Chapter 29

Hound

When my eyes open the following morning, the sun is high in the sky, peaking around the side of the curtains and washing the amazing woman beside me in enough of its rays to make her glow. She breathes softly against my chest as one of my hands grip the ass cheek of the leg she has hitched high up on my own thigh. My other hand is resting on my stomach, but the backs of my fingers are nestled against her lower belly.

Emotion clogs my throat knowing that as she sleeps, our child grows, gets stronger, and readies himself to join us. I pull Gigi even closer when she takes a deep breath. She mumbles something incoherent when her stomach growls.

Wincing, she raises her head from my chest when my fingers flex against her ass.

“Ouch,” she pouts.

I smile down at her. She’s perfection personified, even with messy hair and breath that could use the aid of a toothbrush and mouthwash.

“I loved spanking you last night,” I admit to her.

“I loved kissing you.”

Jesus, the way she clamped down on me, coming when my mouth met hers. There was no greater feeling than that alone.

“I could tell.” My cock is hard, part pure biology, part waking to a naked woman plastered to my side.

“Round three?” she asks with a delicate swivel of her hips.

Her stomach growls again, interrupting my agreement.

“I’ll get you some crackers and juice.” I try to pull away, but she clings harder to me.

“I’m not hungry.” Her stomach cries out again.

“Lying to me will only get your sore ass spanked again.” Another swivel of her hips, the heat and slickness of her pussy nearly burning my thigh.

“Mmm,” she hums.

“The doctor said you need to eat before you get out of bed,” I remind her. “So you don’t get sick.”

She smiles, sleepy but horny at the same time. “I have no intention of getting out of bed.”

Her hand trails down my stomach making the muscles jump and beg for more attention. She gets dangerously close to my cock, and I know the tease of her fingers will be enough to make me ignore her hunger.

I grab her wrist but ease the rejection by brushing my lips against hers.

“Crackers and juice,” I tell her against her lips before sliding off of the bed and pulling on a pair of jeans. I don’t bother with the top button or shoes.

“Hurry back. As soon as I drink my juice, I’m going to drink your juice.”

I ignore the twitch of my still half-erect cock and laugh as I walk out into the hall and close her inside of my room.

“Drink my juice,” I mutter. The ridiculous and immature words still making me chuckle as I walk into the kitchen. I choke on them when I see Kincaid, Kid, Shadow, and a couple of the other guys drinking coffee at one of the long kitchen tables.

“What’s so funny?” Scooter asks before popping a piece of biscuit in his mouth. “Gigi say something funny?”

Fuck. My. Life.

Kincaid’s eyes narrow, and the second Shadow clears his throat, the guys, Scooter included, stand up and clear out.

“Grab a cup of coffee,” Kincaid says. “Then have a seat.”

I don’t argue. I don’t tell him that I’m only out of my bed because his naked daughter is hungry. I sure as fuck don’t mention the two servings of juice she wants this morning.

“Yes, Sir,” is all I mutter as I turn my back and pour coffee into the biggest cup I can find. I don’t bother with cream or sugar, knowing bitterness is all I’ll be able to taste anyway.

I sit across from him, facing all three members, Kincaid in the middle, Shadow to his right with a look of impassivity on his face. His eyes tell a different story. Kid is on Kincaid’s left with a mischievous sparkle in his eye. Classic Kid.

“Morning,” I mumble.

“Almost midday,” Shadow corrects with a quick glance down at his watch.

“Late night?” Kid asks.

I choke and sputter on the sip of coffee I attempt to take.

Kincaid’s eyes close, and his jaw ticks, muscles flexing as he clenches his teeth.

I ignore the taunt, praying it’s the right direction. Most people would deny, but even though through omission, I’ve lied enough to the men of this club. The man sitting in front of me will be a part of my life for the foreseeable future, and I don’t want to ruin that so early on.

“How did the doctor’s appointment go yesterday?”

I look up at Kincaid. “It went well.”

Do not think about the blowjob in the family restroom. Do. Not.

“Well?” He raises an eyebrow at me. “That’s all I get?”

“Dr. Davison seems nice, knowledgeable. She confirmed that Gigi is nine weeks. She says her morning sickness should start to fade after she hits the second trimester.”

“Her next appointment?”

I look from Shadow to Kid wondering why they’re even here for this but then consider Kincaid may need them if I say anything that makes him want to jump across the table and choke the life out of me.

“In a month,” I repeat from what I remember the receptionist telling her yesterday. “She’s covered by your insurance.”

He nods.

“I’d like to take that over.”

Kid leans in but doesn’t say a word, and I wonder if this is it. If requesting to take care of his daughter, asking her parents to give up that final hold on her is what will make him snap. Kincaid, however, doesn’t look upset but contemplative.

“What does Georgia say about it?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Kincaid huffs a laugh. “That child—”

“Woman,” I correct.

He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth before speaking again. “That woman has been bucking any type of authority, any person who makes decisions for her long before she ever hit puberty. What makes you think you can just do something like take over her health insurance?”

Because she’s mine, and I’ll spank her ass if she gives me any shit about it.

“It’s a simple thing,” I counter.

“For me it’s simple. For you it’s simple. For Georgia,” he tilts his head, and I already know his train of thought.

“It’s enough to make her run,” I finish for him.

“Exactly,” he confirms.

“Even still. I want that responsibility.”

“Responsibility?” I hate the snark in Shadow’s tone. “Now you want to be responsible?”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” If he even mentions the alley back in Dallas, I’ll bust his fucking nose.

“Didn’t get it right the first time you knocked up a chick in high school? Want a second stab at abandoning your responsibility?”

Izzy.

“There’s more to the story than the information you think you have.”

“I sure as fuck hope so,” Shadow spits.

Annoyed, I cross my arms over my chest and sit back in my chair. Kincaid just looks on, not saying a word but I can tell he’s curious about the rest of the story as well.

“You seem a little too invested, Shadow.” His eyes narrow and I forget he’s the club VP. I’ve got three ranks above his ass where it counts, seventeen years in the Corps compared to his four. “Upset Gigi is with a man that’s not you?”

Kincaid is on his feet, rough palms against his best friend’s chest as Shadow, furious, tries to push him out of the way to attack.

“She’s like my daughter you piece of shit.”

“Enough,” Kincaid hisses, but Shadow only calms slightly. “Go.”

Kid, already on his feet mumbles, “I’m sure as fuck glad I only have one son. Girls are too much fucking trouble.”

“You wouldn’t understand what it’s like to take care of a child, yours or not,” Shadow spits before he raises his hands in surrender. Kincaid, still between us, removes his hands. “She sure as fuck deserves better than you.”

I nod because it’s the truth. Gigi deserves to be worshipped, deserves to have everything laid at her feet. She sure as hell doesn’t deserve to have her ass beat in the darkness and her mouth fucked in restrooms.

“I was out of line,” I concede because all I see is protective fire and love in his eyes, not jealousy or his own sense of sexual ownership.

Shadow joins Kid who has been hovering at the entrance to the kitchen, and they leave. The front door slams, and it seems to bring Kincaid back to his senses.

“Has making friends always been hard for you?” He takes his seat, and I follow his actions.

“I usually do better on my own,” I answer.

“We’re a fucking team here, Hound. Pissing off your VP, sleeping with the President’s daughter, getting her pregnant isn’t winning you any awards in the club right now.”

“I know.” What else can I say?

“Tell me about Isabella Montoya.” It’s not a question. I knew the truth would come out. I never planned to hide it deliberately from him, but the fewer people who knew about my daughter, the easier it was to keep her safe.

I spend the next twenty minutes explaining all of the same things I confessed to Gigi just days ago. He nods at some parts, jaw clenching at others, but he never interrupts me.

By the time I’m done, my eyes are glistening with the renewed loss of Izzy, the pain always just under the surface.

“We, as a club, can help you fight for custody,” he says when I sit back in my chair emotionally exhausted.

I shake my head. “She’ll be eighteen next summer. Then she can make her own decisions.”

“That stepdad of hers seems like a complete asshole.”

I chuckle. “He fucking hates me that’s for sure, but he’s good to her. I think he despises me more because Gabby wouldn’t let him adopt her. Izzy doesn’t have my last name, but at least she doesn’t have his.”

“A small consolation for missing out on your child’s entire life. I couldn’t even fucking imagine.” He twists the cold cup of coffee on the table in front of him. “I hated being away from the girls, even for short-term missions. It’s why we expanded and brought new guys in.”

“It was easier when I was overseas fighting. I could push missing her out of my mind. I could focus on the job.”

“So much for juice and crackers.”

We both snap our heads up at Gigi walking into the kitchen. I clear my throat, a natural response to the sway of her tits under her thin dress. She’s rumpled, sexy as fuck, and it’s clear she fell back asleep after I left the room.

“Hey, Dad.” She gives him a quick wave before walking over to the coffee pot.

“Let me help you,” I say standing from my seat. I pull crackers from the cabinet and hand them to her with a quick kiss on the forehead. “Take a seat. I’ll grab you some juice.”

“Ginger ale,” she specifies. “I’ve already gotten sick.”

“How are you feeling, sweetheart,” Kincaid asks as she joins him at the table.

“Sore,” she says with a chuckle as she sits.

I hold my breath, waiting for her to taunt her dad with our activities from last night.

“Getting sick every morning is like an ab workout for people training for a damn triathlon,” she adds.

She winks at me when I hand her the ginger ale. See? Even Gigi can make adult decisions.