Halo Violation: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Daphne Swan

  “Hey. Come here,” he murmurs, opening his arms.

  I fall easily into his embrace, and I lean my head against his chest as the tears stream down my cheeks. He strokes my back and kisses the top of my head. I haven’t felt this lovely or this serene since I found out I was pregnant. That’s for sure.

  “I know these past few weeks can’t have been easy for you,” he says.

  They haven’t been easy. They really haven’t.

  “I want you to know that I’ll be there for you, Molly,” he says. “You’re not alone in this anymore.”

  I tilt my head up and part my lips to express my undying gratitude, but before I can get a word out, Eric leans down to give me a long, lingering kiss on the lips.

  Oh, I’d forgotten how good he felt! All the tension I’m carrying in my body seems to be melting away as he pulls me closer and strokes the inside of my mouth with his tongue. I can already feel my pussy starting to tingle. My tits are smashed up against his rock hard chest. I feel dizzy with desire. I give a soft moan as he slowly withdraws his tongue and proceeds to plant a row of red-hot kisses all the way down my neck.

  With a hand placed on either side of my hips, he guides me to the edge of Helena’s bed and gently pushes me down.

  “We can’t,” I whisper.

  And we really can’t. Helena would be among the first to high-five me if I told her I had hot sex with Eric again, but if I told her we fucked each other senseless in her bed, I have a feeling that wouldn’t go down so well.

  “Just relax,” he whispers back.

  After parting my thighs, he drops down to the floor between them. He reaches up under my skirt and hooks his fingers under the elastic band of my panties. I know I should tell him to stop what he’s doing. We cannot do this, we can’t. We really can’t.

  But instead I lift my ass up off the mattress and allow him to slide my panties all the way down my legs.

  Oh my god.

  Eric pushes my skirt all the way up to my hips and pushes my thighs further apart from each other. Helena’s room is lit up only by the city lights streaming in through the window, but even in the dim light, my pussy is positively glistening.

  He leans forward.

  I cry out in ecstasy when I feel his hot, wet tongue lapping my slick folds. I fall back against the mattress and dig my fingers into Eric’s scalp. He takes his time, gently nibbling his way up and down my slippery lips, and with each deft swipe of the tongue, a bolt of pleasure zooms through my body.

  After firming up that talented tongue of his, he plunges it right into my hole, and my eyelids fly open in surprise. I’ve been finger fucked plenty of times, but I’ve never been tongue fucked before, and it’s such an incredible sensation! The texture of his tongue is amazing! His taste buds tickle and tease my wet walls as they scrape against the edges.

  I tug gently on his hair with one hand. With the other hand, I reach up and play with one of my nipples.

  My breaths are coming faster and faster, and I find myself getting close. Could he have found my mysterious g-spot? Nobody’s ever found my g-spot before. Is this about to change?

  Sadly, no. I feel a wave of disappointment hit me when Eric pulls his tongue from my hole, but it doesn’t last long. He proceeds to swirl it slowly all over my pussy, nibbling and biting and sucking and caressing his way towards my clit.

  Oh my god.

  He starts slowly at first, swirling his tongue around that wild and wonderful rock hard pebble at the top of my pussy. He teases and taunts my clit, sucking and stroking it with his talented lips, tongue and teeth. After taking his time gently taunting me with those super sensual tongue twists, Eric suddenly cranks up the intensity of his movements. He swirls his tongue faster and faster around my clit.

  Over and over, again and again, round and round. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  My entire body is quivering. It’s convulsing, and I’m half out of my mind with pleasure.

  I really fucking hope there isn’t anyone out in the hallway because I’m shrieking like a porn star.

  “Fuck!” I cry, gripping his hair harder than ever as I reach the summit and get swallowed up by oblivion.

  And then it’s over.

  I lay there, totally spent. Eric rises from his knees and takes a seat on the bed next to me. Gazing down at me with a big, wet smile on his lips, he takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.

  I smile back.

  He leans down and to give me a sweet, sexy little kiss. I can taste myself on his lips.

  “Um...” I start to say, but I have no idea what I want to tell him.

  Thank you? You rock? You suck? You shouldn’t have done that?

  “You doing okay?” he asks.

  Um...yeah. Yes, of course I’m doing fabulously...in a way, but...

  What are we doing here?

  What am I doing here?

  17. ERIC

  Talk about complicated. I have no idea what possessed me to go down on Molly at her friend’s party. She just seemed so stressed out, like she was only moments away from falling apart. I thought maybe if I could relieve her of some of the tension she was carrying around, she might be able to relax a little.

  Yeah, that didn’t exactly work as I’d hoped. She got all flustered, and as soon as she found her panties, she was out the door.

  Déjà fucking vu.

  This time I ran after her. I caught up with her in the main room of the loft where all the party people were, and I grabbed her arm before she could lose herself in the crowd. And wouldn’t you know it? This was all happening during the countdown to the New Year.

  “Ten...nine...” her friends chanted in unison.

  “Molly!” I shouted.

  “What? What do you want from me, Eric?”

  “Eight...seven...”

  “We haven’t resolved anything yet.”

  She only shrugged in response.

  “Six...five...four...”

  “We need to talk about how we’re going to move forward from here,” I told her.

  “Later,” she said. “This is not the time.”

  “Three...two...one... Happy New Year!”

  I had to admit that she had a point there.

  All around us, people were blowing into noisemakers and popping champagne bottles. They were kissing and hugging and laughing and high-fiving and exchanging best wishes for a happy New Year.

  But amongst all the cheer, things between Molly and me were really uncomfortable. So much for my pathetic attempt to ease her tension by eating her out...

  “I need to go,” she said. “I need to get out of here.”

  “Fine. But we have to meet up soon and have a serious talk about how things are going to be, going forward.”

  “Fine.”

  “Tomorrow,” I said firmly.

  “Tomorrow?” She crinkled her nose. “Why so soon?”

  There’s no way I’m letting her wriggle out of this. Enough is enough. I’ve been excluded for way too long already.

  “Tomorrow morning,” I instructed her. “Early, so we have plenty of time to hash things out before the game. Now give me your number.”

  She did as I instructed, and I dialed it right away, just to make sure she wasn’t attempting to blow me off with a fake number. I’m happy to say that her phone started playing the music from the Psycho shower scene when I called it.

  And to her credit, she picked up when I called earlier this morning. We arranged to meet at Tartine in the West Village. I was antsy to get here, so I ended up arriving about fifteen minutes early. And it looks like Molly is right on time.

  “Hey,” she says, brushing the snowflakes out of her hair as she unwinds the scarf from her neck.

  Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, and her eyes are brighter than ever. I’m struck again by how beautiful she is. I stand up to greet her, giving her a quick kiss on her cool cheek.

  “Hey. Thanks for coming.”

  She shrugs and takes a seat at the table. I do the same.

 
; Molly is clearly a fan of this place because she doesn’t even open the menu. When the waitress shows up to take our order, Molly requests the french toast brioche. I opt for a goat cheese omelette with tomatoes and spinach.

  We stick to very small talk about the weather and about how dead the city is at 9:00 AM on New Years Day until the waitress brings our drinks—peppermint tea for Molly and black coffee for me. Once that’s out of the way, I get the conversation started.

  “Okay. First thing’s first. Have you been to see a doctor?”

  She nods. “Not much happened, though. She pretty much just told me what to expect in the coming months. And she gave me a due date. August sixteenth.”

  “August sixteenth,” I echo. “And they didn’t do one of those...”

  I demonstrate what I’m trying to convey by making a fist and circling it in front of my stomach.

  Biting back a smile, she says, “An ultrasound? No. They don’t usually do those until the fourth or fifth month.”

  “So, everything’s okay?”

  “Yeah. So far, so good.”

  “How’ve you been feeling?”

  “Pretty much the same as before,” she says with a shrug. “A little tired. Well...a lot tired, actually, but I’m not sure if it’s because of pregnancy or if it’s because of all the drama brought on by the pregnancy.”

  I can only imagine how strained things must be with Molly and her parents.

  “How’s Coach doing these days?”

  She rolls her eyes. “He’s barely speaking to me, can hardly stand to be in the same room as me. It sucks.”

  I really want to reach out to take her hand and give it a comforting squeeze, but I know better than that. Such an act on my part would probably just send her running again. Things are already complicated enough as it is. Right now we both need to be cool and reserved until we figure out where to go from here.

  “I’m sorry. He’ll come around, though.”

  “Maybe.”

  “He will.”

  There’s no doubt in my mind. Coach thinks the world of his daughters. Even when Molly was an annoying little emo brat, Coach spoke of her like she was the shit. I’m sure once he’s had some time to adjust, things will get back to normal between them and he’ll dote on the new grandkid.

  As for me... Well, he’ll probably hate my guts until the day one of us kicks it, but it is what it is.

  “What are your plans for after the baby’s born?” I ask.

  “I’m thinking I’ll move to Manhattan,” she says. “I’ll set us up in a nice apartment in a kid-friendly neighborhood, hopefully near a park. I’ve got about fifty thousand dollars in liquid assets, which should keep us covered for the first year—maybe more if I’m frugal. I don’t know if my parents plan to cut me off or not, but if they do, I figure I can get a job to bring in some cash. I’ve started looking into requirements for positions at various day care centers around Lower Manhattan. You know—the sort of job I could bring the baby to.”

  “Honestly, Molly, the last thing you should be worrying about is money. I’ll take care of you.”

  She wrinkles up her nose as if she just smelled something putrid.

  “I don’t want you to ‘take care of me,’ Eric. I am not some charity case.”

  A laugh escapes from my mouth before I can stop it. She narrows her eyes at me in anger.

  “Oh, come on. I’m talking about providing for my own kid here. It’s nothing to do with charity. Stop being such a drama queen.”

  She gasps, and I can tell she’s dying to go off on me, but the waitress chooses that very moment to arrive at the table with our food. By the time she’s set everything on the table, refilled my coffee and headed back to the kitchen, Molly seems to have calmed down a bit.

  I seize the opportunity to smooth things over. I really should know better than to make light of Molly’s feelings. She’s trudging her way through uncharted territory here, and she’s overwhelmed. She has the right to be a little dramatic every now and again.

  “I’m just saying I don’t want you to worry about money,” I tell her. “I plan to be there, to help you out with costs or anything else you need—moral support, whatever.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “And if I call you up at three in the morning, freaking out because the baby won’t stop crying?”

  “I’ll take a Lyft down to your place and I’ll do whatever I can to calm the baby down. And I’ll give you the keys to my place so you can get a few hours of sleep.”

  “Hmm.”

  Her head is tilted down; she’s busy cutting a bite of fluffy french toast, but I can see the way her lips are curved up into a smile.

  “I’m serious, Molly. I plan to be there with you, every step of the way.”

  She looks up at me, but that smile has disappeared from her face.

  “Have you really thought about what it’ll mean for you to be involved in the way you claim you want to be?” she asked. “Being a father is so much more than just changing a dirty diaper every once in a while, or kicking over a grand here and there. This is an eighteen-year commitment. Longer than that, even. I’m twenty-one and I still turn to my parents for support all the time. I probably will do that when I’m thirty, when I’m forty, fifty... It doesn’t end. It’s never finished.”

  “I know that.”

  I’m busy searching for the right words to say to drive home the fact that I’m in it for the long haul. I thought mentioning my own issues with my dad last night would have done the trick, but I guess not.

  Molly sets her knife and fork down, and reaches for her teacup with a trembling hand.

  And then it hits me.

  She’s not talking about me at all. She’s talking about her own fears. She’s having a moment of panic, thinking about how this baby is going to change her life forever.

  Yeah, I know I should keep my hands to myself and not complicate things further, but I can’t help it. I reach over to take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

  She doesn’t pull away.

  “I know how scared you must be feeling,” I murmur. “Of course you’re scared. You’re going to be a mother by the end of next summer, and that’s scary as fuck. But I also know that you’re going to do a kickass job when it comes to raising that kid. And you’re not going to be alone. I’m in it for the long haul, I swear.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “Don’t even worry.”

  After a moment or two, she slips her hand out of mine, and takes a bite of her french toast. I start working my way through my omelette.

  A minute or two passes, and then Molly clears her throat and says, “Um, Eric...?”

  “What’s up?”

  I reach for my coffee and take a sip.

  “About last night...”

  Oh, yeah. I should have known the topic of us getting it on at the party would be something we’d need to address.

  “Right. Last night.”

  I give her a look that hopefully lets her know I understand what she’s driving at here.

  “As amazing as it was, I really don’t think we should let it happen again. Things are way too crazy as it stands. We don’t need to bring in a whole new level of crazy. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I think so.”

  She’s right, of course. Emotions are running high right now. She’s scared shitless. Her dad hates me, and both our lives are about to turn upside down. This is hardly the ideal environment for a budding relationship.

  I remind myself of these things to stay focused. It’s hard not to feel triumphant after she called what happened last night “amazing.”

  Not that I had any doubt as to whether or not she enjoyed herself! Judging by the way her body trembled uncontrollably as the orgasm ripped right through it, I’d say she had a good time. Still, it’s always nice to hear these things.

  “You hear all these stories about how hormones do freaky things to a pregnant woman’s brain,”
she says with a smile. “I wouldn’t want to get all clingy or go all bunny boiler on you.”

  “Yeah, that’d suck, all right.” I laugh.

  “So, we’ll just be friends, okay? Co-parents, if you will.”

  “Friends and co-parents it is,” I agree.

  We exchange a smile and then both get back to our food.

  Molly’s right. No doubt this is the most sensible course of action to take. It would be crazy for us to enter into some kind of sexual relationship. It’d be even crazier for us to start dating. Even so, I feel a little disappointed by the thought of only being friends—and co-parents.

  This girl across the table from me is nothing like the Molly O’Neil I had all figured out in my mind. I’d had her pegged as a cross between a poor little rich girl and a rebel without a cause. Basically, I thought she was full of shit.

  But now...

  Yeah, I know we’re only just getting to know each other, but my opinion of her has shot way up. The girl across the table from me is strong and brave. She’s as smart as a whip, she’s gorgeous, and she’s sexy as hell.

  If circumstances were different, I’d be asking her out on a date. I’d want her to be my girlfriend. I really would.

  But we’d have to be out of our minds to go there. Like Molly said, the last thing we need is to bring in a whole level of crazy. We have more than enough crazy to work with right now.

  We exchange another smile, and I dig into my omelette. We enjoy our breakfast in a nice, contented silence.

  18. ERIC

  Man, I haven’t been this nervous before a game since the first year I went pro!

  My heart is pounding like a motherfucker as I go through the players’ entrance to the stadium and make my way to the locker room. This will be the first time I come face to face with Coach after he pummeled my ass the other night, and I have no idea what to expect.

  He’s not in the locker room when I arrive. But then again, that’s not unusual. We have a whole section of rooms in the complex—training room, weight room, treatment rooms, the lounge area, the pool... You name it. He could be anywhere.