by Crowe, Liz
“Oh my god, J.D., you can’t.”
He glared at her. “New rule—you will take all my pampering and gifts and massive orgasmic experiences and like them.”
“Fine,” she said, letting him pull her back down into the bed.
He rolled on top her and kissed her from her head to her toes.
“On more question.”
“Okay,” he said, from somewhere around her mid thighs.
She lifted her hips and spread her legs wide.
“That’s my girl,” he muttered, licking, sucking, and stroking her inside and out until she came with a loud cry of satisfaction.
She lay, shaking and teary-eyed, so happy and this time willing to accept it.
“Now, what is your question?” He rose from between her legs, his lips wet and his grin wide.
She pushed him onto his back, straddled his hips, and propped her hands on his chest. “Did you fuck any of those dates? That first week?” She shifted, taking him deep inside her with one move. “Hmm, J.D., my love? Were you able to work out some frustrations with me between some other woman’s thighs?” She rolled her pelvis and flexed her inner muscles, thankful for her many hours of Pilates work. He groaned and closed his eyes. “J.D., my darling, look at me.”
He opened his eyes and yanked her down so their lips were close. “I couldn’t get it up for anyone else, even if I’d wanted to fuck them, Makayla. Okay? You are the only one who does this for me anymore.”
“You’re a big fat liar,” she whispered.
He hooked her leg and rolled them so he had her pinned to the mattress, her arms up above her head. “You are my only,” he said. “Open your eyes. I want to watch your face when you come.”
Hours later, she woke and limped into the kitchen in their new condo. One of the things J.D. had done was to vacate his old place. It held too many memories, including terrifying ones of Don and how he’d almost killed her, he’d claimed. The other side of the building boasted a better view anyway—one they both loved, of the city’s skyline. And now, dawn was breaking over Detroit as she sipped and sat and smiled to herself.
J.D. joined her a few minutes later. He held her from behind, arms tight around her, his warm body soothing her and reminding her how very, very good she had it. “I didn’t have sex with any of my dates. I’ll admit I spent a week terrified I wouldn’t ever be able to get it up again.”
She turned and looked up at him. “Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome, but for which orgasm? I’m particularly proud of that second oral—”
“Shut up, you ass. I mean it.”
“I do too.”
His grin was infectious, but she made herself stay serious.
“You’re a lot higher maintenance than you think, you know.”
“Okay, maybe,” she said, pressing her face into his shoulder before she pulled away and met his gaze. “Thank you for making me understand that … that I’m loveable. That I’m not a pain in the ass. That I’m worth the effort.”
He lifted her chin so she met his gaze. “Back at you, babe. I’m no walk in the park either. I know that.”
She grinned. “I’m way worse.”
“No, I am.”
“Wanna bet?”
“No, I don’t. Stop making everything a competition.”
She started to speak, to claim that he’d started it, but he pressed his finger to her lips and reached into his jeans pocket. “Here.” He pressed something into her hand.
She stared down at it a few seconds. “You bought me a fucking Porsche?” She held up the key fob. “Are you for real?”
He shrugged. “I take care of my women. That’s not going to change so if you don’t think you want it…” He tried to grab the key, but she moved out of his reach, grateful that her brain was going to let her have this now, to not question his motives at every turn. “I love you, J.D.,” she said, never meaning anything more.
“I know you do. Now actually do have a few things to go over.” He took her hand and pulled her to the couch, reached under the coffee table, and opened the box Ted had held in his hands the day Don Harris attacked her. “We have some contractual clauses to discuss.” He tossed the box top on the floor and dumped the contents onto the couch between them. “I like this one, personally. But you might prefer this.”
Kayla shrieked at the sight of the pile of butt plugs and nipple clamps and ran into the bedroom, J.D. hot on her heels, one of each in his hands.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Calm down, Gwen. We have to watch the end.”
J.D. struggled to keep his daughter from standing on the stadium seat. It was hotter than five hells in this nightmare of a country. And the stress of the past week had him jumping out of his skin. “Daddy, look! She’s back in the game! Go, Makayla!” The girl waved her national team scarf and jumped up and down near the railing.
He leaned forward, grateful for the small breeze wafting through the packed venue. Makayla was back in at the two-minute mark, with the match tied two-all. She’d taken a hard hit on a red card foul by the Brazilian forward and had lain on the grass for a terrifying couple of minutes until they got her to the bench. It had taken all he had not to run down and make sure she was all right.
Even after four years of marriage, he still fought his basic instincts with her. His need to plan, to organize, to use his money to smooth her path wasn’t something he could simply abandon. It was too much an ingrained part of him and many times, he knew damn good and well she loved what he did—for her, for her friends, for her family.
But her stubbornness matched his on a level that, at times, led to breathtakingly loud arguments, complete with thrown objects. While the making up always made it worthwhile, he was flat out done with this whole scene. He wanted to go home, to be in real air conditioning, drink water from the taps, and keep his woman safe.
He’d cheered her on during her two-year campaign to get back on the national team, just as she’d supported him when the movie he’d agreed to executive produce failed—although royalties were guaranteed now that he’d added a streaming service to the DSN repertoire. He fucking hated to fail and the weeks after the movie had flopped he’d been a real bear to everyone around him, including his wife.
Once she made the team, it had translated into long stretches of time apart. And that did not make him happy at all. But now, there she was, on the pitch at the women’s World Cup final, his Makayla, her curly hair barely contained, taking her position and eyeing the diminished Brazilian side like a predator.
The American cheering side grew quiet as the play resumed.
Makayla quickly stopped two attempts to score. The clock worked down to twenty seconds. He was mentally preparing for overtime and penalty kicks when a loud roar rose from the crowd. Someone—he squinted—Makayla had a breakaway and was racing down the left side of the pitch.
She passed across to the other side of the field, drawing the Brazilian defenders away from her, then shifted to the middle, screaming for the ball. It sailed over her head, was rejected by the goalie straight into Makayla’s path. She squared her hips and hauled off with a massive boot, sending the ball right past the keeper and into the upper right corner of the net.
“Holy shit,” he breathed, his ears buzzing with a weird kind of silence, right before all hell broke loose in the American section.
Gwen leaped into his arms. He was hugged on all sides. He’d flown his production team, as well as his and Makayla’s family down for the final games. They’d been enjoying the sights and sounds of Brazil for the past few days while he’d bitten his nails to the quick, his forced separation from her doing a real number on him.
He high-fived, kissed, hugged, and screamed along with friends and strangers alike, celebrating the victory. He looked down at the field, trying to catch a glimpse of Makayla to make sure she lived through the human victory pile that had hidden her from his view. Gwen was still leaping around and squawking, demanding that they go down
and see her.
Makayla clutched her teammates and was crying, that much was clear.
He waved at her, blew a kiss, and held Gwen up in front of him so she could do the same.
Within a few minutes, her face filled the Jumbotron screens at both ends of the stadium. She was being interviewed by none other than LeeAnn Thompson for DSN—since he’d shelled out an ungodly, but worth it, amount of money for the rights to broadcast the final games of the Cup. Both women had tears in their eyes.
“So, Makayla, is this the best day of your life? I mean this was your dream as a little girl and now...” She pointed to the World Cup trophy in Makayla’s arms.
“Well, LeeAnn, I’d call it the second best day, actually.”
LeeAnn raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell.”
Makayla sucked in a breath and looked at the camera. J.D. stared at her, marveling at her beauty, her strength, her perfection, even as she said the words. “I want to thank my husband for everything he’s done for me. I wouldn’t be here without him and his ongoing support.”
“Yes, okay, but what was the best day of your life?”
Makayla licked her lips and glanced over where J.D. was standing and leaning over the railing while the celebrations went on all around him. “The day J.D. Baxter ran into me at that stupid bar and drenched me in beer.”
The stadium erupted even louder, if that were possible. LeeAnn hugged her, releasing her when J.D. appeared at her side, only a little winded from having run down a million steps to get to the field.
She glanced at the crowd gathered around them. “Have you really seen the end of An Officer and a Gentlemen, Mr. Man?”
He grinned, scooped her into his arms, and kissed her.
Later, Kayla would look at the many images of that kiss that had been shared around the world and remind herself just how damn lucky she’d been, that long-ago hot day in Detroit.
****
Three Years Later
“Makayla? I’m home.”
J.D. dumped his carry-on and matching backpack in the entry of the condo. It was an abnormally scorching hot June day, but they were headed up to Charlevoix and the lake house they’d bought the year before so he didn’t care. Lake Michigan, his boat, his dock, and a cooler full of cold beverages awaited him. Not to mention his lovely wife, who, since it was an off year for the World Cup, was able to accompany him for the entire month of July. Gwen was coming with them, but only for a couple of weeks. In short, he’d been looking forward to this well-deserved bit of sun and lake and relaxation for what felt like forever.
They already had a caretaker in place who’d be stocking the fridges and getting the boats ready. His private jet was on standby. All they had to do is grab the suitcases Makayla said she’d have ready and get back in the SUV he’d just vacated after a week spent banging his fool head against the wall that was the Entrenched Hierarchy of Televisionland in L.A.
Gwen was meeting them at the airport. He’d already sent a car to pick her up. He was within a hair’s breadth of the break he required, that they both required. But the dead silence in the condo seemed off. He frowned and slipped out of his suit jacket. It felt wrinkled and constricting. He couldn’t wait to spend a solid month wearing nothing but swim trunks and … nothing else, preferably. Especially once Gwen flew back so she could go to her favorite horse camp, and he and his wife had their four thousand square foot lake front house to themselves.
“Kayla? Where are you?” He tried not to panic. The memory of that horrible moment between Makayla and Don was never far from his conscious memory. “Babe?”
As he walked into the airy main room, determined not to be irritated with her for not being ready to get the hell out of the city, he heard it for the first time. A sniffle or maybe a giggle, then a “shushing” he recognized.
He smiled and headed for the back hall. It didn’t surprise him that Gwen would already be here. Kayla would make that happen and since she was off for the summer but for some training camps in July and August, she was eager to spend as much time with the girl as he was. They both knew she was on the cusp of pre-adolescence, which would be the end of the fun times, at least for a while, with her.
He rapped on the closed door of the girl’s room.
“Come in,” he heard her say.
When he opened the door, he was surprised, but not by the sight of his daughter and his wife sitting cuddled up on the bed together, noses buried in a book, waiting for him to get home. He was surprised by the fact that the room was stuffed full of people. All of them inhaled at once, then yelled “Surprise!” in his face.
Confused, since his birthday wasn’t for another three months, he sought out the one set of eyes he wanted to see. Everyone was holding champagne glasses, wearing what looked like pink and blue party hats and blocking his way. Someone handed him a glass. Someone else handed him a … cigar? He stared at it, his confusion increasing.
“Congrats, big daddy.” Yet another someone smacked his shoulder.
“Uh, thanks? Where the hell is … oh thank God there you are.” He rushed to her, leaning against Gwen’s dresser at the far end of the room, her grin wide, her skin glowing, her hand on her… “Holy shit,” he whispered. “Holy shit,” he said a bit louder.
He put down the glass and the cigar then gripped her arms. He’d wanted this so damn badly but never pushed it. Her career dictated that she not risk it. She’d have to take an entire season off, he’d already done the calculations in his head. They’d talked about it, but only in a sort of offhand, “if it happens in happens” sort of a way. But he wanted a baby with her. Badly.
Her eyes welled with tears.
He grinned, let go of her arms and cradled her face in his hands as the chaos in the room faded to nothing behind him. He didn’t say a word. He had no words. He’d never been happier, except maybe for that day they actually got married. Or maybe that World Cup win.
He kissed her, then broke away, pressing his forehead to hers. “So, I did it, huh?”
“Yeah, jerk. You knocked me up. But rest assured, I planned the timing so there.”
She put her hands on his, the tears flowing down her face. “I’m a little scared, J.D. Not gonna lie.”
“You can do this, Makayla. And I’ll be with you every step of the way. I promise.”
“Huh, really? Well, you can take this low-lying, day-long desire to puke my guts out in between taking naps right off my plate any time now.”
He pulled her close. “I love you, Kayla,” he whispered.
“I know you do, J.D. And I love you. Or I wouldn’t have done this whacky stupid thing to my poor body.”
The room’s noise filled his ears at the same moment Gwen grabbed his arm and put it around her so they were in a group hug. “A baby sister!” she said. “I can’t wait!”
“Or a brother,” he reminded her, his mind spinning ahead, already anxious for his wife’s well-being. “Let’s get Makayla a seat, what do you say?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, I’m fine. But I do need a refill of this.” She held up her can of lemon infused fizzy water. “Best start fetching for me, Baby Daddy.”
“You got it, Baby Mama,” he said. “You got it.”
The End
www.lizcrowe.com
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