Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (103 page)

E
mma runs across the sand
, giggling as her cousin Carter chases her. She stumbles for a second before Carter catches her, both of them laughing up a storm before they run off again.

“Is she wearing enough sunblock?”

I grin as I turn back to look up at Silas, who I’ve been using as a beach recliner.

Being seven months pregnant has its perks.

“Yes, she’s wearing the SPF 9000,” I say evenly. I love how much he worries over our first daughter.

He frowns, still watching Emma “They don’t make that.”

“Silas.”

He looks down and sees the sarcasm on my face.

“Oh har-har-har,” he murmurs, grinning before he leans down to steal a kiss.

“She’s fine, don’t worry.”

We’re all fine.

It’s been five years since the day on the pier of Shelter Harbor when I said yes, again. Four years and eleven months since we held a real ceremony, this time with my family present. We even got Father Murray, who married us the
first
time in the rectory at St. Michael’s, to come and preside over what was this time around just a formality.

Silas and my brother Kyle started their securities company. It’s based out of New York City, so there’s a fair amount of travel involved for Silas, but its working out, and the company is doing
phenomenally
well.

And he always comes home.

“Home” being here in Shelter Harbor.

Yeah, we stayed. We got our house, of course. No more basement couches under Jacob’s roof.

Sierra’s friend
did
put me in touch with an amazing lawyer. But, it turned out I never really needed him because Blaine managed to break contract
himself
when he was caught on camera blowing coke at some nightclub.

He and Ainsley are still together, for whatever that’s worth. I honestly don’t have an opinion on it.

After that though, Lori saw no reason to sue each other, and actually asked me to stay with the management company.

I declined.

I went solo, and it’s been the best thing I could have done. Plus, it’s the digital age, and I could honestly do my work from anywhere. And as it happens, my fans
love
“quaint New England charm” in their pictures. I took my yoga line that the management company had been holding over my head for years along with me. And after Vivian put me in touch with a few of her high class trust fund friends, it launched six months after I left to a pretty huge response.

Lululemon does carry it, by the way.

I also expanded into a “mommy yoga” line after I found out I was pregnant with Emma, and business has been
great
.

Declan’s currently serving twenty years in Walpole prison. Silas still goes to see him once a month, which at first I was appalled by, until he explained it to me.

“Believe me, no matter how shitty you act, you can’t lose your family entirely. Nothing’s worse than that.”

And so life goes on. Mom’s still gardening and teaching the odd piano lesson. Dad’s still giving sermon’s every Sunday. Sierra went back to her graduate program, Rowan went back to opening and closing his favorite bar six days a week, and Stella and Carter went back to being their own little team.

And we’re right here in the thick of it. Because somehow, running from home and the places we knew only brought us right back to where we started and right back together.

We just had to take the long way.

But we’re home now, right where we belong.

And nothing’s going to change that.

“
A
re you shitting me
?”

Of course he’s not. It’s the fucking day before Christmas Eve, there’s a foot of snow on the ground, and I’d probably have to be suicidal to get on a damn plane right now anyways.

Doesn’t mean I’m not still seeing red.

Because I
have
to get home.

The securities business Kyle and I set up is
killing it
these days, which is great. But it also means a
shitload
of traveling, which I kinda hate.

I always get a weird sort of anxiety whenever I’m away from Shelter Harbor these days. It’s been six years since I spoke the vows a second time to the only girl I ever wanted to say them to – six years since we decided to settle down and make our lives right there in that town. But there’s something that’s always stuck with me after I spent eight years away from the place that still held my heart and the only family I ever knew.

I hate when I have to leave it. Especially since now it’s not just Ivy at home waiting for me. Now there’s also Emma, our three-and-a-half-year old, and Nora, our thirteen-month old waiting for Daddy to come home.

Oh, and Lucas, technically. Ivy’s pregnant again – six and a half months, and
this time
with a boy.

I was starting to feel a little out-numbered in that house.

The house I’m currently being told I won’t be able to
get to
for the next three days since there’s a perfect storm of being the day before Christmas Eve, the airlines pulling their usual overbooking shit, and literally a storm of snow and ice.

Fucking wonderful.

“There has to be another way into Boston tonight,” I growl, the thought of my two little girls and my pregnant wife beckoning like a beacon in my head. “A private plane, fucking
something
.”

The guy behind the airline desk gives me the same genuinely sincere apologetic look he’s already given me about a dozen times.

“I’m
so
sorry, Mr. Hart, but the whole Northeast has been grounded.”

Fuck
.

I rub the bridge of my nose with my fingers, grinding my teeth before taking a deep breath.

“Okay, how soon tomorrow morning do you think they could feasibly-”

“How many times you gonna make the guy say no, pal?”

I whirl on the dipshit standing in line behind me with a fury in my eyes I’m willing to bet he wasn’t quite expecting. His eyes go slightly wide as I draw up my full height and jab a finger at his pudgy chest.

“As many fucking times as it takes to figure out how I’m going to get home in time for Christmas for my two little girls. That cool with you?”

He swallows quickly and nods.

“Great, thanks.”

I turn back to the airline clerk, who does a pretty admirable job of hiding a grin.

“If you’d like, Mr. Hart, with your corporate account with us, the airline is more than happy to put you up in deluxe accommodations for the night. We can give you a call first thing tomorrow when we know if conditions have changed.”

I drop my face into my hands and growl as quietly as I can.

“I’m really not getting out of New York tonight, am I?”

He shakes his head, genuinely looking as upset about it as I feel.

“Not on a plane, I’m afraid.”

* * *

“
A
re you with Santa
?”

I smile for the first time in hours at the sound of Emma’s voice on the phone.

“I was earlier, pumpkin.”

“
Really!?
”

One of the weirdest parts about being a parent is learning when it’s actually
okay
to lie to your children. Besides, this is more of a story than a
lie
anyways.

“Yeah, really. But only for a second, because he’s
really
busy getting ready to bring you and your sister all your toys.”

Emma gasps over the line. “Did you see the reindeer?”

The smile spreads even wider across my face. “I sure did.”

“Mama!” I laugh as I pull the phone away from my ear. “Daddy met the reindeer!”

I grin, imagining Ivy’s rolled eyes.

Emma gets back on the line. “Mama says it’s time for bed.”

“Well Mama’s right!” I lay back in the large hotel bed in the empty dark of the room, thinking of our bright, warm, kitchen back home and my family all there waiting for me.

“I think you should get some sleep, pumpkin.”

“Will Santa come early if I do?”

I laugh. “I don’t think so, but I bet if you’re extra good to your mom tonight, he’ll know.”

Emma gasps again. “Okay, goodnight Daddy!” she says extra quickly.

“Night princess, I love you.”

“I love you!”

There’s a beat before I hear Ivy’s honeyed laugh come over the line.

“Are you bribing our daughter with Santa in order to get her to go to bed?”

“Definitely.”

She laughs again. “You’re terrible.”

“Is it working?’”

“Well she’s manically brushing her teeth
while
changing into her pajamas, and trying to comb her hair at the same time. So, yes, it’s working.”

I laugh into the empty silence of the room.

“Is the hotel room nice at least?”

I make a face. “No.”

She snorts. “Oh, yeah, I hear the Ritz Carlton has
really
gone downhill these days.”

Okay, the room is
stupidly
nice – gold trim, a huge king-sized bed, luxurious furniture, and a bathroom that Ivy would lose her mind over. It’s a room fit for a king, or, say, a CEO of a high-end securities firm that just signed a sweet government sub-contracting job.

I’d trade
all of it
to be home right now with my girls.

“How’s New York?”

“Loud. Kind of dirty. Huge.” I grin. “You ever miss living here?”

Ivy snorts again. “Nope.”

“Oh, hey, did my presents arrive?”

She hasn’t said anything yet about the two boxes I know have been delivered – one small and one quite large.

“Oh, yeah, it- Emma! No running down the stairs, honey.”

I smile.

“Open it yet?”

I can hear Ivy grin through the phone. “I assumed it was a Christmas present?”

I push my finger through my hair, grinning and feeling my cock stir a little bit at the thought of the presents I got my wife.

“Well, it is, but I’d meant for you to open it early. I mean, ideally with
me
there, but you should still open it early.”

“I shouldn’t wait until Christmas morning with the girls?”

“It might jump-start some
really
interesting conversations with our three-year old about the kinds of presents mommies and daddies give each other.”

I can practically
see
the bloom of red across Ivy’s face through the phone.

“S
ilas Hart
,” she says quietly, breathlessly.

“Yes?” I grin, slipping my hand behind my head.

“Why do I get the impression that you’ve been naughty?”

I groan at her words, my cock actually throbbing in my pants at the word “naughty” dripped from my wife’s sexy, pouty lips.

“Cause I have been.”

I can hear her swallow thickly. “I need to put Emma down, but can I call you after?”

I grin as I stand from the bed. “Take your time. I’m going to rinse off, but call me after you open the small one. And say goodnight to our little munchkin for me.”

* * *

I
’m pouring
myself a scotch from the mini bar, wrapped in a towel after my shower, when my phone rings from across the room.

“Okay, someone was
very
naughty.”

I grin. “Does that mean you like it?”

Ivy breathes heavily into the phone. “You
know
I like it. And you know how much I love this shade of red.”

My wife could wear fucking
burlap
and look sexy, but the thought of her in the sheer, lacy, wildly expensive red lingerie I got her has my blood pumping in my veins a little quicker.

Ivy whistles lowly. “It’s
really
hot.”

“It’s going to look even hotter on you.”

She makes a sound.

“What’s up?”

“Silas, it’s gorgeous, I just don’t know if it’ll, I mean-” she sighs. “You do remember that I’m almost seven months pregnant, right?”

“Yeah I thought I recalled something about that.”

She giggles.

“I had it special ordered. It’s maternity lingerie, specifically for six and a half months.”

“Oh?” Her voice perks up.

“Yeah, try it on.”

She giggles again. “Now?”

“Kids asleep?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“So try it on, gorgeous.”

Her breath comes heavy through the phone.

“Okay.”

I hear her put the phone down, and in the silence, I can imagine her slipping her clothes off and revealing that sweet body, swollen with our child. I imagine that rounded belly, her full, ripe breasts.

The way I know she gets extra wet in the third trimester.

The towel is barely hanging onto my hips at this point with how hard my cock is underneath it, so I toss it aside as I climb onto the bed. I lie back into the pillows, sipping at my scotch as I fantasize about my sexy pregnant wife.

“Okay, um,
wow
.” Ivy sounds breathless.

“Fit okay?”

“It’s
perfect
,” she purrs in a way that has my cock pulsing even harder.

“I’d love to see it, you know.”

She laughs seductively. “Oh I bet you would.”

“You know that phone has a camera.”

She laughs again. “Dirty boy.”

“You have no idea.”

“Oh I think I do actually, but I think I’m going to make you wait on this one.”

I groan. “You’re terrible.”

“Awww,” she says it with an exaggerated voice. “Am I being too much of
cock
tease, baby?”

I groan audibly at the word and she giggles seductively.

“Do me a favor?”

“Yes?” she breathes.

“Say that word again,” I growl.

“
Cock
,” she husks out.

How the fuck did I get this woman again?

“Fuck, I could hear you say that all day.”

She giggles. “Well maybe I like being a little tease. Besides, if we wait, tomorrow
I
can be your Christmas present.”

My hand wraps around my cock before I’m even aware of it as I growl into the phone.

“Do I get to unwrap you?”

“Mhmm,” Ivy half-moans into the phone.

“I think you should open the other box now.”

“Silas, it’s
huge
.”

I grin. “Did the moving guys bring it into the bedroom?”

“Yeah.”

“Go ahead and open it.”

“Okay, hang on.”

There’s the sound of my wife pulling the tape on the large delivery box, and I can feel my blood pumping in anticipation. I was told when ordering the thing that it comes pre-assembled, so all Ivy had to do is pull away the outer shipping box and the actual packaging and it’ll be right there for her.

The swing.

This being our third kid, I’ve become pretty well schooled in how my wife’s body behaves during pregnancy. For one, she’s
incredibly
horny, especially in that transition from second to third trimester. “Insatiable” actually might be the best word to use there. She’s like a wild animal at times, pouncing on me even before I can get my coat off walking through the front door or straight-up jumping me in the shower.

I’d be a fucking
idiot
if that were a complaint, by the way.

But the other thing about her being almost seven months is that it gets harder to be, well,
adventurous
in our love-making. I know Ivy loves to be on top, and
loves
it when I fuck her from behind. But that gets tough when you’ve got a beach-ball in your belly weighing you down.

Hence, the swing. The
sex
swing, to be precise - the one specifically built for pregnant women. It’s like a sling of sorts that hangs from a frame that allows some extra support. Hell, I took one look at it on the online store and thought of a million dirty things we could do with it. She could use it to ride me, or lay back in it while I spread her legs and fucked her slow and deep. We could even use it for to bend over in while I take her from behind – something that’s gotten harder and harder to do on a bed.