45. JT

CHAPTER 45

JT

“What time are we leaving?” Maggie asks on a yawn.

I kiss her forehead. “Not for a couple hours. The parade starts at four and I told Mickey we’d meet him at the Wolf’s Den around three. You feel like taking a nap?” My girl looks exhausted. I’m not saying that shit out loud, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.

In the two weeks since we won the Frozen Four, life hasn’t slowed down much. And the Nugget has turned nocturnal, which means Maggie’s up most nights getting the crap kicked out of her organs.

“Are you going to nap with me?”

I shouldn’t. I’ve got finals next week and I need to hit the books, but I can’t resist. “Yeah, I mean, what if you need an emergency back rub or something? I should be on stand-by, right?” I ask, peeling back the covers to find Maggie naked.

Jesus.

She bites her lip. “I got too hot.”

“Oh, really? That tank top and those teeny tiny little shorts were too much for you? ”

“They were,” she says with a laugh. “I’m hot and gross and grumpy and my back hurts. Maybe I do need a back rub.”

She plants her palm on the bed and lifts as much as she can while I wedge pillows in around her. “We’re becoming pros at this.”

“Yeah, but in two weeks, I’ll be able to sleep like a normal person.”

Before I can open my mouth, my Cinderella frowns. “I don’t think I’ll ever sleep like a normal person again.”

Instead of answering her, I start rubbing her back. Slow, tight circles stretch into larger, looser ones. I’m doing my best to make her feel good without paying too much attention to the sounds she’s making or the way her tits beg for my mouth when she arches her back. It’s been a week since we’ve had sex-sex, and I’m hard as hell. We got each other off in the shower yesterday morning and even the memory of that has my cock leaking.

Maggie’s gasp has me looking down between us to see a puddle of pre-cum on her back.

“Sorry, I?—”

I can’t even form a sentence, not when she’s reaching for my hand and slipping it in between her thighs.

“You want—” I stammer, needing her words as much as I need her.

“You. I want you. Your fingers, then your cock. I want you to?—”

“Fuck, yes,” I moan, teasing her folds and finding that sexy little knot of nerves. She pushes her ass against me and that’s all the invitation my dick needs. I slide into her, and it feels like fucking heaven. Filling her up feels so damn good. And she’s so responsive that she’s shattering around me after a few thrusts. That’s all it takes for me to follow, and I’m not even embarrassed that I came so damn quick. Maggie feels good and so do I. That’s all that matters. I press a kiss to her shoulder and promise myself I’ll get up in a minute to clean us both up.

An hour later, my stomach growls, forcing me out of bed. I grab a couple protein bars and check the fridge to see if there’s any yogurt left.

“JT?” Maggie’s voice calls out from our room.

“I’m getting a snack. You want yogurt?”

I hear her footsteps, but when I turn to hand her the yogurt cup, the look on her face sends my heart racing. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I peed,” she says. “Except it’s not pee. And I hate germs and on TV it’s like this huge gush of liquid, but mine’s more like a trickle and it can’t be sanitary. And ohmygod I think my water broke.”

Oh...fuck.

Everything happens at lightening speed.

Maggie calls her doctor, and I help her into my basketball shorts and a t-shirt that was surely made for Pete Santos. Ten minutes later, we’re en route to the hospital when I tell my phone to call Mickey.

“Are you running late? Swear to Christ if you’re having sex and we miss the freaking parade they’re throwing us, I will be so pissed at you.”

“Nah, we already had sex,” I say, earning myself a light smack in the arm that’s totally worth it. “But we’re skipping the parade.”

“The fuck you say. They couldn’t score on you. Not once. You can’t skip a parade for a game you fucking dominated. I won’t let you.”

My best friend’s getting a little ragey and I almost feel bad for teasing him. Almost .

“You’re skipping the parade, too, Uncle Mick. Meet us at the hospital. Text me when you get here.”

“Holy fuckballs!” The shrill cry that erupts from my phone has to be louder and higher pitched than any noise my baby will ever make.