Lady and the Champ (25 page)

“Oh my God.”

He chuckles, which feels crazy-good against my pussy, vibrating all that tender skin. I shiver while he strokes along the insides of my thighs, spreading them wider. He holds one leg in place at the knee, toying with the sensitive skin inside the bend of it, while his other hand goes back to ground zero. At least two fingers slide inside my pussy while his thumb moves backward on the slickness of my juices and rings my asshole.

I keep shaking, pulsing, while he pumps into me with his hand and presses gently against my ass. I’m so over-sensitized I almost can’t take the feeling of his tongue on my clit, but as I shift my body, the sensation becomes another deep, intense pool of need.

He draws his fingers free, replacing them with his tongue, stabbing it deep into me.

“Holy fuck.”

“That’s it, baby.”

I let out my breath in a hard exhale, and a few seconds later I realize I’m still holding my breath. He fucks me so good I’m forgetting how to breathe. His tongue slides free, licks my inner lips. I keep myself still, just
feeling
.

He keeps it up, fucking me with increased pressure and enthusiasm. Oh my God, this feels like nothing I’ve ever felt before in my life. I look down, seeing Austin’s head bobbing up and down between my legs. He lets out a grunt as I dive my fingers in his head of hair and yank. Fuck, it feels too good. My thighs—my pussy—everything throbs with a persistent ache. The desperate need for
more
suffocates me until I can almost feel Austin’s cock inside me, even though he’s just using his fingers.

Then Austin eases his hips between my thighs, stroking his cock across my belly before he shifts down. My thighs shake and I let out a soft cry as he sinks inside.

He gives a low moan. I’m still riding the edge as my walls expand around him. He anchors deep, filling me up. I feel myself tightening and releasing on the shaft of his dick.

This is mine. And I’m his.
The truth of it hits me so hard I can’t catch my breath as he quickens the pace of his thrusts, pounding hard into me. Everything feels so tender, over-sensitized, almost raw as he fucks me. I’m not sure how much more of it I can stand, but at the same time I never want it to stop.

“Look at me,” he says. His voice is firm, and I immediately do it. His eyes are glassy, not quite focused, but I hold his gaze tight. “Chloe.”

“Austin.”

“Forever.” He slows for a moment, his cock striking my pussy with a vibration I can feel in the back of my throat. “You get that, right?”

I can barely talk. Can barely breathe. I nod. “I get it.”

His smile is soft and a little crooked. “Good.”

And he lets go, everything that’s in him filling me up, never taking his eyes from mine until the last second, when our orgasms shatter the quiet. The wave crashes down on me hard, spreading ecstasy through my veins like liquid fire. Austin lets out a deep groan that sends another thrill to my heart. His eyes close and he leans down and kisses me.

Forever.

That sounds really good to me.

I
love
the off-season these days. Long summer days, time off to spend with the kids. And Chloe, of course.

After five years of marriage, I still get that flutter in my chest when she walks into the room. Especially when she saunters in with our three-year-old on her hip, balancing him against her very pregnant belly. There’ll be five of us in a few weeks—Me, Chloe, Emma, Ben, and the little girl we’re going to name after my momma.

Momma’s gone, but she got to see Chloe and me at the altar. Emma spends a lot more time with us now. I’m not sure what happened, but about a week after we got married, Chloe had “lunch” with Megan, and the next thing I knew, I was signing new court papers that said I had primary custody and Megan got a weekend every month. I felt bad about it at first, but as time went by, Megan actually started to act like it worked better for her. She’s married too, now, and her new husband gets along great with Emma. So does Megan. I think in the long run, it turned out best for all of us.

But especially for me. I give Chloe a grin, and she gives me that lopsided smile that means if I play my cards right, I’ll get lucky once the kids are in bed. Which is perfect, because damn if she isn’t sexy as fuck with that baby inside her.

“You got my dinner cooked yet?” she asks me, giving me a once-over like she’s stripping me naked.

I laugh and walk over to take Ben from her. “Not quite yet. You want to help me out with that, buddy?”

“Yup,” says Ben.

I wink at Chloe, and Ben and I start working on grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. Emma wanders in halfway through the process and helps dish things up.

After dinner, I supervise while Emma reads Ben a bedtime story. She’s just learning to muddle her way through
Green Eggs and Ham
, and it’s the cutest damn thing ever. When we’re done and Ben is all tucked in, I tuck Emma in and head back downstairs to see how Chloe’s doing. After dinner is her alone time right now, so she can get in a bit of rest. The pregnancy is weighing pretty heavily on her, and I can tell she’s more than ready to meet our newest family member.

She’s stretched out on the couch when I come down, eyes closed and one hand cupping her belly. I ease down onto the couch next to her and take her hand in mine.

“How are you doing, baby?”

“I’m fine.”

“You look tired.”

“Of course I look tired. I’m like, thirty-seven months pregnant.” She sighs. “Why did I decide to do this again?”

Leaning forward, I kiss her forehead gently. “Because Ben is a great kid, and Mirabella will be, too.”

She smiles a little. “I know.” She reaches up to stroke a hand through my hair. “Mirabella. It’s such a delicate name for a baby who kicks like a soccer player.”

“Well, maybe she’ll be into sports like her daddy.”

I stroke the wide curve of her belly. The baby seems still at the moment, but Chloe’s stomach rises and falls as she breathes.

We’re quiet for a few minutes, and then I lean forward and kiss the back of her shoulder.

“I love you, Austin,” she says after a few moments.

“I love you too, Doc.”

She laughs. “I guess if I haven’t gotten you trained by now, it’s probably a lost cause.”

Tracing my nose along the curve of her neck, I tell her, “Doesn’t mean you should stop trying.”

“Never,” she says. “Who knows? Maybe one day you’ll learn.”

“I doubt it.”

I pull her into my arms and we both lean into the couch. My hand on her belly feels movement now; maybe we woke up the baby. There’s a tiny foot pressing against my palm, and then it pulls back. In a few weeks, she’ll join Emma and Ben and Chloe and me. My first game back, I’ll dedicate to her.

I’ve got everything I ever wanted and more. And I’m never, ever giving it up.

* * *

Thank you for reading
Lady and the Champ
! Please remember to leave a review on Amazon if you enjoyed the story, and
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for my mailing list to find out when my next release comes out! Keep scrolling to read
Wrong
and
Filthy
. These are both standalone novels with HEAs, but be warned: They’re much darker than
Lady and the Champ.

I
stole
her to make a baby…

Wrong? Hell yeah, it’s wrong. Wise guys never live by the rules, but there’s one you don’t break.

I’m not a damn bit sorry. I’m done with one-night stands. I need a family to call my own. A wife. A kid.

I found the perfect girl: Sarah. The second I felt her curves, I knew she was destined to be mine. It’s been explosive since we met, and it’s only getting hotter. I won’t stop until she’s carrying my baby.

One problem—she’s engaged to an abusive bastard. Sal. The man next in line to become my boss. He doesn’t deserve the girl or the job. And ever since I took Sarah, he’s out for blood.

She wants to leave him, so we made a pact: protection for a baby.

I know it’s wrong.

Ask me again if I care.

B
ring it
.

“
H
it me
.”

The dealer drops a card. I glance at it, do quick math, and realize I broke twenty-one. Oh well. Can’t win them all. She gives me a small smile.

She’s a pretty thing—dark hair, dark eyes. I wonder what my chances are of taking her home. Probably pretty good. The Spada family’s paying her, after all. If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll say yes to anything anybody asks her.

We finish up the hand, and I accept my losses like a man. Blackjack’s not my game anyway. I should find some other way to enjoy this party. There are plenty of other nice pieces of tail to check out, and I can have any one of them. Don’t even have to play my cards right. Which is a good thing, since that’s exactly what I just didn’t do.

Phil Spada likes having parties at casinos. It’s a moneymaker for him, and it puts him in good with local businessmen. He needs to be in good with somebody right now, since he sure as hell isn’t hanging on too well in his own business.

You want to run a mob organization, you need to be respected. But in the Spada family, things are up in the air. Everybody’s edgy. Nobody’s confident. People are jockeying for power.

I’m one of them.

The party was a good idea, I have to admit, but it’s too little too late. If Spada wanted this get-together to convince us he’s still got his fingers on the pulse of the organization, he’s fallen short by about a mile. Mile and a half, maybe.

Still, no point in not enjoying it, or at least trying to. Nothing’s really sparking me. I try to tell myself it’s just the party—the tension, the emptiness of it, the way everybody’s trying to have fun just like nothing’s changed. Truth is, I’ve been like this for a while. Just…kind of dull. Dreary. Going through the motions, mostly. Ever since Dad died.

Fuck that shit. Time for a drink, maybe, while I try to get my thoughts in order. I glance toward the bar.

Well, what do you know? It’s Salvatore De Luca. He’s got a girl next to him, but her back’s to me and I can’t tell who it is right off. It’s probably his latest arm candy, though. Susan? Sheri? No, Sarah. I don’t understand how any woman can spend more than about fifteen seconds in his company, though. Just the sight of him makes me want to go spit in his drink. Or, better yet, in his face.

I’d better get used to looking at him, though. Right now it looks like he’s next in line to the Spada family empire. Spada’s been grooming Sal since Carmine bit it. Nobody likes that. Sal’s an asshole—more so even than most of the rest of us. If we don’t trust Spada right now, double that for Sal. It’s pretty well agreed upon that, if he takes over Spada’s place, things are going to get ugly.

Well, uglier than they are now. I shake my head a little. Sal’s got to go, and I’m probably going to have to be the one to get that job done. That’s fine. I’m up to the task. Thing is, how do I manage it?

The girl next to him turns her head just enough that I can see her profile. Just like I figured, it’s Sarah. They’ve been together a while—several months, I’m pretty sure. I can’t figure it. Sarah’s always seemed quiet, but solid, and Sal? He’s like a box of C4. You wiggle him the wrong way and he’s going to explode. He’s not known for his humanitarian leanings, if you get my drift. How he ended up with a treat like Sarah is beyond me.

Women. What can you do?

She’s talking to him calmly, her gaze steady on his, and I can tell by the way Sal’s back goes stiff in his tuxedo jacket that he doesn’t like what she has to say. She touches his arm, her fingers grasping a bit of the fabric of his sleeve. Sal jerks his arm back, way harder than necessary, and gets right up in her face. She leans back, but she can’t get away from him. I can’t make out what Sal is saying, but his mouth twists, and it’s ugly when he spits the words at her. Then he slams his empty glass down on the bar and stalks away.

Sarah’s hand comes up to cover her mouth. Her eyes have gone big and wide, like she might cry, but she blinks a couple of times and they clear. The bartender approaches her; she nods, and he brings her another drink.

Curious as to what just went down with Sal, I head toward the bar. Probably not the best idea, approaching Sal’s girl, but…

Fuck. Maybe it’s a good idea. What better way to make Sal look like the useless piece of shit he is? Smirking, I head for the bar and slide onto the bar stool Sal just vacated.

Sarah looks up, surprised.

“Can I get you a drink?” I ask her.

She gestures toward the highball glass in front of her. “I’ve got a drink.”

“You finish that one. I’ll get you another one.”

“I don’t know. I’ve probably had enough.”

I shrug. “I’ll get you one anyway. You might get thirsty.” I hold my hand out to her. “Nick Angelino.”

She nods. “I know.” Hesitantly she slides her small hand into mine. “Sarah Corelli.”

“I know.” I grin at her, and she manages a wan smile back. Of course we know each other. Everybody in the family knows each other one way or another, even if only by reputation. But as far as having been formally introduced—that’s a different story. “You’re too pretty to be here all on your own.”

“I’m not on my own. I’m with Sal. You know Sal?” The edge to her voice tells me she’s warning me off. That she’s taken.

I shrug it off. “Everybody knows Sal.” I try not to make a face when I say his name. “And it doesn’t look like he’s here right now. He left you here all alone? Unsupervised? How does he know nobody’s going to just pick you up and take you home with them?” I lean a little closer. “Like, say, me?”

Her expression becomes a bit wary. “Are you suggesting something?”

“Honey, I’m always suggesting something.” I trace a finger along the back of her hand. She doesn’t flinch away, or slap me, or throw her drink in my face, so that’s a win.

I’ve seen her several times before, here and there, across a room or milling through a crowd of partygoers. She’s usually on Sal’s arm. She’s even prettier up close than I imagined from seeing her at a distance. She doesn’t seem to have much on in the way of makeup, and her skin is clear and appears virtually pore-less. Smooth, like porcelain. I want to touch her. Is all her skin that creamy-pale ivory color? I can picture it—miles and miles of smooth, flawless skin, face to tits to thighs. I can damn near feel it under my fingers.

Her hair is sleek and black, done up in an updo that looks like it probably took four hairdressers and an architect to construct. One pull on one of those ivory sticks poking out of it and it’d be all down around her shoulders, I bet. Tousled and unkempt, like she just got out of bed after a long, thorough fuck. My dick swells just looking at this woman, and suddenly I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Want her under me, pinned by the wrists while I shove my dick into her until she writhes and screams.

I let my gaze trail down her long neck, over her collarbones, down to the soft mounds of her breasts where they’re propped up by her strapless dress. It’s dark purple and shiny. Those tits are a work of art. Suddenly I’m picturing Sal’s big, blocky hands on them, his thumbs tweaking her nipples, and it makes me almost queasy. How the hell did she end up with that asshole, anyway? She deserves better.

“Hey,” she says. “Eyes up.”

I look up and grin. “Bossy little thing, aren’t you?”

“Sometimes.” She tips her chin up, challenging me with a direct stare. Her eyes are the clearest green I’ve ever seen.

“I bet Sal’s not fond of that. He doesn’t much like being told what to do.”

“Sal’s not fond of a lot of things.” There’s a tightness to her voice that tells me there’s more to that story than I’ll ever know—way more than she’ll ever tell me.

“He’s not very smart.” I keep my voice low, talking close to her ear now, so close I can smell a faint whiff of lavender coming from her hair, can feel the warmth of her face.

“You’re not wrong.” She says it so quietly I’m not sure I actually heard her. When it soaks in, I give her a smile.

“Let’s dance.”

Her gaze roots to mine, then she gives a quick, worried glance around the room. She’s looking for Sal, and there’s fear in her eyes. In that moment I’d like to punch Sal in the face, see blood spurt from his nose. My eyes go hot with anger.

“I’m not sure I should,” she says.

I shrug, trying to keep myself under control so I don’t scare her. Sal’s already scared her enough for the both of us, and I hate him for it. “Just a dance,” I reassure her. “Not like I’m going to fuck you in the middle of the dance floor, right?”

Her smile is wan. Maybe I shouldn’t have worded it quite so bluntly. I return her smile, trying to take some of the sting out of my poorly considered words. “Just a dance.”

Her eyes turn to mine again, and her anxiety softens. “Okay. Fine. Just a dance.” She slides from the bar stool, and as I reach for her hand, she lifts a finger in caution. “
Just
a dance. You’ll keep your hands to yourself. Understand?”

“Of course.” She slides her hand into mine. Her fingers are long and slim, and I notice her nails are cut short. There’s no polish on them at all. I wonder why. Most of the rest of the women here are dressed and groomed to the nines, right down to the perfect manicures. I find her blunt, plain nails intriguing. I find everything else about her intriguing, too.

We weave through the crowd until we reach the area where other couples are dancing. I swing her out to arm’s length and then draw her back against me, and we sway into the rhythm of the music.

There’s a thing about dancing. Maybe it’s just me, but when I have a woman tucked up nice and close against me, swaying to the music, her body moving against mine, all I can think about is sex. I want to slide my hand down the curve of her back, cup her ass with my fingers, see how close I can get to her pussy before she cuts me off. But I won’t do that, because I want to keep dancing. She told me to keep my hands to myself, so I’m going to have to stay polite if I want to keep her here in this perfectly chaste, perfectly acceptable embrace.

Still, that doesn’t stop me from thinking about it. Glancing down, I can see between the twin mounds of her breasts. My hand would fit perfectly in the dark space between them. She’d be warm there, the heat collecting under her tits. I could slip my fingers around to the front, pinch her nipple…

My hand is splayed across the small of her back, and I jerk back to myself as she gives me a slight head tilt. I realize my dick is rock hard; she can probably feel it as we sway together. I give her a smile. It’s probably pretty smug. But there’s nothing I can do about my dick. It has a mind of its own. Right now it wants to be inside Sarah.

I can’t say I don’t agree. What would Sal think about that, if I fucked his woman? He wouldn’t like it one bit, I’m sure. Suddenly I’m thinking about what Sal’s face would look like if I fucked Sarah and he found out about it. Face red, veins bulging. Maybe he’d drop dead from a stroke, or a heart attack. Wouldn’t that be a kick? Easiest way ever for me to take over as Spada’s favored successor.

I sober then, focusing again on Sarah, letting my gaze settle on hers. My own thoughts unsettle me. A few months ago, chortling to myself about somebody’s death would have been par for the course. But not so much now. I want Sal’s position, sure. I want his woman, sure. But I don’t really want his death. There are better ways.

Sarah tips her head again, her brows drawing together in a frown. “What are you thinking about?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.” Then I think better of it and lean forward to whisper in her ear, “I’m thinking about taking your clothes off and fucking you up against a wall.”

Her hand tightens on mine, and her frown deepens. “I don’t think that’s appropriate. Let me go.”

Rather than letting her go, I pull her a little closer. “They’re just thoughts. Thoughts don’t hurt anyone.”

I feel her relaxing against me. “Maybe you should think about something else.”

“Probably.” I swing her around, give her a little dip, and grin. The playfulness of it seems to defuse her suspicions a little. She’s enchanting. Why in the world is she stuck with Sal?

Somebody should do something about that. And, I decide, that somebody should be me.

“You should run away with me,” I tell her.

She laughs. It’s got a nervous edge to it. “I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can. Let’s go. Right now. I’ll take you home with me.”

“Why would you even want to do that?”

I can’t quite read her voice. It’s the tiniest bit shaky. Is she afraid? Excited? Then her eyes cut to one side and I realize she’s looking for Sal. And she’s afraid. Of him, not of what I’m suggesting to her. Something twists in my chest.

I keep my voice light, though. Teasing. It’s just a game. So far, anyway. “I like you.” It’s true enough.

“You barely know me.”

Also true.

“Do I need to know anything more than that you turn me on?”

She tosses her head in a movement that would have tossed her hair behind her back if it wasn’t in that fancy updo. “Well.” Her voice is tight now. She’s chastising me. I like it. “It’d be nice, don’t you think, to know you have something in common with the person you’re planning to carry home to your caveman cave?”

I just laugh. I wonder if she’s this sassy with Sal. Probably not. I can’t picture Sal putting up with it. Honestly that just makes me sad. A woman with this kind of spunk ought to be allowed to show it.

My smile fades, and I lift a hand to stroke her face, run the tips of my fingers along the hair that’s pulled back along her head. “You in love with Sal?”

Her lips thin. “Sure.”

Of course she isn’t. A woman like this wouldn’t be in love with Sal. I’m not convinced anybody loves Sal, not even his mama. I give a sigh and tilt my head back, laying it on thick. “I wish I could find a nice girl like you, settle down, maybe have some kids. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

I’m just putting on a show for her, I tell myself, but the words hit a little too close to home even as I’m saying them. It
would
be nice to have someone like her waiting for me at home. A regular, everyday woman instead of the once-in-a-while girls I’ve satisfied myself with in the past. Or, worse, the only-for-a-night girls, many of whom collect their fee off the dresser before they slip out the next morning. And yeah. Married, with kids—I’d like that someday. No, not someday. Soon.