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CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

John

“Celebrate, Sunshine. Celebrate,” I say, stepping into her, walking her backward deeper into her apartment. When her calves hit the couch, I spin her around and as I sit, I pull her onto my lap.

The relieved giggle that escapes her makes me forget my troubles and concentrate on the woman I love. “Is that what you want?”

“The baby or to celebrate?” she asks with a sugary grin.

“Both.” Desire laces my voice, wanting to make love to the queen of my heart.

She lays her hand on her stomach, already nurturing our baby so I place my hand over hers.

My fingers hang over the edge of hers, and I feel her pulse skitter as our eyes meet.

Questions and confessions stay unspoken, but a silent understanding between us that we’ll talk after the celebration.

Our breaths blend as her lips part, and I slowly savor the taste of toothpaste. Internally, I laugh. She’s such a good girl to brush her teeth before bed. But now it’s time to be a good girl for me.

When our lips are swollen, I pull on the hem of her shirt, and she says, “No.”

“Babe, I’m sure you’re not even showing. ”

“It’s not that. I want you to own me and wreck me in your shirt.”

My mouth drops open because Becca isn’t a vocal partner. Sure, she may be in the heat of the moment, but this is love.

“Oh babe, that’s a request I can’t deny.”

She makes fast work of my jeans, unbuttoning and pushing my underwear down in one fell swoop, “Is my girl eager?”

We exchange erratic, sloppy kisses as I wiggle her out of her silky thong. With her mouth pressed against mine, she says, “Say it again.”

“Say what?” I’m so lost in her, I’m not sure what I said.

“That I’m your girl.”

I slow down. Roll her onto her back and slide down her body.

Igniting her skin, and the proof is the shiver that rolls through her body.

“You’ll always be my girl. But more than that, you’ll always be our baby’s mother.

” I blow on her hot center. “More than that.” I lick through her folds and suck on her sensitive bundle. “You’ll be my wife, forever.”

“For…eve…r?” she says, her voice low and strained. As her fingers scrape through my short hair, she gyrates, bucking against my mouth.

When she climaxes, I smile as I climb up her body. “Forever. But right now, you’re going to ride me. Will having sex make you sick?”

“We won’t know until we try.” She winks as I flip us over, and she sinks down on my shaft. Her taut muscles welcome me and suck me in as far as possible. I sneak my hands up under the t-shirt of mine she’s wearing, pinching her nipples.

Gripping her hips, I help Becca find her rhythm. Her head falls back with the word yes falling from her lips. I slap her ass, and she yelps, “John. John.”

She’s like a ticking time bomb. I feel her knees squeezing around me and her inner walls clamping down. Then she goes off in a wild fury, faster and faster. I think I can hang on, but I can’t and for the first time, I blast a second before her .

It’s a completely different feeling chasing our orgasms together through chaotic movements and a trail of satisfaction and bliss.

Collapsing on my chest, both gasping for any bit of air we can, we lie on the couch. When our breathing evens, and her fingers make patterns on my chest, I know she’s thinking about the future and what it means, same as me.

Finally, I muster up enough courage to say what I came to say. I inhale a deep breath, and her head rises and falls as I skim her smooth, still-tanned skin with my fingers. Each stroke is lazy yet meaningful.

“Becca.”

“Hmmm?” she purrs, sated and relieved.

“Do you feel okay? I hope we didn’t hurt the baby.”

She flashes a crooked smile when she looks at me. “I read that pregnancy hormones will make me want you even more.”

“Well, that’s a good side effect,” I say, surprised.

“Not really when I won’t see you.” I feel worry creeping back into her mind.

“I’m going to retire. You need me. The baby needs me. And most of all, I want to be with you, every day.” I tap her so she’ll slide to the inside of the couch, then fumble around to get to the pocket of my jeans.

“John, you can’t. You love hockey.”

I pull the box out of the pocket, hiding it in my hand, and lie back down beside her. I grab the knitted afghan and cover us from the waist down. Popping the top of the box, I propose, “Marry me. Let me be the man you deserve.”

As I show her the ring, she says, “It’s perfect.” A single emerald-cut solitaire with a gold band. Nothing flashy, just classy, like Becca. A bashful grin graces her beautiful face as she looks at the ring. “You have much better taste than your father.”

“I do. If you need time to think about it, it’s fine. Our future may not be clear as far as where we’ll live and when we can be together full time, but one thing that will not change is how much I love you and the baby.”

“My mouth wants to say yes. My heart wants to say yes. But…”

“Your mind is busy overanalyzing? I got it. That’s you, and I want every part of you.”

“Are you asking me because I’m pregnant?”

“Bex, I didn’t even know you were pregnant. It didn’t even occur to me as a possibility until I listened to your voicemail on repeat after the game. The private league plane was still at the airport, so Mr. Cross said I could use it but would have to find my own way back to Dallas.”

I squish her against my chest and kiss her forehead.

“I bought the ring the week we came home from vacation. I planned on asking you when we play the Notes next month, but the feeling hit me, and I know that I love you more than I’ve loved anyone, including my family.

I’m so sorry I didn’t confide in you about what I was… am going through.”

“Yes,” she whispers, pressing her lips against my chest.

“Yes?” I turn over on my side to face her.

“Yes, yes, yes. I love you, John Basilio, and I hope we have a little boy, and he becomes a man as loving, caring, and as athletic as you.”

“I do give you the best lovin’ you’ve ever had.” I can’t stop grinning from ear to ear.

“Let’s hope the baby is a little less cocky than you.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Bex.” I run my hand between her thighs and take my hand out. “This is proof you love my cock…iness.” Laughter burst from my chest, and embarrassment blooms from hers.

In a hushed, velvety tone, she says, “I guess I do.”

“It’s late, and I have to fly back tomorrow night. Let’s get you to bed, and we’ll talk about the scandal tomorrow and make a plan.”

“I love to plan.”

“I know.”