My Best Friend's Brother's Secret Baby (His Secret Baby Book 7)

by Jamie Knight

  I knew about him and the other girls he had been with before me. And probably after me, even though I liked to tell myself otherwise. They were virgins, mostly. I had heard that other guys want to fight him for what he did to their little sisters. Logan’s friends made sure they didn’t do that again.

  He really surprised me at the dinner party. I was expecting he and Kristen to be the same. They weren’t. Of course they weren’t. They were adults now and they both seemed to have matured.

  Kristen had basically the same personality but seemed a bit more guarded than she had been before. I had no idea what was going on with Logan. He had still walked in like the cocky jerk I had known him to be in high school— the one I both loved and hated him for being.

  But his easy banter and borderline self-depreciation throughout some of the rest of the night, and during our text conversation, were not at all what I remembered. Maybe the money his family had started accumulating in high school thanks to his grandfather’s business success had gone to his head and he was finally coming back down to reality with the rest of us.

  I had often wished I had stayed in touch with Kristen. There was really no question when it came to her. Our drifting apart had really been down to me and I could only imagine how much it had hurt her.

  It was a bit surprising, seeing all those friends of hers at the dinner party. She had always had a few friends, but I was always the popular one as we were growing up. At first, I thought she only wanted to hang out with me to be seen as cool. Like some of my popularity might rub off on her.

  Once I got to know her though, I realized that this really wasn’t a problem. She was plenty cool in her own right, but she just chose carefully the friendships she wanted to make. One of them just happened to be with me. And it had turned out to be the best one, lasting the longest, through the years until we went our separate ways. Still, I couldn’t really expect her to just stay still and never make friends again after that happened.

  I had tried to make other friends after Kristen, but it never really seemed to work out. There was always some issue that would come up, sometimes pretty quickly, that would make it clear that the friendship was doomed.

  They would become a vegan intent on making me become one, too, or they were in a touring band and would be gone for months at a time or her boyfriend would decide, out of the clear blue sky, that he didn’t like the time she was spending with me and wanted more of her attention to be on him.

  Then there were the real outsiders. The blood collectors. The neo-Pagans. The closet lesbians trying really, really hard to be “just friends” with a girl that they really, really wanted to fuck. Like a lot.

  I didn’t say anything, not wanting to poison the well, or put us on bad terms again, but a lot of the women at the dinner party seemed pretty weird too. Not in an obvious way, like talking about their pet crows, or having clown faces tattooed on the back of their head – that took a lot of explaining when a girl like that had tried to be my friend! – but there was a sense of oddness I couldn’t put my finger on or quite shake.

  Still, it all ended up for the best though. The night had gone fine and it really seemed, against all odds, that Kristen and I might actually be friends again.

  The only question was what to do about Logan. He may have tried to be casual and funny but his hard-on spoke volumes. And that was before he had sent me those texts.

  I had just taken down my skirt, a short, pleated, black number the salesgirl had said made my ass look awesome, when the phone rang. I had to fumble a bit with my jacket to find the phone, it being one of those new, super-thin stealth models you could hide in a manila envelope. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

  “Hi,” Logan said, sounding almost meek.

  “Hi?” I said, it coming out as a question.

  Or more like a single word representing all the many questions that had started raging in my head.

  “You home?” he asked.

  “Yeah. You aren’t going to ask what I am wearing, are you?”

  “No, I mean, I wasn’t planning to.”

  “Why not?” I asked, feigning insult.

  “Oh, um, sorry, what are you wearing?”

  “A pair of black silk panties, thank you for asking.”

  “That’s all?” he asked.

  “That’s all,” I whispered huskily.

  “Oh,” he said softly, clearly picturing it in his head.

  “How about you?” I asked.

  “A once dapper but now disheveled Ralph Lauren suit,” he said.

  “There’s something to be said for honestly,” I offered, this not being the answer I expected.

  “A lot, I would say,” he said.

  “Are you dunk?” I asked.

  “Not nearly enough.”

  “Your family is Irish, right?” I asked.

  “Scottish.”

  “Same thing,” I said.

  “Not really, but continue,” he said, audibly sipping from something.

  “I was just wondering if it was true about alcohol tolerance being inherited,” I said, laying down on my bed, feet still on the floor.

  “Oh, probably. I think so. At least partly,” he said.

  “How many sheets?” I asked.

  “Huh?”

  “To the wind,” I clarified.

  “Oh, at least five,” he said, “maybe four and a half. It is a bit hard to tell at this point, to be honest.”

  “Scotch?”

  “Aye.”

  “Predictable.”

  “Always,” he said.

  “Where are your hands right now?” I asked, slipping my own down my belly towards the waistband of my panties.

  “Why?” Logan asked.

  “Just curious,” I said, gently touching myself through my panties.

  “One on the glass, one on the phone. Why, where are yours?”

  “That would be telling,” I teased.

  “I think I can guess,” he said.

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Is it somewhere warm, soft and lovely?” he asked.

  “Warmer,” I said, slipping my hand inside my panties.

  “I’m not surprised,” he said, unintentionally making me giggle.

  “Thickish?” he asked, making me laugh again.

  “Apparently,” I said when I had calmed down.

  I got back to gently stroking my warm pussy, finding it hard to focus while in the middle of laughing.

  “Feel good?” he asked, actually seeming to care.

  “Fuck yeah,” I blurted out, saying what I felt.

  “Fingers in or out?” he asked.

  “Guess,” I gasped.

  “Out?” he asked.

  “Good guess,” I said, moaning.

  “Working your clit?” he asked.

  “Why are you, psychic?” I asked, confused, but not enough to stop what I was doing to my aching lower regions.

  "I'm not, just experienced and observant," he said, not sounding arrogant at all.

  "Well spotted," I gasped, rotating my finger quickly on my clit in a clockwise motion.

  "I am a man of few talents, but those that there are, I have in spades," he said.

  I would have said something clever, a witty barb to put Dorothy Parker to shame, but I was a bit too busy having a body shaking orgasm. I panted hard, desperately trying to regain my equalibrium.

  There was just something about his voice that drove me absolutely insane. I had heard that while men were mostly visual, for women, it was largely based on sound. Particularly a man's voice. I could see what they meant.

  "You done?" he asked, when I stopping panting.

  "Yep," I said, breathlessly.

  "Feel good?" he asked.

  "Very good," I said, returning to myself.

  "Excellent. Listen, I know this is customarily done prior to orgasm, but would you like to go for a drink with me?"

  Of all the unexpected things that had happened that day, this definitely won the pri
ze for the most unexpected of them all. My breath caught, sounding something like a gasp. I hoped he hadn't noticed.

  I really didn't know what to make of that. The whole situation was just so odd. My brain, the logical part of it anyway, was screaming at me to say no. To tell him to fuck off and that I would see him in hell. Just because it was logical didn't mean it was nice, though. There were other chemical reactions going on up there. Like the ones that made both my pussy and my chest feel tight.

  My heart rate was increasing by several beats a minute.

  My skin was actually getting warm to the touch.

  My own sense of touch was getting much more sensitive.

  As much as I hated him for what he did, I couldn't deny that he did things to me, at least on a chemical level, that no one else ever had. At least not to that degree.

  I wanted to fuck him so bad I could taste it. I would just have to keep myself from punching him first.

  "You sure you should be driving?" I asked.

  "I have a driver," he said, without a hint of pretense.

  "Of course," I said, "of course you do. Where do you want to meet?"

  "There is a quite nice wine bar a few blocks from your place," he said.

  "How do you know where I live? You didn't hire a private investigator, did you?"

  "Nothing so drastic," he said, casually.

  "Then how?"

  "You're in the book and I know this city like the back of my hand," he said.

  "Oh," I said, feeling relieved, as well as a little silly. "I’m assuming you mean Calista. I’m down to go there.”

  I was down to go anywhere with him.

  But that much would remain unspoken.

  Chapter Nine

  Kora

  It took a while to get dressed, mostly trying to decide what to wear. I had thought about dressing modestly, as was my way. Jeans and a hoodie or something like that. Showing Logan I really didn't care what he thought of me.

  But I was then overtaken by a strike of naughtiness and decided to go with something a little bit sexy. It took some searching, but I finally found the short, black dress and matching high heels that I had last worn to a party I had been invited to in the past.

  I was still a bit unsteady on the heels, being more used to sneakers, but I made it work with only the occasional wobble when I first put them on. I felt rock steady by the time I got down the street and started towards the address Logan had given me.

  I still couldn't quite believe it was happening. After all these years, we were basically going out on a date. Something we had never really done at the time. Not officially. Not exclusively, anyway.

  I didn't know for sure that Logan was single at this point, but I was pretty sure he was. If he wasn’t, Kristen would have known about it and wouldn't have tried to set us up in that clever way. I really had to hand it to her. While she may have been a bit misguided, her heart was in the right place.

  When I reached Calista’s, I saw that somehow Logan had gotten here first. For all I knew, he had called from the back of his limo on his way to the quite nice wine bar which just so happened to be a few blocks from my house. Or maybe he just had his driver run all the red lights.

  Either way, there he sat, in a suit that didn't look the least bit disheveled. I couldn't see the label so I couldn't quite tell if it was also a Ralph Lauren. For all I knew, he had a closet full of identical, black Ralph Lauren suits, lined up like soldiers, waiting to do their duty of making him look both classy and sexy at the same time. I saw him at what I assumed to be his usual table, looking at the menu, apparently having sobered up considerably.

  Taking a breath of courage, I strode over to him, doing my best to walk straight and also to ignore the sudden warmth and tingling in my pussy.

  "Anything look good?" I asked, approaching the table.

  "Aside from you?" Logan asked, looking me up and down.

  "Oh, stop it," I said, blushing.

  It wasn't an act. I actually felt my cheeks get warm.

  "I speak nothing but the truth," he said, "I don't think I've ever seen you in a dress before. Unless you had to dress up for a band or choir performance at school."

  "You don't look so bad yourself," I said, siting down across from him. It hadn’t escaped me that he had admitted to paying attention to what I wore at band concerts. "I don't think if seen you in a suit before either. Very nice."

  "I do my best," he said, "my dad recommended the tailor, who is well known for taking high class suits and making them bespoke. But I had actually never heard of him until about a year ago. Like you said, I was more likely to wear khakis than to couture but here we are."

  "Both looking sexy," I said.

  "I can only speak for my impression but definitely," he said, his eyes wandering down to my breasts.

  "I haven't really been to a wine bar before," I said, "not even this one that’s so close to my house. What do you suggest?"

  "I was thinking of the ice wine."

  "Isn't that expensive?"

  "Oh yes, and worth every dime. You'll know what I mean when you taste it," he said.

  "I assume we're not going Dutch," I said, teasing.

  "Oh no, I'm buying," he confirmed.

  "How traditional."

  "I asked you out. And made you get dressed up and leave your place on a moment’s notice to boot. It's only fair," Logan said with a shrug.

  "And you have buckets of money," I added.

  "Well, yes, but I wasn't going to mention that."

  "How noble of you," I said, feeling a bit of a sting I couldn’t quite place. "There was a time I could have done it."

  "Become a billionaire?"

  "Well, no, maybe not a billionaire, but I was voted most likely to succeed and had so many friends it was just silly. I could have done anything. Or at least felt like I could. Now I'm working at a spa for not much more than minimum wage. Watching life pass me by from behind a desk, barely making enough money to scrape by. I guess it's true what they say. High school isn't real life."

  "Too true. I've heard the same argument about college too and I think I know what you mean. I was considered a hotshot jock. Girls falling over me. Guys wanting to be me. At least when they weren't trying to kick my ass, I assumed out of envy. But really, what did I have? A pretty face, nice hair and money given to me by my grandpa. Basically everything I have is because of the family I happened to be born into. I didn't really earn any of it and a lot of it I got by pretending to be someone I'm not. Or at least living up to someone else's standards."

  I wanted to ask if those standards had been his grandpa's but I knew that was a sore spot for him. Kristen had told me a bit about what happened and it sounded really nasty.

  I couldn't help how much of Logan's attitude had come from his grandpa's influence. It didn't make up for the shitty way he had treated me but at least there would have been some kind of explanation. He hadn't seemed like that much of an asshole before and he didn't then at the wine bar or at the dinner party either.

  His grandpa dying seemed to have had an affect on him. Maybe it was for the better. It was an awful thing to think but that didn't stop it from being true.

  I had noticed that we had both had yet to touch on the elephant in the room. Our relationship, such as it was, in high school and how it had all ended.

  I was trying to stay positive and was avoiding it on purpose, even though it was on my mind. Near the back. Where I kept reminders for appointments and mom’s banana bread recipe Things I knew but didn't think about all the time.

  A look at his sparking blue eyes was pushing the nastiness even further back into the darkness between remembering and forgetting. I wanted him so bad. I crossed my legs feeling the warmth between my legs. I had neglected to wear panties under the dress. I thought it would be more fun that way, knowing something that he didn't.

  I wondered if his cock was getting hard. I imagined it swelling in his pants, trying to break free and be taken in and taken care of by a
loving mouth or tender pussy.

  My imagination had been going pretty wild with what I wanted to do to him and him to do to me. I thought that might end now that we were back in touch but that only made the fantasies more real and intense. They could always strike at any time and one did right then.

  I imaged crawling under the table and going over to him. Running my hands up over his thighs, I would have stroked his hard, warm cock through his suit pants, careful not to make it too loud, and haul out his huge cock, his hard-on making it look like he was smuggling salami.

  Taking a moment to really appreciate the sight and even the smell of him, I would gently suck his balls while tenderly stroking his gorgeous cock. Right when he was about to cum, I would stop, squeezing the head. When he had settled and we were out of the danger zone, I would lick his cock from bottom to top several times before swirling my tongue around the head, savouring the sweet, warm saltiness.

  Eventually, when I had driven him to the point of madness, I would drop my mouth over the head, taking it in. Holding it there for a moment, I would start to suck lightly, not moving my head much, moving ever so slightly down until a full half of his cock was in my mouth.

  This is when I went for it, in my mind. Moving my soft lips up and down his throwing shaft. Slowly at first and then harder and harder until I was throat-fucking myself.

  I imagined Logan putting a hand on my head to keep me from hurting myself. I imagined cupping his balls, gripping and stroking his shaft and sucking him until the moment of truth when he flooded my mouth with his tasty cum, so I could swallow it all down.

  I didn't know why so many of my fantasies featured oral. I had never even really sucked a cock before except that one time I tried to suck Logan’s and he stopped but I sure did seem to want to try it again. Though that well could have been part of it. Want to experience something I never really had.

  I had always heard that it was pretty awesome. Not only for the guy but for the person sucking their cock. Kristen, in a moment of candor, had told me it felt surprisingly comforting. Something about the feeling of a hard, warm cock in her mouth helping her to relax. Which in turn helped her do it better because she wasn't worried.

  I really hoped that was true. Particularly with what I had decided to do.