Hoops Holiday

by Ryan, Kennedy

  “Let’s go, Chase,” she says abruptly, deliberately shifting her eyes from Kenan to her friend, or whatever he is.

  “We’re leaving, too,” August says. “We can walk down together.”

  Kenan drags his glance from Lotus and does the man hug thing with my husband.

  “I’ll see you back in SD,” August tells him.

  “Yeah, see you Monday in the gym,” Kenan says absently, his eyes tracking Lotus and Chase, who are munching a handful of hors d’oeuvres at the door on their way out.

  “Oh, and Kenan?” August says.

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “For the record,” August says, his grin cocky. “You definitely have a crush.”

  Kenan’s eyes slit, but he yields a grin. He reaches down to cover Sarai’s ears and says softly, “Fuck you, Rook.”

  I give Kenan a quick hug goodbye, and we walk off to catch Lotus and Chase and all walk to the elevator together.

  “So you’re on your way to your boss’ party?” I ask Lotus while the elevator descends.

  “Yeah.” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “He loves parties and usually recruits me to help, but I told him I had family in town and would roll through later.”

  I nod, relishing the news I have to share. Now that we’ve decided I can tell her, I’m like a kid with a secret, about to burst with it.

  When we reach the lobby, we wait for the driver to come with our car. I grab Lotus by the elbow and pull her to the side while she and Chase wait for their Uber.

  “Hey, I want to tell you something.”

  “Sure.” Lotus smirks. “Is this about your new ‘haircut’?”

  I just stare at her for long seconds, wondering if . . . no. She can’t know.

  “Girl, do you already know—”

  “No, it’s not like that.” She looks uncomfortable for a minute. “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “It?” I probe, watching her closely. “Are you . . . practicing, Lo?”

  She knows what I mean. I’m asking if she’s actually practicing like Mimi did, like so many of the women in our family practiced voodoo until our mothers abandoned it. I don’t even believe in it, but Lotus and I see many things differently.

  “No.” She barks out a laugh. “Girl, when would I find time for it with my life? It’s not something you dabble in. It’s something you devote yourself to. I just . . . get a strong sense sometimes.”

  She gives me a pointed look.

  “Like with your haircut,” she says lightly. “Now spill it.”

  I don’t even know what to make of all that, so I just shake my head dazedly and lean forward to tell her my secret.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Lotus pulls back to stare at me, her mouth gaping open. I feel the tiniest thrill that she really didn’t know for sure, and relish her delighted squeal.

  “Bo, oh my God!” She draws me into a scented hug. “I’m so happy for you. Oh, gosh. I’m gonna be an auntie . . . again!”

  “I know! Crazy, right?”

  “Does Sarai know yet?” she asks softly, glancing at my daughter already asleep on her father’s shoulder.

  “No, we’re telling everyone on New Year’s Eve.” Tears blur my vision for a second. “But seeing you after so long . . . I needed to tell you in person. You’re the only one who knows.”

  Answering tears shimmer over her dark eyes, and she presses her lips tightly together.

  “Thank you, Bo,” she whispers. “That means a lot.”

  “Iris,” August calls, dipping his head toward the waiting SUV. “Car’s here, babe.”

  Lotus gives him a double thumbs up, and a smile tugs at his full lips.

  God, those lips. I want them all over me.

  “We gotta go,” I say abruptly.

  “Okay, and I meant it about catching up when I come with JP, my boss, out to LA next month.”

  I start walking backward toward the car, keeping my eyes on Lo and slanting her a teasing grin.

  “You gonna try to see Kenan while you’re out there, too?”

  Lotus’s smile fades, the light in her eyes flickers and she gestures for Chase when their Uber pulls up.

  “Not a chance in Hell,” she answers.

  “I don’t get you.” I stop my back stepping to hold her stare. “He’s a great guy. And he’s handsome. You don’t think he’s handsome?”

  Lotus lets Chase climb into the back seat of the Uber ahead of her and pauses, facing away and turning her head, showing me her profile, not her expression.

  “I think he’s magnificent,” she says softly.

  Before I can say as much as a “what the heck,” she ducks into the car and it pulls away.

  We’re quiet on the short drive from Deck’s party to our hotel, which is only a few blocks away. We’re both loathe to accidentally wake Sarai. If she wakes up, it will take forever to answer all her questions and get her back asleep. We need her to stay down so we can handle this ache that has been throbbing between us all night. An ache we cultivated with every stolen touch and lingering glance.

  I very carefully tug Sarai’s clothes off and slip her nightgown over her head, watching her face for signs of stirring. She’s out cold.

  Yes! Mama’s getting some!

  I reach to turn on the bedside lamp so she won’t be frightened if she wakes up in the middle of the night, and the light glints over her new gris gris ring. There’s this constant tug of war between what I believe to be true with my rational mind, and the undeniable realities of my heritage. Maybe it was my imagination that I was actually safe when I wore the ring Mimi gave me. And the leashed power I sense in Lotus sometimes, the gleam of ancient wisdom in her eyes – maybe that’s all in my mind, too.

  Even though Lotus seems to be the reckless free spirit, taking all the risks I shy away from, she has a compass that never ultimately seems to steer her wrong. I adamantly objected when she dropped out of Spelman to pursue the opportunity in New York, but she knew it was right for her, and even enrolled in FIT once in New York for her Associate’s degree in design. If she were a cat, she’d have nine lives and always land on her feet.

  I lift Sarai’s tiny limp hand and kiss the ring before leaving the room and quietly pulling the door closed.

  When I enter the hotel master suite, August’s broad, naked shoulders are pressed into the headboard, and his caramel-kissed curls flop into slate gray eyes. The million-thread count hotel sheets puddle at his lean hips and caress the stack of muscles over his abs.

  “Let me save you the guesswork,” he says, his smirk inviting me to leave any inhibitions at the door. “I am naked under here.”

  I chuckle and walk to the edge of the bed, bending so one knee dips into the mattress.

  “And let me save you the guesswork,” I say, tugging the sequin dress over my head. “I’m naked under here.”

  I ignore the groan that escapes his lips at the sight of me in my thong and tiny bra.

  “Well, almost naked.” My eyes never leave his while I unfasten the front snap of my strapless bra and slide the scanty underwear over my hips and down my legs.

  “Am I coming to get you?” August asks, his breaths growing labored, sexual tension snapping in the small space separating us. Just the length of the bed, but it feels like he’s a hundred miles away.

  “How about I come get you?" Naked with my hair hanging over my shoulders, brushing my already tight nipples, I can barely make myself go slow. I want to fling myself at him. To jerk the sheet away and impale myself on him. Ride him until we both come so hard we see stars. Instead I draw out every move, stretching my advance like notes held, sustained. His eyes heat, setting my skin on fire everywhere they touch me. I feel his glance like a physical thing, stroking me into a frenzy I can barely contain. By the time I reach him, I’m so wet, the insides of my thighs are damp. Holding my stare, August slips his hand between my legs and massages the wetness into my swollen lips.

  “Well looka here. A gift for me?” he asks, his
laugh low and rough. “You shouldn’t have.”

  God, he’s so beautiful, inside and out, and I can’t believe he’s mine sometimes. I still wake up some mornings expecting to be trapped in the nightmare that was once my life, and tears of gratitude, of awe fill my eyes, sometimes spill over when I realize that I’m literally living the dream. Maybe that will always happen from time to time. You don’t escape the hell I was confined to unscarred, unburnt. You live with those memories, learn from those mistakes and make the best life you can.

  And this life with August, exceeds my every hope.

  “We’re gonna have a baby,” I whisper, rolling my hips over his exploring fingers.

  “I know.” He sits up and gently presses my shoulders until my back is against the mattress and he hovers over me. “Cause for celebration, I’d say.”

  His lips closing over one nipple while he rolls the other between his fingers draws a whimper from me and then a gasp.

  It’s so intense, this pleasure, I find myself straining away from it. Not because it doesn’t feel divine, but because the human body cannot have been made to withstand this kind of sensual torture.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” he blows the words over one damp, tight nipple when I squirm. “Stay put.”

  “August.” My back arches when his lips wander between my breasts and track a line down the center of my stomach. He pauses at my belly, still flat, no sign of life from the outside view.

  “Our baby’s here, Iris,” August says, his voice thickening with emotion. He glances up, his lips pressed to the sensitive skin covering my pubic bone. “How did that even happen?”

  “How did it happen?” I spread my legs, rubbing my thigh against the smooth naked musculature of his back. “Should I refresh your memory on how we made a baby, Mr. West?”

  His smile is strung together by lust and mischief.

  “I think you should, Mrs. West.” He kisses my hip and lingers over my abdomen. “You know I forget shit.”

  “Well, first there was a little of this.” I lean up until our lips are a breath apart, slide my fingers into the decadence of his thick curls, and tug until our mouths meet. We moan into the kiss, and he adjusts to rest on his elbows and takes my face between his hands, devouring me. His tongue is on an adventure, seeking out all my wild, untamed places. I answer with growls and bites and feral sounds as our tongues wrestle, wrangle. I lose the thread of time; lose myself in the kiss until the insistent throb between my legs reminds me of what I need.

  “Now,” I say, breath labored like I’ve been running. “It takes more than a kiss to make a baby.”

  “I’ve heard that,” August says, panting into the skin of my neck. “Tell me more.”

  “Well there may have been a little of this, too.” I slide my naked body down the bed, his body a bridge of muscle and bone and taut, honeyed skin suspended over me. All along the way, I feather kisses over his nipples and the ridges of his abs, relishing his harshly-drawn breaths and the way his body clenches at my touch. When I reach his hips, I have no time for flirting and banter. I grip his ass, one cheek in each hand, and take his dick in my mouth. At this angle, with him over me, it’s like stuffing him down my throat. He’s in a position of power, and as soon as my lips close around him, he asserts that power. He leverages himself on one arm, on his elbow, but reaches with the other to tangle his fingers in my hair, angling my head so my mouth opens wider, takes more of him before I even ask for it. He pumps aggressively, like my mouth is my pussy. Like we’re having sex. All that power, all that dick, in and out with force down my throat. At first I’m not sure I can take it for more than a few seconds, but something unlocks inside me after the initial aggressive thrusts, and I want more.

  I drop my jaw and open my throat until his balls are at my chin. I toggle them in my hands, my grip firm and sure. I want to undo him, the same way he undoes me every time we make love.

  “Fuck, Iris,” he breathes heavily above me. “I can’t . . . shit.”

  I slide my finger between the firm curves of his ass, insinuating my finger there. He goes still for a second, and I take advantage of his uncertainty, rubbing the puckered hole of his ass while swallowing every inch of my husband’s dick. I let him go with a pop and take his balls, one at a time, into my mouth, lavishing each one with my tongue and lips.

  “Oh, my God,” he says over and over. “Iris, I’m gonna . . .”

  I know he’s close, and I need him too badly to be completely selfless and let him come anywhere except inside me. There’s a fire traveling along my legs. I long to feel him stretching me. I release him from my mouth and turn onto my stomach. With the same stealth I slid down his body, I slide back up, until my back is pressed into his chest and my hips are aligned with him.

  “I, uh, take it you want it from the back,” he laughs, chest heaving.

  “Hard, please.”

  He does not disappoint.

  The first thrust pushes me up the bed, and I bury my face in a nearby pillow, angling my ass up for deeper penetration and also muffling the screams I know are forthcoming. We’re sweating and grunting and it’s so barbaric and beautiful, tears sting my eyes. My husband. My child growing inside of me. Our daughter in the room beside us. It’s too much. I’ve come too far. I’m too grateful, and even as his last thrust comes so hard I might happily split right open, the dam holding back my tears, breaks. I come and convulse and weep, all of it a culmination of the night and our entire journey.

  “God, August,” I cry into the pillow. “I love you. Baby, I love you so much.”

  One strong arm circles around my midriff to pull my back tighter to his chest. Once we’re both empty, done, he stands us on our knees. He’s still inside me, and I wish he never had to leave. He scatters kisses over my neck and shoulders.

  “Thank you,” he mumbles. “For our baby, for Sarai, for loving me.”

  His voice breaks, and I realize the dampness I feel is not our sweat, but his tears. He buries his head in my hair, dropping kisses in the thick tresses at my neck.

  “You’re my world, Iris.” I hear him swallow deeply, gulping down the emotion to get the words out. “Do you really know it? That you’re the center of my whole world?”

  He spreads his fingers over my belly, sniffs and kisses my ear. I link the fingers of one hand with his at my stomach and slide the other hand back and up into his hair and go limp against his chest.

  “And you, August West,” I whisper, not bothering to wipe away my own tears. “Are the center of mine.”

  Introduction

  You must read BLOCK SHOT to appreciate this Christmas-themed bonus material. The events take place after the book.

  Get BLOCK SHOT here: https://amzn.to/2Pqu7OZ

  If you’ve read it, did you miss Banner and Jared’s TWO bonus chapters at the end of their book?

  You should read that before this bonus material!!!

  Grab Their BONUS EPILOGUE

  Click this link to receive the BONUS Epilogue

  http://bit.ly/BlockBonusScene

  Banner

  “I’ll be home for dinner.”

  For most newly-married couples, that’s probably a pretty standard thing to say, but for Jared and me, desperately trying to keep pace with the explosive growth of Elevation, our sports agency, these days it’s rare.

  “So will I,” Jared replies, a smile breaking through the fatigue I detect even over the phone. “I have that meeting with Adidas, but I should be home by eight.”

  “So a late dinner.” I signal the server for more water and search the crowded restaurant for my lunch companions. “That should give me time to cook.”

  “Or I could bring something home so you won’t have to cook. You have a long day, too.”

  “Awwww. So thoughtful.” I chuckle and smile my thanks to the server for the second glass of water he sets on the table. “But I want to cook. It’ll help me unwind.”

  “There are better ways to unwind,” Jared says, his voice humored and husk
y.

  “Oh, we can do that, too, Foster. I am ovulating.”

  “Ovulating. So sexy. You know how all this reproductive foreplay turns me on.”

  “Shut it.” My laughter comes quickly and fades just as fast. “I’m hoping this new prescription helps.”

  There’s a brief silence filling up with Jared’s concern.

  “It hasn’t been that long, Ban,” he finally says softly. “A few months. It’ll happen when it’s supposed to.”

  “Says the man who isn’t even sure he wants kids.”

  I regret the comment as soon as it leaves my mouth.

  “Jared, I didn’t mean—”

  “I’m in, Banner,” Jared replies, his gentleness turning firm. “You know that. Just because I’m not obsessed with having kids doesn’t mean I don’t want to. With you I want to.”

  I sigh, frustrated with myself, with my body, with whatever is keeping me from conceiving.

  “I do know that. I’m sorry. I’m feeling edgy, anxious. And you’re right. It hasn’t been long, but I hear that huge clock ticking.”

  “Forget the damn imaginary clock.”

  “It’s not imaginary, Jared. The doctor said my estrogen levels are low. She thinks I may be at risk for early menopause. Coupled with my PCOS, it just feels like this needs to happen now. She all but said this needs to happen now.”

  “We’ll have our kids when the time is right. I don’t care if I have to hang you upside down and impregnate you with a turkey baster.”

  “Ew.”

  “Or if it’s IVF,” he goes on, ignoring my mild disgust. “Or adoption.”

  “Don’t give up on me yet.” I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “Don’t give up on us having kids the old-fashioned way yet. We’re just getting started.”