stupidly, grossly happy we are.
Maybe it’s my imagination, but I think I see Jorge tipping his hat to me while he’s pruning the rose bushes. It’s about as close to high-fiving someone after sex as I can get.
Megan slumps against me, panting slightly. “That was so good.”
“Exactly what you needed, wasn’t it?” I give her a smirk and grab a towel to clean her up. “Now go sell a million houses.”
“Go hit a million home runs.”
“After this? I’ll hit two million.” I help her off the island and kiss her. “You’re incredible.”
“You’re ridiculous.” She grins mischievously. “But I love you more than anything.”
I follow her to the door and stop her for one last, lingering kiss. “I’ll always come home to you, Megan. The day you agreed to let me be your husband, I know I’d hit that long ball. You’re the only home run I’ll ever want.”
Her eyes get misty and she kisses me again. “Take a lap, Bonilla.”
With a wink and a swish of her hips, she’s out the door. I lean against it to watch her walk away, one of my favorite parts of the day. I don’t know what I did to get so lucky, what bit of Karma I cast into the universe to end up with the woman and the family of my dreams, but I know I’m the luckiest guy in the entire world.
I grab my gym bag and am about to pull out of my garage when my phone lights up with a text from Megan—a picture of Cora from this morning. The three of us are smiling bright in the Kansas sun, with Cora hugging her mom’s growing baby bump and my arms around them both.
I make a stop by Walgreens to get it printed so I can tack it up in my locker, along with all the photos from our wedding and honeymoon over Christmas to Venezuela. Of Cora on her bike and the first baseball she ever caught at a game. Me and Cora sharing an ice cream sundae. My amazing family life caught in stills.
My breath still catches when I look at them, and I know that today, I’ll hit that long ball.
Bonus book
Badass in My Bed #1
Enjoy a complete bonus book, my novel Badass in My Bed #1.
My life is music. I play it, I live it, I breathe it. Next week, I start my dream job playing cello with the Boston Symphony. My father might finally be proud of me, and I… well, I’ll have my music.
Then I met Dylan—tattooed, badass, always-hard Dylan. He’s nothing like anyone I’ve ever been with before. Just one night can’t hurt me.
But sometimes when you play with fire, you get burned.
1
I’m not all about the bass, but this song is pretty catchy.
Alexandria—Alex—sets my glass of white zin in front of me before sliding onto her bar stool and clinking her glass against mine.
I take a sip of the crisp, cool wine. Passable for a bar’s stock. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
I listen to the chorus playing overhead. “What song is this?”
“Oh, Rachel.” Her blonde curls bounce with her vigorous headshake. “You need to toss the Tchaikovsky and take in the Trainor.”
I smile. Last girl’s night two weeks ago she told me to ‘set down the Stravinsky and snatch up the Sia.’ Alex is all about alliteration. “I’m not against pop. Just, when I’m not playing the classics at school, I’m practicing them at home.” There’s not room for any more sound than that.
“You unwind with silence, not the radio. I know.”
I grin. “I’m beginning to think we’ve had this conversation before.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Once or twice, usually when I’m trying to recommend a band.”
Now I feel bad about brushing off her recommendations because I was too busy or uninterested. “How about you make me a playlist and I promise to listen to every song all the way through at least once.”
Instead of smiling, sadness clouds her pert features. “I’m going to miss your highbrow music tastes. Promise to call and talk snobby to me at least once a week. Or better yet, skype.”
“I will.” I drown the lump of emotion in my throat with more wine.
Alex suggested the bar, a small, subterranean place with rave reviews but not much exposure—we didn’t have to fight for a table to ourselves. White-painted brick walls, tasteful beige and black décor, and recessed lighting provide ample ambiance, but the crowd’s thankfully thin for a Thursday. Tonight’s the last day we could meet before I get on the plane Monday morning to start my new life, the final girl’s night with Alex for who knows how long, and I want to make it count. “I won’t be too far away,” I remind us both. “It’s Massachusetts not Mongolia.”
“True. And if nothing else, I managed to wrench that huge instrument from between your legs one last time.”
“Alex!” I hiss, looking around at the nearby tables. Fortunately, our few neighbors are more focused on their intoxication than our conversation.
A guy sitting at a booth by himself catches my eye, but not because I think he might have heard. He’s too far away. His head is down so all I see is shaggy dark hair and a tight t-shirt showing off the tattoos all over his massive biceps.
He’s not my type, but I still look at him. Can’t stop looking at him. He’s much stronger than the men I spend time with—the delicate-handed artists who don’t lift anything heavier than their bow. This guy could easily lift me. Could hoist me over his shoulder, if he wanted.
I’m not sure why I find that so exciting.
“You deserve a little embarrassment for abandoning me for Bean Town.”
I force my gaze back to Alex who has pushed her lips into a cherry red pout
I toy with the stem of my glass. “For work, not a vacation.” I glance back at Tattooed Guy hoping to see his face, but the waiter is delivering drinks to the table nearby, blocking my view.
Alex sighs. “That makes it worse because you won’t be coming back in a week. The windy city is going to blow without you.”
“Something tells me you’ll survive just fine,” I joke, but the words have a morose edge. Most of the things I’ve done off campus—and outside my apartment—are directly because of her nagging me to get out more. I thought there’d be more time after graduation to bond and explore the city, but here I am getting ready to leave it. I don’t regret my dedication to my craft, and landing a spot with the Boston Symphony is a dream come true. But I can’t hep feeling like there’s something missing in m y life. Something I should have done that I didn’t. If there’d been more time…
The waiter finishes his delivery, but now my view is blocked by a tall guy with a backwards cap who leans over the side of Tattooed Guy’s booth to give him a high five.
“This is all your Dad’s fault.” Alex’s voice is bitter.
“Hmm?” I look away from the bad boy and drain half my glass as Alex repeats her statement. “He just wants what’s best for me.” It’s true, but only half the story. The whole story is that he’s mortified about my career choice. And he’ll stay mortified unless I can prove to him that I’m a good enough cello player to make a name for myself.
I draw swirls in the condensation of my glass with a fingertip, my stomach knotting as I’m reminded of my father’s constant criticism.
“I should have taken out student loans instead of letting him pay my tuition—maybe that would have earned his respect.”
“Probably not.”
“Your Dad’s so shitty.”
I take an extra big gulp of zin. “Now you see why it’s a good thing I got this job in the Boston Symphony.” I prop my head on my fist and sigh.I bet Tattooed Guy doesn’t have to answer to an overbearing parent. I bet he doesn’t answer to anyone. I bet he’s the one in control of the people around him.
And, if he were the one bossing me around, I bet I wouldn’t be so opposed. What it would be like to be a woman who could let him do that.
I prop my head on my fist and sigh, imagining it.
“You okay?”
My cheeks heat as though she could read my mind. I attempt to cover. “Yeah. Just, you know. All of this. It’s a big change. But at least I’ll be playing.”
Alex squeezes more lime into her beer.
“Yeah, but at what price?” The directness of her stare unnerves me.
“I prefer to think of it as mapping out my future. Not leaving things to fate.” Things like my career, or love. It’s a smarter course of action than, say, hooking up with a stranger in a bar. Especially a strong, inked, in-control-of-his-own-life hottie like the one at the back of the bar.
I cast my gaze again toward him and bingo! I finally see his face.
God, his face...
Now that I see it, I’m not sure I can ever look away. It’s striking. Stunning. Strangely beautiful.
His eyes are inset, his jaw and nose strong. And his mouth…it’s perfect, his lips full but not girly. The set of them always with just a bit of a curve, never straight. They’re sin and sex, yet, as he smirks at something on his phone, also quite boyish. It’s the kind of mouth I could stare at for hours, watching the way it shapes words and slides into smiles. The kind of mouth that feels good to kiss and better to suck and my, oh, my, I bet he sucks down there so right that I wouldn’t need to grab a vibrator after.
Where the hell did that come from? I’m not a prude, but having dirty thoughts about men in bars is really not my style.
It’s a sign of stress, that’s all. In my mind, Beautiful Tattooed Boy is the personification of chance encounters and not having a plan. It’s the other road—the road I didn’t take. Correction—wouldn’t take. He’s nice to look at, but other than that we’d probably clash. Big time. I’m only attracted to him because, although I’m happy with my choices and my plans, I can’t help being curious about what else might have been.
Yeah. That’s totally it.
But what if I’m more than curious?
I take another large sip of wine and ask the question that no one can answer. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”
Alex hesitates. “I think you know what you want. You’re the most driven person I’ve ever met.”
“But…?”
She looks around as though the words are floating somewhere to the left of my face. “But it feels so final. I just hope it really is what you want and not what your father really wants.”
It has to be. “It is.” And if it isn’t, I’m not sure what is.
“Then you’re definitely not making a mistake.” It’s impossible for her to know that as confidently as she’s said it, but I cling to her reassurance. “But you need to at least have a good fuck before you leave.”
I’m glad I wasn’t drinking at that moment or I’d have spit my wine. “You are so inappropriate. Why do I take you out in public?”
“Hey, you’re the one who practices fingering. For hours at a time, I might add.”
“For music.” I laugh, now warmer from the wine than embarrassment. “And I don’t need anything. Besides, even if I did want a hookup, there’s no one I’m attracted to.”
Except for him.
My gaze flits back to the tattooed stranger sitting in the dark booth. His large hand engulfs the bottle in his grip as he brings it slowly to his mouth and swallows deeply. Would his palm be strong, his wrist firm as he ran his touch over my—
“Why don’t you go talk to him?”
“To whom?” Damn those observant blue eyes of hers.
“Tall, dark, and delicious over there. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. You’ve been checking him out since we got here. And I approve! He’s alone, you’re alone—”
The thought of talking to him causes a strange flutter low in my belly that I don’t like. Or I do like. I’m not quite sure yet. “Funny, I thought I was sitting with my friend Alexandria, getting some quality girl time in before I move.” I uncross and re-cross my legs, feeling restless and needy.
Long Ball: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 13
