TouchBack (BWWM, Billionaire, Sports, Pregnancy) (5 page)

10.

              Stockard stared around her crummy little bedroom in her crummy little apartment. She'd left. For Europe apparently.

              He could chase her to the airport. In fact, he'd been on the verge of it. But he didn't want to freak her out.

              He'd already done a good enough job of that.

              A picture of Veronica caught his eye. He picked it up. She was in her cap and gown at Graduation with an older woman standing proudly by her side. He wondered who it was.

              He wanted to know all about her he realized.

              He wanted her.

              For keeps.

              The wheels in his mind were spinning rapidly.

              His game was on Thursday. Then he had a few days off before the next game, that's IF they were still in the running for the Superbowl.

              At the moment, he almost didn't care.

              That gave him only one day to put his plans into motion. The first thing he needed was to figure out where the hell she was. After that he needed a ticket, a hotel room and a lot of luck.

              Veronica had told him she didn't believe in luck. She believed in hard work and the grace of God.

              He decided he would do it her way this time.

              He took the photograph of her as he climbed back into the limo waiting outside.

              And then he did something so out of character it would have shocked his own Grannie.

              Stockard prayed.

**********

              Veronica carried the bag of groceries up the stairs to her flat. It was tiny but it was hers. The human resource department had helped her score a furnished sublet in the center of Paris. And with her new pay grade, she could actually afford it.

              It was a studio but that didn't matter. It was just her after all. For the first time in her life, that didn't seem like a good thing.

              Paris was the city of lights after all.

              She sighed and put her groceries away. Cheese, bread, a container of olives, a few fresh veggies. It was easy to feed oneself well in Paris. She was learning to enjoy the simple things.

              She put the flowers she'd gotten impulsively into an empty jar on the small table by the window. She ate there every night. Alone.

              The last thing in the bag was an inexpensive bottle of red table wine. She rarely drank but having a glass of wine at night reminded her of him.

              Stockard.

              Thinking of him filled her with a sweet regret. And she couldn't not think of him. He was in her blood.

              She'd listened to all his messages. She believed him, not that it mattered. She was here, and he was in New York.

              She'd watched his game, her heart in her throat every time he took a hit.

              It was her fault for running out on him. She knew that now. He'd finally stopped calling and texting. She wondered if he would even care if she tried to contact him now. She should.

              If only to apologize. To explain.

              It was hard for her to trust people. But she trusted him.

              Fat lot of good it did her.             

              She lit a candle and took out a plate and a knife. Cheese, bread and wine. The dinner of poor Parisians for centuries. She had to hand it to them, it really filled you up.

              And there wasn't such a thing as bad bread in France. Even this cheap loaf smelled delicious as she sliced it open. She ate slowly, savoring each bite.

              She did everything slowly, feeling as though she might break into a million pieces. Besides, when she was busy she had less time to think about him. To think about everything she'd done wrong.

              She washed up and was putting her plate away when the buzzer rang. She ran to the window to stare out. She knew it was probably a mistake but she couldn't help the crazy hope in her heart.

              She leaned out of the juliette balcony and froze.

              Stockard Manning was standing on the street with a bouquet of roses.

11.

              Stockard couldn't take his eyes off of her. Veronica was leaning out the window high above him. Even from this distance she looked beautiful.

              Better yet, she looked glad to see him.

              He held up the roses and waved.

              She disappeared without a word. Moments later she flew out of the doorway and threw herself into his open arms. They were kissing in the middle of the street. She felt so good against him, he was instantly aroused. But more than that, he could feel his heart swell up with gladness.

              And stark, unbelievable relief.

              She was glad to see him.

              She was kissing him back.

              Finally he lifted his head, unable to wipe the smile off of his face.

              "Hi."

              "Hi."             

              "How did you-"

              He pulled a silly face.

              "Well I was just in the neighborhood and thought I would stop by."

              She laughed.

              "I'm glad."

              Her smile faded a little.

              "I'm sorry I ran away like that. It's… hard for me to trust people."

              He squeezed her.

              "I know. Come on, let's go."

              "Wait- I need my shoes."

              He looked down. She was barefoot, her adorable toes peeking out from her pajama bottoms. They were pink with red hearts this time.

              How appropriate.

              "Alright Cindarella, let's get your slippers."

              He lifted her up in his arms and carried her up the stairs.

**********

              Veronica was floating on cloud 9. She'd walked through the streets of Paris with Stockard, not caring where they were going.

              Only that they ended up in a bed.

              She knew that she should be ashamed of herself, of this carnal lust that was coursing through her veins.

              But she couldn't think that way. Not when this gorgeous man had flown halfway across the world to see her.

              So she did something completely out of character. She just… rolled with it.

              He was lead her to a grand hotel not far from her apartment. The doorman opened the door for them and they strolled arm in arm through the lobby to the elevator.

              "Penthouse."

              Of course he had gotten the penthouse. She felt a like frission of nerves flow through her. He wanted her. She wanted him. There was no question that sex was imminent.

              But she couldn't help but worry about her heart.

              He pulled her inside the suite and her eyes widened. An enormous living room with velvet couches, a crackling gas fireplace and a balcony with a view of the Eiffel Tower.

              She hadn't even had a chance to go see it yet.

              "Ohhhh… it's beautiful."

              She turned to see him staring at her.

              "Yes. It is."

              She knew he wasn't talking about the view. She blushed and looked away. He walked over and ran his hands up and down her arms.

              "Are you hungry?"

              "Not really."

              He smiled at her and ordered up Champagne and something else she couldn't quite hear.

              They were kissing on the balcony when the room service arrived. She stared in curiosity at the display. There was a large tureen of something along with the chilled Chamagne.

              "What is that?"

              "Melted chocolate."

              "What's it for?"

              "Most people dip strawberries in it. I had something a little more carnal in mind."

              Her eyes grew wide.

              "You better take your clothes off Veronica. This is going to get messy."

              She squealed and ran for the bedroom. He was hot on her heels. He grabbed her and kissed her deeply, running his hands all over her body.

              Finally he lifted his head.

              "You undress. I'll get a towel."

              "A towel? For what?"

              "I told you. This is going to get messy."

              He leaned down and whispered in her ear.

              "But I'll do my best to lick it all up."

12.

              Stockard licked his lips. He'd gotten almost every drop of chocolate off of her. He'd started with her breasts, liberally coating her in the rich dark chocolate. He hadn't rushed, but he had been incredibly thorough. Veronica was already mindless, before he'd even gotten to her stomach and thighs.

              The next few ladlefuls of chocolate had splashed against her stomach and sex. He'd been nibbling teasingly at her thighs the first time she started to cum. He'd pulled back, letting the orgasm fade away. Then he began again.

              Three times he had brought her to the brink, licking and sucking at the sticky sweetness between her legs.

              Finally he took pity on her. She was relatively clean and he was ready to make love to her with his body, and not just his mouth. It just took a few flicks of his tongue against her clitoris and she flew off the bed, her body arching up as she cried out in pleasure.

              He grinned as he plied his tongue to her soft pussy lips, making sure to give her every last bit of pleasure. Then he stood up and started to strip.

              Her eyes were barely open as she watched him. He climbed on top of her and guided his bare cock to her delectable little box.

              "Veronica."

              She stared up at him, clearly floating on a post orgasmic haze.

              "I want this."

              He rubbed the tip of his cock against her, making them both moan.

              "I want to feel you. Without anything between us."

              She inhaled, understanding making her eyes grow wide.

              "Yes."

              He groaned and leaned down to kiss her, while guiding his shaft into her sopping wet slit. Her body hugged him so tightly, her sugar walls undulating against him with post orgasmic after shocks.

              "Oh God Veronica!"

              She was moaning incoherently as he slid deeper inside her until he was seated to the hilt. Gently he started to rock his hips, riding her slow and deep. She was tossing her head now, another orgasm making her thrash beneath him. It was almost too much. But he wanted this to last, so he held perfectly still, letting her pussy massage his bare cock.

              He stared down at the incredible woman underneath him. She was perfect in every way. She'd never bore him. Never make him wonder what she was thinking. She was beautiful but it was so much more than that.

              She was
real.

              He started thrusting again as her orgasm subsided. Harder and faster now. He couldn't last long. Not the first time. Not with the emotions flooding his body and soul.

              "I love you Veronica."

              "Oh!"

              She was cuming again, squeezing his cock so hard it almost hurt. But as she whimpered he'd heard her. He'd heard her softly say.

              "I love you too."

              He unleashed, his cock spurting an endless load deep inside her. He'd never cum so hard in his life. It was even more intense that the last time. He felt sure they'd make a baby. Tonight or very soon.

              He wanted that suddenly more than anything.

              Except her.

              Three more times he took her before they fell into an exhausted slumber. Each time had been different. The second time tender, with whispered words of love. The third time frantic and hard. The fourth time wet and filthy, which was impressive, considering they'd done it in the shower.

              He finally cracked his eyes open around ten AM. He looked around the bedroom but Veronica wasn't there.

              A familiar feeling of dread was settling into his gut as he walked through the suite.

              She was gone.

**********

              Veronica chewed her lip, staring at the front page of the Post. They'd run her article. They'd even run a picture of her in the byline.

              She smiled happily and started walking back toward the hotel. Then she stopped and stared.

              Stockard was in the street.

              In his pajamas.

              He looked angry.

              She gulped and walked toward him. He'd thought she'd run again. She could tell. A feeling of sweet heat filled her. He loved her. He did. The look on his face was proof of that.

              "Hi."

              "Hi."

              "You're wearing your pajamas."

              "You were gone."

              "I just went out to get the paper."

              She held it up.

              "It wasn't easy to find. But look- it's my article!"

              He glanced at the paper and then looked at her searchingly. He didn't believe her.

              "Stockard. I won't run away. I love you, remember?"

              He grinned at her then and picked her up.

              "Where are we going?"

              "Upstairs. To change."

              "Change into what?"

              "Whatever you feel like getting married in."

              "What?"

              She gasped as his hand came down on her ass.

              Hard.

              Then he squeezed.

              "You said you wouldn't run woman. I'm just making it official."