Page 28

Vivienne

This isn't normal, not for me. Men holding babies have zero effect on me. None. Never have. But the man in front of me, still clad in tight baseball pants and a shirt that clings to every dip and swell of his muscled body, is fueling so many fantasies right now.

It's purely a carnal reaction, driven by biology, because there's no other explanation for how I feel watching Xavier fully own this single dad gig. He's got confidence I haven't seen from him since last year--only less boastful and more settled. It has me nearly combusting.

Sitting in the back of the pressroom to listen to his postgame remarks, I'm like Baby in Dirty Dancing . If someone asks me why I'm here, the only thing I'd be able to tell them is I carried a diaper bag. That's how dumbfounded I am looking on as he shifts his hold on Holland, commanding the room.

Xavier sits at the long table with a microphone in front him, owning the attention of all the reporters, all while cradling the sweetest baby in his arms. He holds Holland's pacifier in place while answering question after question with witty remarks and thoughtful responses. Piper eats it up next to me, clasping her hands under her chin while he charms the pants off everyone in the room.

"Xavier, how do you like your team's chances at the postseason?" a young reporter in the second row asks.

"Great question, Jack. There's no arguing that we have the talent--the heart is there too. Every guy in that locker room is hungry. We're doing our best to stay healthy and taking it one game at a time. It's all we can do, but yeah, I wouldn't bet against us."

"This is PR gold," Piper whispers when Holland's tiny fist balls up, lifting in solidarity with her dad.

It is, but more than that, Xavier looks at ease and genuinely happy.

Postgame remarks wrap up and he heads straight through the crowd of reporters, blazing a path towards me. I grab the diaper bag at my feet and stand to meet him halfway, because following his lead is all I'm capable of in this state.

Xavier stops in front of me and our height difference has never been more obvious as it is while he smirks down at me, looking pleased as pie. With his daughter in one arm, he takes my chin, tilting it up. It's a simple touch, nothing overtly sexual, yet the claiming nature of it has my tongue darting out to wet my lips.

"Will you tell me more about those big plans you've got for tonight?" Right there, in a room full of reporters, he puts me on my knees for him like it's the easiest thing he's ever done.

There's no hiding my smile back when I tell him, "Well, you see I've got a to-do list a mile long and I was hoping you could help me with that."

He takes me by the hand, leading me to the hallway outside the locker room, giving us space from the media. His muscles strain against his shirt as he leans in close. "Give me a minute to change." He looks from Holland to me and back again. "I want to get to the list as badly as you, but would you mind if I shower when we get back to my place? I want to get you two home."

"Not at all. Do what you need to, we'll be waiting."

He hands off Holland, disappearing into the locker room to change. It only takes minutes before he reappears, and takes Holland back from me. Our arms brush during the transfer and goosebumps scatter everywhere. It's unnerving how one touch can send me reeling. No one else has ever held this much power over me.

I need space before I forget what this is--before the current of the night carries me away with it. I get it on the drive back to his place, him in the SUV with Holland, me driving his Audi.

But it doesn't last long. When we get back to his house, he pours me a glass of red instead of taking me up on my offer to put Holland down so he can shower.

Then he points to the couch, his tone brooking no argument. "Sit. Your only job right now is to relax for a few minutes. I've got this."

The urge to help is ingrained in my marrow. Years of fighting it has yet to erase my people pleasing nature, but I can tell it would be pointless as he pushes the glass of wine into my hand, so I do as he asks.

"Okay, áine. Stay asleep like the angel I know you are and I'll get you a pony for your first birthday," Xavier whispers, using a light touch to remove Holland from her infant seat.

The first sip of wine washes over me, warming me as much as the meaning behind his words.

"Bold move. Bribing the baby with a pony."

"Worth it." Those two words and one devastatingly playful smirk make me go from warm to burning up under his gaze as he moves towards the stairs.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm halfway through my glass of wine and almost caught up on my social media scrolling when the sound of footsteps has me looking up.

Xavier stops, leaning against the arched entryway into the living room. The light from the hallway casts shadows around him. He's edible in a pair of gray joggers and a black cotton shirt, but he may as well be naked with the way my body reacts.

"Fuck." He draws the word out, stalking towards me slowly. "You have no right to look as tempting as you do simply lounging on my couch."

"Says the barefoot man in gray sweats." The wineglass at my lips catches the words, muting them. "You're basically a thirst trap with a pulse."

"What was that?" he asks, stopping beside the couch and taking the glass from me, setting it on the coffee table. He's imposing and I can't look away.

I bite my lip. "Nothing, ignore me."

"Yeah, there's no way I could ignore you. Since the second I found you standing in my hallway, you've invaded every spare thought." He sinks down on a knee, leaning over me, surrounding me with his fresh scent.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a shameless flirt?" My hand falls to the knee that's pressed to my hip. His eyes follow the same path, but he doesn't answer and I can't stand the silence. "Thankfully, you've improved because your first attempt at flirting was brutal."

Something between a laugh and a groan shakes his chest. "Here I was hoping you'd forget about that encounter now that you know me."

My secondhand embarrassment threatens to pull a laugh out of me. Feeling bad, my hand flies up to stifle it.

Fingers circle my wrist, catching it. "That smile is too pretty to hide, even if you're laughing at my expense."

I bite my lip, leaning forward and pulling him closer. "Past Xavier kind of deserved it."

"He really did. I've already apologized but I'm still mortified that I spoke to anyone that way, but even more so because it was you," he admits sheepishly.

"And all is forgiven--it has been for a while. But I'm curious, if you could have a do over, what would you have said?"

His heavy sigh fans across my chest when he drops his head between us. "It's hard to say. I'd like to tell you I'd have charmed you, but what if changing your first impression of me means I don't get Holland--that we aren't here right now?"

"Xavier Kingsley believes in the butterfly effect," I muse.

"I'd believe in almost anything if it means I get to keep all the unexpected joy the last few months have brought me." His tone shifts as he crowds me, wedging his thigh between my legs and forcing me back onto the couch.

"Is that so? Tell me more about this joy."

"Right now, I'm focused on enjoying you, and that's something I won't give up. Even if it means you thought I was a jerk for a while, then it was absolutely worth it."

His lips drop to my neck, sucking on my pulse point, causing my breath to hitch.

I've memorized every single thing on my wish list and nerves flutter wildly in my stomach, the beat of their rhythm growing more insistent with every kiss he trails down my neck.

"You taste so fucking good, every goddamn inch of you." His palm covers my breast over my tank and he groans. The appreciative sound does something to me. "And these, I love these, it's a shame I haven't seen them yet."

"No better time than the present." Being an early bloomer made me self-conscious and it took years of positive self-talk for me to change that narrative. I push those old thoughts away, reaching for the hem of my tank, pulling it over my head.

"Jesus, I knew you'd be perfect." He nips at the rounded swell of one, scraping his stubble over it and dragging a whimper out of me. "So sensitive."

Bite.

Lick.

Kiss.

Each swipe of his mouth on my now marked skin drives me higher.

"I have an addendum to our list." His voice is pure gravel. The rough pad of his thumb brushes over the red blossoming across my chest. His hips rock against me before he lowers his mouth to kiss my tender flesh.

I hum, too distracted by the way he consumes me to really respond.

His fingers pull the cups down, pushing my breasts higher. "These deserve to be worshiped--fucked and played with until you're begging me to paint your neck."

Everything spins around me, and I open my mouth to speak--though I don't know why, there are no words, my brain is a blank space filled only with the image he's crafted.

It only short circuits further when he runs his long finger along my collar bone. "You wear pleasure like you were made for it. These marks are merely the beginning." His hand collars my neck, holding it gently, intently watching the spot where he's anchored to me. "Will you let me give you more?"

"Yes, everything," I agree, entranced by the idea of a limitless list. I've spent years not demanding the pleasure I want. The list feels a little like a step toward shedding the old Vivi--the woman more concerned about not hurting her partner's ego than being fulfilled. Xavier's quickly become someone I trust as a friend and he's offering me everything I want--and some things I didn't know I wanted--on a silver platter.

He kisses down my stomach and those nerves disappear. He's got me more worked up than I've ever been.

"These curves haunt me in my sleep, taunting me because I haven't spent enough time exploring them. No one's ever been my type the way you are, Vivi."

Each layer of praise he lays down is another click higher on the rollercoaster he's got me riding. My fingers tangle in his damn strands, holding him to me as much as they urge him forward. "Xavier, I need you."

"What do you need, gorgeous? And be specific." Sharp scrapes of his five o'clock shadow tease my hip where it meets the waistband of my leggings. "Tell me how you want to come tonight."

"On your mouth," I practically shout, making him chuckle, the deep vibrations hotter than any sound I've heard before.

"That's it, sweetheart, don't ever settle for less than you deserve." I lift my hips, helping him as he pulls the material down my legs. "Are you going to sit on my face and soak me?"

I shake my head. "Not this time, please." It's hard enough for me to come like this and I'm not sure I could do it like that.

"We don't do anything you don't want ever. Do you understand, Vivienne?" There's something intimate about the way he uses my full name as he ducks his head to make sure I get those vivid blue eyes.

All I can do is nod. I'm putty in his hands. "Another time. I'm not sure I'll be able to enjoy it. I'll be too worried about whether I'll be able to come like that, and don't want anything getting in the way tonight."

"No matter what we do, I'll always make sure it's good for you. But I'm so proud of you for telling me what you need," he praises.

And I preen.

Xavier frees my pants from my ankles, letting them fly some place behind us. On instinct alone, my lids drift shut as his nose drags over the lace of my panties. And then I forget to breathe altogether when he uses the flat of his tongue to press them against my core, tormenting me without actually giving me what I need.

"Is this what you want?"

"No," I whine, my mouth dropping open as he pushes the soaked material inside me. I have no doubt he could get me off like this, but it's not what I want.

His shoulders push me wider, giving him more access as he sucks and nibbles through the fabric.

"Xavier, I need you."

"Need me where, sweetheart? Use that perfect mouth to tell me how I can make this good for you."

"Fuck me with your tongue. I want your mouth on me."

"Say please."

I push up on my elbows, staring him down. His red strands are darker, water from the shower still clinging to them. He looks like a god, propped up between my legs, the muscles and tendons in his shoulders straining. My chest heaves with a mix of annoyance and ample lust.

"If you don't eat me out and make me come all over your stupidly handsome face right this second, I might die. And listen carefully when I tell you, I have no qualms about taking you with me since this is all your fault."

He shifts on the couch and has the audacity to smirk as he tells me, "I think I came in my pants again."

"Seriously?" The question is stolen right from my throat when he hooks my underwear to the side and licks a hot stripe up my center. The cry he forces from me when the tip of his tongue spears me on the second pass is feral--foreign to my ears because no one's ever owned my body the way he does. He doesn't go slowly or ease me into it, he presses his face against me and eats like a man who can't be sated.

"It's a crime that I still don't have you naked, but I can't tear myself away from this sweet pussy long enough to care."

It's erotic, dirty, everything I never thought it could be. He whimpers against my core like having me on his tongue still isn't enough as he feasts on me, making wet sucking noises that only make this all hotter. Then he sucks my clit into his mouth and the world comes into sharp focus.

Two fingers pump inside me, another two reaching up to pinch my pebbled nipple. He's everywhere all at once.

"Don't stop." Twisting my fingers in his hair I hold him to me, rocking against him shamelessly.

"There you go. Take," he commands, curling his fingers and stroking me. My thighs shake, need coiling down my spine so urgently that I'm afraid when I break apart it will be a permanent fracturing of my body.

"Take it all." Xavier hums again, his final warning, before he fastens his lips harshly over my clit.

Pleasure bursts from me. It's an exorcism of sorts. It washes over my limbs, pulses of ecstasy rocking through them, taking those last remaining pieces of the old Vivienne with them.

For years I've forged a life--a future that suits me, where I'm in charge. Every aspect of my life has been carefully crafted to ensure I don't lose myself. Professionally. With my family. Romantically. But sexually, I've held onto the control so tightly that I've never let anyone close enough for a connection. This man might not realize it, but Xavier is teaching me to reclaim my power one orgasm at a time.

With the utmost care, he fixes my ruined underwear in place and lets his head fall to my stomach. His pulse races nearly as fast as mine against my soft belly. Oxygen and blood slowly return to my brain, but the silence between us is easy, peaceful. There's no rush to talk. Instead, I sift my fingers through his messy hair, trying to fix the damage my hands caused as it dried.

He's the first to speak. "Nothing compares to the sight of you uninhibited, claiming the pleasure you deserve. You're a damn masterpiece with my name pouring out of your mouth."

My voice is hoarse when I joke, "This praise kink you're giving me is going to make it impossible for me to move on when this is over."

He lifts his head, icy blues devoid of amusement at my lighthearted comment. "That's not something I want to think about."

Yeah, I don't particularly like the idea of him with anyone else either. It stings in a way I don't expect. "That's what we agreed to, right?"

He nods, his hand drawing circles on my stomach. "We need another rule. No talking about the after."

"Like ever?"

"Ever. I'd rather believe I've ruined you for all men. Let me live with my delusion."

I hold out my pinky finger, waiting. He stares at it. "Never made a pinky promise?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.

"Maybe we should spit on it?" He jokes. "My childhood wasn't the kind filled with Eskimo kisses and pinky promises." He hooks my little finger, pulling it to his mouth and sealing it with a kiss. "It was more beer bottles thrown at the wall and moldy bread."

I knew things were bad, but I didn't know they were that bad.

"Don't give me that look." It's a quiet plea. "I got out in one piece and I've made a pretty good life for myself. Without my past, I wouldn't be the dad that I am."

"I don't believe that for a second." The words are out, hanging between us, but I refuse to take them back.

"He showed me how not to be a father."

"And I've seen you with Holland. The love you have for her is authentic. It's not manufactured by your past. Giving him credit for the father you are isn't fair to you or her. He didn't do that, you did."

He shrugs before he adds. "That girl is my entire world and I'll never let her know the pain of a parent who has given up. She'll always know that I'm there for her. It's something I'm acutely aware of because of him."

I think about earlier and how he sent Tenley home. How he sat me down on the couch with wine instead of letting me help. Since he showed up at the camp a month ago, ragged and stressed, it's been a common thread--guilt over not doing it all.

"Accepting help from the people who care about both of you doesn't mean you've given up. It means you can give her more. You're not alone anymore."

I can practically see him turning the words over in his head.

A cry pierces the air, echoing through the baby monitor on the coffee table, and his head falls to my stomach. Xavier's soft lips brush over my skin. "No, I'm most definitely not alone. I have to get her," he says, pulling me with him as he sits up.

"And I need to get home," I say slowly, unsure if it's what I want.

This time it's him looking at me with a brow cocked in challenge. "Do you?"

Another wail comes from the monitor, and the need to help hits me squarely in the chest. "Yeah, I think I do."