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“Probably.” I lift her hips until she’s on her tiptoes and drive into her again and again until she creams all over me. I lift her up like a ragdoll and take a seat.
“I can’t,” she says, but her body is telling me a different story. I lean back and pull her down on top of me.
“Ride me, baby.”
She plants her hands on my chest and squirms into place. Knees hooked over the arms of the chair, she begins to lever herself up and down over my rigid shaft. I help her with the motion, my hands on her ass lifting and lowering her until she’s stuffed full of me, and when she launches into orbit and shudders and shakes all over my cock, I sit up and hammer into her until I come, spending every last ounce of me inside of her.
I collapse on the chair and take her with me.
“Good thing this thing is bolted to the floor,” she murmurs tiredly against my chest.
“The guy who wrote the code must have a hairdresser wife.”
She giggles at the thought. “I don’t want to get up. Let’s just sleep here.”
“Good for me.” I hold her close. I’m down to do whatever she wants, wherever she wants. There’s nothing better in this world than holding her, than loving her. This is all I’ve ever wanted.
“Five. Four.” I mouth the numbers along with the ump. “Three. Two. One!” I scream the last one and throw my hands in the air.
A stranger next to me grabs my upper arms. We jump together. He leans in as if to give me a congratulatory kiss but is hauled backward immediately. I grin at my husband, who hasreplaced the stranger, and launch myself into his arms instead. He catches me and half carries me over to the ring.
“Mick! Mick!” I call out. In the center of the ring, with his right arm raised high, my brother beams like a lighthouse. He gestures for us to come up, and that’s the last I see of him before his team descends on him with shouts of joy.
Griff lifts me up, but I shake my head. “Let him have his moment.”
The cameras are in his face, a couple of the ring girls are pressed up against him. Fans that have slipped by security dive under the ropes. Everyone wants a piece of Mick Murphy, the newest boxing champion.
“You’re going to need a new manager at the gym.”
Griff laughs. “Maybe two new ones after this. Mick’s win is going to mean the gym will be overrun with newbies.”
“Watch him say he’s going to keep managing because it helps him be focused.” The little one kicks in agreement. I rub a hand over my belly. Mick only knows one speed these days.
Griff looks immediately concerned. “Let’s get out of here. It’s too loud. The little one should be sleeping.”
“The only time the little one sleeps is when I’m moving. I need her to start sleeping when I’m sleeping. Instead, she thinks it’s playtime.”
“Terrible.” But he doesn’t mean it because he loves when we’re lying on the bed and the baby is kicking and turning. It’s his favorite time.
“Liar.”
He gives me a penitent smile and then directs me toward the tunnels away from the crowd. The locker room is already full of press and partiers. Champagne is popped. On a rickety table, a cake is uncovered. It will probably be on the floor before Mick even arrives.
The number of women in here is unreal, and very few of them are wearing much more than two napkins stitched together. Griff doesn’t notice any of them. He’s too concerned about making sure no one comes within five feet of me. The baby needs a buffer zone, he once said.
“Watch it,” he warns in a dark tone when a reporter backs into that invisible buffer zone.
The reporter turns to mouth off, but when he clocks Griff’s size and menacing face, he moves away immediately.
“The training you’ve been doing with Mick is paying off,” I joke. The little one kicks in agreement. A small groan of discomfort escapes my lips. Griff whips around.
“What’s wrong? Is it the baby? I’ll get Doc. Where’s the damned doc?”
“Stop.” I hold up a hand. “She’s just active. Mick’s probably close. She always gets excited when he’s around.”
Sure enough, Mick appears in the doorway a moment later. Cheers erupt at the sight of him. He scans the room until his eyes land on us. He rushes by the well-wishers, the press, the women who want a piece of him, and picks me up. “I won, Lolo, I won.”
“You did! I’m so proud of you.”
