Leaning over her back as the love welled up inside I went too deep too soon. That was all it took to send her into orbit and have her screaming for me. Which I had to cut off with a hand over her mouth before her pain in the ass kids started their shit.
Her body shook in climax, setting off a chain reaction and I was soon following her into ecstasy. Cum leaked out around my cock as I held still, giving us both time to come down. “Uh-oh.” She pulled off my cock like her ass was on fire.
“What uh-oh, uh-oh what?” I knew before she even said it what was gonna come out of her mouth. I told her ass to calm down but no she had to move her ass wilder with her greedy ass. “No don’t do that, come ‘ere.” I pulled her into my arms when she started to tear up.
It was always the same, and thank heaven I was home each time to hold her through it. “It’s going to be okay baby, it’s going to be okay. We’ve got everything all prepared, I’ll call ma and the hospital and…and.” Shit her parents weren’t coming for another few days. Damn kids never came when they were supposed to.
I left her on the bed for as long as she would let me, which was long enough to grab the in-house phone. “Ma it’s time get dad, call Cris and the others.” I hung up and went into action.
Because my wife and mother were paranoid nuts, there was no one to call to watch the kids so I had to get them out of bed and bundle them up to take them out into the night. There’ll be enough bodies there to watch over them while I took care of my wife so I wasn’t worried. And because my parents were the amazing people they are, I could stay focused.
Dad was soon there to help me get the kids out as ma helped me gather up what was needed for the hospital. I had to call my people to make sure there were no unwanted camera-toting assholes at the hospital. I’ve had to threaten more than one dumb fuck over the years to keep them out of our lives, but they could be vicious when it comes to things like this.
The hospital was like a madhouse with our family and friends, and hopefully no one noticed that even though this was my third time at bat I was still fuck scared.
The nurse was all chatty and way too fucking chirpy for the occasion. “Here we are Mrs. Hunter, we’ve got you all hooked up and everything looks just fine. The doctor will be in soon, just buzz if you need anything.”
“Where’re you going? You can’t leave her like this.” She wasn’t exactly screaming yet but I knew it was only a matter of time. I remember that shit, and no way she was going through that again. “It’s okay Mr. Hunter, your wife is in good hands there’s no need to panic.”
Easy for her to say, she’s not the one who has to watch a loved one try to pass a watermelon through a hole the size of a fucking grape. “She’s in pain no fucking way we’re not doing that again. Shouldn’t you people have something to combat that shit? How many years women been going through this fuckery and nobody can come up with a solution?”
“Come on son, let’s let this young lady do her job.” Dad clapped me on the shoulder but it was hard to miss the smirk in his voice. Everyone always thought it was fun to watch me unravel but they had no idea what this shit was like. If I could take her place I would in a heartbeat, I hated seeing her go through this shit, but I love making babies with her, so what the fuck!
Ma came in to spot me but I wasn’t going anywhere. “I’m right here baby just hold onto me.” I knew how inadequate that was, for the next few hours she was going to face something that I never would in the ring. No matter my strength, and how many assholes I knock on their ass, I can never do what she does for me, for us, for our little family.
“It’s okay Wyatt don’t freak out again like the last time.”
“Which time? The time I fainted or the time I almost fucked that idiot woman out the window?” Good she was laughing and she’d lost a little bit of that pained look on her face.
The machine beeped away and every once in a while the nurse would bop in with her sugary sweet bullshit. “Doc what the fuck?” She finally showed up half an hour later strolling like we had all damn day and my wife wasn’t about to pass a bowling ball or some fuck.
The twins had been small they were sharing space. Willow was a big fuck, eight pounds five ounces and this one was probably going to be the same. “Hello to you too Mr. Hunter, and how is the mother doing?” She checked the charts and rattled off some crap that I didn’t understand and almost like clockwork Trace went into contractions, squeezed the shit out of my hand and screamed the place down.
That’s all it took to move the fog from my head and I went into husband mode. I helped with her breathing, kept her brow cool, and talked to her even while she was yelling at me and accusing me of all manner of shit, like I was the one who decided which gender was supposed to carry the kid.
“I know, I’m the scum of the earth.” I wonder if she remembers how she ended up with this one? I think it was some black see through shit she’d teased me with on one of my returns. I always knew when I nailed her, somehow I could always tell no matter how much she argued that it wasn’t possible, I haven’t missed one yet.
“Here we go baby, just one more big push and you can have your ice cream bar, that’s my good girl.” She’s an old pro; one tight grip with her nails biting into my hand and she bore down. My son came screaming and wailing into the world. The tears in my eyes were for both of them, both my miracles. They cleaned him up and handed him over to me and I checked him over on my way back to his mother.
“Damn babe sorry, but this one is all me again.” I’m proud as fuck about that but my wife has beef with the fact that all our kids look like me. Poor baby, she can’t catch a break. “This has got to stop Wyatt dammit.” She didn’t look like she did five minutes ago, now her face was glowing and she had that special light in her eyes.
“Fine, next one is all yours I promise.” I kissed her as she held our boy, enveloping them both in the warmth of my arms.
“Damn straight.” That’s my girl. She’d just been through the seven levels of hell but didn’t bat a lash at the idea of going through it again. That’s my champ.
THE END
***
Indie Excerpts
BABY DADDY by Eve Montelibano”
Excerpt:
I WAS READY TO GIVE UP when he walked in like an answered prayer.
Wow.
I don’t believe in destiny but I’m a little bit convinced now.
Just a little.
How is it possible that he looks almost exactly as the one I’ve been envisioning for weeks now? He has all my physical specifications down to his sexy feet.
Incredible coincidence.
But he’s right there.
In the flesh.
Tall, above six feet so that my baby will be an improved version of his generation. I’m only five-foot-three. Check.
The face that will give my little princess a shot at becoming a supermodel if she falls short in the IQ department— not that supermodels are intellectually challenged, mind you— but that’s unlikely to happen as mine is Mensa level. However, I don’t want to piss off Someone up there so please God, make my little princess as healthy, beautiful and smart as one of her parents, at least.
Jawline and cheekbones that make an artist want to pick up a brush and paint away like a master. That simpering bubblehead he’s currently flirting with at the bar is just about to condense on the floor like sludge.
Check, check and check!
Oh, that body! He has broad shoulders and strong-looking arms corded with hard, defined muscles. No, he’s not bulky like those gym rats lifting weights every day. He’s toned and lean and can definitely command a giant billboard in Times Square or a spread in GQ wearing my men’s underwear label. He could be an athlete, or maybe a construction worker around here. Whatever, that fine-looking form can sure make beautiful, healthy babies easy.
My ovaries flutter in hyper excitement. I can hear ‘em yapping in frenzy, too.
'That’s your Baby Dada come to life! Yup, we’re putting
him in capital letters because he just became flesh and blood and no longer just a figment of your imagination. Baby Dada is now a proper noun. Go get him NOW before that maneater at the bar steals your supply of sperm for the whole week!'
I cringe at my shameful thoughts, but they’re the unvarnished truth.
I came to this place to carry out an important decision in my life. I’ve thought of it for years but I’ve procrastinated for far too long until my clock started ticking ominously like a time bomb.
Now, I’m on a countdown.
I’m desperate to do the most I can, given the limited time left in my system. Pardon the analogy but this must be how people dying of terminal illnesses feel like. Time becomes their lifeline, the very foundation of their waning existence. Every second counts like the snapping of every single strand in the rope anchoring them to life. Every snap represents the things they’re losing as they get nearer to the last strand. The last number.
This painful cliché is happening to me right now. My biological clock is ticking. And it’s an irreversible progression.
The bomb was set off by my gynecologist last month during my quarterly medical check-up. No, it’s nothing life-threatening like the Big C, but it’s somehow related to that, too.
According to my good doctor, I must get pregnant NOW if I still want to have at least one child and also to reduce the risk of getting breast cancer. To put it more bluntly, my eggs are shrinking every month and pretty soon, like SOON, my ovaries will just wilt away like plants during the worst drought and cease functioning altogether.
If I do get pregnant, my lactation period will vastly improve blood circulation in my boobies, thereby greatly reducing the risk of developing cysts in any of the unused ducts in there.
If I want to analyze that further, I’ll come to the conclusion that making babies is mandatory for women as it’s literally a cancer prevention measure, which will set off an endless argument by yours truly about gender equality which at this point, I’d be arguing with THE Creator, so let’s not even go there.
Anyway, what my doc said was definitely the granddaddies of all wake-up calls that set me in an apocalyptic panic. For real.
It was time to face the reality of it.
I finally made up my mind.
Like really, really, really made up my mind.
I want a baby.
So here I am now.
I’m not picky. I don’t care who or what my Baby Dada is as long as he’s clean and smells like heaven and has a smile that makes my tummy flutter like a million butterfly wings and has the body that will make me want to finally end my ten-year aversion to men and sex.
Wow. Has it been that long? I normally don’t count the years but when situations put me in the math zone, even I recoil at the reality of those numbers. It scares me, truth be told, that I haven’t really felt the need to have sex with a man in so long, that I haven’t felt the need to be with a man, even just for companionship, for a decade! It emphasizes the fact that I’ve refused to see (yup, Denial Queen)— that maybe, maybe there’s something seriously wrong with me.
'There IS something SERIOUSLY wrong with you. What the hell are you doing in this island in Asia, trying to blend anonymously among the mélange of tourists of various nationalities, planning to hook up with some random stranger and steal his sperm?'
I inwardly cringe again. It’s not really stealing his sperm. I call it borrowing. What is one sperm anyway? Just one in gazillions he produces every day, and may I add, wastes everyday. I just need one healthy tadpole to fertilize one of my eggs before they croak for good. Just one! It’s not stealing, okay?
Come on!
'Sperm thief!'
I quit wrestling with my conscience. I don’t need my moral codes nagging me today if I have to make a move on that hunk of masculine glory over there.
'Okay, so what the hell are you still doing here boring the shit out of yourself cataloging your internal shit? Go on, prove how gungho you really are about this baby-making project.'
I’m a very confident woman in my turf, commanding the most good-looking men to move the way I want them to while wearing my label. Adonises are commonplace in my line of work and I deal with them almost on a weekly basis. Lots of them in various nationalities. But asking a very good-looking man to have sex with me right off the bat is something I’ve never done before. It’s uncharted territory for me and I’m basically almost clueless.
I can just go for another guy, someone not so intimidating in the looks department. A regular-looking one. Plenty of them around here, too. Average height, balding, not-so-panty-creaming body.
My ovaries protest violently.
'Don’t be a fucking loser! Aim big and high! We don’t want regular! We want extraordinary! If you’re going to get knocked up, do it by design! Choose the best man for the job! He’s gotta be the best of the best! You’re staring at him!'
I inhale deeply. My ovaries are right, of course. I take it back. I’m actually picky, that’s why I squandered a week looking for him. Now that I found him, I can’t let this chance pass. He doesn’t know me, I don’t know him, so no preconceived ideas about each other, ergo, no judgment. Just a one-week-stand if he’s amenable to it.
He has to be. I’ve no other choices in sight.
'He’s leaving! Hurry!' My ovaries are panicking.
I need to be Machiavellian.
Amazonian.
Girl power.
Yes, I want that man’s sperm and I’m gonna get it come hell or high water.
Zeke (A TorqueCrash Novel)
By KAT MADRID
“You’re late!” Ryker yelled.
Zeke was already on a hair trigger, and hearing Ry yapping at his rare tardiness almost made him fly off the handle.
He ignored his friend and continued his way to the dressing room.
“Fuck you.”
That’s it! He turned and shoved Ry to the nearest wall, raising his arm to strike.
He heard footsteps running and was pulled away before he could do any damage to his band mate’s face. Too bad. He was itching to punch someone after a brush with his Dad.
“Hey, hey...chill, guys!” Syd intervened.
Ry straightened. “Tell that to Mr. Diva here. It wasn’t me who almost cost us this gig.”
Zeke scowled.
“Got your panties in a twist again, Ry?” he asked as he tried to wrestle his way out of Ridge and Syd’s hold.
“Cut the crap you two! Don’t care if you bash each other’s heads but do it later. We’re here to jam and we’re up in five. Fuck! We can’t even do a sound check. The place is already packed!” Ridge vented.
Zeke stopped struggling as his stage persona took over.
He turned to Syd. “Jimmy and his crew already here?” he asked, referring to the venue’s fold back guy.
“Yeah. Gave him a pack of ciggies to sweeten the deal.”
“Good. We’re in good hands then.”
“Just get your vocals loud enough and signal if the feedback’s a bit boxy. Jimmy will do his magic,” Ridge said.
“I’ll tone down my riffs,” Syd remarked.
“Nah, you don’t have to. Just let Mr. Jackass here play a bit of bass drum and I’ll handle the vocals. Let’s keep it simple.”
Everyone nodded, including Ryker. If there was one thing great about TorqueCrash as a band, it was their ability to set aside their individual differences for the greater cause.
Luck favored them tonight because they sounded great despite the lack of sound check. Any fold back issues were easily ironed out by Jimmy. It could have gone the other way and made them look and sound like the Village Freaking Idiots.
A full hour went by.
Before he knew it, it was time for the encore.
Zeke squinted as he eyed the crowd.
“You’ve been great tonight,” he began. “Thank you.”
Relief wouldn’t even cover what he felt right now.
Major catastrophe had been
avoided as the audience--majority of which were college kids like them--ate up every song in their lineup. Some moshed and head banged their way to future head injuries.
“I love you Zeke!” a drunk sorority girl hollered. “Take me home.”
“I love you too, sugar,” he bantered back, winking. “You guys want some more of our shit?”
“Yeah! Encore! Encore! Encore!”
He smiled as he soaked up the energy and adoration. His day may have been a cluster fornication but it would end sweetly on this stage.
“Let’s see...any birthday celebrants? I’m open to song suggestions,” he addressed the group. “As long as you don’t make me rap or sing any Britney or Christina songs, we’re gonna be fine.”
Chuckles broke out.
“Here!” he heard a group of females shrieking from the bar. They were pointing at someone. A brunette.
The object of the group turned slowly to face the stage. And him.
“Any song request, babe--” his voice trailed as soon as he saw her.
Recognition was swift. He’d been looking all over the campus for her...the girl from the bus who had haunted his head for weeks.
His blood pounded and his senses reeled, finally waking up after years of being numb. Sweetbabyfuck!
No one ever made his heart race before. Until this girl.
And her Bambi eyes.
He won’t be leaving this venue alone, he vowed.
Without lifting his gaze from her lovely, flushed face, he opened his lips and began his serenade.
“Woke up to the sound of pouring rain. The wind would whisper and I’d think of you...”
***
TIARA
“Woke up to the sound of pouring rain.
The wind would whisper and I’d think of you…”
Tiara recognized the song. Of course she did. Who wouldn’t fall for Sebastian Bach’s signature 90s piece? Not even years of strict Christian upbringing could stop her for fantasizing that the Skidrow frontman wrote the song for her. But that was before her father found out she was listening to ‘unholy, devil’ music and destroyed all her CDs, including the rare vinyls that she painstakingly saved for and rummaged from garage sales.
The Champ: Bad Boys Book 5 (The Bad Boys) Page 20