51 A brother

51 Bitch fight
Date = 8 January
Place = Rome (Damion’s penthouse)

POV - Mel

“I can get used to you being with me all the time,” he sighs while gently kneading a plump nipple between his fingers.

“Me too.” This must be what heaven feels like … me lying between his legs in a huge bubble-filled bath, his hand cupping a grateful breast, giving it the attention it hungers for. I stare through the huge windows at the magnificent view of Rome’s skyline.

“Don’t you regret not running away?” Not at all because I love you. I hear the words in my head. I love him … but it’s so much more … the intensity of what I feel for him is so much more.

Unconditional all-consuming love.

“I think it’s too late for that.” We’re going to have a baby. “You’re stuck with me, pall.” And the little one that will arrive in a few months.

“You said D told you about my past … my baggage.” I can feel his muscles pulling tight. How heavy that baggage must be.

“We will deal with those over time.” I mean it. And now that I got a glimpse of what I’m up against, at least I know what’s hiding in his shadows. His body is still rigid.

“Mel, that shit, I can’t put it on you!” My heart cringes and my hand moves to cover my belly. Have I a surprise for him — we have about 8 months to deal with it.

“Well, you’ll have to. We don’t really have a choice anymore,” I speak my mind.

“Huh?” Hell, do I tell him about the two pink lines now … or shall I wait to scare the bejeezus out of him later?

Later.

It’s not just something you blabber out in a bathtub. It needs some planning.

I’ve planned it for the whole flight here. Even longer. But I still don’t have any idea how to spill the beans.

“You’ll have to talk to me … you can’t go forward if you don’t face the past first. I need you to do this, for us … eh for me and the … ” I stop my blabbering mouth just in time. Frick. I need to seriously watch my words.

I’m not sure what the feeling in the pit of my stomach is, but I’ll have to investigate it sometime. However, if I have to hypothesize it, it feels like fear. The fear of losing him. The fear of his reaction to becoming a dad. The fear of rejection. And most of all, the fear that he won’t want this baby. What if he asks me to get rid of it? I can never do that.

“But I don’t want you to regret anything later … I’m telling you to walk away now.” Does he want me to go? Is this a way of getting rid of me?

“I’m big enough to make up my own mind … I don’t need your permission to date you.” I’m confused by my own words. But my emotions are not at all stable at this moment.

“Eh … I think you sort of do,” he corrects me.

“Ug, do you want me to go?” I can feel his muscles strain underneath me. I hold my breath.

“Do you want to go?” His voice breaks.

“No,” I whisper. He’s still for a bit.

“Mel, I’m scared. It’s hard for me to admit it, but I’m so fucking afraid of losing you.”

His admission shocks the hell out of me. I leave one hand on my tummy and put the other on his knee. “That’s okay. I’m scared too.”

“And it’s not that I don’t want to share everything with you, but some broken pieces are buried so deep, I’m not sure it’s possible to even dig them up.” The fact that he’s trying so hard … for me … fills my heart until it overflows.

“What do you want to know?” He’s tense.

“Whatever you’re ready to share,” I throw the ball in his court. “Maybe tell me about the boy … or the accident last year in Spain.” He’s silent for a bit.

“I was in fourth position, lap two, tailing Graham, with Zaine tight on my tail. We were a few meters behind his teammate Romeo and the Ducati rider. I outbreak Graham, and passed him.” He stops for a moment as if to find the best words. I let him.

“At the next corner, I was right on Romeo’s tail, ready to slip past on the outside. For some reason, Romeo sped into the turn and lost control. His back tire kept spinning and regained traction and he suddenly veered into my path … hanging down on the right side of his bike.” He is still for another moment. “It happened so fast … a millisecond …”

“I slammed into his body … full speed and got catapulted over the front of my bike.” I hear him swallow.

“Graham and Zaine were so close behind me … they also drove into Romeo, and landed on the gravel.”

“The accident was immediately red-flagged.”

“Romeo sustained serious trauma to the head, neck, and chest and they performed CPR for thirty minutes, but he died on the track. I broke my collarbone. Graham and Zaine were not seriously hurt.”

“Why does Graham blame you?” He takes a deep breath and lets it out as a sigh.

“He thinks that because I braked too late, Romeo was forced to speed into the corner.” I’m not a bike expert.

“Why did you brake late?” I try to understand.

“It’s my thing … but it’s risky and no one else gets it right.” My heart skips a beat. Why can’t he be a doctor … or a lawyer … or even play football like Logan? Racing is dangerous. I don’t want to lose him.

“Do you think you forced him?” He sighs.

“I just know he didn’t even try to brake. But I didn’t force him.” We sit in silence for a while.

“As for the boy … he ran onto the tracks just as I landed a jump over some whoops. I tried to avoid him, and I did … but my bike shattered and a piece of debris almost decapitated him. He died on impact.” I gasp. That is horrible.

“I was in a very dark place. It was the day before I took you to the boardwalk … remember?”

“Mm,” I remember he had bruises and cuts on his body. He told me he fell, but nothing about the boy.

“You pulled me out of my shit-hole of a mind.” We sit like that for a while, not moving, not talking, each one in his own bubble of thoughts. I don’t know if I should say something … or just let him be for now. But an idea pops into my mind and I turn around to face him in the huge whirlpool tub.

Distraction. Sex. He used women to keep his demons under control. Although, I’m not at all open to sharing him … I’m very open to having him use me. Or me him.

My mouth presses against his, and moves over his jaw and down his neck, licking a trail down his chest and stomach. He swallows hard.

I take his cock in my hand and pump slowly. He’s already stiff as a steel pole.

I swirl my tongue around his head as if I’m licking a lollipop and increase the suction at his tip.

“Holy cow, Mel …” His dark eyes watch from above.

I wet my lips, open my mouth, and slide him in. As deep as I can.

“Fuck…” My hand pumps while he slips to the back of my throat. I suck as I pull back slowly.

Then I do it again.

He moans helplessly and grips onto the sides of the tub.

I take him all the way down again. And again while doing short pumps with my hand.

I’m clueless really, but the way he moans and breaths make me feel like a frickin porn star.

His hips rock up, back and forth, pushing in and out of my mouth.

“Mel … Mel … fucking hell … I’m gonna … Mel … shit Mel … I’m …” He jabs his hips, short fast shoves. I’ve never had anyone cum in my mouth before. I want this for him. I’ve fantasized about giving him pleasure.

Those green eyes go dark, pupils enlarged. He throws back his head.

“Mel!” he whimpers. “Fuck!”

His body contracts and he fills my mouth with a convulsing stream that I swallow eagerly. I let him slip out and watch him grin at me like the idiot he can be.

I smile back. He’s my idiot.

Breathing hard he pulls me up and kisses me, licking his taste from my mouth.

“You’re fucking something else, you know that?” He’s still out of breath.

“Thought you would appreciate a little distraction.”

“Little?” He gets this astounded look on his face. I giggle.

“Is that the wrong adjective?”

“Definitely. That was anything but a little distraction,” he smirks. I place a kiss on his nose and step out of the bath. At this rate we will be late for his … eh … thingy.

“We have to get ready …” I wrap a towel around my body. “But what are we getting ready for again?”

“It’s an interview race.” I shrug my shoulders to say that I don’t have a clue what that means.

“It means,” he says with a satisfied smile, “That we let young upcoming stars take our bikes for a spin around the tract to sort out the ones that hold the potential to join our team.” They’re looking for new riders?

“Are you going to stop racing? Or Sean?” I don’t want to sound too hopeful.

“NO!” he shatters that hope in the seed. “This is for our Moto2 and Moto3 classes, as well as MotoCross.”

“And if things go well, we might open another MotoGP team later.” He always sounds so passionate when he talks about his racing and his team. And even though I am scared that something might happen to him, I don’t think I will ever have the heart to ask him to quit. My hand moves to my tummy again.

I turn in front of the mirror — some jeans, a sexy black top, rounded off with my favorite pair of DMs — not too shabby.

“So, will this work for the girlfriend of the champion?” I pose like a real model and those deeply apprehensive eyes scour my body. He gets out of the bath, glistening wet, with a naughty, sexy, little smile that confirms the wickedness in his eyes. He’s hard again and I swallow down my desire.

“Damion … Don’t you dare —” I hold up a finger as he steps towards me, with immoral intent. His dick reaches me first.

“Thinking what I’m thinking?” A light blush slowly spreads over my cheeks. Cocky bastard.

“If you’re thinking that you’re one vile cheeky asshole … then yes.” He chuckles and runs a hand down his shaft. I lick my lips and flood my thong.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The sound of knocking from downstairs stops him in his tracks. I look at him confused, not expecting anyone.

“It’s probably Mark,” he says covering up his hardwood with a towel. I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved. Guess a little of one and a hell of a lot of the other — I badly want him to take me to bed, but we’re already late as it is.

“I’ll get it,” I tell him as I walk out, thankful to be fully dressed, but scolding whoever is knocking the door from its hinges.

My hand pulls the lever and the door swings open. My worst nightmare is standing opposite me.

I sag my shoulders and roll my eyes at the sight. Big boobs, dark hair, and a condescending smirk are all I catch before she shoves past me.

I can’t stop her cause my mind is still trying to figure out how the hell she got that extra tight slutty dress over those big hooters.

She stops and angles her head over her shoulder, back at me.

“You can go now, little girl. Damion needs a real woman. Momma’s here.” She pats her tummy, and my jaw drops open. Her audacity leaves me without words.

Before I can find any, she trots into the house with her high-heeled Pradas like she owns the place, leaving me choking on her stinky perfume. I want to puke.

What does this bitch want now? White hot jealous anger burns through my body and scorches some brain cells back to work.

“Damion, it’s for you!” I bellow out at him and he walks down the stairs, almost dropping the towel covering his goods.

Several emotions flicker through his eyes — surprise, annoyance, anger — to name but a few — however, his face is cold and devoid of emotion. I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms, knowing by now that an indifferent face on any of the boys means a storm is brewing.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Chloe?” The ice in his voice sends shivers down my spine. And not in a good way.

“Oh, baby,” she seems completely unaffected by the bite in his words. “We need to talk.” She takes a trying-to-be-seductive step forward, a cool calculating look in her eyes — eyes that lock hungrily on my man’s privates. Heat flames through me. They’re mine.

She walks closer to him with swaying hips, ignoring me as if I’m not even in the room.

“Talk fast, I have someplace to be.” He clings tighter to the towel as if making sure it stays in place. The boy seems uncomfortable in his own skin — the cockiness of before completely vanished. It’s completely adorable and I fall a little bit more in love.

“That’s why I’m here … to go with you. Daddy is already there. I just want things between us to go back to the way they were.” She crosses her arms over her abundant fake boobs, pushing them up close to bursting from her tight top. I peer at my boyfriend, loving the disgusted look on his face. He really is not into the meal thrown at him.

A new emotion blooms into my heart — trust. I realize I can trust him. He’s not going to fuck around. It feels as if my insides are going to explode and an uncontrolled smile spreads from ear to ear. I just can’t help it. He loves me too.

“Chloe, I’m going with my GIRLFRIEND.” He spotlights the last word, clenching his fists as if trying not to punch the girl. Strangely, I have the same urge. I also realized that Chloe for sure has some kind of brain-dead complication. And no pride or dignity.

“So cut the bullshit and just get the fuck out of here!” Venom wires his voice. I’m plainly pissed.

Pissed that she just waltzed in here. Pissed that she acts as if I’m invisible. Pissed that she exists.

With a ball of anger, I push myself from the frame, rage palpitating from me in waves.

“Enough is enough … it’s time for you to learn your place.” Chloe’s face turns into a pompous hateful expression as she lets out a toffee-nosed laugh, turning slightly to look at me as if I’m something the cat dragged in.

“Listen, doll, you’re not even his type. Why would he pick you over this?” She gestures at her body with a confident smile.

Chloe tosses her hair back and towers over me as if that would put me off. A bewitching grin ghosts over my face as I drop my head backward to eyeball the melon-bloomer with a smuck attitude, enjoying her sudden shocked hesitant expression. I grew up with Jackson, bitch. You don’t scare me.

She swallows and stutters, “Damion like brunettes.” Her comeback sounds pathetic, her ego definitely took a dent. I confidently look at her with a winning sneer, knowing the truth behind that statement.

“Well, he just did this blonde, and like they say … when you have had a taste of excellence, you cannot go back to mediocrity.” She’s now totally spooked.

“I’m not medo … medi … mediocre,” Chloe struggles with the word while pushing out her lips. I roll my eyes at Damion, who is silently watching from the stairs. I know he’s ready to intervene, but he’s giving me some room to get this bitch out of my system.

“Oh, but you are. I’ll give credit where credit is due, but I’m not going to applaud a frog for croaking.” I cross my arms cause I’m itching to strangle the bitch. “You’re inconsequential, bitch.” I can see that she doesn’t have a clue what that means, so I add “You’re nothing.” to clear it up for her.

Dean struts into the house, past both me and Chloe, and up the stairs where he shoves a finger under Damion’s nose.

“What the fuck, Grimm?” he shouts in a high-pitched voice. “Couldn’t keep your dick in your pants and now we’re sitting with a fucking pregnant girl!” The words drown in the sudden silence of the room.

I turn as white as Olaf from Frozen and grab the wall beside me to keep me from falling over. How the fuck did he find out? This is not the way I want him to find out.

Damion looks like he’s been kicked in the balls. I watch the bewilderment in his eyes as the meaning of what’s been said vibrates through him. He grinds his teeth and his free hand not holding the towel, flexes and fists at his side. It takes a beat for him to catch his breath.

“What the fuck?” He glares at Dean, then his eyes land on me.

I’m still clinging to the wall in a way that would make Spiderman jealous, my eyes glaze over and I’m starting to worry if I’m having a seizure or something.

“Im-fucking-possible.” Oh, I would not say that. It’s possible.

He’s staring at me, his look a contrast between lost and certain. I suck in my tummy and try to look as innocent as possible, while I’m watching it unfold right before my eyes.

Dean turns to look down at us as if noticing us for the first time.

“Chloe’s father just called saying you bumped up his daughter.” My head snaps to see her launch a grin that covers the whole spectrum — from a smirk of conceit to a sneer of triumph.

“You and I both know it’s not possible,” Damion seethes with a fury rage in his eyes. They dart over and hold mine for a beat, knocking the wind out of me — there is no disbelief laced in them … not a single shed of doubt. He’s telling me he knows for sure the bitch is lying. That she’s trying to dig her claws into him.

Lead drops into my stomach. This time I’m the dishonest one.

“You were drunk,” she gasps with a hurt voice. “It happened right there on that chair.” She points to the terrace. I roll my eyes.

Her eyes flicker over and vet me with complete disregard, before looking back at my man, a sly smile on her face. “We had sex, baby. You were so desperate to be with me that you didn’t use a condom.”

“We’ve never had sex.” He takes a step forward and realizing he’s only in a towel, he stops.

“You don’t believe me?” She has tears in her eyes. She just stole the show.

“I love you …” she sobs.

“Quit the crap, Chloe.” He’s angry, eyes glaring and posture threatening, completely unaffected by her outburst. “And. Get. The. Fuck. Out!” he hisses, clearly holding back every ounce of restraint he has.

“Throwing her out won’t make this go away,” Dean interrupts. “The girl has photos … proof … and the press is going to have a field day with this one.” I have to fight the bile that rises in my throat as I think about that. I’m going to be in the middle of this tragic love story. A nice juicy scandal. Just what I was afraid of. And if they get wind of my little secret … oh fuck. I can’t let it slip out … not now.

Chloe shrugs her shoulders and a smarmy expression transforms her features. “This is your baby and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

He bursts out in a howl of cynic laughter. “Do you think you can just come in here and say that you’re pregnant and I would suddenly care about you? That I was drunk and don’t remember sticking my dick into you? That I suddenly would want to be a daddy?” He blows out a loud breath.

“Well, I don’t want to be your fucking baby daddy.”

“It’s your baby,” she tries again.

“No, it’s not. There’s one thing you should know about me, babe … it doesn’t come up when I’m drunk.” I’m thrown by his revelations and grab hold of the wall again. He doesn’t want a baby.

The tightness in my tummy threatens to explode, but I force myself to breathe, to pretend that I’m unaffected.

“So, Dean,” he snorts harshly, “If this one is actually pregnant, go look for the daddy somewhere else.”

“And just tell the fucking press that it’s not mine, that she’s a crazy ass stalker, and that a paternity test will prove it all.” Dean throws his hands in the air and stomps out the door.

Chloe turns to face me. Here we go again.

“He will come back to me!” Chloe straightens her back, her hands in fists. I wonder if she is mentally stable. Or just plain fucking crazy.

“Oh, cry me a river, bitch, and drown in it. Just go while you have a peony amount of dignity left.” I’m killing it and maybe enjoying it a little too much. Well, as they say, payback’s a bitch, and it’s raining coins on Chloe right now.

“I hate you!” Chloe shouts, tears forming in her eyes, but vile that I am, I don’t feel any pity for her. Anyone stupid enough to try and pull a trick like this doesn’t deserve pity.

“You’re welcome to join my hate club, they have a weekly meeting at the corner of Fuck-you Street and Kiss-my-ass Boulevard.” My wit is on par as I hold the door for a furious Chloe.

“Bye now. Don’t trip over your own pride on the way out.” Chloe walks past me, giving her a scornful death stare, her voice imperiously thin.

“You’re going to regret this, I’ll make sure of that.” Her icy stare tells me she’s not lying this time. “And all these snotty remarks are not going to keep him from screwing around.”

“Oh, I know what I say won’t keep him faithful,” I say dangerously, “but this heart and mind will!” Look what a cocky little angel I can be.

The door slams shut behind Chloe with a resounding echo that rebukes through the house.

“Why do girls always think of trapping a guy with a fucking baby?” he asks grumpily.

I’m stuck at a crossroad of uncertainty — to tell him or not, to run or to stay. How will I tell him now? After all this? Anxiously I turn to humor.

I twirl my finger next to my temple and whistle.

“Totally bonkers that one,” I rap playfully, although I feel anything but. “I can actually see now why you two would make a great fit.”

“Oh, no you didn’t just say that.” He lets go of the towel and it falls to the ground leaving his pumped-up junk exposed. “But don’t worry, I know how to punish you, little witch.”

He picks me up and throws me over his shoulder before I can even register a clear thought. Screaming I hit his back with my dainty little fists, panicking that something might happen to my baby.

“Damion, put me down, you’re going to hurt … ” I almost blurt it out.

He drops me quickly, probably shaken by the seriousness of my voice, laced with traces of fear. He looks confused, scanning my eyes for clues. I swallow, hoping he doesn’t find out about my secret. Not until I’ve decided what to do.

“Hurt what?” He’s scrutinizing me with worried apple eyes. I swallow and look at my feet, my brain spinning like a fan to find the right answer here.

“Shirt,” I blabber out, “I was just scared that you’re going to mess up my shirt.” His frown clearly indicates that he knows I’m fucking hiding something.

“I will never hurt you,” he says in a husky voice with sadness in his eyes. “Never.”

I open my mouth to say something to make it better when someone knocks on the door, shouting “Damion! We have to go!”

This time it’s Mark. With one last longing look into my soul, he runs up the stairs shouting, “Coming! Just need some pants.”