"It's not what I expected." I grin when her questioning eyes find mine. "But it's perfect."
"Good." She licks her lips and sets her bottle of beer on the small round table that's covered in drawings; the tattoo artists must use it to practice on. "I did something today that I hope you approve of. I probably should have asked you first."
"Asked me first?" There aren't too many things that fall into Bristol's ask Grip first category. "What'd you do?"
"I removed my birth control." She twists her lips, unaware of the freak-out she just set off with her words. "Well, technically my doctor did. It was really simple. She just-"
"Whoa." I carefully set my beer beside hers. "Back up. You said you-"
"Removed my birth control, yeah." She peeks at me from under her lashes. "Is that okay? You said whenever I was ready-"
"We could start trying, yeah." A foot-long grin stretches between my cheeks. "So you're . . . are you saying you're-"
"Ready to have a baby, yes." She worries the corner of her mouth with her teeth. "Your baby, yeah."
Being married to Bristol has made the last year of my life the best. To think of us adding children to this . . . so many emotions rocket through me. A girl, a boy-could be both. Bristol's a twin, and her father and her Uncle Grady are twins.
"We could have twins!" The words fly from my mouth before I think better of it, and I can tell it hadn't occurred to Bristol, though I don't know how that's possible.
"Two?" Her eyes stretch. "At one time?"
"Your father's a twin. You're a twin," I remind her gently. "If your mom, who has the maternal instincts of a barracuda, can do it, I'm sure you'd be fine."
"Oh, God." Her dazed eyes fixate on the table. "Two."
She snatches her bottle from the table, tipping it back until the last drop is gone. Without missing a beat, she grabs mine and does the same. Before she starts raiding Matty's small refrigerator for cheap liquor, I decide to stop her.
"Baby, come here."
I hold my arms out and wait for her to settle on my lap. The mere thought of Bristol having my baby has me horny as hell, so when she squirms to get comfortable in my lap, I'm anything but comfortable as my dick swells into the curve of her ass. I had the best intentions when I asked her to come to me. I wanted to soothe her fears, wanted to reassure her that whatever we have, however many kids we have, we'll be fine.
But damn.
Now with her in my lap and her scent surrounding me and the satiny skin of her throat silently begging to be licked and bitten, reassuring her is the furthest thing from my mind.
I just want to fuck her.
"We have a couple of options," I mutter into the sweet-smelling curve of her neck.
"What are they?" she asks breathlessly, tipping her head back so I can take more of her skin into my mouth. "These options, what are they?"
"I can lock that door, and we can hope no one needs to come back here to microwave a Hot Pocket."
She pants against my lips, turning so she's facing me, her thighs splayed over mine while she grinds her wet heat into me.
"And the other options?" She feathers kisses over my cheeks and plunges her tongue into my ear.
Holy hell. I'll come in my pants like a pubescent boy if she does that shit again-and that's a promise, not a threat.
"We can go in the alley, or maybe even the bathroom, but folks use the bathroom a lot around here." My voice is so husky it's scraping the bottom octave. "What we're not gonna do is wait till we get home, because I can't."
Our eyes tangle, an electric charge in the air, breaths getting heavier the longer we feel each other, smell each other.
"Alley," she rasps, standing and practically running toward the back exit.
"You sure?" I ask like she has a choice now, but my hand is already at my belt. I'm already calculating how much time we probably have before someone invades our quiet alley. In my head, I'm already doing a stellar job of fucking her against that brick wall.
Small mercies, she's wearing a dress. With our eyes locked, she raises it over her thighs to show me her panties, and with slow, steady movements, she eases them over her hips and down her legs. They encircle her shoes in delicate lace and silk. She widens her stance a few inches and reaches back under the dress. I can see her hand moving at the juncture of her thighs and her eyes are still fixed on me, though they start going hazy with the pleasure of her own fingers.
"Did I tell you to touch yourself?" I ask, trailing kisses down her neck, pushing aside the collar of her dress with my chin, sucking the skin tattooed with Neruda into my mouth to make sure she is as sweet as she was this morning.
Just as sweet.
"You didn't want me to get started without you?" Her fingers slide up and down her slit under the silky material.
"Oh, you can get started." I slide to my knees. "As long as you know I'm the one finishing you off."
I duck under her dress and, as gently as I can with a dozen horses galloping through my veins, push her hand aside. Get that shit outta here. Not tonight. When she comes tonight, the first time we make love without a net, it'll be all me. As hot as it is to watch my wife touch herself, I'm holding myself personally responsible for all her orgasms tonight, kind of like a designated driver, except I'm already drunk on the smell of her and the liquid desire pouring from her pussy while I eat her out in this dark alley. The possibility of discovery heightens every second, like there's barely time to suck her clit. Barely time to get three fingers inside of her. Barely time to pull these lips into my mouth, except I do take my time. I'm thorough with this, and it's time well spent when her thighs tremble around my cheeks. She forces my mouth deeper into the V of her body, an act of pure desperation, primal instinct compelling her fingers into my scalp. She thrusts frantically against my face.
I love the scream that rips from her throat as she gushes into my mouth, and I don't even try to stifle the sound. Anyone who comes back here is getting an eyeful and an education. She starts sliding down the wall, her legs giving out, but I bracket her slim waist with my hands.
"Not yet, baby." I trap her against the wall with one hand and fumble to get my pants undone with the other. Her eyes are cloudy and sated, but when I jerk her legs up and around my back, she blinks and lust filters back into her stare. I thrust up, deep and hard and sudden, making her breath hitch.
"Grip." She squeezes her eyes closed, her face wreathed in pleasure. "I do need to walk tomorrow."
"Yeah?" I press into her, holding her hostage between my body and the brick wall. "Well you should have married some other guy if you need to go around walking all the time."
"Marry some other guy?" She breathes through a smile. "Never."
I surge into her again and again and again, relishing the startled sound she makes, like she had no idea I could tunnel deeper into her body than the last time, but I keep making a way. She hooks her arm around my neck for leverage, taking my lips between hers and biting hard enough to sting.
Tension stiffens my back and legs, seethes in my balls as I get closer. Every time I thrust in, those slick walls cling to me, like they don't want to let me go. Tight and perfect, even Bristol's pussy is possessive, holding on to me, reminding me who I belong to.
"Grip," she slurs, drunk on our love, like a shot of moonshine, wild and potent. "Oh, God."
And then it happens. She goes first, her body clenching and shuddering. Her head drops back against the wall and her eyes slide closed on pure passion. I'm next, and it doesn't even feel real. Every day is a fantasy with this girl, not just the sex-though . . . dayuuuum, the fucking sex.
But it's more than that. It's the depth of this feeling, not just when our bodies lock together, but with every glance, every touch, with the things we tell each other without saying a word. It's life with her. I'll never get enough of the emotion careening through my heart right now. I link our hands, pressing them into the wall so I can see the calligraphy tattooed into my ring finger.
When I make love to Bristol knowing that someday soon, she'll have my child, the vow I spoke to her a year ago today echoes through my mind just as surely as it's inked into my flesh.
Always.
Evermore.
Even after.
Still.
29
Bristol
I'm having a bad day and Grip is making it worse.
"Would you just sign the contract?" I pop an ibuprofen for the headache from hell vising my temples.
"Nope," he answers calmly, eyes fixed on the gigantic television. "I told you I don't like those dates."
With the remote aimed at the television, he flips through several channels, all of which start with ESPN. ESPN 2, ESPN News, ESPN Classic-how many ESPNs do we need? He's the picture of relaxation, feet up on the table, and that only serves to agitate the bee in my proverbial bonnet. I've been working all day for him, setting up show dates, speaking with college administrators about the Contagious tour he and Iz launch in a few months, finalizing a new headphones endorsement deal-and that's just today, and that's just him. There's also my list for Kai, Luke, Rhyson, and Jimmi, getting things set up for Kilimanjaro's release. It's a shit ton, and I'm only asking him to do this one little thing.