Sweet Spot for Victoria (Men of Baseball Book 4) Read online

  “Tell me what’s up with you, hermosa,” I urge. She shivers in my arms but doesn’t say anything.

  I need to fuckin’ know what is wrong with my wife but she won’t tell me. She won’t let me in and its killing me.

  “Nothing,” she mutters. I know with just one word that she’s not going to tell me shit; at least not right now.

  I release my hold on her and walk outside with the paperwork for this weekend’s activities. I’ll let her stew, do whatever she does, while I stay away. She’ll come to me when she’s ready. I just hope it’s not too late for whatever her issue is.

  I start scanning the paperwork and then my eyes bug out of my head, my heart racing as I read over the numbers three times. Ninety-five fucking dollars, per room, for a plate of fuckin’ cookies.

  That’s three hundred and eighty dollars in goddamned motherfucking cookies.

  I walk back into the room, seeing red. Four hundred bucks in fucking cookies. What a goddamned joke. This woman is going to give me a fucking heart attack pulling shit like this.

  I wait until she walks out of the bathroom. She’s dressed in a pair of tight as fuck yoga pants and a loose fitting v-neck shirt. She looks spectacular, but I can’t think about my dick right now, I’m too busy thinking about my wallet and cookies. Fucking cookies.

  “Vic,” I yell. She looks up at me, obviously startled as her mouth drops open into a perfect O shape.

  “Los,” she counters with a smirk. I take a step forward and shove the cookie bill into her chest. She grasps the paper, confused, and looks at it — still confused.

  “See anything that looks off there, hermosa?” Her brows pinch together at my question and instead of saying anything, she just shrugs one of her shoulders.

  “Cookies, Vic, fucking four hundred dollars in goddamned fucking cookies,” I scream as she takes a step back, obviously surprised by my reaction—though, I’m not sure why.

  Did she think that I wouldn’t mind paying four hundred dollars for cookies?

  “They’re gourmet, Carlos, they aren’t from Wal-Mart,” she defends. I shake my head.

  “Those fuckin’ cookies better suck me and fuck me for four hundred dollar, Vic,” I state, my eyes penetrating hers. I watch in complete shock as her bottom lip trembles and tears form in her pretty amber eyes.

  My Victoria has done a lot of shit over our fourteen year marriage, but one thing she has never done is pull the tears. She’s never needed to pretend to cry. We fight and we fuck, we have fun with it and we’re passionate, but crying? Never.

  I feel like shit as the first tear falls. Maybe I’ve gone too far.

  “Come over here,” I order. She shakes her head, a few more tears escaping her pretty eyes.

  “Babe, here,” I bark and watch her shuffle closer to me.

  I wrap my arms around her and pull her into me. I feel her forehead hit my chest as her shoulders shake. Running my hand up and down her back, I exhale and try, again, to get her to tell me what in the exact fuck is going on with her.

  “Tell me.”

  “I will, just – not – now,” she hiccups. I hate seeing her so upset. I’m not used to it, she’s not generally super emotional.

  I feel useless.

  She needs me but I don’t know how to comfort her.

  I don’t know how to fix what’s wrong.

  She won’t talk to me.

  She won’t tell me.

  “Hermosa, whatever it is, you have to tell me so that we can face it and fix it – together,” I murmur against her soft as silk hair.

  “There is no fixing it, Los,” she whispers with tears shining in her eyes.

  It absolutely kills me. To see her so vulnerable, so fucking sad, and not her normal happy, bitchy, self.

  I should tell him—right here, right now.

  I should just tell him that we’re about to add two more tiny lives to our family; that we’re going to have to get a different apartment because we will certainly outgrow ours in a matter of months. I hesitate, though.

  Carlos is frugal and the cookies are case-in-point. He doesn’t like to spend money he doesn’t have to. We live fairly conservatively and he saves as much as he can, investing it for our future. Investing it in case he is forced to retire early due to an injury.

  One baby, he could deal and we could stay in our apartment, but two more? No way in hell could we stay where we are. My stomach rolls at the thought of having to inform my conservatively, frugal husband that we are going to have to get a new place, possibly a new vehicle, and buy two of everything until the day we die.

  I can’t do it. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

  Maybe I’ll just let him discover it in the hospital — like, hey, how’d we get that extra baby?

  That fucker came out of nowhere.

  It could work, right?

  I cry for a moment, feeling sorry for myself as I let my husband hold me. He’s worried, seriously stressed out, and I hate myself for not telling him exactly what’s happening to me. One more day. I have to tell him tomorrow, maybe at dinner. I inhale deeply before I push off of him and start to pull myself together for the relaxing couples yoga class I planned.

  I slide my feet into my favorite pair of flip flops, or as my mom would call them, chanclas, turning around to motion Carlos to follow me. He’s looking at me, staring at me, his gaze penetrating and downright frightening. I feel drawn to him. I want to tell him so badly, but something holds me back from spilling my secret.

  “Come on,” I call. He shakes his head before quickly changing into a pair of athletic shorts and a clean tank.

  “You’re going to have to tell me, carino, and I would appreciate sooner rather than later at this point,” he states, slipping past me through the open door. I have no other choice but to follow him toward the reception area of the Inn.

  Maggie and Jackson are curled up on a chair, whispering to each other, their foreheads pressed together and sweet smiles on their lips. Amalie is sitting on Jarrod’s knee and I notice his hand is dipped deep into her leggings, wrapped around the flesh of her abundant ass. Libby’s front is pressed against Pete’s chest, his hands wrapped around her waist as his lips look as though they are devouring her neck. Carlos and I are the only ones irritated with each other and it’s all my fault. Two hours into this trip and I’m already fucking it up.

  The yoga instructor appears and, of course, it’s some perfect, little, young, hot body.

  I should have requested a male instructor.

  We spend the next hour twisting ourselves into pretzels and it seems the only person truly enjoying themselves in Libby. She’s upward and downward dogging like a pro while I look a hot freaking mess.

  Oh, and the instructor is obviously enjoying herself, a little too much for my liking. She keeps going to the men and “helping” them into their poses. I’m about to break her fingers if she touches my man one more freaking time.

  “No, Carlos, you need to pull this hip backward and push this hip forward,” she instructs, wrapping her bony fingers around my man’s hips to readjust him.

  That’s it.

  I’m done.

  This little bitch.

  I twist myself out of the stupid as shit pose she’s put me in and march over to them, crossing my hands just under my breasts, pushing them up. Let this itty bitty titty bitch gawk. Carlos’ eyes dance with amusement as he zeroes in on my cleavage. I roll my own at his focus.

  “Hands off,” I grind out as the little girl stands up and gives me her best doe-eyed look.

  Bitch.

  I invented that innocent shit when I was fourteen, it doesn’t work on me.

  “Is everything okay?” she asks, batting her lashes at me.

  “It would be better if little bitches could keep their hands to themselves,” I say, motioning to her fingers still wrapped around Carlos’ hips.

  “I’m just helping him, ma’am. I don’t want these men to become injured while in my care,” she says, using a little girl
voice.

  I hate that shit.

  “Bullshit,” I huff. Her eyes widen in surprise, as if I wouldn’t call her out.

  “Excuse me,” she says, feigning shock.

  “I said bullshit. You know who they are and you’re trying to cop a feel. I hate sneaky bitches like you. Take your ass outta here before I call your boss,” I bark just as I feel Libby wrap her hand around my bicep.

  “I would never! I’m a professional,” she cries, overly offended.

  I roll my eyes and look over to Libby who is trying to suppress her laughter.

  “Yeah, professional slut. Get the fuck out of here,” I practically growl. She crosses her arms over her chest, turning to Carlos like that asshole is going to save her or some shit.

  “You better go,” Carlos mutters. She turns with a little huff and sways her bony ass as she walks out of the yoga room. It’s quiet until the door closes and then all the men burst into ranunculus laughter.

  The assholes.

  “You bunch of dirty perverts,” Libby scolds, narrowing her eyes on Pete who just shrugs.

  “You said yourself, Libby baby, I’m a dirty old man. Ain’t nothin’ changin’ that,” he says. Libby doesn’t say anything, rolling her eyes instead.

  “All right, hour break and then its sauna time,” Amalie calls out, trying to diffuse the situation.

  I narrow my eyes on Carlos, who doesn’t seem worried at all about being alone with me for the next hour – he should be fucking terrified.

  “Shit yeah, sauna time with my favorite blonde in a bikini,” he cries out.

  I narrow my eyes even more at him, this pendejo — asshole. He throws me a wink and a smile in an effort to show me he’s only joking, but right now, I’m not finding him funny.

  “You better keep your fuckin’ mouth shut,” Jarrod growls, pointing a finger at Carlos. I just smirk at the ass.

  We split up and I don’t take a breath until we are locked inside of our room. I don’t change into my bikini or even attempt to change out of my yoga clothes. This weekend is already turning out to be a disaster and me keeping this huge secret from Carlos isn’t helping. I feel like my emotions are all over the place.

  I’m pissed, irritated, irrational and scared—so scared.

  Carlos can’t help calm the emotions swirling inside of me because I haven’t told him the truth.

  “Take your fucking clothes off, mi amor,” he instructs.

  I turn around to face him. He has his shirt and shorts off and is standing in the middle of the room in nothing but a pair of skin tight boxer briefs.

  “Los,” I sigh, but he shakes his head.

  “Don’t talk. Unless you’re going to tell me what’s wrong with you, I don’t want to hear it. I want you to take off that shit you’re wearing and sink to your knees,” he commands.

  I narrow my eyes and yank the shirt off before peeling out of my sports bra and then ridding myself of my yoga pants and my panties. I stomp over to him and sink to my knees, begrudgingly.

  “Suck my cock,” he grinds out through his tense jaw.

  I hook my fingers in his boxer briefs and yank them down his legs, uncaring if I hurt his precious cock in my haste.

  “Vic,” he warns. I roll my eyes before I peer up at him through my lashes.

  “Suck me, hermosa,” he murmurs, cupping my cheek with his palm.

  His eyes are so soft, so gentle, and focused solely on me. I want to tell him the truth, spill it all, but I’m too scared. So instead, I open my mouth and suck him deep.

  “So perfect,” he mutters, his eyes still focused on mine. Nothing else exists in the world except for us in this moment.

  I swirl my tongue around the tip of his cock, before flattening it and taking him down my throat again. I slowly pull my mouth up and bob back down, taking him in before his hand moves slightly from my cheek to the back of my head, his fingers tightening in my hair.

  A silent command.

  I know his signs well enough to do as he wishes. I place my hands behind my back and open my mouth as wide as I can. Carlos glides out of my mouth before he plunges back inside, choking me perfectly. My eyes don’t stray from his and his are intently focused on his cock, slipping between my lips and down my throat. I can feel him grow larger before he stops, pulling out of me, his eyes finding mine. With a lift of his chin, I stand and walk over to the bed.

  Carlos wraps his hands around my waist before I crawl on top of the bed. He places a flat palm between my shoulder blades and gently pushes my chest down, my ass in the air and waiting. His fingers find my clit and he swirls around before dipping two fingers deep inside of me. I moan when he begins to pump them in and out. I push my hips, arching my back, needing more.

  I gasp when his fingers are replaced with his cock and both of his hands grasp my hips, roughly. My fingers tangle and tighten in the bedspread as Carlos uses my hips to guide my body how he wants it.

  Fast and hard.

  My breath comes out in pants. I am unable to say anything, not even a moan can escape my lips.

  Carlos’ palm gently glides up my spine before it twists in my hair and then he yanks my head back and a groan is forced from my lips by the change in my position.

  “Fuck, Vic, your pussy is always so good. So tight. So wet. So fucking sweet,” he mumbles behind me, his hips moving erratically, causing a shiver to run through me and goosebumps to break out over my heated skin.

  “Fuck me harder, Los,” I moan.

  His grip painfully digs into my hip and his fingers on his other hand tighten even more in my hair, pulling me back an inch more. If he let go of me I’d fall, the only thing holding me up is him. I am his to do with as he wishes, to mold and manipulate, to please — I love it.

  “You going to come for me, morenita?” he asks.

  I shake my head slightly as he thrusts hard, so damn hard, inside of me. I’ll probably have trouble walking later, but I don’t care; at least not right now.

  “Touch that pretty clit, hermosa, I need to feel you come, Vic,” he mutters as he continues to roughly pound inside of my body.

  I snake my hand down between my body and the mattress and start to rub firm circles against my clit. My legs start to shake as I climb higher toward my release.

  “Fuck me, Carlos,” I scream.

  Carlos grunts behind me, his hips slamming into my ass. I cry out with my release as it begins. I don’t stop touching my clit, drawing out the climax as he continues plunging deep and hard inside of me.

  “Fuck,” Carlos curses before he stills and empties inside of me.

  Slowly, he releases my hair as he gently guides my upper body back onto the mattress. His chest rests against my sweat soaked back, his cock still deep inside of me. His fingers gently stroke my hip where he kept a tight hold on me, surely bruising my skin.

  “I love you so much,” he whispers against the back of my neck.

  I can’t help it. A tear escapes my eye at his words, the meaning deep—not just superficial words. He loves me, yes, but he is trying to find out what is wrong and he is worried.

  This is the time.

  “I’m pregnant,” I blurt out.

  I feel his body stiffen behind me and then he pulls out quickly, too quickly. I shake as I turn around to face him.

  He’s looking at me in complete disbelief and shock. I bend down and grab his t-shirt from the floor using it as a shield to not only cover my body, but to make me feel less vulnerable at my confession.

  Pregnant.

  Pregnant — again.

  Another baby.

  I’m going to be a father again.

  I thought we were done. Victoria’s been on the pill since we had Junior. She didn’t want more and I only want Vic to be happy.

  My schedule is tough to keep with a family. I’m gone for days and then, even when I am home, I spend long hours training. I miss things and I know I’m going to miss more. My career isn’t something I can pick and choose when to show up to. There are no rea
l sick days.

  Victoria is staring at me expectantly.

  I need to say something.

  I should, but I don’t know what to say to her.

  Am I ready to do this all over again?

  Junior is two, sleeping through the night now. Soon, he’ll be one hundred percent potty trained. I don’t know if I want to do diapers and midnight feedings all over again.

  I shake my head. I sound like a fucking asshole. Not like I’m the one awake at all hours of the night. Vic is the one who has to be up feeding the baby; she’s the one who will have to be home with a newborn again and two other toddlers. I don’t know if she can handle it all. She already stresses about being the perfect hands-on parent.

  My Chile Pepper is going to have my baby again.

  “Victoria, how’d it happen?” I ask.

  I regret it immediately. Her eyes narrow at me and I wince.

  “You wouldn’t go get fixed, you stubborn, prideful asshole,” she yells. I take a step back, grabbing my boxers from the floor and pulling them up my hips.

  “You forget your pills one day, babe?” I ask, sounding even more like an asshole.

  It’s like I can’t fucking help myself, the shit is just spewing.

  “Fuck off, Los. No, I didn’t fucking forget. They aren’t one hundred percent. I can’t believe you’re actually asking me this shit right now,” she mutters as she starts opening and slamming drawers, pulling out her swim suit and hastily putting it on.

  “I don’t mean to sound like an ass, Vic, but this isn’t our first rodeo. We were married for almost ten years without even a scare and now, baby number three?”

  She blanches and turns around after throwing her long hair into a messy bun. She takes one step toward me and slaps something against my chest. I grab the paper in my hand but don’t look at it. I’m too busy focusing on being an asshole to my wife, apparently.

  “I didn’t ask for this, Los. I didn’t skip a pill and I didn’t forget. Shit fucking happens. That’s what the doctor says, anyway. I’m going to meet my girls down at the sauna. I can’t be around you right now. I’m afraid I’ll say something I’ll regret and I think you’ve made enough regretful statements for the both of us this evening.”