Free Quarterback's Secret Baby (Bad Boy Ballers) by Imani King Page A

being patient, but he wasn't. I felt the same way. It was like there was a war going on inside me between the rational part of my brain: "He's leaving, you're already too into him, what if an accident happens?" and the irrational part of my brain, which was basically unable to think about anything outside of how sweet and perfect his hands felt when he put them on my body...and how pliant and willing his kisses made me feel.
    In the SUV, Kaden clamped his hand to my thigh as soon as I was inside and we were heading out along the old main road, towards the hills. I felt my legs opening slightly, automatically.
    "I love the way you do that," Kaden said, although I hadn't seen him take his eyes off the road.
    "Do what?" I asked, because I wanted to hear him say it even if I was pretty sure I knew what it was.
    "That thing when I touch you. I can feel your muscles relax when I put my hands on you."
    I looked out the window, because if I hadn't looked out of the window I would have unbuckled my seatbelt, crawled across the center console onto Kaden's lap and started kissing him. I thought he'd been talking about the way my legs opened, just a little. But the other thing? The way my body just went all limp and warm when he touched me? He'd noticed that? I could hardly breathe the tension between us was so thick.
    He sped up a little as we sat next to each other, more aware of each other's bodies than either of us had ever been aware of anything before. And when we got up into the hills Kaden took a narrow, washed-out dirt road he hadn't taken before and pulled to a stop on a rocky bluff overlooking Little Falls.
    I got out and stood beside the Suburban looking at the view as an intimation of inevitability floated past on the warm summer breeze.
    "Your hair looks good like that."
    "Huh?" I turned towards Kaden, snapping out of my own thoughts. His own hair was freshly shorn and damn if it didn't make his broad, square-jawed face look even hotter than usual. "My hair?"
    "Yeah," he said, pulling a blanket out of the back seat. "You always have it up - I like it all flying around like that."
    'Flying around.' Ha, that was cute. The truth was, I hadn't even remembered to do anything with my hair after washing it - it was down and not styled and I don't think Kaden had ever seen it like that before. I eyed the blanket in his arms and couldn't help making a jokey comment.
    "Am I that much of a sure thing?"
    "What?" He asked.
    "The blanket - just how confident are you, Kaden Barlow? What if I'm not done torturing you yet?"
    He turned around suddenly and put his arm around my waist, pulling me, hard, against his body. Then he leaned down and kissed my neck, just below my earlobe.
    "And what if I'm not done torturing you yet, Natasha Greeley? I brought the blanket because the ground is wet up here sometimes. But-" Kaden turned his head towards me and kissed the corner of my mouth - "I'm open to other ideas if you have any."
    I couldn't help turning to him, seeking out his lips with mine. Within seconds we were wrapped around each other. Everything about Kaden's body drove me crazy. He was so big - so tall and solid and warm and alive. All I wanted to feel was him against me. He was hard, too. I was no longer so bashful around Kaden's hard cock. I'd even touched it a few times, mostly through his sweatpants. I liked the way his eyes closed and his mouth opened when I did it. But there was a part of me that was still jumpy, still unsure. For one thing, it was so damn big. At least it felt big. I didn't have any experience with penises. I'd even talked about it with Lena and Maisie, both of whom had confirmed that if it felt big in a guy's pants, then it was probably big out of them.
    Kaden spread the blanket on the ground and lay down, shielding his eyes as he grinned up at me. "You just going to stand there all afternoon?"
    I was definitely not going to stand there all afternoon. But I sensed, after weeks of holding back, of stopping myself