Baller's Baby - A Bad Boy Romance (14 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Kiptyn

Leaving
her panting like she had just run a five-mile marathon probably wasn’t the best
move, but fuck, if I stayed in that room with her one more minute while she
clung to the front of my shirt and kissed every part of my soul, then I
wouldn’t have been able to keep from making love to her, and the doctor had
been adamant about not having sex. The last thing I want to do is hurt her or
the baby, so I pull away from her and flee the room like the coward that I am.

What she
said about the baby being a basketball player hit me square in the heart. If
there’s one thing I know for certain about Skila, it’s that she isn’t a
vindictive or mean person.

I may
not know her favorite color or food—something I realized and plan to rectify as
soon as possible—but I do know her character. She would never have said
something like that to me just to hurt me, which means that she does still want
me to be a part of her and the baby’s life. She still wants me to be the
father.

Hearing
those words come from her lifted a weight off my chest that I didn’t even know
I was carrying. We still have a lot of stuff we need to sort out, but knowing
she wants to do it together leaves me with a sense of hope I didn’t have
earlier. Things are already looking up.

Grabbing
the skillet from under the cabinet, I place it on the stove and turn to grab
the chicken from the refrigerator. A buzzing on the counter interrupts me.
Swiping my phone from the bowl on the island, I answer the call.

“Sup,
man?”

“Yo bro,
what’s up?” You home?” Chris asks.

“Yeah,
why? What’s up?” I ask.

“Not
shit. You wanna get out for a while tonight? I’ve got a house full and too many
to please on my own, bro.” He laughs into the phone. I hear the music in the
background and someone yelling his name from somewhere else in the house.

“Nah,
bro. I’m good,” I say. The thought of touching another woman makes my stomach
turn like I swallowed month-old soured milk.

“Damn.
Are you kidding me? That chick still got you strapped down?” he asks.

“Fuck
off, Chris.” There’s no heat behind my words, but he gets the meaning. Skila is
and has always been off limits. He knows that. Nothing has changed.

“All right,
bro. If you change your mind, hit me up.”

“Yep,” I
say and hang up without another word. It bothers me that he keeps inviting me
to do this shit with him. I’ve told him over and over again that I don’t want
any part of it, yet every time he’s out, he calls me up. It’s almost like he
doesn’t want me to settle down and be happy.

Last
night is a perfect case in point. If I had called Jordan then, he would have
brought my ass home where I belonged and dropped me off with a six-pack. Not
Chris. He took me to a fucking strip club and then let me leave wasted with his
fucking keys. Who fucking does that to a friend?

Opening
the chicken breast filets, I lay them in a glass dish to marinate while I get
the other ingredients together. I'm making Sky my famous chicken fettuccine
alfredo with sundried tomatoes. I know she’ll love it. Hell, she loves
everything. I hear a whimper come from down the hall where Sky is, and my heart
stops for a second before speeding up and leaping out of my chest. If she’s in
pain, any pain…

I race
down the hall and slide to a stop outside the bedroom door of the master suite.
I hear a low moan, followed by a breathy exhale of my name.

“Kiptyn.”

She
moans into the still room. Peeking in through the crack of the barely opened
door, I see the sheet shift and her bare leg sprawled across the bed. I push
the door as easily as I can and hold my breath as it glides open a hair more. I
can see more of her now.

The
silky soft sheet is bunched around her waist and dips across her hip to cover
one leg, leaving the other completely bare. I watch as she takes one of her
breasts in her hands and squeezes it before pulling on the taut nipple. Her
eyes are closed, and her head is tossed to the side. She is so fucking
beautiful. I could stand here and watch her for days.

Her
other hand is tracing feather light touches across her clit. My cock is hard as
a rock just watching her. I want to replace her hand with my own and take over,
but something about this is so intimate, so provocative that I can't move. I
can only look.

She dips
lower, raising her leg when she does so, and slowly slides one finger into her
glistening pussy lips. Another moan escapes her beautiful lips, this one
deeper, more like a growl of pleasure. She slips back out and rubs the wetness
across her most sensitive spot again. Her legs twitch, and my breath hitches in
my throat. I want to be the one to make her twitch and scream with pleasure.

Her hand
freezes, and when I look back up, her chocolate eyes meet mine. She looks shocked
and ashamed to be caught doing something so beautiful and natural. I hate it.

“Don't
stop.”

My voice
sounds strange to my own ears, rough and ragged. She hesitates, unsure. I lean
against the door frame and pull my hard, swollen cock free from the confines of
my jeans. Taking it in my hand, I stroke it slowly from the base to the tip and
back again. My balls are tight as fuck. I want to be buried inside of her, but
the sight of her growing baby bump reminds me exactly why I can’t.

“Touch
yourself, Skila.”

She
holds my gaze for another moment before her fingers trace across her stomach,
rubbing light circles on the stretched skin. Her hand wanders up and across one
breast, to the other and back again, teasing. Her nipples harden. She’s still
watching me, or rather, watching my hand, as I slide it up and down the length
of my dick. She licks her lips, and my cock jumps in my hand.

“Touch
your clit for me.”

Her hand
slides down her stomach to the crease at the top of her thigh and then darts
over to the top of her pussy, where her hand rests lightly on top of her clit.

“Rub it.
Use two fingers.”

She
obeys immediately, and the sight of her doing exactly what I tell her to do is
empowering. I start to pump a little faster, up and down on my cock, only slowing
to rub the moisture beading at the head around the tip. She hasn’t quit
circling her clit. Her head is thrown back and to the side again, and her
breath is labored. My hips thrust out as I stroke over and over.

“Slide
one finger in.”

Fuck. I
watch as her middle finger slides inside of her. She takes her time, enjoying
the tortuous journey. When she pulls it back out, her finger is coated in her
wetness. She slides it back in and out, over and over again, each time grinding
her palm against her clit when she’s as deep as she can get. Her skin is
flushed, and I can see the sheen of sweat coating her brow.

“Two,” I
say, and this time when she slides out, she reenters with her ring finger too.
Her hips rise off the bed, and she calls out my name.

“Look at
me, baby,” I demand.

Her eyes
meet mine, and I pump my cock faster and faster as she slides in and out of her
slick folds. I feel my balls tighten. My legs are shaking, weak as fuck from standing
here while I jack off, but I refuse to look away from the beautiful midnight
goddess before me.

I feel
my orgasm start at the base of my cock. My long, slow strokes are now short
bursts of rapid movements. Skila’s hips are raised off the bed, spread wide for
me. I can see every single move she makes, every time she slides her long
fingers in, and when she wiggles them upward to touch that spot that feels just
right for her. Her eyes widen, and her mouth forms a silent “O” right as my
seed shoots out the tip of my cock, and I slump, exhausted, against the door
frame.

Chapter
Thirty-Three

Skila

I CANNOT
BELIEVE THAT JUST HAPPENED. Who does that? This isn’t some E.L. James novel. I
didn’t sign a contract, and yet . . . I’ve never felt freer, more liberated,
more open in my own sexuality, and let's be real here—there weren’t any whips or
chains. We masturbated together while the other watched, and it was hot.

Hot as
fuck.

I refuse
to feel ashamed of that. I’m a grown ass woman. If I want to experiment, then I
can. Period.

Kiptyn
walks out of the adjoining bathroom with a warm washcloth and wipes the sticky
moisture from between my legs before tossing the rag to the laundry basket in
the corner and crawling in the bed with me.

“Well, I
was going to cook dinner, but how do you feel about pizza instead?” he asks.

“Pizza
sounds great,” I say with a laugh, thankful that he isn't even going to bring
up what just happened.

“Do you
want to rent a movie while I order?” he asks, passing me the TV remote. I
scroll through the options on the ON DEMAND page and settle on
Pawn Sacrifice
. It looks good and
intriguing, and I’ve already seen the rest of the stuff. I click
buy
and then wait for Kip. He comes back
into the bedroom ten minutes later, carrying a large pizza and two glass
bottles of Coke. My stomach shows its displeasure at being made to wait by
letting out a loud growl.

“Oh my God,
feed your son before he eats me from the inside out,” I joke.

“We
can't have that.” He places the box in the middle of the bed and passes me a
napkin. I don’t waste any time in devouring the first slice. It feels like I
haven’t eaten in days. Kiptyn just leans back against the pillows, watching me
shove pizza down my throat. I don't bother chewing. What's the point?

“Hey,
don't judge me. I’m eating for two here,” I say when I take a second to breathe
and sip my soda.

“I
wouldn't dare. I’m just wondering if I need to call Dominos and have them bring
another ten or so pizzas.”

“Shut
up,” I say, slapping at his bare stomach. Even though he is joking with me, I
know he doesn't mean a word of it. Kiptyn goes out of his way every day to make
sure I know how beautiful he thinks I am, so even though I have marinara sauce
on my face and dripping down my chin, I know he still sees perfection. I can
see it in the way he looks at me, the way his eyes light up, and the tiny
dimple that appears when he gives that half-ass grin without even knowing it—like
he’s doing right now.

“What?”
he asks.

“Nothing.
How’s your arm feeling?”

“It's all
right. I took my pain medicine a few minutes ago, so it should ease up soon.”
His words make me feel like shit. I hadn’t even been thinking about his
shoulder. I just wanted to change the subject. I know it has to be hurting him.
He was supposed to start physical therapy today, but after everything else that
happened, it kind of got pushed aside.

“Is
there anything I can do? Do you want me to rub it?”

“I don’t
think it would help. I’m fine, baby. Swear.”

“Okay.”
I drop it, even though I don’t want to. I can tell he’s worried about it and I
want him to talk to me, but if he doesn’t want to, then I’m not going to push
him. Remembering the injury to his shoulder reminded me of everything else that
has happened since then, though, and how we still need to talk about his coming
home with a stripper, and Camryn being alive and serving me with papers.

Hesitation
causes me to hold off on filing the paperwork to terminate Camryn's parental
rights. It's almost like I feel sorry for him. Sorry for myself. Sorry for the
fact he is virtually unable to step up and be the man he is supposed to be. I
hate it, all of it.

Kip has
been so understanding, but I don't know how long that will last. His support
seems never-ending, but I don't truly know how he feels about me. He seems to
love me, to care, and his actions speak volumes, but I long for the words to be
spoken.

Validation—that’s
what I need. I need to know it’s not just pity because he thought his brother
was dead and now his brother is a douche. I need to know that he'll still be
around after the baby is born, but I'm afraid to push the issue. I'm afraid of
hearing the wrong answer.

Kips
head falls to the side. The day and the painkillers have finally taken their
toll on him. I grab the pizza box and our empty bottles and ease out of bed,
careful not to wake him up. He looks so peaceful like this. I wish I had my
phone so I could snap a picture of him to use on my lock screen, but I don’t
know where the hell I left it last night.

After
dumping our trash in the bin, I go to the refrigerator to grab some milk and a
few—oh hell, let’s be honest, a sleeve of cookies, and I hear a knock on the
door. I jump a mile in the air, and it takes everything in me to keep from
crying out.

Shutting
the refrigerator door, I flick on the back porch light so that I can see
outside. It’s Camryn. I haven't had any contact with him since he left the
hospital, and he looks even worse now than he did then. The normally perfectly
groomed man who I was so accustomed to seeing when we were dating is all but
gone, replaced by a scrawny, frail man who looks like he's just come off a
bender, and the smell of whiskey, stale cigarettes, and sex make my stomach
turn.

"Camryn?"

"Skila,
I need to talk to you."

I open
the door to allow him in. I have no idea what he's up to, but I really wish
Kiptyn was awake now. Everything about this feels wrong. I can’t explain it.
Camryn’s eyes dart around the room, never staying in one spot for more than a
second at a time.

“Listen,
Skila, I need you to come with me.”

“Come
with you? Where, Camryn? It's ten at night.”

“I know,
I know, but they aren’t watching. I can get you out.”

“Camryn,
what are you talking about?”

“You
need to come with me. You’re not safe. No one is safe.”

“Camryn,
you’re scaring me. Who’s not safe? Who’s not watching?”

“It's
not important right now. We need to go.” He reaches for my arm, but I pull back
before he can grab me. He spins like he didn’t mean to try to grab me and takes
two steps toward the kitchen.

“It’s
nice here. You’ll be happy here,” he says, changing the subject so fast I have
a hard time keeping up.

“Unplug the
televisions and the internet. Hurry,” he says, spinning back around. I press my
back against the wall, trying to get as far away from him as I can while easing
my way back down the hall to the bedroom . . . to Kip. He notices.

“Skila,
we have to go now.”

“Okay.
Just let me get Kip. KIPTYN,” I yell down the hall. Camryn jumps forward and
presses his hand against my mouth. He isn’t hurting me, but I'm terrified. My
heart is pounding so hard that I feel like it might beat straight out of my
chest any moment.

“NO.
He’s one of them. You can't trust him,” he mutters.

I can
hear Kiptyn as he crawls from the bed. His feet hit the floor. He calls my
name, but I can't answer him.

“SKILA,”
he calls again, louder, more urgent, and he turns to come down the hall. When
he sees Camryn, he relaxes for a split second before he realizes what’s
happening.

“Camryn,
what the fuck are you doing? Get your hands off her now.” The fury in his voice
makes my knees go weak. Camryn removes his hand from my mouth, but he doesn’t let
me go.

“Run to
the bedroom. Lock the door. Don’t open it,” Camryn whispers into my ear. I nod
my head, letting him know that I'll do what he’s asking. He lets me go, and I
rush past Kip, running straight to our room. The only thing I see before I slam
the door shut is Camryn attacking Kiptyn and Kip hitting the floor.

I pray I
can hold it together long enough to do what I need to do. Searching through the
bag on the floor by my side of the bed, I find my cellphone and pull it out as
fast as I can. My light is blinking red, signaling low battery. Please, just
last long enough. I dial 911 and hit call. They pick up immediately and ask me
the nature of my emergency.

I try to
slow my racing heart enough to spit out as many detail as I can. The lady on
the other end tells me to stay on the phone until a uniformed officer arrives.
I sit on the edge of the bed. My entire body is shaking. I can’t stop replaying
the image of Kip falling to the ground, with Camryn over top of him.

“Please,
God, let him be okay,” I pray.