Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (74 page)

M
y heart is racing
, pulse pounding in my veins as we roar through the streets of LA. My body is on fire, still buzzing and shaking from the quick and dirty climax at his hands - and his mouth - back in the parking lot.

I’m still sprawled in the passenger seat of his Land Rover, staring at the man behind the wheel.

Cool, cocky, dominant.

Possessive
.

And there’s still something insanely hot about his actions tonight, however caveman and however overly macho they are. There’s something
biological
that tugs at something deep inside of me about him storming into a place to come
claim
me, like I’m
his
.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he growls, his eyes darting towards mine in the darkness of the car. Streetlights and neon signs cast streaks of light across his face as we drive past them, temporarily illuminating the inside of the car and glinting off the fire in his eyes.

“Play with your pussy,” he says darkly, a passing sign casting an orange glow across his face.

I swallow, panting. “Here?”

“Spread your legs,” he growls, his hands tight on the wheel. “Let me see how wet you are.”

I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, blinking quickly at him as I feel the surge well up inside of me.

“Bossy?”

He doesn’t even turn from the road. “You haven’t seen me bossy.”

“Maybe you should fix that.”

He does turn then, his eyes barely containing the lust and the need bottled up behind them.

But I’m doing what he says. I’m sitting back against the door and pulling my knees up to my chest, spreading them. My skirt bunches at my waist, my panties still in a tangle on the floor of the car.

Austin groans, darting quick looks my way and watching as I let my fingers slide over my pussy. I don’t know what he’s doing to me, to make me like this - that makes me want to go
actually
crazy and do insane things like this.

Like, masturbate in a moving car for my “husband.”

I moan softly at the thought of being so bad for him - of doing something so naughty like this. My breath comes staggered as I ease a finger inside, letting my other hand slowly rub circles over my aching clit. My head falls back against the tinted window behind me, gasping as the feeling melts through me.

“God you’re fucking wet,” he groans, his hands tightening even more on the wheel. The car jerks slightly, and I gasp, my body shivering with the thrill.

“Eyes on the road, mister,” I say breathily.

“You’re making that
very
hard.”

“Anything else?” I rake my nails across my bottom lip coyly, eyes flashing at him. “Anything else I’m making hard?”

He grins. “So much for my clean little house wife.”

“I told you I could be dirty.”

I’m moving towards him, now utterly convinced I’ve lost my mind as my hands slide into his lap.

“Nat-”

I’m tugging at his zipper as he groans, popping the button above, reaching inside, and cooing as I wrap my fingers around his big, beautiful cock. He groans as I stroke him once, twice, before carefully pulling him out of his pants.

“
Fuck, Natalie…
”

Austin moans as I wrap my lips around his cock, swirling my tongue around the head as I slowly start to suck him.

“Eyes on the road,” I whisper, letting my tongue dance down the underside of him.

I inhale him again, moaning around his thick girth as I start to bob up and down, my hands stroking the rest of him that clearly won’t fit between my lips.

He’s grunting while one hand slides into my hair and sending a thrill through me as he drives.

He’s pulsing hard in my mouth, growing even bigger as I suck him deep, my fingers teasing his shaft.

“Nat,
fuck
,” he groans, sucking in air through his teeth. “I’m going to-”

“Come in my mouth,” I whisper, opening my mouth and sliding as far down on him as I can. My hands pump his shaft, my tongue swirling around and around his crown.

We’re pulling up the driveway of his house, and right then, he explodes. His hot cum fills my mouth as I swallow eagerly, his cock pulsing between my lips as he stops the car with a jerk at a crooked angle outside the house.

We barely make it out of the car, doors still open as he pushes me against the front door, his hand digging and jangling in his pocket for keys.

We fall into the foyer of the house, pulling each other’s clothes off right there on the floor. His fingers slide inside of me as his mouth leaves bruises down my neck and collarbone, my moans dripping in his ears. He pulls me on top of him, and I toss my hair back and sigh as I slowly sink down on him.

His cock stretches and touches me in places I’ve never felt inside, sending pleasure screaming through my body. His hands are on my hips, guiding me, his eyes never leaving mine as I ride him. I’m moving up and down, rolling my hips, my hands flat on his chest, and my eyes locked onto his.

And it’s so good. It’s perfect synchronically, a perfect fit. Everything else fades away as we move together, there on the floor in a tangle of our clothes. None of it matters besides that very moment, - not the fake marriage, not the complications, not any sort of
arrangement.

It’s just him and me, eye-to-eye as we move together towards that sweet release.

And when I come, he rises up, holding me, clutching me against his chest and driving up into me, rocking me right through my orgasm. I hear him groan my name in my ear, and then feel the pulsing throb of him deep inside as he lets go. The climax rolls through me - wave after wave as I slowly ride us both through it - milking him for every drop until neither of us can move another inch.

And it’s perfect.

L
ying
in bed with her the next morning, all the rest of it drops away.
This
is all that matters. Not the fucking arrangement, not the media, not the looming thought that eventually, this has an end date.

I can forget all that with her.

It’s easy, and comfortable, and for once, I don’t give a shit about the fact that I’m paying her, or whatever. It’s not like that. And there’s a sort of glowing satisfaction when I glance down to her hand in mine and see the ring on her finger. This whole thing may have started with some stupid napkin arrangement, but she’s
actually
wearing my ring, and that means something.

Hell, she means something. She means a fucking lot, even if I still can’t wrap my head around what that means or how that happened.

But I’m not going to try and overthink that one. Because if there’s one thing life’s taught me, it’s to know when it’s fucking good.

And this girl right here, curled up into me and dozing in my arms -
this
is as good as it gets.

My phone buzzes across the side table, interrupting my thoughts, and I grumble as I answer the number I don’t recognize.

“Sleeping late, Mr. Taylor?

I frown at the strange voice. “Who is this?”

“You can call me the collector, Mr. Taylor.”

There’s something in that voice that sends a cold feeling through me, and I sit up slightly, turning away from Natalie.

“What the fuck is this,” I growl. “How’d you get this num-”

“You owe us a considerable about of money, Mr. Taylor, and it is
my
job
to make sure that gets delivered.”

The cold feeling turning into an icy chill inside.

“You’re looking for my dad,” I say evenly, clenching my jaw.

“Sins of the father, Mr. Taylor, sins of the father.”

“Look,” I mutter. “This is
his
business.”

“Well, Mr. Taylor, I’m making it
your
business.”

Natalie stirs behind me.

“This has
nothing
to do with me. My father is a fucking degenerate and I have no relationship with him.”

“This has
everything
to do with you now, Mr. Taylor,” the voice says in that same neutral, almost humored tone. “You have three weeks to deliver, and after that, well…” the voice trails off into a chuckle. “Well, after that I’m not sure I can guarantee you’ll be playing football anytime soon.”

I swallow thickly. “Listen-”

“Three weeks, Mr. Taylor.”

The line goes dead.

I pull the phone away from my face, holding it in my hands and staring at it.

Fuck
.

I’m not scared. I don’t get scared. But there’s a white space in my head as the lingering of that cold voice rattle through it. It’s a blankness, a not knowing what to do. And I hate that feeling - the feeling of being helpless and not in control.

The feeling of when my dad used to hit my mom.

It’s the rage, the blank fury that comes out of the darkness and threatens to tear me down.

“Who was that?”

I turn to Natalie, rubbing sleep out of her eyes, and something inside of me seizes up. I can’t tell her this. Everything else, I want her to know, and let her in on. I want to show her places inside of me I’ve never showed anyone, as crazy as I know that is.

But not this. For some reason, the idea of exposing her to this or bringing her into it is too much.

“Nothing,” I say quickly.

She rolls her eyes. “Austin with his
biiiig
secrets-”

“It’s
nothing,
okay? It doesn’t concern you,” I snap, feeling like an asshole the second I say it. I wince. “Sorry,” I grumble out. “It’s just-”

“Yeah, no, forget it.” Natalie slips out of bed, pulling the top sheet around her body. “It’s fine.”

“Natalie, it’s-”

“Austin it’s fine.” She looks at up, her face neutral and reserved. “This is just casual, right? I don’t need to know your personal stuff.” She shrugs. “I’m not your real wife, remember?”

She pads into the bathroom and closes the door.

It’s a sinking feeling. A few weeks ago, I’d have been grinning and readily agreeing. A few weeks ago, when she was just the strange girl who’d agreed to my stupid plan, she’d be right on the money.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around what’s changed when she steps from the bathroom in a robe and leaves the room, leaving me with an even colder feeling than the phone call.

I
’m toweling
my hair off after my shower, still not sure what to think about this morning.

Or last night, for that matter.

My hands freeze, towel still wrapped around my hair, as the ring on my finger suddenly flashes and catches my eye in the mirror.

Last night when I slept with my husband
.

It’s like saying the words over in my head makes it
mean
something, even though it’s not supposed to.

Even if it
can’t
.

My phone rings from inside the bedroom, dragging me back out of my own head. Wrapping the towel around my body, I pad across the bedroom floor, reaching for it as it chimes a second time.

I freeze at the number on the screen.

Vince
.

“Let’s meet, I have something to discuss with you.”

I scrunch my face up at the sound of his voice, as if my mouth was just filled with something sour. No “hello”, no “how are you, Natalie”, just a demand.

I shake my head. “I’m deleting this number, Vince. Please don’t call-”

“Natalie, I have plenty of ways of contacting you without a phone.” There’s something dark and something harsh in his words that I’ve never heard from him before, and it sends an uncomfortable chill down my spine as I snap my mouth shut.

“Just a business proposition, that’s all. Meet me at Cafe Lola on Rodeo in an hour?” He chuckles a flat, icy laugh. “That’s near you, isn’t it?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Vince, please don’t call me agai-”

“You’ll want to be there, Natalie.”

The line goes dead.

I’m cold, shivering at the silence on the phone as I stand there in my towel. And for a moment, I think about calling Austin. For a moment, that’s all I want - for him to make this better.

Except, that’s not what we are, as I guess we’ve
both
made that clear. We’re not real, we’re a convenience.

An arrangement.

I scowl at the thought, shaking my head and thinking of his own mystery phone call from this morning.

Fine, Austin has his secrets.

This is mine.

* * *

“
L
ooking good
, baby.”

Vince leers at me, and I hate the words coming out of his mouth. It’s the sort of compliment that makes you feel sick, or dirty, even though I’ve just showered an hour and half before.

“What do you want, Vince? Why am I here?”

He chuckles. “Looks like you grew a backbone slumming it with your little rebound,” he says dryly. “And how
is
Mr. Golden Boy?”

“He’s fine, how’s your secretary?”

Vince’s lips pull into a wicked smile. “I’m a weak man, Natalie, you know that.” He shakes his head, like he’s
actually
in any way feeling remorseful of his behavior.

“Vince,” I say again, sitting up straight in my chair across the table from him, hands clasped tightly in my lap. “What is this about.”

“I’d like you back, Natalie.”

What?

Not ‘I
want
you back’, not ‘I miss you.’ Not even a damn ‘I’m sorry.’

I’d like you back.

I roll my eyes. “Vince if this is the reason you had me drive through LA traffic-”

“I’ll double what he’s paying you.”

My jaw
drops
as I stare at Vince. “
Excuse me?
”

“I’ve got eyes and ears, Natalie,” Vince says evenly. “I know what you and Austin are. I know about your arrangement, and I’ve got a better one.”

I’m still trying to find words as I slowly shake my head.

“
Double
, Natalie. I’ll
double
what he’s paying you.”

My lip curls back from my teeth, my eyes narrowing at him as the rage roars up inside of me. “I’m not for
sale
, Vince!” I hiss at him, feeling my nails digging into my own hands in my lap.

“Aren’t you?”

I shake my head. “You are fucking
unbelievable!
That is
not
what-”

Vince laughs mirthlessly. “Oh, what is it, Natalie?
True love?
Are you two fated lovers?” He sneers. “Please, don’t insult me. I know
exactly
what girls like you are.”

“
Girls like me?!
” I snap, heedless of the turned heads and hushed conversation in the restaurant around us as I stand abruptly. “I’m leaving.”

I whirl, but Vince’s hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist and yanking me back.

“Hang on.” His eyes narrow at me. “Double what he’s paying you, and I won’t humiliate you like he is.”

I sneer at Vince again. “He’s not-“

“Oh
please
, Natalie. The tabloid nonsense? The other women?” He snorts. “That trashy girl pregnant with his
child
?”

“That’s not true,” I say through clenched teeth.

“Says him.” Vince shakes his head. “I won’t treat you like that, Natalie.”

It’s like he’s forgotten the incident in his office already.

“Vince, this conversation is over.”

I jerk my hand out of his grip, but he stands, putting a hand on my arm.

“You’ll be my real wife, and I mean that. A
real
wedding, Natalie, with you becoming a part of my family.”

Which “family”…

“You’ll be taken care of, Natalie. Looked after.” He smiles thinly at me. “You’ll carry my children.”

I groan, turning away from him. “Jesus, Vince.”

“I’m
not
saying you have to love me, Natalie.” He rolls his eyes. “I think we’re both mature enough to know that’s not a real thing anyways.”

His steps towards me, the smell of his cheap cologne nauseating me as his eyes level on me. “Think of it as a better business arrangement. I mean my
God
, Natalie, it’s not like
he
loves you.”

The feeling that starts to bleed out inside is awful - this terrible, leeching, sinking feeling as I try and fight against what Vince is saying. I’m trying to block it out, trying not to let the poison of his words inside.

But it’s there, and there’s just
enough
horrible, awful truth to it to make it take hold.

“I have to go,” I say quickly, turning and grabbing my purse from my chair.

“Think about it, babe,” Vince says, smirking like he’s perfectly aware and perfectly smugly
proud
of how poisonous he is.

I grab my purse and speed-walk out of the restaurant, praying I get away from him before the tears start to fall.