Page 47 of Chosen By a Baller 3: Playin’ For Keeps

“Fuck, Sianni,” he groaned, his voice strained.

I felt the way his hips tried to meet mine, tried to take back some of that control.

But I wasn't giving it up.

I picked up the pace, moving faster, harder, chasing that feeling building low in my stomach. My nails dug into his chest, and I threw my head back, letting myself get lost in it—the way he filled me, the way his hands roamed my body like he couldn't get enough, the way his breathing matched mine.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough.

When I did, the intensity in his eyes nearly undid me.

His hands slid up to my breasts, gripping and squeezing. I moaned his name like a prayer. The tension between us was electric, and dangerous, and I could feel us both getting close to that edge again.

“That's it,” he growled, watching me move on him, watching me take what I wanted. “Take that shit. Take this dick. Fuck Big Daddy, baby.”

And I did. I rode him until my thighs burned, until my breathing turned ragged, until I felt that wave building and crashing over me all at once. He followed right behind me, his grip bruising, his voice breaking on my name, and we came together.

✦ ✦

I woke up to the smell of breakfast and fresh coffee drifting up from the kitchen. Normally, that would’ve had me out of bed in seconds, but the second it hit my nose, my stomach rolled.

“Lord.”

I pushed myself up against the headboard and covered my face with both hands, breathing slowly through my nose until the wave of nausea eased up some. Coffee was my thing. If this baby was already beefing with coffee, I didn’t know how I felt about this whole pregnancy shit.

After giving myself a minute to regroup, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and immediately felt the soreness between my thighs. A laugh escaped before I could stop it.

Kyrie had put me through the damn mattress last night. Actually, multiple times. By the time we were done, that man had me bent, folded, and twisted in ways I didn’t even know my body could handle. I should’ve been charging his ass for emotional and physical damages.

Shaking my head, I made my way into the bathroom, handled my business, washed up, brushed my teeth, and finished getting myself together. Once I was dressed, I headed downstairs.

Soft R&B floated through the house before I even reached the bottom step.

I slowed when I realized Kyrie wasn’t just playing the music. His ass was singing. He stood at the stove in a pair of gray sweats, moving around the kitchen like he owned a cooking show, spatula in one hand while the other pointed at absolutely nobody as he sang right along with Jodeci’s “Freak’n You.”

A grin tugged at my lips. “Okay, baby.” I laughed, walking into the kitchen. “I hear you singing that shit.”

He shot me a quick look, laughed under his breath, then kept right on singing like he was headlining a concert. I climbed onto one of the counter stools and rested my chin in my hand, watching him finish breakfast.

He had made blueberry waffles, eggs, turkey sausage, and bacon. He didn’t fool with pork. He said it wasn’t good for you, and I wasn’t about to argue with him. Especially when the whole kitchen smelled this damn good.

“So,” he finally said, glancing over at me while flipping the eggs, “what time you and Drayla supposed to be leaving?”

“I don’t know yet. She ain’t tell me.”

I needed to call her anyway. All I knew was that she said she was sliding through to pick me up, so I needed to be ready whenever she got here.

“Bet.” He nodded. “Once you find out, let me know.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Why?”

He looked up with the smallest smirk before licking his lips. Lord, I already knew what that meant.

“No, Kyrie,” I pointed at him, “I’m already sore.”

A slow grin spread across his face.