Chapter 18

BRIGGS

“C’mon buddy,” I whispered, rubbing Jerome’s back while he burrowed into my bare chest, his little mouth searching for a nipple.

He’d never had a breast in his mouth, so I didn’t understand his obsession. I guess it’s something all babies are programmed to do.

“Maybe this will help,” my mother whispered, handing me a bottle.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re doing a great job, Briggs.”

“Am I really?”

“You’re up at three in the morning, caring for your child when you have two nannies.”

“I can’t expect them to do everything. They’re entitled to a break.”

“I wish we could stay longer,” she sighed, brushing her fingers over Jerome’s head while he sucked away on his bottle, grunting like a little pig.

“You can stay as long as you want, Mom.”

“No, I can’t. Our life is in Vancouver. And yours is here. You need your house back to yourself, so you can figure out how to navigate this next chapter in your life.”

“I always figured I’d coach after I retired.”

“Do you still want to do that?”

“No. I want to be here for my kids. I don’t want them raised by nannies while I’m on the road nine months of the year.”

“You could coach kids.”

“Yeah. I might look into that.”

“Are you going to stay up here all winter?”

I set the empty bottle on the coffee table and lifted Jerome onto my shoulder to burp him. “I think so. The condo isn’t a place to raise three boys.”

“Can I ask you something, son?”

Jerome let out a deafening belch. “Good job, buddy,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his bald head.

“Are you sure you want to get involved with a girl that young?”

“Mom,” I warned.

“Layla is a sweetheart. I would hate to see her get hurt.”

“I’m not an asshole, Mom.”

“I never said you were.”

“Do you think I’m crazy to get involved with a twenty-year-old?”

“She seems mature for her age,” she said. “But I don’t think she has done much living or sowed her wild oats, so to speak.”

“You think she’ll get bored with me?”

“I have no idea.”

“She’s different. I’ve never met a girl like her before.”

“Sweet and innocent?”

“Yeah,” I chuckled. “She’s about as far from a puck bunny as you can get. That’s for damn sure.”

“How is she even related to ~that~ woman?”

“Apparently, they’re only half-sisters. And there’s a big age difference. But they came from the same mother. From the little she’s said about her mother, I gather she wasn’t the best. Layla’s childhood was rough.”

“Poor thing,” she sighed. “I’m amazed she turned out the way she did, being raised in that type of environment.”

“Me too. I saw where she was living. She’s never going back to that life.” I glanced up to find my mother staring at me with a knowing look. “What?”

“Nothing,” she sniggered. “Give me my grandson. I’ll take him up to bed.”

***

“You need to take this girl to Vegas,” Sophia declared, pushing her chair back from the table.

Vlad muttered something in Russian, storming off in a huff.

“I can’t believe you hustled us,” I said, shaking my head as I watched Layla count her winnings. “Where did you learn to play poker like that?”

“It was just beginner’s luck, I guess.” She shrugged and stood up, gathering glasses from the table before she scurried off to the kitchen.

“Bullshit,” I laughed, following behind her.

“Punish her good!” Bonnie yelled.

I watched her rinse the glasses and load them in the dishwasher. Her ass looked good in jeans. ~Armani~ jeans that cost eight hundred bucks.

Layla was hot, regardless of what she was wearing. But I liked providing her with nice things. I wanted to give her everything.

There were so many reasons why this was wrong, but I couldn’t stop myself from wanting her.

I stalked across the kitchen, grabbing a handful of sexy ass while I buried my nose in her hair. Layla’s coconut shampoo was one of her few indulgences.

I had been shocked when I saw the price printed of her shampoo, having sneaked a peek in her shower.

Eleven bucks were a chump change to most of the women I knew, but it would’ve been a lot of money for Layla to spend when she was barely getting by.

“You never answered my question,” I whispered.

“What question?”

“Where did you learn to play poker?”

“Tonight was my first time.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I swear.”

“Vlad thinks you hustled us.”

“Is that why he was upset?”

“Nah. He just doesn’t like losing.”

“Nobody ~likes~ to lose, Briggs.”

“True.” I spun her around and lifted her onto the counter. “But hustlers should be punished.”

“I didn’t hustle you guys.”

I pushed her knees apart, settling myself between her sexy thighs while I slipped my fingers under the hem of her sweater.

She gasped, her breath catching in her throat when I rubbed my hard cock against her pussy.

“Do you know how badly I want you?” I whispered.

She nodded. “I can feel it.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“Good, ’cause I don’t wanna stop.” I kissed her neck up to her ear, capturing her tasty lobe between my teeth. “I wanna be inside you so bad, sweetheart.”

Her thighs trembled against my hips, tiny whimpers falling from her lips while we rocked together. I glided my fingers up her ribs, stroking her nipple through the lace on her bra.

“I’m gonna make you come so many times, you’ll forget your own name. And then I’m gonna make sweet love to you, all night long.”

“I’d like that,” she whispered. “Very much.”

“Really?” I lifted my head, gazing deep into her bewitching eyes.

She stared back, a mixture of fear and heat swirling around in those deep pools of chocolate. “Yes. I want you to be my first. I’m just really nervous.”

“There’s no hurry, baby.” I kissed the tip of her nose and lifted her down from the counter. “But I want some uninterrupted time alone with you.”

“How are we going to get that?” she sighed, glancing toward the stairs at the sound of footsteps coming down.

“We’re going on a date tomorrow,” I announced, an idea forming in my head.

“Where?” she laughed. “You said the paparazzi are lurking around.”

“On my boat.”

“What am I supposed to tell Mary?”

“That you’re going out with Mr. Westinghouse for the day,” Mary suggested, approaching.

“Mary, how many times have I asked you to call me Briggs?” I sighed. “The rest of my staff do.”

“I prefer formality,” she said. “You kids go ahead. Between the grandmothers and the aunts, and Sonya, I think the boys will be just fine.”

Layla began taking bottles out of the sterilizer, lining them up on the counter while Mary mixed the formula.

I stood by the island, observing my boys’ nannies complete their nightly routine to ensure my sons had enough bottles to last until morning. Or was I watching the nanny and my girlfriend? The lines were becoming blurred.

I probably should’ve left, maintained professional boundaries. But my brain wasn’t always in control of my actions when it came to the young nanny; my cock had a lot of influence. And it wasn’t the only organ driving my decisions.

The perennial pulse in my chest was getting more involved with every passing day.

I went around the island and pulled Layla into my arms. She gasped, her body going rigid when I leaned in to kiss her. I kept it brief and respectable. She softened in my arms, her lips accepting my gentle caresses.

“I’ll see you in the morning, beautiful,” I whispered.

“Good night, Mr. Westinghouse,” Mary said, the smile hovering on her lips belying her stern tone.