A Father's Fight: Blake and Layla #2 (Fighting #5) (3 page)

Three

Blake

It’s after twelve when I finally drag my ass to the
training center. Once we got the news that Layla’s dilated “at a two, thirty
percent effaced, and cleared for a v-back,” which basically translates into
this baby could come at any time, I fed my woman and dropped her off at home.

She’s still working with Cameron, but now that Eve is there to
take over the majority of her duties, Layla has the option to come in or not,
depending on how she’s feeling. With Axelle in school, I figured this was a
good time for her to have a quiet house and get some much-needed sleep.

As if on cue, a yawn claws its way up my throat. “Damn, who knew
being pregnant would be so exhausting.” I rub my eyes.

Jonah, Rex, and Mason are in various stages of eating or drinking
shakes in the small break room. I rest my head in my hands, elbows propped on
the table to support its weight.

“You think you’re tired now, wait until you’re up every two hours
for feedings with a newborn.” Jonah shakes his head, but can’t hide that damn
fatherly grin he’s been sporting ever since Sadie was born. “You’d be surprised
how quickly you get used to being barfed and pooped on by a tiny person.”

Mason sets down his fork and groans. “Dude, do you mind?” He nods
to his food. “No talk of shit and barf while I’m trying to eat.”

Rex muffles his laughter and takes a huge gulp from his protein
shake, clearly not at all affected by the conversation.

I tilt my head and study Jonah. How can he look so calm? He’s
more of a hothead than I ever was, and yet he’s over there with a grin that
would rival the Dalai Lama: all peace and harmony and not demonstrating even a
sliver of the fear I can’t seem to shake. Of course, he’s not contending with a
threat from the past in the form of a fucking email either.

“You guys know what you’re having yet?” Rex pulls out a chair
from the table, flips it around, and straddles it to prop his forearms on the
back.

“Girl.” It has to be because I can’t raise a boy. The familiar
panic I’ve been pushing down for the last nine months rushes to the surface.

“No kidding? A girl. Congratulations, man. Thought you guys
wanted it to be a surprise.” Jonah shoves a heaping spoonful of yogurt in his
mouth.

“We do. That’s what my gut tells me. We don’t actually know for
sure.” As many times as I’ve tried to convince Layla that we should find out
the sex, mostly so I could prepare, she’s relentless and refuses. She says that
she remembers the look on Jonah’s face when he found out he had a little girl,
and she wants to see the same expression on mine. Shit. I groan and rub my
temples.

“What if it’s a boy?” Rex shrugs, but his gaze is intent on me.

What if? Most likely I’ll fuck the kid up just as my dad did me. I
mean, what if my son ends up lying, being disrespectful, sneaking around, and
doing shit I don’t like . . . just as I did? A cold sweat breaks out over my
skin, and I frantically search for a subject change. “You guys ever heard of a
mucus plug?”

They all respond in some form of negative, and I explain what it
is in graphic detail.

Mason shoves his food a good two feet from him. “You fucking
asshole.” He gags and swallows hard. “Got a fight coming up, and I need to eat
to train, and you drop that kind of crap—” He gags again.

“That’s fuckin’ nasty.” Rex laughs and downs the rest of his
shake without even cringing.

Jonah plays with his yogurt, scooping spoonfuls and watching them
plop back into the container, a look of disgust on his face. “I’m with Mason.”
He turns and tosses the half-eaten container into the trash. “That’s disgusting.”

“Oh, but puke and shit are okay.” I shake my head and push up
from the table. Talking about this crap isn’t making me feel better. If
anything, it only reminds me how unprepared I am for parenthood.

Why can’t they all be as easy as Axelle? Yeah, she’s dealing with
shit, but at least we can talk it out. In a year, she’ll be an adult and off to
college. Easiest parenting gig ever.

“You ready?” I flick the back of Mason’s head while moving past
him to the training center.

I hear something hit the trash, probably his uneaten food. “Yeah,
I’ll take hits from you over this conversation any day.”

~*~

Layla

I roll over and stare at my phone as it vibrates on the
pillow next to me. I had it on the bedside table but got sick of reaching over
to grab it every time it rang. I check the screen again.

Unavailable.

I send it to voicemail and drop it back to the pillow. Whoever
has been calling me over these last couple days hasn’t left a single message,
and it’s starting to creep me out. I considered talking to Blake about it, but
he has enough on his mind as it is. I’m not even sure exactly what it is that
has him acting so funny: not sleeping, spacing out in the middle of a
conversation, and a general moroseness that is far from his normal easy-going
attitude. In an attempt to pinpoint when his mood shifted, I track back week by
week in my head. Christmas? Yeah, I’d say it was sometime around then, but why?

A long sigh falls from my lips, and I roll from my side to my back,
kicking all the covers off and resting my hands on my pregnant belly.

“Sorry, little guy.” I can’t explain why I feel as if the baby is
a boy, but I do. Maybe it’s because Blake’s such a powerful man—I can’t
imagine him producing anything but boys—or maybe it’s wishful thinking.
“No sleep for us.” No matter how tired I am or how long I lie down with my eyes
closed, I’m finding it harder and harder to sleep. I should clean something.
Surely there’s something in the house that needs to be sanitized . . . again.

I suppose I could drag my ass to the training center and do some
busy work for Cameron. If nothing else, I’ll get to hang out with Eve and lose
myself in some effortless girl talk.

“Hey, Mama.” Axelle pops her head in through the bedroom door,
backpack slung over her shoulder.

I throw my legs over the side of the bed and push to sit up. My
lungs crushed from the baby, I take a deep breath from the effort.

Her eyebrows pinch together. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just waking up from a nap. How was school?”

She pushes into the room and drops down on the bed next to me.
“Good. I aced my chem project. Looks like I’ll be graduating and off to college
after all.”

There was some concern after everything happened and Stewart went
to prison; Axelle’s grades dropped dramatically. The school threatened to hold
her back if she couldn’t pull them up, but thankfully she agreed to continue counseling
and got a tutor.

“Proud of you, babe.” I wrap my arms around her and kiss her
temple. “Have you thought about where you want to go?”

She shrugs her backpack off and pulls a brochure out of the front
pouch to hand it to me.

I take in the modern buildings, desert trees, and four bold
letters. “UNLV?” I try to calm my voice even through my excitement.

Her gaze drops and a light pink colors her cheeks. “I want to
stay close, ya know, just in case you need me to help out with the baby.” She
rubs her hand over my swollen belly with an expression of pure love lighting
her bright blue eyes.

“Honey, you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine. I have Blake, Raven,
Eve and—”

“I want to.” Panic flickers behind her eyes before it disappears
and is replaced with worry. “I mean I hope that’s okay with you.”

“Of course it’s okay.” I run my hand through her long hair. “I
just don’t want you to give up any college experiences for babysitting.”

She sighs, her eyes fixed on her baby brother or sister. “I’m
just . . . I’m not ready to go too far yet.”

I get that. I do. She has issues with abandonment for obvious
reasons, and until she feels safe to swan dive from the nest, there’s no way
I’ll push her out. “Good. You can come home for dinner on Sundays, and I’ll do
your laundry.”

“Deal.” She leans in and kisses my belly. “I have a study group
at the library tonight, so I’ll be home late.”

“Okay, I’m going to the training center for a couple hours.”

She walks out of the room, and for the second time today, my
heart feels heavy with warmth. I have a man who loves me, a baby who’ll be here
any day, and a daughter who wants to hang around a little longer.

My phone vibrates again, and being lost in all the feelings
tumbling though my chest, I don’t think to check the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“L-Layla?”

My brows furrow at the unfamiliar male voice. I frequently get
work-related calls from men, but there’s something about the informal way he
says my name that feels personal.

My back goes ramrod straight. “Who’s this?”

“Please, just . . . don’t hang up.” He’s whispering, jittery.

Adrenaline races through my veins, and my hand instinctively goes
to my baby. “Who is this?”

“It was me that night . . . you got pregnant. I—”

I press End and toss the phone from my shaking hand. Whoever
called was there that night?
It was me
that night.
That makes him my rapist.

Oh no! No, no, no, this can’t be happening.

Images from that night eighteen years ago flash through my mind. Whether
they’re actual memories or pieces of my nightmares, I don’t know. My breath
comes quickly, and I squeeze my eyes closed.

Bodies, confusion, they were laughing . . .

My stomach turns violently, and I race to the bathroom sink where
I heave and spit but manage to keep from throwing up. Who the hell was that and
how did he find me?

“I don’t want this. I don’t want this . . . not now.” Not when
everything in my life is finally good. Safe.

I take a deep breath and consider my reflection. Red-rimmed and
watery eyes, pale skin, I swallow down some tap water and rinse my face. I’m
not doing this. I refuse to allow whatever happened that night back into my life.
No, I have control now. Total control. I breathe through the fear, in and out,
until I’m back in command of my body. I’ll be okay.

If I avoid his calls, he’s sure to give up eventually. I have no
desire to relive the night I got pregnant with Axelle, and she’s made it clear
she isn’t interested in her biological father. End of story.

Rejuvenated, even if only a little, I brush my hair and throw on
a pair of leggings, an oversized Henley that says “Rock n’ Roll Stole my Soul,”
and my favorite biker boots. If nothing else, getting out of this house and
around people will help.

I eye my phone on the bed as if it’s a poisonous animal. “Don’t
be such a wimp, Layla.” I grab it and shove it in my purse, vowing to only
answer if I recognize the number and to make sure Blake doesn’t catch wind of
any of this.

I will protect my family, no matter the cost.

Four

Layla

“Here.” Blake hands me two green pills and a glass of
water then drops down beside me on the couch.

We’d just eaten dinner and settled in to watch “Vikings,” which
we’d DVR’d a few nights ago. It’s the only show that we both agree kicks major
ass, even if for completely different reasons. He likes the battle scenes, while
I like watching Ragnar and Rolo do just about anything, preferably shirtless.

“Thanks.” I throw back the pills and chase them down with a few healthy
gulps of water. “You’d think after all this time I’d remember to take them.”

He throws an arm over my shoulder, pulling me to the warmth of
his side. “No need to remember when you got me, Mouse.”

I wrap an arm around his firm middle and press my cheek to his
chest, inhaling his masculine scent like pine trees after a long rain. It
settles within and all around me, and I shove back the upsetting phone call
from earlier. Whatever it is, I’ll ignore it until it goes away.

Blake clicks the remote a few times. The only thing illuminating
the dark room is the soft blue glow of the TV. Judging by last week’s episode,
I expect we’ll start off with blood and bare-chested Vikings from the get-go.
Yay me!

A twinge of arousal tingles between my legs. I expected sex to be
the last thing on my mind when I was this far along in my pregnancy. I
certainly don’t remember being interested when I was pregnant with Axelle. Maybe
the difference is Blake; he certainly throws off enough testosterone. I’ve also
heard that women my age hit their sexual peak, and then there are all the
hormones fighting for dominance and using my body as their battlefield. Funny,
now that I think about it, I’m surprised I haven’t chained Blake to the bed and
used him as my personal sex slave for the last few months.

The visualization of my thoughts comes rushing in unbidden but
oh so
welcome: Blake’s massive arms
above his head, locked to the headboard as they ripple with tension to touch me,
his abs flexing as he pulls at his restraints, and his teeth grinding as I drag
my tongue down his neck. My thighs squeeze together, and I imagine the salty
taste of his skin against my lips, the evidence of my attention to his body
standing proudly and pressing into my hip.

A low moan slides its way up my throat.

“Damn, Mouse . . . they’re not even doing anything but talking
war strategy, and you’re getting yourself all worked up.” Blake adjusts his position
on the couch, making no attempt to hide the bulge between his legs. “Can’t
fucking concentrate when you squirm against me, makin’ that sound.”

I tilt my head back to see the lust I feel reflected in his
expression. “Can’t help it. Something’s wrong with me. I just . . . I’m . . .”
I can’t say it; it’s too embarrassing.

“Horny.” He lays it out so plainly I almost expect him to follow
it up with a “Duh.”

I cringe. That’s such an unattractive word, but I guess it’s the
most accurate. “I think so, yeah.”

Without another word, he hits pause, stands, and scoops me from
the couch in a cradle hold. Even though I’ve gained thirty-five pounds, he
still manages to handle me as if I weigh as much as a feather.

“You sure Axelle’s gone ’til late?” he says with the guttural growl
that drips off each word.

Excitement explodes in my belly, and I nod, absolutely frantic to
get at him. I lean in and run my nose along his neck, taking what I can of him
into my lungs. My tongue darts out to taste the powerful column of his throat. “I’m
sure, but even if she comes home, I’ll be extra quiet.” I nip at his earlobe. A
low groan vibrates his chest, and by some miracle of the pregnancy gods, I feel
it between my legs.

“No way you’ll be able to be quiet with what I’m about to do to
your body.” He places me gently on the bed then turns to shut and lock the
door. When he whirls around back to me, his eyes have taken on a predatory
glare, and his arms and shoulders bunch with feral anticipation. “Doc said no
sex for six weeks after the baby comes. I plan on stocking you up with a lot of
good orgasms before that.”

He reaches behind his head and in one pull has his tee off and
tossed aside. The dim light from the bedside table works to cast his muscles
with dramatic shadows that only seem to make him look bigger, more menacing,
and so fucking sexy. I suck my lip into my mouth to keep from begging him to
hurry. My skin is hot and everything from my waist down throbs. I reach for the
waistband of my yoga pants.

“Ah-ah-ah.” He shakes his head slowly and wags one finger at the
same pace. “I undress you.”

With a flick of his hand, he pops the button on his jeans, and
unzips them just enough to hang low, but not come off. My eyes dart to the deep
vee of his muscles that disappears behind the denim, and I lick my lips to kiss
him there, down lower. Hell, I’d cover every inch of his golden tan skin with
my lips, twice if he’d let me.

One knee on the bed then the other, he moves to me and hooks the
bottom of my sweatshirt. “Arms up.”

I comply and close my eyes as he pulls the fabric up over my head
so that my hair falls against my over sensitized and bare skin.

“Holy hell, woman.”

I blink open at the mix of lust and appreciation I hear in his
voice. His eyes are trained on my breasts, which are now two cup sizes bigger
and braless, the way he likes them. His gaze rakes down over my belly, and a
shiver slides down my spine to pool between my legs.

The lust I saw in his expression earlier dissolves into pure, raw
admiration. “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He leans down, and his huge
hands palm our baby beneath my skin. His lips dance over my belly, randomly
dropping kisses and whispering words meant for only our child. Heat fires my
eyes, and I fight to hold back the emotion that his gentle and reverent touch
brings.

I fork my hands through his short hair, grabbing at strands,
scraping my fingernails along his scalp, and holding him to me so desperately
that I can’t help but wonder if I’m hurting him.

He groans and uses his tongue to trace my belly button, which is
no longer a deep hole, but is now punched out with the pressure of our growing
child.

“Yes . . .” The word falls from my lips as I encourage him to go
lower.

He smiles against me, clearly enjoying the way his attention has
me writhing and wanton.

“It’s not funny.” The pulling ache of my body and the need to be
filled completely by the man I love is painful. Tears spring to my eyes, but
the slick wet feel of his tongue moving lower drowns my urge to cry.

“Always take care of you.” His words are muffled against my skin,
his tongue tracing along the dark line that leads from my belly button to disappear
beneath my panties. He tugs at the elastic of my pants, but doesn’t remove
them, only goes lower until I feel the heat of his mouth exactly where I need
him.

My fists grip the comforter, and I brace my feet against the bed
to lift my hips, pressing into his mouth. He alternates between nipping and
running the flat part of his tongue against the sensitive flesh.

Everything from my heart, my womb, between my legs, all of it throbs
with the thunder of my pulse. I grab at his hair, push him down, press up,
anything, but none of it is enough through my clothes.

A tiny noise, half growl, half whimper, rumbles from my lips
before I give up. He chuckles, that sexy sound that would make a lesser woman
fall to her knees and beg—is that not what I’m doing?

“Easy, Mouse . . . let me play.” He continues his torture, raking
his teeth along my inner thigh until my legs fall wide open. He pushes up to
his knees, his hands gripping the outer part of my thighs, and gazes down at
me. “How you could get more beautiful, I don’t know, and yet you do.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. How can he see me as beautiful now? My
breasts are bigger, but they look like road maps with the blue veins that’ve
appeared with pregnancy, red jagged stretch marks on the sides of my hips
ensure I’ll be self-conscious in a bikini for the rest of my life, and I’m
huge. Not everywhere, but if I give birth to less than a nine-pound baby, I’ll
be shocked.

As if he could read my mind, he dips down and kisses every mark,
pushes up and palms my breasts, dragging his lips from one to the other and
painting them with worshipful kisses. “Nothing sexier than seeing my baby
growing big and strong inside the woman I love.”

Another wave of sadness washes over me, and I want to cry. Stupid
hormones. This is the way it’s supposed to be, and it’s so far from what I had
when I had Axelle. I have to believe that even now our unborn child feels the
love of his or her father and thrives from the warmth of his touch and
comforting voice. Axelle never had that.

God, in what ways could that have affected her? If her biological
father knew he had a daughter, would he be interested in her now? Could he make
up for all she never had?

“Cut that shit out.” The low grumble of Blake’s voice followed by
his firm grip on my thighs calls my eyes. He scowls down at me from his
kneeling position between my legs. “Whatever you’re thinking about, stop.”

“What?” My act at nonchalance is a big fat fail, as his scowl
grows tighter.

“Stay with me, here, not wherever you went in your head.” His
hands move down my thighs and hook the elastic of my pants.

“I’m here, Blake.” The words fall from my lips on a whisper, and
his biceps flex as he lifts my hips to remove my leggings and panties.

His gaze falls to between my legs and a moment of panic overtakes
me. I haven’t been able to actually see what things look like down there, but
gauging from the flare of his eyes, I’d say it’s not as bad as I imagine. He
mumbles something about “dude doctors” that drips in sarcasm, and I stifle the
urge to laugh. Just his eyes alone have my body so heated that I squirm in a
silent plea for his touch.

His eyes move up and lock with mine, so green they look like
fresh grass as they devour me. A tiny tick curls one side of his mouth before
he pushes back to stand, drops his jeans, and kicks them to the side.

I sit up to my elbows and drink in a naked Blake: broad shoulders
that cut into an equally wide chest and tapered abs that flow into the tight
vee that leads to—
wow
. I bite
my lip and push from my elbows to my hands; my mouth waters to taste him. He
sees my hunger, recognizes it for what it is, and steps closer so that his
knees hit the bed. I scoot, hang my legs over the edge straddling his and come
face to face with his hard-on.

“Mmm . . .” I grip him and stroke.

His hands dive into my hair, pulling it back tightly so he can
get a clear view of my lips. “Hell . . . you’re killing me and you haven’t even
started.”

Guiding him to my lips, I drown in the taste of Blake. My hands
move around to his ass, tight and flexed so that the sides indent. I rake my
fingernails across his cheeks and hold him to me.

A tiny tug on my hair and Blake does the moving for me. Swift
grunts and long groans from his lips, I close my eyes and relax my throat. I
don’t have to see to know his abs are tight along with every other muscle in
his towering frame. My body hums with power, the innate feeling of victory over
a man like Blake Daniels as I sense his control waning.

Alternating long glides with short thrusts, he holds me captive
by the hair at my nape, but runs his thumb in long soothing strokes up and down
the side of my throat. “So good, perfect . . .” His words dissolve on a groan
and his grip tightens before he rips himself from my mouth. Breathing heavily,
he scoops one hand under each of my knees. With a gentle yank, I drop to my
back, ass hanging off the edge of the bed, and he guides himself to me.

Before I started showing, he wouldn’t enter me gently. He’d slam
home, and I’d love every breathtaking inch, but, now, he wrangles the last bit
of his control to enter my body in the sweetest and slowest way possible.

His eyes train on our connection. He pulls his lower lip between
his teeth and pushes inside me. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist and
lock behind his back, not because I’ll fall if I don’t, but to ground myself so
he can use his hands freely. Moving with intentional strokes, he glides in and
out while his hands, callused from lifting weights and playing guitar, run
along the backs of my thighs.

“Blake . . .” The sensation of him filling me combined with the
sweet way he’s loving me coils deep in my belly, intensifying every stroke.

“Right here, baby.” His fingers dig into my hips as if to
punctuate his words.

“Kiss me.”

The corner of his mouth lifts ever so slightly, as if his amusement
isn’t able to break through his lust. He leans over me, careful to brace his
weight with his hands on the bed beside my head rather than collapsing on my
body. He lowers himself in a push-up so his lips hover over mine.

I swallow every heated breath as he pants open-mouthed against my
lips. I arch my back, searching for more and begging him to speed up. A slow
shake of his head, side to side, and his lower lip drags against mine. “Ask me
again.”

“Kiss me, please.”

He doesn’t relent, but continues to torture me with his body, the
tentative thrust of his hips and the barely there kiss. “Love you, babe. Love
you so much.”

My heart races with the heat of his words, and my tongue moistens
my lips. His eyes move to my mouth and a low groan claws its way up his throat.

He’s infuriating! Why won’t he just kiss me?

I arch and roll my hips as best I can, using my feet against his
ass as leverage. “Please . . . Snake.”

His body stills, eyes flare, and he crashes his lips against
mine. He swallows my gasp of pleasure and tangles his tongue with mine. We
groan simultaneously, drinking from each other’s mouths, and his pace quickens.