IMPACT: A Secret Baby Sports Romance, page 1
A Secret Baby Sports Romance
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This book contains adult themes, explicit language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature audiences.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Any similarities to events or situations are also coincidental.
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(C) 2016 by Vivian Lux and Velvetfire Press
All Rights Reserved
BOOKS BY VIVIAN LUX:
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About this book:
She thinks she has everything under control.
She even thinks she can control me.
Hockey is my life and Olivia knows that. She doesn't want to wait on the sidelines, so she calls an end to our wild summer fling as soon as the regular season starts.
She's bossy and brash, filthy and uninhibited. She drives me crazy and I can't stop thinking about her.
So when we can't keep our hands off each other, even when it's supposed to be over, Olivia comes up with a new plan to keep me at arms' length.
That's what she's calling this.
But when you're with Bradley Scott, it's all or nothing.
She's trying to pull away from me. She's denying that what we have is real. She's saying it's over...
But I'm not done with her yet.
My apartment was small, but it had an absolutely fantastic view. West-facing windows lined the wall, letting in the colors of the sunset every evening.
And tonight, the sunset was particularly spectacular; all magentas and golds that spilled through the windows to burnish every inch of Bradley Scott's naked skin.
I loved this view too.
He was standing there, staring at me as if he was trying to memorize my body. I splayed out my hands, arching my back and flinging out my hair so that it pooled around the pillows. Yes. I was totally posing for him.
I figured I owed him that much.
His expression reminded me of Romeo's, my pit bull, when I shook the bag of dog treats. I couldn't help myself, and burst out laughing.
I am very adept at ruining the moment.
"You're just my big, dumb caveman, aren't you?" I cooed, laughing at his awestruck expression. "Go on, grunt for me. Say 'Oog.'"
Brad just looked down, smiling sheepishly. My hockey star didn't say much, but then again he didn't really need to. Everything he was thinking was written all over his face, as clear as anything.
And right now, his thoughts were clearly vulgar as all hell.
Same as mine.
"Oog," he said, grunting and shoving out his lower jaw. I clapped my hands, delighted.
"Yeah, that's right. Talk dirty to me, baby," I laughed. "Tell me what my caveman is going to do to me."
"Ugga," he said, indulging me. Brad always indulged me.
"Why do you sound sexy when you're grunting?" I asked him, bewildered.
"Dunno," he said. Then he slid his hand around my neck and raked his fingers along my scalp, closing my hair in his fist and pulling gently. The tingling went straight down to my toes, which curled. Brad saw them curling and smiled. "I'm going to drag you off to my cave now," he declared. "You ready?"
"No need for a cave," I gasped. I fucking loved having my hair pulled. "When there's a perfectly good bed, right here."
"Sounds good to me," he said, sliding down to the foot of the bed and standing back up again. The sunset had deepened and so had the shadows that played around his six-pack.
"I'm going to climb you like a tree," I announced, reaching out with my toes to pull him on top of me.
Last spring, my work had held a charity bachelor auction for Valentine's Day, with six Chicago Blackhawks going up on the block. My bid for Brad had been the winning one, a fact that I never stopped teasing him about. "I bought you," I'd remind him as he nibbled his way up my thigh. "And I intend to get my money's worth."
Yeah, it had definitely been worth it. He was hot as fuck. There was no denying that. With his glowering brows and sharp-as-glass cheekbones, he already had the face of a Viking, but then he went and grew out this massive mindfuck of a beard and the Viking package was complete. Package. Heh.
I never thought I liked beards on guys. I thought I preferred smooth shaven men who cared about grooming and didn't give me rug burn when they ate me out. I had certain priorities, you see.
But that was before Bradley Scott started eating me out on the regular. You see, on Brad, a beard was like a giant, glaring billboard shouting in all caps, "I FUCK LIKE A MACHINE." Hottest guy I'd ever had in my bed, and so huge that he barely fit in there in the first place. Not to mention the fact that we usually never made it to the bed to begin with. Either he'd rip my blouse, or I'd tear off his T-shirt and we'd end up fucking on the countertop, or against the wall.
But beds were nice on the occasions we actually planned on fucking. Like today.
And what he could do to me once I had him in there. Taking his time, moving slow, driving me crazy... He was the best kind of lover; dirty, sexy and downright filthy sometimes, all depending on my mood. He had this instinctual way of knowing exactly what I needed and went about giving it to me with the 110% effort of the athlete he was. He shut the hell up and fucked me like a champ.
Pretty much my perfect guy.
And my perfect guy was waiting right now.
Waiting for me to tell him to fuck me for the very last time.
I didn't know what to say to mark the occasion, so I resorted to a joke. Typical Olivia. The more important something was, the more I made fun of it. That's just how I was.
"Baby, are you a farmer? Want to plow these fields?" I purred.
He chuckled appreciatively as he unrolled the condom along his length. That was the other nice thing about Brad. The thing I might miss most about him, aside from that thick, swinging cock of his. I loved how easily I could make him laugh. He seemed to really enjoy my filthy mouth and stupid jokes. And he especially liked my pick-up lines.
Dumbass pick-up lines were my guilty obsession, my hobby, and my passion. I firmly believed that a woman had just as much right to be a dirty, pushy asshole as any guy did, and I went about living up to that belief with a gusto that tended to shock most people. I was a walking, talking, female chauvinist pig and proud of it, too. If I put as much time into my actual job as I did thinking up new ways
Ah well, like I said. No regrets.
I wasn't going to regret tonight either, even if it was our last one together. Brad ran a big, calloused hand down my calf to close his thick fingers around my ankle. I licked my lips and inhaled sharply as he lifted my leg and slung it over his shoulder.
"Yes," I whispered. I was so fucking ready for this.
He pressed my leg back so that my knee grazed my ear. He pressed my other leg to the side. I arched upward and he met me halfway. My favorite part of him, that long, thick piece of perfection, slid inside of me with the accuracy of a heat-seeking missile.
"Fuck," we gasped, both at the same time.
"Oh, dammit baby, you're going to make me come already," I panted.
It was like my body knew that this was the last time Bradley Scott was going to be inside of it, and so it was rushing to eke out every long inch of pleasure it could from the occasion. I felt sparks ignite across my skin, already swirling like a salvo of fireworks.
"No one has ever made me come the way you do," I panted, nipping at his earlobe. He loved it when I told him how much I liked fucking him. It always made him go buck wild, and that? That was what I wanted. What I needed.
When he started to really move inside of me, it was the way only he could move. Hitting all of those places that only he knew about. I flung my arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to me, pressing my forehead against his. There was nothing in the world as blue as his eyes. I could be a fucking bird, flying up and up and up and....
The orgasm tore lose from my center - "Holy shit, I'm coming already!" - hard and fast as he drove into me relentlessly. My legs splayed out stick straight, squeezing him to me, pulling him so that our bodies were flush, every inch touching.
Then all at once, his eyes went wide, the way they always did. I loved how shocked he looked when he came.
"Olivia," he gasped, and my name was just a collection of sounds in his throat, a series of grunts, degenerating into babble as he climaxed. "Liv, Liv, Liv." Just a babbled sound until it died away and we were both still and satisfied.
And then it was quiet. It was over, already, before either of us was really ready to let go.
I sighed and kissed him behind the ear. The place he liked best. Past tense, because this really was the last time I'd be kissing him there. Kissing him anywhere. He shuddered and I felt, rather than saw him smile and I knew that it was a sad one because my smile was sad too.
"Goddammit, Liv," he growled.
I pulled back and looked at him. He was already softening inside of me, but still, I held him close. "Did you like that?" I asked, holding his face in my hands.
He avoided my eyes. "You know it."
"We're really fucking good at it," I said.
I smiled. "Fucking."
"Yeah, we are, aren't we?" Brad said, pulling back to look down at me, bracing himself against the bed.
As soon as he slid out, I felt empty. For a moment, one brief, hard moment, I almost wanted to go back in time and take everything back. The one word I needed to say was right there at the tip of my tongue, pleading, desperate and begging.
For one moment, I thought it might be okay to say, "Stay."
But I don't beg. And I don't second-guess myself. And even with Brad, who had seen me lose control in a way I'd never shown anyone else, I still needed to keep the upper hand.
And that's why I had to do this.
I propped myself up and kissed him and all at once, his face hardened. He knew it was a goodbye kiss.
We were through.
"So that's it then?" he asked.
I nodded. "That's it then."
He slid off of me, and stood, reaching for his T-shirt first. I watched him dress, silently, his face hard, and once again, those begging words came back again. No. We don't have to stop. This isn't over.
But it was. It was because it had to be. I'm not willing to be relegated to the sidelines. But if I stayed with Brad into the pre-season, kept this going into the fall, the winter, the Cup finals, well that's exactly where I'd end up. The literal sidelines, watching him. Waiting for him. Always waiting. Putting my life on hold in anticipation of the home games. Being the little woman he waved to as he skated past in a blur, leaving me behind.
Fuck that. I was not getting sidelined.
This was fun while the season was over, a sweet little summertime fling. But now hockey was starting again.
And hockey was Brad's true love.
He yanked on the big black boots he still insisted on wearing, no matter how hot it got outside. Then he looked at me again. Already I couldn't tell what he was thinking. He was closing down.
Good. Easier this way.
"I'll miss you, Liv," he said.
"Nah," I scoffed, waving my hand dismissively. "There are plenty of girls who will want to fuck the hockey star. You'll be fine."
I was closing down too. Already I was becoming the bitch I needed to be to end this with dignity.
"Just remember all the tricks I taught you and you'll have them eating out of your hand," I smiled. "Or screaming your name."
He gave a grunt that could have been a laugh. My caveman. "If you say so," he said.
I nodded firmly. "I do. Bye Bradley."
And with that, we both moved on.
In my mind, ten minutes late is still on time. So when I showed up at work at the stroke of nine - and not 9:10 or 9:15, like I usually did - I was inordinately pleased with myself. Candace hadn't even arrived yet.
Though she had a much better excuse for lateness than I did, being massively pregnant and all.
Of course, I had barely set my purse down when she bustled in at 9:01. The sight of her big round belly always elicited three reactions in me. Delight that my sweet, kind best friend was going to be a mother. Jealousy of the lucky kid who got to call such a great person 'Mom.'
And horror that I might someday end up in the same condition.
"Mornin' Candy Cane," I sang out, sounding, I hoped, completely normal and unaffected by the events of last night.
Candace's smile fell off her face the second she looked at me. "You didn't!" she gasped
I looked at her, completely awestruck. "How the fuck did you know?"
She set down her purse and came over to my cubicle. Her belly loomed over me menacingly. She couldn't bend down to peer at my face, so she narrowed her eyes at me instead. "Because," she declared, "You look like shit."
"Sheesh. Thanks a lot, Candy."
She stepped back. I knew she was probably horrified at how mean she sounded. But she was also pissed at me and wanted me to know it. "Well, you do," she muttered.
"I'm fine," I protested, waving my hand dismissively. I leaned back in my chair and spread my legs out, trying to get comfortable and failing miserably. I wasn't in the mood to shave this morning - since I wasn't getting fucked tonight - so I wore long slacks in spite of the lingering September heat.
Of course, I had forgotten until just now that the building switched over from AC to heat last week, nonsensically adhering to the calendar rather than the actual sticky weather outside. I was fucking roasting.
Candace was just standing there, arms folded over the top of her tummy, glaring at me. I pulled myself together and tried to look cool and collected. "I'm totally fine with ending it and he is too," I clarified, wiping away the sweat that was collecting along my hairline. "We were just fucking. That's all. Nothing serious."
"Bullshit," Candace said, plopping down at her desk and immediately cradling her belly in her hands. She glared down at it. "Yo! Kid! Settle down in there!" she grunted. Then she nodded. "That's right. You listen to Mama." She allowed herself a smug little Mom-smile at being obeyed and I exhaled silently, grateful to the ki
But she wasn't done momming yet. Once she got her kid in line, she changed gears and looked up at me with an expression so fierce and authoritative that it had me wondering if I'd forgotten to clean my room. "These past few months, you've been happier than I've seen you in my entire life," she said vehemently. "You were not 'just fucking'."
"Sure we were!" I laughed. "Fucking makes me happy! You know this about me, Candelabra, so I don't know why you're acting like I should be jumping up and scurrying down the aisle with him." I shook my head. "I was happy because I trained Brad to do exactly what I liked in the bedroom." I licked my lips, loving how disgusted Candace suddenly looked. "He's a very good listener," I purred. "That's one thing I can say about athletes. They sure do know how to take direction. Oh, and the stamina? Goddamn. Must be from all those drills they do, right? He sure could drill me!"
I chuckled at my own joke, but Candace just looked at me. My laughter died away on my lips. I didn't like the look she was giving me. "What?" I asked.
Candace lifted her chin. "Why do you always act so hard?"
"I'm not hard." For some reason, that really hurt.
"Brad liked you," she went on.
"No," I corrected, "Brad liked my pussy. He liked that I have no inhibitions about sex, whatsoever. He liked that I pushed his boundaries. That's what he liked. Not me." I settled back in my chair like the case was closed.
But Candace wasn't done. "Why do you tell yourself these things?"
I was getting irritated. "Maybe because I'm not going to sit there waiting on the sidelines? He's a fucking hockey player!"
Candace's voice was level and dangerous. "Ian is a fucking hockey player."
I felt my misstep. Candace was a romantic who believed in true love. I used to believe she was dangerously naive for thinking it existed, but she had actually found it - with a hot, bearded hockey player who made her blush with his dirty talk. I would have never thought Ian Carter would settle down with anyone, especially not with his bad reputation, but for some reason he and Candace just worked. They were the real deal and were getting married as soon as the baby came. Or maybe a little after that, when Candace could fit into wedding dresses again.
VIVIAN LUX SERIES:
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