King's Baby - A Bad Boy Romance (26 page)

King has also been
teaching me to drive, and yeah . . . that’s been interesting. I never got my
license when everybody else did in high school. I never went anywhere besides
practice and school, and if I did, Mama insisted on driving me.

It’s crazy how easy
it is to see that she was controlling me now that I’m out of her grasp. I never
questioned her decisions or her rules because she brainwashed me into believing
it was all for me—for
my
future, for
my
career—but now,
I think a lot of that was her trying to live vicariously through me to achieve
her own dreams.

So at age twenty, I
am learning to drive. Learning to drive is not something to do when your
hormone levels are roller coasting up and down. Poor King is so patient,
though. More than once, we had to pull over so I could cry. Everything sounds
so much more critical when you’re pregnant. ‘Holland, you need to put on your
blinker to switch lanes.’ ‘Holland, ease up on the gas.’ ‘Holland, watch out.
Squirrel!’ Ugh, I got so frustrated, but he was persistent, and today,
Sebastián is taking me to the Department of Transportation to get my license.
King had to leave town unexpectedly for the day, and I want to surprise him
with it when he gets home tonight.

I really wanted
Savannah to go with me, but she’s working at a cosmetics counter full time at
Saks Fifth Avenue. I miss her so much. King is wonderful, but sometimes a girl
just needs her best girlfriend. I’m proud of her, though. She couldn’t afford
to go to college, and she’s doing something she’s awesome at. King offered to
pay for her to go to cosmetology school, but she said no. She’s afraid she
won’t do well and his money will go to waste if she flunks, and she says
nobody’s going to sing
Beauty School
Dropout
behind her back. I am convinced she would flourish if she just gave
it a chance. She’s smart when she applies herself. I’m not giving up on her,
though. That girl is phenomenal with hair and makeup, and I’m not about to let
that talent go to waste.

Five minutes later,
when I’m about to text King and complain about being cold, Sebastián pulls up
to the curb in the Bentley. Not very many people my age can say they learned to
drive in a Bentley, but not very many people are involved with a man like King.
The Bentley is pretentious, but so is King—to an extent—but his
boyish charm more than makes up for it.

The window glides
down and Sebastián leans across the seat.

“Don’t move. I’ll
come around,” he says.

I wait until the
window is up to roll my eyes. My helicopter boyfriend is rubbing off on
everyone around us. Sebastián won’t even so much as let me open my own car
door.

“Thanks, Sebastián.”
I step off the curb and lower myself into the front seat, holding onto the edge
of the roof. When I think I’m close, I release my hand and plop the rest of the
way into the soft, warmed leather seat. I turn to Sebastián and smile with
pride. Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. He doesn’t like me to do any
plopping at this point in my pregnancy. He’s scared it’ll break my water or
something, and honestly, I’m not sure it wouldn’t, but I’m just too large and
in charge to help it now.

“Please be careful,
Ms. Benn—Holland.” Sebastián hasn’t been able to stop calling me Ms.
Bennett, but when he does, he corrects himself right away. One afternoon I had
an emotional meltdown. He called me Ms. Bennett, and I cried for half an hour
because I thought it sounded
so old
.

“How are you feeling
this afternoon?” he asks when we’re both buckled in and pulling into traffic.

“Fine. Cold. Can we
turn up the heat?” I briskly rub my hands together and begin to relax my tense
muscles into the heated seat. I love heated seats. I didn’t even know there was
such a thing until I got into King’s Audi for the first time and thought I was
wetting my pants when the warmth spread across my butt and thighs. King thought
that was hilarious. He chuckled all the way to the symphony that night.

“Of course.”
Sebastián taps a button on the steering wheel column, increasing the flow of
hot air until I’m sweating, which doesn’t take more than three minutes in my
condition.

“I’m dying of heat
stroke, Sebastián,” I say, pressing my hand to my forehead and fanning myself.
He turns the heat down with a sigh, and I feel tears prick at the corners of my
eyes. I’m sick of being pregnant. I’m not
gonna
lie—I want my body back, and I’m sick of being so damn emotional.

At the DOT, he jumps
out to open my door, and by the grace of God, he allows me to walk in alone, on
my own two feet.

The smell of cheap
perfume and cigarette smoke are mildly nauseating in the waiting area where I
snap ticket number 800 from the dispenser. I say a little prayer thanking God
that King quit smoking in my second trimester, and then I say another when the
display screen shows that they are on #799. I squirm in one of the
uncomfortable chairs and drop my purse on accident. I watch it sag onto the
floor between my feet . . . great. I’ll probably throw up if I bend over that
far to get it. Should I wait for Sebastián or attempt to pick it up myself? The
DOT isn’t the kind of place you take your hands off your purse in, so I scoot
my legs to the side and reach for the beautiful bag King gave me for my
birthday last August. My fingers just barely skim the leather strap when a
feminine, well-manicured hand takes my elbow.

“Let me, baby, don’t
hurt yourself.” The woman rights me in my seat and easily squats down to grab
my purse. She hands it to me, smiling and glancing at my big belly.

“Oh gosh, thank you
so much. It’s impossible to reach anything these days.”

“No problem. I
remember being pregnant all too well,” she says.

“I can’t believe
people do this more than once,” I say. I adjust myself in the hard chair and
catch a glimpse of Sebastián coming through the door.

“Yeah, well, I’m
pretty sure I’m not going to be one of those people,” she says, chuckling.

“I’m Candy. Nice to
meet you.” She thrusts her hand out, and I reach across my belly to shake it.

“I’m Holland, and
thanks again,” I say, looking down at my purse and back up at her.

“Is everything okay
here?” Sebastián says as he approaches.

“Yes, fine,
Sebastián. I just dropped my purse, and Candy here saved me from falling on my
face trying to get it.” I gesture toward Candy, but Sebastián ignores her.

“You could have
waited. I told you I wouldn’t be long.”

I hold up my hand
vertical to my cheek, blocking Candy’s view of me, and purposely whisper
loudly, “This place is sorta shady, Daddy. I didn’t want anybody snatching my
purse.” He rolls his eyes and takes the seat on my left, and Candy sits down on
my right. I’m surprised at his lack of manners. Sebastián has never been overly
chummy with strangers, but he is always respectful.

“Your daddy’s kinda
cute,” Candy says quietly, looking around me at Sebastián. He stares straight
ahead and never acknowledges her compliment. What a stick in the mud. He can’t
be mad that I teased him about his age, because he is old enough to be my
daddy, maybe even my pop, so I don’t know why his panties are in a wad.

“He’s not really my
daddy. I was just kidding.” I turn to join her in assessing Sebastián. He
shifts in his chair and places his ankle on his knee while he tries not to look
at us.

“Hmm, too bad. I
could have been a grandma,” Candy says.

“Number 800.” A
robotic voice announces over the PA.

“That’s me,” I say,
and Sebastián rises from his chair to help me up.

“It was nice to meet
you, Candy. He’s usually
more friendly
. Sorry . . .” I
say. Sebastián snorts in disgust and places his hand on the small of my back to
guide me away.

“It’s okay, sugar.
Good luck with the baby.” She has such a genuine, warm smile, and I miss her
companionship as soon as we walk away.

Savannah hasn’t been
right across the street for a long time, and although I still see her often,
it’s not the same. I miss girl talk.

“Thanks,” I say as
Sebastián practically pushes me toward the counter where I sign my name and
have my picture taken. Ten minutes later, a heavyset woman in a tight polyester
DOT uniform hands me my first driver’s license. The picture looks like a mug
shot. I’m puffy and pale, but inside, my old skinny self is jumping up and down
with excitement, chanting
I did it! I did
it!
For a moment, I almost regret not waiting for King to share this
milestone with me, but there aren’t many ways to surprise a billionaire.

“So why were you so
rude in there?” I ask Sebastián when we’re headed home.

“I wasn’t rude. You
shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

“I couldn’t just let
her pick up my purse and not thank her.”

“Yes, you could have.
She could have been a pickpocket. Did you check your bag?” Sebastián gestures
toward my purse.

“You’ve been in
security too long.”

“Maybe so, but you’re
my responsibility while King is gone, and you are his top priority, so that
means you’re
my
top priority.”

“Well, I’ve been
making it through every day for twenty years without the two of you, so I’m
pretty sure I’ll be fine.”

“Holland . . . do you
remember when I told you to stay away from him, that he was dangerous? Nothing
has changed. If you hadn’t been pregnant, you could have gotten away. You would
never have been associated with him and you wouldn’t be a target. King is
extremely thorough when it comes to your security for a good reason. Anybody
who has a problem with him knows that his weakness is you.”

I watch Sebastián’s
foot moving from the break to the accelerator and back to break. I’m a target,
a weakness? The idea crossed my mind early on in our relationship, but King has
always made me feel so comfortable and safe.

Sebastián glances
over to me and back to the road.

“I don’t mean to scare
you, but I can only protect you as much as you allow me to. If you don’t know
you’re in danger, how can you watch out for it?”

“Should I be worried
about something specific, Sebastián?”

Sebastián maneuvers
the car across two lanes of traffic and pulls into a hardware parking lot. He
shifts into park with the car still running and turns his full attention on me.

“You are
always
in danger. You will
always be
in danger, and so is your
child. Unless King finds some way to get out of this business, you will be
looking over your shoulders for the rest of your lives.”

My gaze drifts away
from his dark eyes to the passenger window, where raindrops are beginning to
drizzle down the glass. The weather seems to be mirroring my mood. His words
repeat in my head, and for the millionth time in the past eight months, I
wonder how my life could have taken such a drastic turn. Sometimes my
reflections are upbeat and pleasant, like how could I have possibly found such
a loving, caring man? Other times, like right now, I can only imagine what an
ominous, dark life King leads and how much danger his life brings to us all.

My silence is
Sebastián’s cue to take me home. He makes sure I’m inside the apartment and
that I’ve locked the doors before he leaves me—if he ever really leaves
me.

 
I pad down the hall to our bedroom, strip
down to my bra and panties, and crawl in between the two
thousand
thread
count, Egyptian cotton sheets. Lightning flashes through the
room, casting long shadows on the wall, and five seconds later, I jump when a
crack of thunder follows. I usually enjoy a good thunderstorm, but it’s three
o’clock in the afternoon, and King’s dangerous life is weighing heavy on my
mind. I need the escape that only sleep can bring.

Chapter Twenty-Two

King

This long fucking day
needs to be over. I hate being away from Holland, and I spent fifty percent of
my day in the air flying to and from Miami and the other half dealing with
distributors and the incompetent replacements for the members that were gunned
down in my club eight months ago. When I drag my ass into the apartment, the
only thing I can think about is crawling into bed with Holland. I promised her
I wouldn’t be gone all night, but the storm delayed me for hours. Technically,
I made it, though, since it’s before midnight.

The apartment is dark
and quiet. I’m standing at the kitchen table with my suit coat draped over my
arm, shuffling through the mail, when a dim sliver of light cutting across the
floor outside our bedroom catches my eye. She’s probably awake. She’s up every
couple of hours going to the bathroom lately, and as happy as I am to talk to
her, I wish she were getting better sleep.

I make my way quietly
down the hall, loosening my tie, and pause at the threshold of the bedroom.
She’s sleeping. The soft glow of the light on her bedside table illuminates her
flawless skin. She looks like an angel curled around her white body pillow,
wearing her bra that she has begun to grow out of in the most delicious way and
lace panties. She refused to buy larger lingerie, choosing to wear her panties
under her belly. She says it’s comfortable, but I think it’s vanity, and that’s
okay. She has no reason to worry about her changing body. As far as I’m
concerned, she’s more gorgeous now than she’s ever been, soft in all the best
places and toned in others. She’s been working out every day with me since the
nausea let up, and she couldn’t be in better shape.

 
The curtains are open. She must have
fallen asleep watching the storm. I could stand here and watch her soft
shoulder rise and fall with every breath for hours, but the duvet is slipping
onto the floor, leaving her uncovered.

There was a time when
she couldn’t sleep without being covered. She used to curl up in my arms to
stay warm, but no more. I’ve even had Sebastián turn the air conditioning back
to where I kept it before I met her. I can hardly remember life without
Holland. There’s never been a more perfect example of love at first sight. The
moment I laid eyes on her, my life began. Her stormy grey eyes called to my
soul, and her mature, talented personality unlocked my heart. Add to that a
baby, and you have perfection.

I cross the room and
right the duvet without disturbing her and notice her open purse on the bed by
her feet. Why is she sleeping with her purse? I pick it up to move it and
notice her open wallet on top, sporting a brand new driver’s license. She got
her license while I was gone? I’ve been teaching her to drive for months, and
she went and got her license without me?

“I wanted to surprise
you,” she says in a sleepy voice from under the duvet.

I pull the puffy
material away from her face. “I didn’t mean to wake you. This is awesome,
baby,” I say holding up her wallet. “You didn’t want to wait for me?”

She turns to her back
and slides her arms out from under the covers and flops them down at her sides,
pulling the blanket taught and accentuating her pregnant belly. “I couldn’t
have King Romero sitting in the smelly DOT, waiting with me for my license,”
she says, widening her eyes and placing her hand over her heart.

“Me? It’s you who
shouldn’t be sitting in that germ-infested ghetto room, exposing King Jr. to
who knows what.”

I hang her bag over
the arm of a chair next to the window, toe off my shoes, and undress while she
watches. When I’m clad in just my boxers, I climb in next to her, not even
wasting time to round the bed to my own side.

“Scoot, Little Mama.”
I nudge her gently and slip her body pillow out from under her arms and legs
and slide it over to my side of the bed. I’m her body pillow now.

“I’m not so little
anymore.”

“You have no idea, do
you?”

“Well, since I don’t
know what you’re talking about . . .”

“Pregnancy agrees
with you, baby,” I say, tucking a wayward lock of her hair behind her ear and
kissing the tip of her nose, earning me an eye roll.

“As long as you think
so, I guess that’s all that matters.”

“You’d better believe
it, sexy.” I slide my hand over the curve of her hip and behind her knee,
pulling her leg up over mine. A trademark moan escapes her lips, and I’m a
goner.

“You cannot make
those noises and expect me to sleep.”

“I’m not expecting
you to sleep.” Her arms snake around my neck and she attempts to press her core
against my growing erection, but there is a very important certain someone
playing cock block.

“Ugh, see? I can’t
even get close to you anymore.”

“You’re not being
very creative, baby. Let’s turn you over.” Sliding my arm between the sheets
and her waist, I help her turn until her back is to my front.

“Ah, God, Holland,
you’re killing me.” And she is. She’s really fucking killing me here. All I
want to do is thrust balls deep into her hot pussy and make her come again and
again, but these last few weeks, I’ve been treating her like glass. Holland has
voiced her discontent loud and clear on more than one occasion, but I’m not
budging. I’m not trying to meet my baby that way.

The second she’s
facing away from me, her back is arched and she’s pressing her ass into my
cock, tempting me, torturing me, pushing me to the very edge of my tolerance.

“Please, King, I need
you. I miss you. I’m full-term. The baby could come any time now and it would
be all right. Please . . .” Fuck . . . I’ve been just barely controlling my
desires, but no way can I listen to her beg me for something I’m dying to give
her.

“Okay, but we’re
doing this my way, got it?” My words are stern, but my resolve is weak. She
nods against my chest as her hand slides between our bodies to stroke my cock.

All of my
reservations fly out the window when I snap the tiny edge of her lace panties
and slide my hand between her legs and find her soaking wet for me.

“You are the sexiest
fucking thing I’ve ever put my hands on, woman. Are you sure you’re okay with
this?” I press my cock against her bare ass, knowing damn good and well that
she is.

“Yes, please, please
. . .” She twists her face, offering me her mouth, and I slide my tongue
between her lips and lift my hips to work my boxers off. I mirror the motion of
our tongues with my fingers along her wet slit, stroking and circling until I
realize she’s having trouble keeping her leg up. Without missing a stroke, I
continue to work my magic and reach farther over her to bend her body pillow in
half and prop her leg up on it, spreading her wide and allowing her to relax,
enjoying the fruits of my labor. Labor . . . fuck, don’t think about that right
now. Just put it out of your mind, King. I unclasp her bra, releasing her heavy
breasts, and tilt her back against me to slide my fingers around her nipple.

“No, King . . .
please.” She wraps her hand around my pulsing hard on and guides it to where
she wants it. She’s impatient and ready . . . oh so ready. I remove her hand
and slowly, carefully, I slide my tip along her slit, rubbing my length between
her wet folds, against her clit and back to the pucker of her ass, causing her
to gasp. The fingers of one hand are clutching her pillow, and her other hand
is pressing against the padded headboard. Her breath comes in short, quick
pants as I trail kisses up and down her neck.

“I’m going to fuck
you nice and slow now, baby,” I whisper into her ear as I slide into my
favorite place on earth. I draw blood from my lip when I bite down and rein in
the urge to be rough with her.

“Ah, King, yes. Yes,
God, I’ve missed you so much.”

She lets go of her
pillow and reaches back to grab my hair, and I lift her leg and enter her
deeper than I should.

“Oh yeah, baby, fuck
. . . I’ve missed you, too. I’ve missed making you wet.” When I slide out, she
whimpers.

“You want more? Are
you sure you can handle it? We can stop if you’re uncomfortable.” I know she’s
not. She’s fucking loving this almost as much as I am, but anticipation is the
hottest aphrodisiac.

“Yes . . .”

“Yes what?” I reach
under her belly and between her legs and slowly circle her clit with my tip
poised at her entrance.

“King. Stop,” she
says, hitting her pillow.

“Stop? You want me to
stop?” I remove my hand and pull my cock away from her entrance, causing her
more frustration. I don’t know why I’m doing it. Maybe I’m sensing this is the
last time I’ll be able to make love to her before she has our baby, or maybe
it’s revenge for all the times in the past month that she’s flaunted her tight
ass while we were working out, or the way she bends over, exposing her newly
plump breasts when she kisses me goodbye every morning. Maybe it’s payback for
seeing if I could wait that day in the limo.

“God, no, King!
That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Give it to me. Stop teasing me.”

I slide back into her
and return my hand to the hot spot between her legs.

In and out, I make
love to her slowly, leisurely working her up, little by little, until she’s on
the edge, and then backing off to make it last longer. I make her come twice
with my hand. Our bodies are covered in sweat, the covers are thrown off in
complete abandon, and I know she’s ready again when I thrust one final time
into her saturated core, roaring with release and savoring every part of this
woman I love inside and out.

“Better?” I ask,
still pulsing inside of her and panting against her neck with a mouthful of her
hair. Her heart is beating wildly under my hand as we work on catching our
breath.

“Oh yeah, but
somebody else isn’t happy now.” She takes my hand from her chest and moves it
over her taught belly, where King Jr. is protesting with strong kicks and
punches.

“Wow, he’s really
ticked off that I’m invading his space, huh?” I prop up on my elbow to watch
the ripples of movement change the shape of her belly.

“You do realize it
could be a girl, right? Like as in a fifty-fifty chance . . .”

“Of course, but he’s
a boy, aren’t you, King Jr.?” I slide my cock from the warm place it’s just
been reunited with and turn Holland onto her back. She’s so beautiful with her
bedroom eyes, flushed cheeks and damp hair.
Postcoital
pregnancy glow.
Yeah, it’s more addictive than any drug ever made. I
scoot down between her legs and bend her knees to spread her legs so I have
room to kneel and press my cheek against her nonexistent navel. Our little
person continues to squirm and kick, but with my arms around her belly, it
feels like I’m holding ‘him’.

“Oh,” Holland says,
followed by a giggle when the baby gives my face a particularly hard kick.

“I saw your head move
with that one.”

“Shush, he’s talking
to me.”

“Oh yeah?
what’s
‘she’ saying?”

“He says he loves you
very much, but would you please stop referring to him as a her?” Giggling, she
wiggles until I free her so she can turn to her side.

“Help me up before I
wet the bed. I’ve had to pee since you woke me,” she says, flashing me her megawatt
smile. I assist her to the side of the bed and surprise her by scooping her up
and delivering her to the bathroom.

“I can’t believe you
can still lift me. I’m a whale.” Her luscious full bottom lip thrusts out in
the most adorable pout when she refers to herself as a whale, and I stand her
to face the mirror.

In our en-suite
bathroom, her presence is obvious everywhere—makeup, toiletries, brushes,
curling irons, straighteners, and other paraphernalia cover the counter.

“Now you know why I
do weight training every day.” I wink, and she slaps my arm.

“Hey, you’re supposed
to say ‘oh, baby, you’re light as a feather.’ not ‘I have to pump iron everyday
just to pick you up.’”

“I’m kidding. You
really are as light as a feather. I wish you’d eat more.” I kiss her on the
nose and start the shower while she sits down to relieve herself.

We’re like an old
married couple, comfortable and familiar enough to do the most intimate things
in front of each other without a second thought.

When the temperature
is just right and the room is filled with a billowing cloud of steam, I help
her into the shower. I’ve been so fucking worried about her slipping in the
bath or shower. I had a friend in high school
who
got
his girlfriend pregnant. She fell in the shower and lost their baby when she
was six months along. I was with him when he found her, so needless to say, the
experience left an impression.

Leaning her forehead
against my chest, I pull her into a quick embrace and turn her away to shampoo
her hair.

“We can get cleaned
up and go back to bed. I don’t have anywhere to be today,” I say.

“I only slept for an
hour before you came home, so that sounds good.”