by Warren, Rie
“Just gotta get something.”
No damn lie, the muscles in my thighs still quaked, but I made it to my bag in a post-come daze. Inside was everything I needed. Including the scrapbook Peyton had given me.
Man, I’d poured over all the drawings and photos and milestones every single night since she’d placed the keepsake into my hands.
But I hadn’t shared everything with her.
Sure, I was exhausted from the game. I was also on a high about being home with Peyton and Callum, especially when I saw the diamond glinting on her ring finger when she rolled onto her side as I approached.
I slid under the covers beside her. Drawing her to me, I pulled the sheet up over her tits.
Safety measure only.
“You keep this with you?” Her eyes flipped up as she touched the cover she’d decorated with blue baby booties.
“’Course.”
She curled up against me. “Oh, Rafe.”
“Will you tell me about everything I missed?” My voice rough, I steadied the scrapbook on my thighs.
We flipped through each page from the first ultrasounds to the first moment she held him to our son’s first steps. She’d even included photos of him and me at the end.
Peyton’s head nestled on my shoulder, she remembered every moment, sharing them with me.
“And that was the day he learned how to say no.” She rested a fingertip on a photograph of Callum sitting in a highchair, flinging baby food all around until the green goo smeared every surface captured by the camera.
Chuckling, I flipped to the latest page. “I added to it too.”
The drawing Callum made me for the big game day was already tucked inside. And Peyton’s eyes teared up.
“Don’t cry, darlin’.” I ran my hand up and down her back. “It’s all good now.”
“I’m sorry I kept him from you.” She sniffled, and a tiny salty drop slid down her cheek.
I lifted the tear away with my thumb, hugging her close. “Hey, beautiful. I know that.” Placing the book aside, I drew her down until our heads rested side by side. “But I feel a little dirty looking at these after we just made love.”
“Made love?” Her eyebrows arched up.
“Fucked.” Smoothing the hair from her temples, I rolled her to her back.
Hovering barely above her, she had to feel my renewed hard-on jutting against her.
“Again, Rafe?”
“Well, you did kind of put me in a dry spell.” I quickly sheathed up in a new condom.
“Did I?” She shyly looked away, but her hands caressed my biceps and her pelvis tilted toward me.
“Yeah,” I huskily whispered. “Nobody but you. There’s never been anyone like you for me.”
She opened to my first thrust, her fingers digging into my flexing ass. “No one like you for me either. Not . . . ever.”
Riding her slowly, I coiled around her. My heart pounded, filled. I kissed her as long as I could, connected. Her body writhed against me, more than sex.
Flipping her on top of me for the final strokes, I cupped her face. “Peyton. I love you so much.”
That hot spike of need exploded as soon as she drove down onto me. “Love you, Rafe!”
Her head thrown back.
Her arms winding around my neck.
Her heat clasping me.
My breath came back in a great gasp after I came, and I edged from beneath her. “Okay?” I spooned against her.
“Mmm hmmm.” Her hand found mind, and our fingers twined together.
I smiled against her neck, thumbing the diamond on her finger. “Me too.”
Then my goddamn stomach grumbled.
And Peyton’s tummy rumbled with a light laugh. “I knew you had to be starving!”
Rolling her onto her back, I nipped at her breasts. “Starving for you.”
She squealed before wriggling from underneath me. Pulling on a robe, she rolled her eyes and made her way to the door.
“I hope you’re not making me pancakes,” I called out.
I barely had time to dodge the seriously high heel aimed at my head two seconds after my snarky comment.
“Damn, woman. Maybe you should be the quarterback.”
I watched Peyton swish her hips from side to side, the silky short robe barely covering her bare ass.
Picking up the designer shoe, I hefted it in my hand. “Hey. Remember the other day when you said you couldn’t find your Manolo Whatsit? Found it!”
Her laugh trailed away.
And that was way too good to pass up.
Grabbing my jeans, I pulled them on, and hurried to join her.
Also . . . pancakes.
Twenty-Nine
Sexual Blitz
Peyton
THE NEXT MORNING CAL had woken me up by bouncing on top of me. Good thing I’d remembered to put some clothes on—Rafe’s shirt—after he’d made love to me for the third time.
With barely a second to adjust to Cal’s early morning volume level, he’d launched right in. “Mommy! Did you haf a slumber party with Rafe?”
Laughing, I rolled him off me.
That’s one way of putting it. Definitely the G-rated version of events.
“Yep. We had a sleepover.” I’d ruffled Cal’s hair then stifled a yawn. “And that’s going to happen a lot more because we’re getting married.”
He howled with happiness then peered at me with wide forest green eyes. “Me too. G’on marry you and Daddy too!”
“Well, something like that. We’ll be a family together.” I’d chuckled.
Rafe had lurked in the doorway, looking rugged, ruffled, and never sexier. “Breakfast is ready, champ.”
“Yes!” Cal popped off the bed, started to the door, then ran back to my side. “He made pancakes.” He cupped his hands near my ear but didn’t fully grasp the whispering-thing just yet. “’Cause I told him yours aren’t no good.” Then he sloppily kissed my cheek while taking my neck in a stranglehold. “But I still love you, Mommy.”
When Callum raced out of the room, Rafe sauntered in.
His eyes had narrowed on me as he approached. “Our son said he thought he heard wild animals last night.” His slow teasing grin made my nipples tingle. “I told him it was probably just a dream.”
Rafe’s chest bare, I’d watched his muscles tighten and loosen when he leaned over me to place both hands beside my head.
“Might need to soundproof the bedroom?” I whispered, coiling up to nudge my lips against the corner of his whiskery jaw.
“Maybe the whole house.” His breath had fanned across my seeking lips. “I’ll keep some pancakes warm for you, Momma.”
Teasing me with barely there touches for a few more moments, Rafe finally slanted his head and delved deep against my mouth. His tongue dove inside, curling around mine. Kisses that turned me on unbearably the moment our lips met.
The man could have me dropping my panties with a wink.
“DaddydaddydaddyRafe!” Callum’s shout had broken up the intimate moment.
“Uh oh. You’re in deep trouble now, mister.” Low laughter bubbled out of me.
“Yeah I am. Wouldn’t change it for the world.”
And then he winked.
Damn him.
Ambling away, he’d mumbled, “Hot momma.”
We’d gotten engaged three weeks ago, and since then Carolina Crush had cruised through two more games—soundly thrashing both the Tennessee Titans, my former team, and the Louisville Lions.
Today was a practice day. I’d showed late because of a parent-teacher conference at Callum’s school, barely catching the end of a full team scrimmage on the field. The first half of practice finished as I stood on the sidelines, on the phone with the team’s scout.
All of a sudden someone snuck up behind me and started getting handsy with me.
With a smile on my face, I ended the call.
“Grrr.” Rafe grabbed my ass. “You know I love you in workout gear.”
> “You like me in anything. Or nothing at all.”
“Definitely nothin’ at all.”
Brooklyn stopped beside us. “Not that I’m not happy for you two, but cut a single guy a break already.”
“Single guy.” Rafe jabbed him in the ribs. “Brooks, you been pullin’ more tail than any other playa in NFL history.”
“Hey. Just sowing the wild oats, but not like you did.” He chuckled before sobering with a frown on his face. “Besides, I married my high school sweetheart, and then she took half my bank when she divorced me.”
“You mean dicked you over,” Rafe commented.
He folded his massive arms across his chest. “Nailed it. So I deserve a little play time.”
Recently divorced, Brooklyn Holt stood well over six feet tall. The tight end was broad-shouldered, fully fit, ruggedly attractive, and not one bit clean-cut with the thick dark brown beard and body inked in tattoos. In his position, with his looks, he could have any woman he wanted. So he did.
Carolina Crush Player of the Week—possibly in an NFL commendation way, most definitely in a cruising-chicks kind of way. He was becoming known as Baller Brooks, and I felt for the big man because he’d been raked over the coals by his ex.
Felt for him until . . .
The new women ran onto the field. They weren’t cheerleaders. Hell no. These ladies were suited up in helmets and protective gear, the only difference was the shorter jerseys, the tighter shorts. They were all in incredible shape, had worked hard to get where they were, and they sure as hell weren’t shy about their passion for the sport or their pride in their bodies.
Brooklyn almost gagged on his tongue. “What. The. Fuck. Is. That?”
With his finger pointing, it was clear he had his sights set on one woman in particular already. The team captain with the long black hair.
“The all-female Carolina Cougars, part of the Artemis League.” I watched their offensive line huddle then get into formation. “They’ll be playing during our half-time shows for the remainder of the season in return for sharing practice space and some extra perks. You like?”
Brooks’ voice emerged slightly strangled. “Approved.”
“It’s about female empowerment.”
“And tits?” Brooks asked.
Rafe smacked him on the back of his head. “Respect, dude.”
“Yeah, respect, Brooks.” I glanced sideways at him. “These women are just as much professional athletes as you and Rafe. Why shouldn’t they show off their talent and dedication? And it’s not like y’all’s football pants hide a whole hell of a lot either.”
“Jesus.” He continued to stare at the QB as she threw a few practice balls. “That one there could probably break me in two. How’s that for respect?”
“A little better,” I said.
“I mean, look at the six pack on her.”
“You’re still salivating,” I admonished.
“Hard not to.”
“Remember. No. Fraternization,” I schooled.
Nod. Nod. Shake of his head.
“Wait, What?” My pronouncement finally struck a chord, and he spun toward me. “How about you and Rafe and fraternization?”
“You forget. I’m the owner. I don’t live by the rules. I make them.”
“Yeah, she does.” Rafe hugged an arm around me.
“Fuck you both.” Brooklyn stomped away.
“I think you just stirred up the hornet’s nest again.” Rafe quirked a half grin.
“In other words, he’s horny for the Cougar’s captain.”
“Looks like it.” Grasping the sides of my face, Rafe tipped my lips toward his. “And you make me hot when you go all boss lady like that.”
“I hope you remember that later tonight.”
After a short kiss, Rafe pulled back to scowl at me. “Wait. What does that mean?”
I walked away. “You’ll see.”
* * *
I’d left work early. A first. Picked Callum up at school, hit the dry cleaner’s, crossed off the rest of my to-do list, and took him for a swim.
Eight-hour days never really existed. More like twelve or fourteen, but Rafe—in our lives—made it easier. Happier. Completely wonderful.
He’d moved into my house the weekend after we got engaged so Callum wouldn’t have to change schools. But we kept Rafe’s beach house, too, for getaways and summer living. In fact, we’d already decorated the room there next to Liv’s for Cal, and I’d added a few touches to the rest of the rambling cottage.
At our home in Mt. Pleasant, I helped Cal with his homework—seriously, in kindergarten?—and fed him an early supper.
Then I raced my ass off getting things ready. Including myself. Since I was trying not to be my usual hot mess.
Although Rafe never seemed to mind. In fact I thought he preferred me dirty, hot, and a little messy, but tonight I wanted to be dirty for him in an entirely different way.
In the kitchen, I started setting out the cartons of food. I wore just a tight-to-my-body tuxedo jacket and curve-hugging black pants. Plus the pair of heels I’d thrown at him. The engagement ring shined on my finger.
Seconds after I heard the front door open, I knew he’d stepped into the kitchen. My body reacted immediately to his presence, his scent, his magnetism even before he said a single word or touched me.
“Where’s Cal?” He approached closer.
“In his bedroom.”
Then I turned, my full breasts barely contained by the sleek feminine tuxedo jacket.
“Holy shit. Fuck. That’s not workout gear.” His steps halted, his nostrils flaring, he fumbled in his pockets. “Where’s the swear jar and what the hell are you wearing?”
He stuffed money into the overflowing jar on the counter without paying any attention at all to the amount he crammed in. Guessed he planned on cursing a lot tonight, after he stopped staring. My body tingled, and I shook my hips when I turned around again to check the food.
“Christ,” Rafe mumbled.
“Don’t worry.” I peered back at him, lowering my lashes. “I didn’t cook tonight. But everything’s really hot.”
“Fucking what?”
I didn’t even think Rafe knew he’d said those words out loud.
Setting plates on the table, I felt his eyes drawn to my dipping cleavage. “Have a seat.”
I passed him a beer.
He hardly drank it.
His eyes scanned from my tits to my lips to my hair before making a return trip, all the while mindlessly eating, one fast bite after another, the Thai food I’d had delivered.
“You should slow down.” Seated across from him, I arched an eyebrow, licking the sauce off my chopsticks.
“Want to get you to bed pronto.”
“It’s a little early, don’t you think?”
Throwing his napkin on the table, Rafe tilted his chair back on two legs. “You can’t fuc—friggin’ look like that, Pey, and expect me to wait until”—he peered at the thick watch on his wrist—“fuck it. Another hour?”
Slowly easing a spicy noodle between my lips, I teased him just that little bit more. “I hope you’ve developed an expert method for getting Callum to go to sleep then.”
The chair legs scraped back, and he bolted from his seat.
“Don’t you want dessert, babe?”
“Damn right I do. You. In bed. With me.”
Shucking off the heels as soon as Rafe left the room, I finished my meal then slotted the dishes into the dishwasher. I kept a plate piled high for him in the center of the table.
He’d be hungry later.
Hearing shouts in the backyard, I padded barefoot to the patio.
The man had Callum running laps and practicing passes on repeat until he yawned in the twilight dusk.
I bit down on my lip, shaking my head.
That was dadication for you.
Moments later Rafe piggybacked Cal into the house and up the stairs. “Bath time, champ.”
“D
o I haveta?”
“Yeah. You stink.”
“Mommy smells good.”
“Yeah. She sure does.”
I snuck up after them, picking up Cal’s sneakers and socks littered along the way. I lingered outside the cracked bathroom door, because the two of them were just so darn cute together.
Especially when I heard Cal ask, “Will my winky get bigger too?”
“Winky?”
“My thingy down here.”
Rafe laughed out loud, and I silently chuckled, shaking my head.
“Yeah. When you get older. Plenty of time for that. But let’s get that hair washed, huh, then off to bed for you.”
Rafe was so damn good at being a daddy my heart instantly melted.
I left them to more splishing and splashing, but half an hour later—when Rafe still hadn’t appeared in our bedroom, I tiptoed down the hallway and peeked into Cal’s.
I’d adjusted my top before my breasts toppled out. I’d put my heels back on. I’d even swept Callum’s cracker crumbs off the bed from earlier, because I wanted the night to be special.
But absolutely nothing was more special than this . . .
With our son neatly tucked in, Rafe lounged on top of the bed beside him with the book open between them. He motioned for Cal to turn the page then continued reading the fairytale story. He gave each character a different voice, which was pretty comical when he got to the princess considering how deep his normal timbre was.
Of course Callum giggled and clapped whenever Rafe did the girly part. “Mommy’s a princess too!”
Sigh.
“Yes, she is.” Rafe leaned over and kissed his forehead. “She’s the queen of my heart.”
Melt.
Thirty
Total Freakin’ Bliss
Rafe
PEYTON FAILED TO MENTION Callum was on his read the same story ten times in a row kick. I could probably forgive her considering how damn delicious she looked in that jacket with her luscious tits nearly spilling free.
Speaking of, time to wrap up the night-nights and get back to my smokin’ hot fiancée. I’d never get tired of saying that, at least not until I could call her my wife.