Baller Made (Bad Boy Ballers Book 3)

by Rie Warren

  Fuck, I was so ready to strip her down, plunge into her.

  But I wanted this moment to last and last.

  “No. Never. Never did a lot of things before you.”

  She drew in a breath then pressed up, tilted her head, found my mouth.

  She plundered inside, greedily taking, clutching and hot and making me harder than ever.

  “I’m going to love being your wife,” she murmured against my lips.

  “Wanna start now?” My hand cruised to her waist and lower, gathering her more strongly against me.

  Her needy whimper was a solid yes.

  And I couldn’t believe it. Husband and wife. Freed from the past and the struggles and the pain.

  Then we freed one another of clothes in front of the fire with candles burning all around, champagne forgotten.

  She caressed my beard first before taking the jacket from my shoulders, sailing it to the floor.

  I plucked the meadow flowers one at a time from her hair then slowly unraveled the braids. I spread the tresses, rich thick black, crinkled now, over her shoulders.

  She kissed me over and over, the buttons of my shirt opening until she grasped both sides and licked muscles that rippled in response.

  I groaned her name when she bit my nipple, tugged the disc between her teeth.

  There was a zipper down the side of her dress, and I found it. Slid it down, shrugging from my shirt as I opened a line of golden glowing skin from the side of her breast to the swell of her hip.

  She flicked the tab on my pants.

  My eyebrow rose. Her lips spread in a heated smile.

  She laughed when I kneeled down to tug off her boots—I almost unbalanced her until she held onto my shoulders and bent until her tits rested very very close to my face.

  And she pushed me onto the side of the bed, got into bootjack position. One foot then the other, she pried off my boots while I used her luscious ass for leverage.

  When I rose behind her, my voice was hoarse. “I want to be inside you so fucking badly, Delaney.”

  She hissed in a breath. Arching when I licked and sucked the side of her neck. I plunged my hands into her skirts and drew the dress up, up, up her body.

  The creamy white floated away like a cloud on a summer day.

  She spun, eyes heavy and dark. Hands hot and sure as she unzipped my pants.

  I watched her, taking in the lingerie. A strapless bra that mounded her tits high, the sheer fabric showing aroused nipples. And matching panties barely big enough to cover the lips, the heat, the wetness of her cunt.

  She dropped down before I’d taken my fill of her fit body in the bridal lingerie. But all thought ceased when she tugged my pants down and swept them away.

  “You didn’t go commando?” She rubbed her cheek against the mighty erection, the barrel of hard flesh, hardly contained by briefs.

  “Didn’t want my cock to be the center of attention.”

  Her laugh husky, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband and drew it out and over my erection, mewling when the blood-engorged head snapped up and the stalk hovered, very close to her mouth. She skimmed the briefs off then licked my aching sac, hand roving up my cock, fingers and tongue idling, toying, tasting.

  Well, I wanted my taste of her, too.

  I hauled her up, unlatched the bra, and immediately caught one breast in a hand, one with my mouth.

  She shouted my name, fingers pressed into my forearms. Leaving her tits wet and shiny, I pulled her closer to the fire’s bright hearth.

  I lay her down. I pressed her back and towed the panties from her legs. Her hips rose when I crawled between her thighs, and I spread her with my lips, eating at her gently, taking each tender labia inside and swirling up and down her slick slit.

  She gasped and rolled and arched and came.

  The fur throw on the floor cushioned us. Thick and soft. Not as soft as Delaney or as thick as me when I fucked into her slowly, watching her eyelids coast down.

  I held her completely against my body as I thrust inside, wonder at the moment etched deep inside my heart.

  Hands twined, bodies rocking together, sweat and lust gathering.

  A kick from my pelvis, surging that last inch inside, the one that stretched her most and made her cry out my name every time.

  “Fuck.” Grunting.

  Claiming.

  Climbing higher.

  Legs locked around my waist. Hair grasped in my hand. Her mouth buried against my shoulder. And faster, hotter, tighter, cinched around one another. Deep hard lunges lifting her until my hands at her waist held her locked down on my cock.

  My roar to the rafters.

  Her smoky yell and convulsions.

  Deep, deep pulses of thick flesh inside a wet clutching clasp.

  I laughed huskily, my forehead bent to hers as breaths ranged in and out of my chest. “God, you’re a good roll in the hay.”

  Delaney peered up, her eyes still shaded with lust we never sated. “Roll in the hay?” She spread her arms, a snow angel bathed in the light of the fire upon the soft fur as dark as her hair. “This was extravagant after all.”

  I nuzzled her neck, and took her with me as I settled on my back. Our arms and legs, our fingers and then lips mingled together.

  She drew up, her breasts cushioned on my chest, tight nipples teasing my skin. “I have a surprise too.” She placed a kiss at the hollow of my throat then across my thudding heart. “Actually two surprises for you.”

  “I like your surprises.” I repeated her words from earlier.

  “I know.” She sassed. “Well, I won’t be joining the Cougars this season.”

  “Is that one of the surprises?”

  “Nope.” She started to rise.

  I tussled her back down, flipping over her. “C’mon, woman. Out with it.”

  “You have to let me up first.” She looked bashful all of a sudden, casting her look aside.

  I pulled back to my knees, watching as she stood, outlined by firelight in her full naked glory.

  Took her a moment of foraging in one of her bags before she returned, standing almost uncertainly, something hidden behind her back.

  I drew one of her hands forward, placing it against my chest. “What is it?”

  She swallowed, a timid smile playing across her lips. “Just this.”

  I dropped her hand. Pressed the back of my knuckles to my mouth, choking on the sudden intense emotion that made tears climb to my eyes unexpectedly.

  “Is that what I think it is?” I asked, voice breaking.

  Delaney placed the ultrasound picture in my hand.

  I looked up at her, and tears drifted down to the corners of her lips. She nodded.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Joy slammed right through me, and I stared at the ultrasound, trying to make out what I was seeing. And then it hit me.

  Raw and raspy, I asked, “You said two things.”

  “Twins.”

  My shoulders shaking, I bent my forehead then my lips to her belly.

  She came down with me. And salty kisses passed between us as I cupped her stomach in my hand. But they weren’t tears of pain.

  No more of those.

  Just pure love.

  Love that couldn’t be contained, not even when our fingers twisted together and our lips meshed and our bodies drove together once again, the little black and white photo propped next to the bed after Delaney and I had been given the best gift of all.

  Rafe

  September 30, 2017

  I SNUCK INTO THE house after a long day of practice at Crush training grounds, carefully closing the door and tugging off my sneakers without making so much as a sound.

  Peyton had left a note on the kitchen table. Dinner was warming in the oven. But I had other appetites to take care of first.

  Lights were on throughout the house, and the place was a little more cluttered than when I’d first moved in. That was to be expected, and I loved all the brightly colored pictur
e books and wooden toys and stuffed animals strewn about the place.

  Bending down in the play area of the giant living room, I carefully arranged Callum’s books, leaving his favorite dinosaur tale in the center of the tot-sized table set up beside the windows.

  On my way upstairs, I collected the odd pairs of discarded socks, Callum’s Spider Man sneakers, and—not at all surprising—one of Peyton’s Fozzie Bear slippers. I deposited the dirty clothes in the laundry room, and carried on.

  In Callum’s room, I set his sneakers side by side next to the bed. Then I leaned down and smelled his soapy hair and clean scent. He still slept sprawled all over like a passed-out starfish, a sight that tugged a grin from my lips.

  I kissed his forehead, smoothing back the springy cowlick in his auburn hair.

  He murmured, eyes drifting half open. “Daddy?”

  “Shhh. Go back to sleep, son.” Saying that never failed to tighten my chest.

  His nose twitched. He nodded once. His eyes drifted closed again.

  Thank God for that, because Pey would never forgive me if I woke him at nine o’clock at night when he had school the next day.

  Fozzie Bear slipper still clutched under my arm, I headed down the hallway.

  Peyton sat up in our bed, her light on, nose shoved inside the latest Sports Illustrated. From the looks of it, she wore very, very little. Something black and lacy—hugging her more than generous tits—thin straps snugged over her shoulders.

  Without saying a word, I raised an eyebrow and tossed her slipper toward the closet. It landed next to a pair of the world’s sexiest heels she preferred wearing.

  She only looked up when I started stripping down, and I saw the flirty smile kicking up the corners of her lips. The magazine forgotten, she watched me throw off my shirt, unzip my jeans. And when my cock appeared, she slid from the bed, sauntering to me with her long loose red, red, red hair.

  A pile of folded laundry in a wicker basket lay next to the Moses basket near the foot of the bed, a present from Charmaine and Marquis. Teensy pink booties and tiny white caps topped the stacks of clothes.

  “Long day?” Pey asked, all sultry and sexy.

  She better not be starting something she wasn’t ready to finish.

  It’d been the most amazing six weeks of my life, but also the longest, waiting for the go-ahead to fuck my gorgeous wife again.

  I hooked her to me, slanting a kiss across her lips as my jeans slid down my legs and I stepped out of them, naked. “Not as long as yours, I’ll bet.”

  “Well, they’re both asleep now.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Did you now?”

  Leaning back and placing her an arm’s length away, I drank in the sight of her. I had nothing against all the teddy bears and soft toys and shit, but goddamn, Peyton in a sinful black lace teddy was the finest vision I’d ever seen.

  “Mm hmm.” I kissed the side of her neck, and my hand fell to the soft slight pooch of her belly I loved so much. “Did you see the doc today?”

  Her pregnancy seemed to have gone by in the blink of an eye. And I’d treasured every single moment. Even the times she shouted at me at the top of her lungs over some fool thing or other that usually made no sense at all, but like I was gonna fight with my heavily pregnant wife.

  I wasn’t that friggin’ stupid.

  She’d had heartburn, insane cravings, a raging libido I most definitely took advantage of. I didn’t mind one single bit of the whole experience. Not even when she cried over being fat and ugly and ungainly and a hippo.

  I’d kissed away the tears and massaged her aching back, bought her a body-pillow, and sat up with her in the middle of the night when our baby moved too much, keeping her awake. All the things I’d missed with Callum, I etched on my mind forever.

  The rounder her body got, the more I wanted her. Her tits even heavier and fuller than before, the swell of her belly, the sweet feel of our nugget kicking. Couldn’t wait to knock her up again.

  And that night she’d woken me up, prodding me in the shoulder.

  “Rafe. Rafe, dammit! Wake up!”

  Instantly alert, I popped up to sitting. “What? Huh? Peyton?”

  She hunched over, hand on the side of the bed, panting and groaning, her delicate face scrunched in pain.

  “Oh, shit. Ohshitshitshit. It’s time?” I scrambled from under the covers, quickly wrapping an arm around her to shore her up.

  We got to the hospital just minutes before her water broke. And sweat broke out on my forehead. The private suite ensured no one from the media would be privy to the momentous occasion, but that sure as hell didn’t stop the team from showing up, straggling in one by one in the middle of the night to take up residence in the waiting area.

  I didn’t leave Peyton’s side for a single moment, just wishing I could trade places with her to take away the pain. Her blood-curdling screams pierced me. She gripped my hand so hard I thought she’d break bones. I probably fucking deserved it at any rate.

  Hours later, my mom and Liv on the way, Callum safely in Phil’s care, probably the entire Carolina Crush team, coaches, GM outside in the waiting room, pain the likes I’d never witnessed rolled through Peyton’s body. Her screams shook me to my core, and I might’ve blacked out for a moment or two.

  But, oh, man.

  Man, oh man.

  When our gorgeous little angel came into the world, squalling fit to be tied, tears rushed to my eyes so fast I was almost blinded. I kissed Peyton over and over, brushing damp hair from her cheeks as our tears mingled together.

  “Is she okay?”

  “Oh, darlin’. She’s fucking perfect. So perfect.” My voice cracked hard.

  As soon as our sweet one was cleaned up, a nurse passed her off to me. Holy shit. I’d never felt such intense love in my life as I cuddled Peyton’s and my daughter in my arms. The tears streamed down, and I brushed my lips over the little button’s pink cheeks.

  “Look what you did, Momma.” I sat gingerly next to Peyton who’d been cleaned up, too.

  She gathered our baby against her, and I slid an arm around her shoulders, hugging both close.

  “She’s beautiful.” Peyton lifted watery eyes to mine.

  We kissed then, slowly, softly. We sat there, wondering at this gift. Filled with immense love and gratitude.

  “What are we naming her?” I asked. “We hadn’t decided.”

  Phil entered, big-eyed Callum in tow. “I vote for Philomena.”

  Callum raced forward, folding into my arms and I lifted him up. “What do you think?”

  “That’s my sister?”

  “Sure is. Isn’t she pretty?”

  Callum wriggled down then climbed up next to Peyton. He grasped both her cheeks in his hands and kissed her with a loud smacking sound then turned to plunk his butt down and inspect the new addition.

  “Pretty?” He scratched his head. “She look all pink and scrunchy and weird. Why her eyes all gooey?”

  We all laughed and I ruffled his hair. “The nurses just have to put the goo on her eyes for a bit. It’s good medicine.”

  “The first name we decided.” Peyton drew me to her, searching for and finding my lips. Then she whispered, “Charlotte.”

  Baby Charlie.

  Once we got home, Callum had gone through a monster phase until I’d explained he was the big brother now and it was his job to look after baby sis.

  Couldn’t believe he was in the first grade already. I’d taken him to school the first day on my own so Peyton could hopefully snatch a bit more sleep while Charlotte happily snoozed in a milk coma. But Pey’s eyes had shined with giant tears, watching our son toddle off to the Scout with the huge backpack weighing down his slim shoulders.

  “Hey, now. No cryin’, darlin’.” I cupped Peyton’s face, kissing her firmly on the lips.

  Of course I was the one who choked up when I’d walked him up to the doors of the elementary school, especially when he peered back to shout, “Bye-bye, Daddy!
I kissed Baby Charlie before I left, and she smiled at me.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him she probably just had gas.

  The new NFL season started, and we were hell bent on making it to the Super Bowl two years in a row. Peyton stuck to her maternity leave, and we’d hired a nanny for times when Pey just couldn’t have Charlotte at work, but as soon as the eight weeks was over, I knew Peyton would be right back at the helm of Carolina Crush.

  With our sweetheart right beside her—and me—as much as possible.

  I’d been on top of the world the first Family Sunday we brought Charlie along. Per usual, Callum bounced around like crazy, but even he hushed when the dudes gathered around the littlest, newest member of Team Crush.

  “Damn.” Akoni didn’t say anything else . . . because he immediately began blubbering.

  Coach D held Charlie against his chest—our rough-voiced and badass head coach imparting a rare huge smile and soft-toned words. He was honorary grandfather after all.

  All the dudes cooed at her. Brooklyn seemed most taken, after Akoni and Coach D that is.

  “She’s so damn tiny,” he said, cupping one huge palm behind her head. “Am I doing this right?” He rocked her softly.

  “Doing it just right,” I assured him, hand on his shoulder. “Calder, you wanna give it a go?” I asked our center.

  “Fuck no.” He backed away, palms held up.

  “Calder Malone. Get over here right now and introduce yourself to Charlotte Macintyre.” Peyton used her I’m the owner voice.

  “Goddammit. All right. Hand her over,” he grumbled.

  “She’s not a football, you know.” Brooklyn joked, doing the pass off with my precious baby daughter.

  “Better not butterfingers the princess of Carolina Crush!” Marquis hooted.

  Calder’s blush deepened as he held Charlie with such care.

  His head bent until his nose met her downy neck.

  He looked up, amazed. “She smells good, huh?”

  Peyton had pressed up to kiss near my ear, chills rocketing down my body. “Baby fever’s catching.”

  “You’re a damn meddler, woman.”

  “You’re not complaining.”

  “Not one damn bit.” And I sure as hell wasn’t. Except for the six week sex embargo.