Baller's Baby - A Bad Boy Romance

Baller’s Baby

Saylor Bliss

COPYRIGHT 2016 Prism
Heart Press

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or, if an actual
place, are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The
publisher does not have any control and does not assume any responsibility for
author or third-party websites or their content.

DEDICATION

To the only man my
soul listens to, my Husband.

Description

Kiptyn Price is one of a kind. Raised on the
streets of Atlanta, he grew up fast and he grew up hard. When he sees something
he wants, he goes for it with everything he has in him.

National basketball career. Check.

Million dollar contract. Check.

Mansion on the hills in Los Angeles. Check.

Different woman in his bed every night. Duh
that’s a given.

Until he meets Skila.

It seems every decision Skila has made in the
last year has led her farther and farther down the beaten path. When offered
the chance to move away from it all, she jumps at it. Little does she expect
the very day she arrives at her new home she will be landing, quite literally,
in the lap of this towns most eligible bachelor. Not that it matters one bit to
her. She isn’t looking for a man and no amount of sweet southern charm and sexy
muscles will convince her otherwise.

But a deal.

Now that she can’t pass up.

Especially if her career depends on it.

It's settled with a shake of hands that not
even the devil himself can undo.

The question remains to be answered.

Who is going to win this battle of wills.

Kiptyn our sexy as sin playboy basketball star
who’s only goals in life include winning the game and scoring... in the bed.

Or Skila, our sinfully sweet goddess trying to
put the pieces of her life back together?

You decide.

Secretly yours,

Saylor

Chapter
One

Kiptyn

The hot
burn of tequila coats my throat as it makes its fiery way down before settling
in my stomach. I toss two shots down, back to back, earning a fist bump from my
buddy, Chris. It hurts like hell going down, and for a second I think it might
make a reappearance, but I keep it down by sheer force of will. I don’t bother
with the lime and salt, choosing to chase my shots with a sip of Budweiser
instead.

Already,
I feel lighter. My heart beats in tune with the music pounding through the
club, loosening up my muscles and washing away the last of my anxiety over
tonight’s game. It had been a close call. Too close. I don't do close calls.

I
fucking dominate.

Forty-five
seconds left in the last quarter, and we were down by two points. It was my
time to show these penny pushers exactly what they paid me for. As the point
guard for the team, I get all the good shots. It’s a good thing, too, since I’m
pretty sure I'm the only one on the team able to keep my head straight under
pressure and actually hit the shot.

Talent,
pure talent. I was born with it.

The
clock was winding down. Seconds ticked by with each breathy exhale. The crowd
held their breath, hovering on their feet, gripping long since forgotten cups
of stale beer and soda, waiting to see if I could pull it off. They should have
had more faith in me. I'm motherfucking Kiptyn Price. I don’t lose. Ever.

We won
by one point. I didn’t like it, but it was a win. The crowd rushed the court,
cheering at the top of their drunken lungs. We’re going to the playoffs, and if
I have anything to do with it, the Nationals too. I can’t wait. I’ve worked my
ass off to shine on the court this last year, turning a semi-decent team around
and making it sparkle like a diamond in a sea of coal. Now it’s time for the
penny pushers to return the favor. I want to see that cash. Not that I’m not
already making enough to support myself, but I deserve more—way more. I’m
thinking six figures. No way should bench-warmers like Jeremy and Cole make the
same as me.

I won
the game.

Me.

Either
they choose to cough up the dough, or I’ll be gone. Several other teams have
already been knocking at the door, waiting for the chance to snatch me up,
harassing my agent on a daily basis. I’d be gone already if it weren’t for the
fact that the Bolts took a chance on me when no one else would. Coming from the
streets with the bare minimum of an education, all the other teams in the
league saw was a scrappy kid with a bad attitude. Fuck yeah, I had a bad
attitude. You live the life I have and tell me I should shit roses and
rainbows.

Not gonna
happen.

This
life chose me, not the other way around. I just make sure to live it to the
fullest.

Celebration
hour is in full swing, and my teammates, Jordan and Chris, are at the bar
pulling more than just drinks, not that I expect any less from them. Here
lately, we have been making a game of seeing who can score the most pussy in
one night, but after the close win tonight, I’d decided to lie low and only
take two girls home—three if they begged. I just had to figure out who it was
gonna be tonight.

Chris
and Jordan hated the amount of attention I got with the ladies. It drove them
nuts when their girls would leave their laps and crawl into mine, but let’s
face it—if it wasn’t for me, they’d be getting a lot less action. They're my
wingmen on and off the court. On the court, we dominate the ball. Off the
court, we dominate the ladies. I didn’t use to pull women like this. I was more
of a . . . believer before.

I held
out hope that one day, I’d meet my forever and we would grow old together. I
didn’t see the point in spending time with a different woman every night, but
so far, it was the only thing I’d found that could ease the pain I felt, the
ever-consuming grief that wanted to swallow me whole. I tried to fight it off.
I gave it my all. Nothing worked. Well, nothing except the sweet heaven between
a woman’s thighs, and even that only lasted so long. In the morning, I hated
myself even more. That’s where the alcohol came in. With a little help from my
good friend, Jose Cuervo, I’m able to drown out my conscience long enough to
escape from my inner demons.

Tonight
is no exception.

Chris is
pulling two blondes along behind him through the throng of bodies while Jordan
works on convincing another chick at the bar to join him. I have no doubt he
will succeed. He always does. What woman in her right mind wouldn’t want to
spend a night of ecstasy with three of this town’s most eligible bachelors? I
hadn’t found one yet who was willing to pass up the opportunity.

The
brunette on my lap shifts so I have a better view of her ample breasts. I
notice a small heart-shaped tattoo peeking out from under her tight-fitting
tank top. It calls to me, demanding my attention. Pulling her shirt away, I run
my tongue along the skin leading up to it and then circle back around and lower
to take her hardened nipple in my mouth. My teeth graze it lightly as my hand
wanders up her short dress. She’s bare underneath.

My
finger brushes against her wet mound and her back arches, pushing her chest
closer to my face and my waiting mouth. I suck the small pink tit in between my
lips and flick my tongue over it as I slip my finger inside her juicy pussy,
eliciting a loud moan from deep within her. She’s tight, but wet enough that I
slide in and out with ease. I replace one finger with two, and her legs fall
open a little more. Her hips are lifting off my knee, thrusting into my hand as
I pump my fingers into her. Her hands began to wander down my body until she
finds the prize she’s searching for.

My hard
cock twitches as her hand wraps around me through my jeans. I think momentarily
about pulling him out right there and having her suck him dry, but a sexy as
sin goddess stumbling into our VIP section catches my attention. Pulling my
hand from under her dress, I slide my fingers along her lower lip and then,
pulling her head to mine, I suck her lip into my mouth, tasting her sweet pussy
juice before I grab her hands, forcing her to stop trying to pull me free. She
pouts, her lower lip sticking out past her top one. I can’t wait to feel them
wrapped tight around my cock, but not yet.

First,
we play. I slide her off my lap and onto the lush couch in the VIP room.

The sexy
goddess stumbles over the foot of the couch and trips. She wobbles on her feet,
waving her arms in the air like a wind turbine before falling forward, straight
into my lap. I catch her with one arm and twist her around, placing her on my
right thigh. Her silky soft, mile-long legs are clenched tightly between my
own. I run my fingers across her knee and up her thigh to the edge of her short
mini dress. Her arms are still wrapped tightly around my neck, where they
landed when I caught her. Her chest is pressed against my face. She smells like
honeysuckles and sunlight.

I’m
instantly reminded of home and much simpler times—growing up with my brother,
before I signed a contract to play ball and before he joined the Marines, when
we were just young and free boys, running wild through the fields, picking
blackberries and tasting honeysuckles. I wish I could go back to those days,
but even if I go home, it won’t be the same. Not now. Not since Camryn died in a
war I didn’t even agree with. He always had to be a hero. Joining the Marines
was the only logical option, in his opinion. As soon as he turned eighteen, he
signed up and loved it. Being a hero fit him. He’d always be my hero, even if
he only lived on in my memories.

I pull
my head back from the past to the present and kiss across the beauty in my lap’s
collar bone. Her breath catches in her throat. I don’t allow women to wander in
here. We’re pretty selective about who comes and parties with us, but this one
is too delectable to let go. I trail my lips along her throat and up the side
of her neck, stopping at the hollow spot just below her ear. Her hand is tightly
clenching my shoulder now. Her breath is coming faster and faster the more I
kiss her. My hands continue their journey up and down her legs, testing her
willingness.

Chris
makes his way through the wild crowd with his two SFT—sluts for tonight, as he
likes to call them—and judging by the gleam in his eye, I can tell he likes the
look of the babe in my lap too. Hate it for him. She’s mine. The chick in my
lap pushes away from me all of a sudden and attempts to stand. I pull her back
to my lap, unwilling to let her go, but she refuses.

“Stay
with me. We can leave here and go somewhere private.”

“No. I .
. . this isn’t me. I don’t know what just happened. I don’t do this. I just . .
. I thought you reminded me of someone else, and my emotions got the best of
me. I’m so sorry.”

I let
her go. I don’t even know how to respond to that. I reminded her of someone
else, so she almost let me fuck her in the middle of a packed club? Okay, so we
weren’t really close to fucking, but still. Did she not feel shit from my
touch? My kiss?

 
Chris laughs, and he deposits his SFT on the
couch next to my pouting brunette and pulls up a chair directly across from
them. This is a favorite game of ours, and one I usually look forward to very
much, but that chick has me feeling all out of whack.

Chris
passes me another shot, and I slam it back, shaking off my burned pride. It’s
time to see who’s gonna get lucky tonight.

“All right,
ladies. If you want the pleasure of coming home with us tonight, then make the
show worthwhile.”

It only
takes a second for them to understand my meaning, and then another second to
decide how badly they want me to fuck them senseless. The sexy brunette with
the heart-shaped tattoo decides first. I should have figured as much. She had
already gotten a taste of what’s lying between my legs, and clearly, she wants
more of my nine inches.

I’d be
happy to oblige.

My cock
is aching to be buried balls deep inside her tight ass pussy, preferably while
she licks the juices from blondie number one’s pretty pink snatch. Blondie—who
I'll now refer to as B1—looks like she would be fine with that. Her hand is
traveling up her twin’s skirt while her mouth locks onto heart tattoo’s mouth.
My cock twitches against my stomach, ready and willing to have her lips around
him instead.

Nothing
turns me on more than watching two girls go at it—except for maybe watching
three of them tear each other's clothes off. I love to sit back and watch. To
see how each girl is going to react. Some get jealous, some outright refuse—at
first, anyway—and then there are some, like the three tonight, that look to be
down for anything. I wonder if I pull my dick free right now, who would jump at
the chance to sit on it right here, right now?

If I was
placing bets, I’d say B1. She seems like the type—extra slutty and vying for
attention. I think she would get off on it, and by it, I don’t mean my cock.
That’s a given. I mean, she seems like she would love the attention and the
thrill of fucking in a crowded bar. Just my type of gal.

It’s
just about time to take my pick and head to the house. I have big plans for
tonight, and none of them involve sharing with Chris. From the look on his face,
he has the same thought. I hold up two fingers, letting him know my pick while
the three girls across from us strip and lick each other, oblivious to what’s
going on around them. He shrugs his shoulders.

He
doesn’t really care which girl he gets. As long as he’s able to get his dick
wet tonight, he’s happy. I stand, just about to reach out and pull my pick—the
brunette—away, when something across the room catches my eye. I’m searching the
crowd when a loud commotion pulls my attention away from the beautiful women in
front of me and the erotic display of attention they're showing each other. I
glance around, looking for the source, and feel my blood run hot. Fucking
Jordan.

It never
fails. Every time we go out, he always ends up in a fight over something,
usually defending some dumb bitch’s honor. I should have kept a closer eye on
him. Fuck that. I’m no one's babysitter. I arrange my hardened cock so it’s
more comfortable in my jeans before heading into the thick of things.

Jordan
stands tall in the middle of at least another six dudes, all trying their best
to get a piece of him. He swings, getting in a few good hits but taking just as
many. I can’t get to him fast enough. No one attacks one of my teammates. Not
on my watch. I may be a wealthy basketball star now, but I was raised on the
streets of Atlanta. Taking and giving out ass whippings is what I'm good at.

Hell, I
almost look forward to this shit.

Within
minutes, I have two of them knocked out cold on the ground. Blood is rushing in
my ears. I don’t hear the music anymore. I don’t hear anything other than my
own pulse in my ears. My vision is reduced to a tunnel. I see what is directly
in front of me. Four more ass wipes to go. I don’t even know what the hell I'm
fighting for, and I don’t really care.

Another
asshole grabs me from behind. I struggle to pull him away, but his grip is
tight, and then someone hits me across the back of my head. Hard. A cheap shot.
I fall to the ground, disoriented, before their voices cut through the fog in
my mind and I understand what the hell is going on. The cavalry has arrived.
I'm so fucked.