One Baby Daddy

by Meghan Quinn

  “As every good parent should.”

  I grip his arm for emphasis. “I think so too, don’t get me wrong, but when your mom goes to your college classes with you, there’s an issue.”

  “Oh fuck, did she really?” The curve of his smile brings out the joy inside me. It relaxes me, helps me forget about everything else and enables me to focus on one thing: the man in front of me. The man who looks at me as if I’m his world. As if every word from my mouth is vital to him somehow. The man I wished could be mine.

  “I wouldn’t lie to you. She wouldn’t have done that with any of her other kids. She’s a total Shane fan.”

  “Well, seems like your dad is the smarter parent.” Winking, Hayden flashes me that straight white smile, melting me with one look at a time. This is what I’ve missed the most. Yes, our chemistry was out of this world, but despite only knowing Hayden a short time, our friendship had been so effortless. I’ve missed him. Missed this. I like learning things about him, because I truly like the man.

  “Okay, so tell me your favorite brother. This is all in the vault.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  Giving me one last once-over, he deems me worthy of such private information and divulges one of his deepest, darkest secrets. At least that’s what I tell myself; it is for more of a dramatic effect.

  “Favorite brother would have to be Halsey.”

  I lean back, a little surprised by his confession. “Huh, I would have guessed you were going to say Holden.”

  “Yeah, why’s that?”

  “I don’t know. He’s more outgoing and fun. It seems like you would have had more good times with him growing up. Halsey is so reserved and quiet. Barely entertained unless on the rare occasion you can grab a little smirk from him.”

  “That’s why I like him more. He doesn’t like someone to be nice. You have to earn his approval and when you do, he’s a good time, more so than Holden, because he comes without the asshole attitude. I love both brothers, but Holden can be a dick a lot, and that gets on my nerves after a while.”

  I can see what Hayden is talking about. Holden can be obnoxious at times, at least from what I experienced, and for some reason, earning someone’s approval sounds more appealing to me as well.

  “Do you think I earned Halsey’s approval?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  Uh-oh, am I not going to like the sound of this?

  “Umm . . . maybe?”

  Chuckling, Hayden playfully tugs on my hair again and says, “He said you were cool.”

  “Oooo, cool. Is that good?”

  “It’s the first step to earning his approval.”

  “Then I’ll take it.”

  “Are you judging me for eating straight out of the carton?” I ask, a mouthful of lo mein about to be shoved in my mouth.

  “Not even in the slightest. I think it’s cute.” Eyeing the other cartons, he says, “I wish I’d asked what you wanted beforehand, because I’m going to have a lot of leftovers, when I shouldn’t be eating all these leftovers.”

  Playfully, I flip up the hem of his shirt, showing off his corded stomach and say, “Pretty sure your abs can handle it.”

  He pushes his shirt down and takes mock offense. “It’s not polite to lift a man’s shirt when he’s eating.”

  “Please,” I scoff, giving him a giant eye-roll. “With the kind of abs rubbing against that tight shirt of yours, you’re lucky I’m not making you eat with your shirt off.”

  “Making me, huh?”

  “Yeah.” I wave my chopstick at his body. “When a pregnant woman tells you to take off your shirt, you do it.”

  Laughing, he reaches behind him, his hands posed below his neck, gripping onto his shirt. “Say the word, babe, and I’ll put on one hell of a show for you.”

  “Don’t.” I shake my head and pat my protruding belly. “You’ll give me a complex.”

  “Are you being serious right now?” Hayden’s features harden when he looks me up and down. “Adalyn, you’re gorgeous—”

  “I don’t feel anywhere close to gorgeous.” I sigh. “And believe me, I’m not saying that to fish for compliments. Nothing fits anymore. I feel like I’m not pregnant enough to be cute, I just look super bloated.”

  “You don’t look super bloated. You look sexy.”

  That makes me laugh out loud, because the last thing I feel is sexy right now. I’m two forkfuls of lo mein from rolling down the elastic waistband of my jeans and calling it a night.

  Setting down his carton of Chinese food, he dusts off his hands and scoots closer to me, taking my carton from me as well. Looking more serious than ever, Hayden says, “Touch me.”

  “What?” I nervously giggle as he comes even closer, the crisp white of his shirt stretched across the expanse of his chest, his biceps framed under the fabric, enticing me.

  “I want you to touch me, anywhere you want, just touch me.”

  “Why?”

  Scooting closer so now there is no room to retreat, he says, “I want to show you how unbelievably sexy you are to me. Despite what you might think, you’re drop-dead gorgeous, Adalyn, and the fact that you’re carrying my baby just heightens the need I have for you. So touch me. Let me show you.”

  Trepidation steels my nerves, my hand shakes, and I’m unsure if I should touch him. This was not in the plans—or at least not in my plans—to be this close, to be sucked into the sensation of having him near me again.

  Touch him. It seems like such a simple request, but behind the simplicity is a myriad of emotions waiting to consume me.

  One touch. I know that’s all it will take to open up the floodgate of memories I shared with this man. Am I willing to risk the onslaught of emotion to follow?

  “Touch me,” he repeats, his voice rumbling over me like a cloak of comfort, reverberating up my spine, sending my hand forward to his forearm.

  Tentatively, with the pads of my fingers, I run them over the well-defined sinew of his thick forearm. The muscles beneath me flick and flutter to my touch, dancing beneath my hand.

  Peering into Hayden’s heavy-lidded eyes, I’m taken back to a moment in the hotel room in New York City, my head buried between his thighs. My mouth on his cock, my tongue lapping at the head, his eyes fluttering shut, his teeth pulling on his bottom lip, his corded neck straining with every single lap.

  Heat consumes me. A wave of lava erupting over my skin, the sound of his grumbly moans echoing through my memory.

  “Do you feel that, Adalyn? Goosebumps spread over my skin, the heat of your touch warming me immediately? A light touch does that to me, having you near me sends my body into a frenzy, so the next time you try to put yourself down again, think of this moment. Because you might not feel like yourself, but to me, you’re more beautiful than ever.”

  Clearing his throat as my fingers continue to travel along his arm, he scoots back on the couch and pulls on the chocolate strands of his hair. “Uh, I’m going to pack some of these boxes up. I’ll meet you in the kitchen. I have something planned for us.”

  Standing from the couch, he starts gathering boxes, and I finally open my mouth. “How many women have you been with?” I don’t know why I ask the question, and frankly I don’t think I want to know, but for some self-loathing reason, I’m curious.

  Not looking at me, he says, “Doesn’t matter. There’s only been one woman I’ve ever truly cared about.” Eyeing me with a look I can only describe as loving, he adds, “And she’s sitting on my couch, driving me fucking nuts with the way she keeps wetting her lips.”

  My tongue on route to wet my bottom lip, I suck it back into my mouth, causing Hayden to chuckle to himself and retreat to the kitchen, his backside flexing with every step.

  I might be in trouble.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ADALYN

  “That’s not how you whisk eggs. You’re just stirring them.”

  I look down at the three still intact eggs, their
yolks barely breaking. “No, look they’re starting to break apart.” I point into the bowl.

  “At that pace, we’re going to be eating cake at midnight. I’ll show you how it’s done.” From behind, Hayden traps my body against the counter, his arms circling around me. Taking my hand in his along with the fork, he whisks the eggs sharply in the bowl, beating the poor things to death. Lips next to my ear, he says, “See, like this. Like you’re whipping them.”

  Whipping.

  Why does that word make me want to do naughty things? Hell, watching his forearm whisk the eggs makes me want to do naughty things. Look at how his wrist rotates incredibly fast, never letting up. And his fingers, long and strong, telling the fork exactly what to do, beating the eggs into submission.

  Submission.

  Whipping.

  Forearms.

  Wrists.

  Oh Christ, I need some water.

  Pregnancy hormones are in overdrive tonight. It doesn’t help that Hayden is wandering around his apartment without socks on. Yes, he’s barefoot in jeans and a white T-shirt, looking casually handsome, his large feet padding across the floor.

  They’re feet, uncovered man feet, and from the mere sight of them I can feel a dull throb start in the base of my stomach.

  We are talking overactive hormones here. Never in my life have I lusted over feet, but by golly do I want to play with his.

  Don’t worry. I’m quite aware something is wrong with me.

  “Adalyn, the milk.”

  “Huh?” I look up, my hand whisking in the air, carrying the motion on after Hayden has already stepped away and started mixing all the ingredients together.

  “The milk, hand me the milk.”

  “Oh yeah, the milk. Gotcha.” I give his side a playful punch that makes him chuckle, his brow drawn close together, confusion of my actions written all over his face. Don’t worry, buddy, I’m just as confused as you are.

  Milk already measured out, I give him the glass Pyrex cup and lean against the counter, my hip hitting the hard edge. Hayden’s talking, but his words aren’t registering. Instead, my mind is focused on the way his biceps swell with each pass of the mixing spoon in the bowl. Up and down, up and down, testing the elasticity of the cotton shirt he’s wearing. Is it going to snap? It looks like it.

  Come on.

  Snap.

  Snap, you little cotton—

  “Hey, where are you right now?” Hayden tilts my chin up, forcing my eyes away from his cannon of an arm.

  “Sorry, just thinking about things.” Not things I plan on sharing. Nodding toward the mix, I say, “What does it taste like?” When Hayden said he wanted to bake a cake with me, I inwardly softened, the wall around my heart being broken down one brick at a time.

  “Want to taste it?”

  I nod vigorously. I reach for the bowl, but he swats my hand away only to stick his finger in the bowl and offer me a taste.

  Holding his finger in front of me, he waits for me to taste the chocolate flavor about to drip off the end. Not feeling shy about licking his finger, I lean forward and stick my tongue out, flicking up the dripping of batter about to fall. Keeping my gaze trained on his, I notice how his pupils grow, his eyes narrow, and then I open my mouth and slip his finger inside. Looking up at him, I allow my lips to encircle his finger while my tongue works its way around his finger, lapping up the chocolate.

  His sharp stare stays on me when I ever so slowly bring my teeth down on his finger, lightly dragging them to the tip along with my lips. When my mouth pops off, I lick around my lips and smile at him.

  For a moment, we stand there, staring at each other, our eyes locked, our bodies breathing together in time, heavy and deep, our chests rising and falling.

  “Tell me no.” He lets go of the bowl and takes a step toward me.

  Eyes wide, delicious chocolate on my tongue, my body humming for one touch, one taste, my lips stay sealed.

  Taking another step forward, closing me in against the counter, he repeats himself, gripping my cheek. “Tell me no.”

  I know I should. I set ground rules. I told him we were over. I said we were just going to be friends, but for the life of me, I can’t get myself to tell him no.

  I can’t utter the words. Instead, my hand grips one of the belt loops of his pants and pulls him in the last inch. Growling like a caveman, he bends at the waist and effortlessly scoops me into his arms only to usher me past the kitchen, living room, and down a hallway. With a push of his foot, he opens the door to his bedroom. The ten-foot ceilings give the room a heavenly feel along with the all-white bedding and giant California king.

  Just when I think he’s about to toss me in the bed, he gives it a second thought and gently sets me down, going down to his knees in front of me. Reaching behind him, he grips the back of his shirt and pulls it forward over his head revealing his expertly chiseled body.

  God, how could I forget what he looks like without a shirt? This image should be burned in my mind, on constant replay, like a screensaver on my phone, always there.

  Lifting my shirt, he reveals the spandex of my jeans, completely horrifying me. I scoot away, pushing my shirt down. God, it’s like he just revealed my Spanx without any warning.

  “Don’t scoot away from me.” He pulls on my legs, bringing me closer to him.

  “Don’t look at my pregnancy wear. Close your eyes. You should never see elastic where there should be zippers and buttons.”

  Chuckling, he doesn’t listen to me. No, he lifts my shirt and pulls down on the elastic of my very stretchy jeans, revealing my little baby bump. Sitting back on his heels, his hand washes over his face, the look of sincere wonder reflected in his beautiful eyes.

  Sitting up, he leans on his elbows, his arms straddling either side of me, and he brings his lips gently to my stomach where he kisses my bump. Peering at me, tears filling his eyes, he conveys with his awe-inspired look how happy he is.

  Unable to control my emotions, my eyes dampen as well, watching him kiss me from the top of my belly to the bottom, his fingers lightly caressing the sides.

  Even though it’s an intimate moment, the farther south he kisses, the more my body heats, the more I wiggle beneath him, looking for more, needing more.

  Continuing his journey south, he brings the rest of my jeans down with him until they’re pulled off and tossed to the floor. Hands trailing back up my thighs, they stop when they reach my panties.

  Eyes dark and lustful, he gives me a dangerous look. “Lace thong. Fuck, Adalyn.”

  Instead of ripping it off right away, he fingers the delicate lace, testing the waistband and the edges that encase the apex between my thighs. Fingers dancing dangerously close to where I so desperately want him, my head falls to the mattress and my back arches off the bed.

  I moan loud and hard when his fingers trace over my slit. I’m so wet, more wet than I ever imagine being.

  “Take my thong off, please,” I beg. He does and the minute the fabric is off me, I spread my legs and place my calves over his shoulders, pulling him in close.

  When I think he’s going to laugh, he doesn’t. His stare turns more dark, more serious, more intense.

  Turning his head to the side, his lips graze my thigh, nipping and licking, his hands sliding under my ass, cupping each cheek in earnest, bringing my center closer to his mouth. Hovering above me, he flicks his tongue, barely passing over my wet center, a whisper of a touch.

  Writhing under him, I push myself forward, hunkering my legs down so he has no place to go.

  “Please,” I beg. God, I’m so turned on, so in need of release. Of him.

  Hands still cupping my ass, he presses his mouth against my pussy and with one smooth stroke, moves his tongue up the valley between my legs, hitting my clit in the process.

  “Yes,” I moan, my legs hooking Hayden in even closer.

  Long languid strokes, his tongue plays with my arousal, keeping the same pace, the same pressure. It’s mind-blowing, intoxicati
ng.

  “More,” I demand, feeling how easily his tongue slides against me, how incredibly aroused I am.

  Muttering against me, the vibrations of his voice making my stomach drop, he says, “Tastes so good. So fucking good.”

  A spark of my undoing shoots up my spine, his tongue working up and down my clit, licking, kissing, sucking. Pulling it between his lips, humming—

  “Oh God,” I scream, unable to hold back. I’m right there, my heart hammering in my chest, my clit pounding against his tongue, my legs starting to go numb as my stomach bottoms out on me, a ripple of pleasure tearing through me. Flicking his tongue over my clit, I convulse on him, my body jerking every which way, his grip holding me down, keeping his face firmly planted between my legs until I don’t think I can take any more.

  “Please, oh God, I can’t . . .”

  Releasing his mouth, he flips me over on the bed, pulls me up on my knees and brings my back to his chest, his rock hard erection pressing against me, his jeans an unwanted barrier.

  “Shirt and bra off. Now.”

  Doing as I’m told, I race to get naked as I hear him disrobe himself from behind.

  I toss my clothes to the side and kneel on his bed, waiting for his next move. I don’t have to wait for long when his hands reach around me, his warm, strong body flush against mine. Bending his head forward, his cheek against mine, he looks down my front, groaning in my ear.

  “These fucking tits. Shit Adalyn, they’re so goddamn big.”

  That’s the honest truth. I’m all tits and belly in my pregnancy. It’s been very difficult to find things to wear.

  As he cups them, the weight heavy in his hands, I lean my head back and moan softly, loving his touch.

  “Goddamn, you feel good.” His thumbs pass over my nipples and I cry out in pleasure. “You like that, baby?”

  “Yes.” The words fall out of my mouth in a long, drawn-out syllable.

  Taking my cue, he passes his thumbs over my nipples again, his hands still cupping my breasts, squeezing and teasing.