King

This long fucking day needs to be over. I hate being away from Holland, and I spent fifty percent of my day in the air flying to and from Miami and the other half dealing with distributors and the incompetent replacements for the members that were gunned down in my club eight months ago. When I drag my ass into the apartment, the only thing I can think about is crawling into bed with Holland. I promised her I wouldn’t be gone all night, but the storm delayed me for hours. Technically, I made it, though, since it’s before midnight.

The apartment is dark and quiet. I’m standing at the kitchen table with my suit coat draped over my arm, shuffling through the mail, when a dim sliver of light cutting across the floor outside our bedroom catches my eye. She’s probably awake. She’s up every couple of hours going to the bathroom lately, and as happy as I am to talk to her, I wish she were getting better sleep.

I make my way quietly down the hall, loosening my tie, and pause at the threshold of the bedroom. She’s sleeping. The soft glow of the light on her bedside table illuminates her flawless skin. She looks like an angel curled around her white body pillow, wearing her bra that she has begun to grow out of in the most delicious way and lace panties. She refused to buy larger lingerie, choosing to wear her panties under her belly. She says it’s comfortable, but I think it’s vanity, and that’s okay. She has no reason to worry about her changing body. As far as I’m concerned, she’s more gorgeous now than she’s ever been, soft in all the best places and toned in others. She’s been working out every day with me since the nausea let up, and she couldn’t be in better shape.

The curtains are open. She must have fallen asleep watching the storm. I could stand here and watch her soft shoulder rise and fall with every breath for hours, but the duvet is slipping onto the floor, leaving her uncovered.

There was a time when she couldn’t sleep without being covered. She used to curl up in my arms to stay warm, but no more. I’ve even had Sebastián turn the air conditioning back to where I kept it before I met her. I can hardly remember life without Holland. There’s never been a more perfect example of love at first sight. The moment I laid eyes on her, my life began. Her stormy grey eyes called to my soul, and her mature, talented personality unlocked my heart. Add to that a baby, and you have perfection.

I cross the room and right the duvet without disturbing her and notice her open purse on the bed by her feet. Why is she sleeping with her purse? I pick it up to move it and notice her open wallet on top, sporting a brand new driver’s license. She got her license while I was gone? I’ve been teaching her to drive for months, and she went and got her license without me?

“I wanted to surprise you,” she says in a sleepy voice from under the duvet.

I pull the puffy material away from her face. “I didn’t mean to wake you. This is awesome, baby,” I say holding up her wallet. “You didn’t want to wait for me?”

She turns to her back and slides her arms out from under the covers and flops them down at her sides, pulling the blanket taught and accentuating her pregnant belly. “I couldn’t have King Romero sitting in the smelly DOT, waiting with me for my license,” she says, widening her eyes and placing her hand over her heart.

“Me? It’s you who shouldn’t be sitting in that germ-infested ghetto room, exposing King Jr. to who knows what.”

I hang her bag over the arm of a chair next to the window, toe off my shoes, and undress while she watches. When I’m clad in just my boxers, I climb in next to her, not even wasting time to round the bed to my own side.

“Scoot, Little Mama.” I nudge her gently and slip her body pillow out from under her arms and legs and slide it over to my side of the bed. I’m her body pillow now.

“I’m not so little anymore.”

“You have no idea, do you?”

“Well, since I don’t know what you’re talking about . . .”

“Pregnancy agrees with you, baby,” I say, tucking a wayward lock of her hair behind her ear and kissing the tip of her nose, earning me an eye roll.

“As long as you think so, I guess that’s all that matters.”

“You’d better believe it, sexy.” I slide my hand over the curve of her hip and behind her knee, pulling her leg up over mine. A trademark moan escapes her lips, and I’m a goner.

“You cannot make those noises and expect me to sleep.”

“I’m not expecting you to sleep.” Her arms snake around my neck and she attempts to press her core against my growing erection, but there is a very important certain someone playing cock block.

“Ugh, see? I can’t even get close to you anymore.”

“You’re not being very creative, baby. Let’s turn you over.” Sliding my arm between the sheets and her waist, I help her turn until her back is to my front.

“Ah, God, Holland, you’re killing me.” And she is. She’s really fucking killing me here. All I want to do is thrust balls deep into her hot pussy and make her come again and again, but these last few weeks, I’ve been treating her like glass. Holland has voiced her discontent loud and clear on more than one occasion, but I’m not budging. I’m not trying to meet my baby that way.

The second she’s facing away from me, her back is arched and she’s pressing her ass into my cock, tempting me, torturing me, pushing me to the very edge of my tolerance.

“Please, King, I need you. I miss you. I’m full-term. The baby could come any time now and it would be all right. Please . . .” Fuck . . . I’ve been just barely controlling my desires, but no way can I listen to her beg me for something I’m dying to give her.

“Okay, but we’re doing this my way, got it?” My words are stern, but my resolve is weak. She nods against my chest as her hand slides between our bodies to stroke my cock.

All of my reservations fly out the window when I snap the tiny edge of her lace panties and slide my hand between her legs and find her soaking wet for me.

“You are the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever put my hands on, woman. Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I press my cock against her bare ass, knowing damn good and well that she is.

“Yes, please, please . . .” She twists her face, offering me her mouth, and I slide my tongue between her lips and lift my hips to work my boxers off. I mirror the motion of our tongues with my fingers along her wet slit, stroking and circling until I realize she’s having trouble keeping her leg up. Without missing a stroke, I continue to work my magic and reach farther over her to bend her body pillow in half and prop her leg up on it, spreading her wide and allowing her to relax, enjoying the fruits of my labor. Labor . . . fuck, don’t think about that right now. Just put it out of your mind, King. I unclasp her bra, releasing her heavy breasts, and tilt her back against me to slide my fingers around her nipple.

“No, King . . . please.” She wraps her hand around my pulsing hard on and guides it to where she wants it. She’s impatient and ready . . . oh so ready. I remove her hand and slowly, carefully, I slide my tip along her slit, rubbing my length between her wet folds, against her clit and back to the pucker of her ass, causing her to gasp. The fingers of one hand are clutching her pillow, and her other hand is pressing against the padded headboard. Her breath comes in short, quick pants as I trail kisses up and down her neck.

“I’m going to fuck you nice and slow now, baby,” I whisper into her ear as I slide into my favorite place on earth. I draw blood from my lip when I bite down and rein in the urge to be rough with her.

“Ah, King, yes. Yes, God, I’ve missed you so much.”

She lets go of her pillow and reaches back to grab my hair, and I lift her leg and enter her deeper than I should.

“Oh yeah, baby, fuck . . . I’ve missed you, too. I’ve missed making you wet.” When I slide out, she whimpers.

“You want more? Are you sure you can handle it? We can stop if you’re uncomfortable.” I know she’s not. She’s fucking loving this almost as much as I am, but anticipation is the hottest aphrodisiac.

“Yes . . .”

“Yes what?” I reach under her belly and between her legs and slowly circle her clit with my tip poised at her entrance.

“King. Stop,” she says, hitting her pillow.

“Stop? You want me to stop?” I remove my hand and pull my cock away from her entrance, causing her more frustration. I don’t know why I’m doing it. Maybe I’m sensing this is the last time I’ll be able to make love to her before she has our baby, or maybe it’s revenge for all the times in the past month that she’s flaunted her tight ass while we were working out, or the way she bends over, exposing her newly plump breasts when she kisses me goodbye every morning. Maybe it’s payback for seeing if I could wait that day in the limo.

“God, no, King! That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Give it to me. Stop teasing me.”

I slide back into her and return my hand to the hot spot between her legs.

In and out, I make love to her slowly, leisurely working her up, little by little, until she’s on the edge, and then backing off to make it last longer. I make her come twice with my hand. Our bodies are covered in sweat, the covers are thrown off in complete abandon, and I know she’s ready again when I thrust one final time into her saturated core, roaring with release and savoring every part of this woman I love inside and out.

“Better?” I ask, still pulsing inside of her and panting against her neck with a mouthful of her hair. Her heart is beating wildly under my hand as we work on catching our breath.

“Oh yeah, but somebody else isn’t happy now.” She takes my hand from her chest and moves it over her taught belly, where King Jr. is protesting with strong kicks and punches.

“Wow, he’s really ticked off that I’m invading his space, huh?” I prop up on my elbow to watch the ripples of movement change the shape of her belly.

“You do realize it could be a girl, right? Like as in a fifty-fifty chance . . .”

“Of course, but he’s a boy, aren’t you, King Jr.?” I slide my cock from the warm place it’s just been reunited with and turn Holland onto her back. She’s so beautiful with her bedroom eyes, flushed cheeks and damp hair. Postcoital pregnancy glow. Yeah, it’s more addictive than any drug ever made. I scoot down between her legs and bend her knees to spread her legs so I have room to kneel and press my cheek against her nonexistent navel. Our little person continues to squirm and kick, but with my arms around her belly, it feels like I’m holding ‘him’.

“Oh,” Holland says, followed by a giggle when the baby gives my face a particularly hard kick.

“I saw your head move with that one.”

“Shush, he’s talking to me.”

“Oh yeah? what’s ‘she’ saying?”

“He says he loves you very much, but would you please stop referring to him as a her?” Giggling, she wiggles until I free her so she can turn to her side.

“Help me up before I wet the bed. I’ve had to pee since you woke me,” she says, flashing me her megawatt smile. I assist her to the side of the bed and surprise her by scooping her up and delivering her to the bathroom.

“I can’t believe you can still lift me. I’m a whale.” Her luscious full bottom lip thrusts out in the most adorable pout when she refers to herself as a whale, and I stand her to face the mirror.

In our en-suite bathroom, her presence is obvious everywhere—makeup, toiletries, brushes, curling irons, straighteners, and other paraphernalia cover the counter.

“Now you know why I do weight training every day.” I wink, and she slaps my arm.

“Hey, you’re supposed to say ‘oh, baby, you’re light as a feather.’ not ‘I have to pump iron everyday just to pick you up.’”

“I’m kidding. You really are as light as a feather. I wish you’d eat more.” I kiss her on the nose and start the shower while she sits down to relieve herself.

We’re like an old married couple, comfortable and familiar enough to do the most intimate things in front of each other without a second thought.

When the temperature is just right and the room is filled with a billowing cloud of steam, I help her into the shower. I’ve been so fucking worried about her slipping in the bath or shower. I had a friend in high school who got his girlfriend pregnant. She fell in the shower and lost their baby when she was six months along. I was with him when he found her, so needless to say, the experience left an impression.

Leaning her forehead against my chest, I pull her into a quick embrace and turn her away to shampoo her hair.

“We can get cleaned up and go back to bed. I don’t have anywhere to be today,” I say.

“I only slept for an hour before you came home, so that sounds good.”

“So let’s talk more about your driver’s license. When are you and Savannah going to test it out?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her all week. She’s been busy with her new job.”

She’s sad. I hear it in her voice, and a pang of guilt shoots through my heart because I know I monopolize a lot of her time, and she would be at Juilliard right now, starting her career. I’ve tried to keep her busy. She’s enrolled in online classes, but they aren’t necessary. She was well ahead in credits after taking many advanced level classes last year. We traveled some during her second trimester. I took her to New York again. We spoke to the board of admissions at Juilliard about her delayed start, and then we went to my house in Malibu for Christmas and the New Year. Her parents’ relationship is tentative at best lately, and she was glad to spend the holidays out of town, although she did miss Savannah.

“Do you regret . . .?” My hands glide over her soapy breasts and down to her belly, where she covers them with hers. I prop my chin on her shoulder.

“Never, not for one second. Well, maybe a couple of seconds when I was barfing my brains out early on.”

When she relaxes against my shoulder, I’m surprised at how relieved I am to hear her say those words.

“I don’t blame you for that, and for the record, I’ve never regretted it either, not even when you were barfing your brains out.”

“Well good . . . I think,” she says.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday. Maybe Savannah will be able to come by and help you test drive your new car.”

Her face tilts toward mine, and I see a tiny frown line between her eyes.

“You didn’t . . . King, I don’t need a car. You have so many. I can drive one of those.”

“Nonsense, those are my cars. You need your own.”

I step away, pour soap on her loofa, and start washing her back to avoid an argument. She’s taking the car, period. It’s safe, and it will be a good family vehicle for all of us when we do regular family things like . . . hell, I don’t even know what normal families do.

“I was planning on surprising you when we went to get your license, but since you’ve flipped the script on that, I’ll have it delivered tomorrow. Rinse.”

I turn her by the shoulders to face me and place my hands on either side of her head, gently tilting it back to rinse out the shampoo.

“You’re sort of a bully, you know?” she says with her eyes closed as water cascades over every gorgeous curve of her body. She’s biting her lip to keep from laughing.

“You don’t know the half of it, baby.” She releases her lip and a smile spreads across her lips for a moment before it falls suddenly.

“King?” Her eyes fly open and she stares at me with lifted brows and her mouth agape.

“What? Are you okay? Did your water break? Are you having a contraction?”

She bursts out laughing, and for a second I wonder if pregnant women have moments of insanity. While she laughs, she places her hand on my shoulder for support.

“I’m sorry.” Giggle. “Your face.” More giggling. “Was priceless.” Her hand covers her mouth as she laughs harder and I sigh.

Fuck . . . I’m a first time father. What’s she expect? I’m always fucking worried. She’s not due for four weeks, but anything can happen.

“I just realized I don’t know when your birthday is,” she says when her fits of giggles subside.

“May fourteenth, nineteen ninety-nine.”

“Wow, you’re old,” she deadpans until I can’t hold it in anymore and we both burst out laughing together. There are six years between us, but you’d never know to be around us. Her maturity and my occasional immaturity bring us to a very level playing field, even if the world doesn’t see it that way.