His Secret Baby (A Bad Boy Romance)

by Waltz, Vanessa

  “Come back to me.”

  He lowers himself, snaking a hand around the back of my head as fucks my pussy. The pleasure climbs like rungs on a ladder, and then his mouth descends over mine, hot and urgent. Any of my coworkers could burst in here and see me spread open for him. I close my thighs, but he takes out his fingers and slaps me wetly.

  “I’m not done.”

  I spread my legs back open, and he immediately dives back in.

  “But they could come in—”

  “—So what? Let them see. Look at this body,” he says in a reverent voice that makes me want to grab the tie hanging from his neck and kiss him.

  I feel his naked cock, still stiff against my leg as he curls his fingers inside my pussy, nailing me over and over again. His tie tickles my stomach before he lowers his mouth to one of my tits, which he pulls inside his cavernous mouth to suck.

  My moans split the air like a gunshot. His fucking tongue. It’s incredible. The wet muscle flicks across the sensitive skin, and my core contracts violently. The hard edge of his cock burns in my mind.

  “Fuck me.”

  He pulls back, his face alive with passionate energy. The word acts as a stimulus on his hands, one in my pussy, and the other on my breast.

  And then I come hard over his fingers, and my hands fly over my mouth to stifle the noise, but Thane laughs, pulling them away.

  Jesus.

  I stare at the bright lights in the ceiling until Thane’s head blocks the brightness. His weight bears down on me as my pussy clenches over and over. I’ve never come so hard. I’m nearly crying with the sensation. He kisses my neck, right under my jaw, and then finally my mouth, and this time he’s soft.

  “I think I got my money’s worth.”

  My head’s still spinning when he sweeps an arm around my back and pulls me into a sitting position. He picks up his clothes from the floor and pulls his slacks back on, digging into his pocket for the money clip.

  Heat rises up my neck. “I’m not taking your goddamn money.”

  Thane gives me a startled look.

  “Boss!” The pounding on the door resumes.

  “Don’t you need it?”

  I glare at him. Of course I need it, but I’m not going to stoop so low to start fucking for money. “I’m not one of your syndicate sluts.”

  “We need to go! Cops!”

  “I’ll take care of them,” he barks at the door before turning his gaze back on me.

  “What am I supposed to do with you?”

  “Didn’t you get what you want out of me?”

  “Take a good look.” Thane reaches down with one of his masterful hands and grabs his cock, which is still pushing a painful erection against his slacks.

  A distant wail suddenly breaks the silence. Sirens. And he hasn’t moved a muscle.

  “THANE!”

  He moves toward the door, turning his head to give me a cool look.

  “I’m not done with you.”

  * * *

  Two months later, he’s still not done with me.

  His car rolls up to the curb, and I watch from the second floor through my window. I fight that spark of desire in my abdomen when he steps out of the car. I feel like one of Pavlov’s dogs, drooling over a nice hunk of meat. Thane says I owe him for stealing from him, and so far my payment has mostly consisted of nights out with him. He takes me to restaurants, to plays, to whatever strikes his fancy, and then he takes me back home to rip every article of clothing from my body and fuck me so hard that I can barely breathe.

  Let’s face it. It’s all about the sex.

  I didn’t think he’d be so good—didn’t think he’d give a shit about whether his partner got off. I swear to God, sometimes it’s like he’s playing a game (How Many Times Can We Make Christine Come In One Night.) Sometimes he comes to my bar and whisks me away, which pisses Rob off, and sometimes he calls me and announces that he’s coming over. Every weekend, he fucks me until I melt into the sheets. Then I spend the rest of the week fantasizing about our wild nights and touching myself in the bathroom stalls at work. I’ve never been so happy in my damn life.

  I was content to be whatever the hell I was, as long as I was with him one night a week. It was perfect, and now it’s all gone to hell.

  I clutch the thin strip of plastic in my hand as sweat breaks out over my skin. What the hell am I going to tell him? How is he going to react? I close my eyes and open them again, willing for the test results to change like an Etch-A-Sketch.

  There’s no way I can have this baby. I just can’t. Two jobs and I can barely afford the rent, plus there’s the fact that the father is a fucking gangster. Still, he has a right to know, and when he does find out I’m sure he’ll escort me to the closest abortion clinic and pay for the procedure, because I can’t have this baby.

  I check my appearance in the mirror again as my eyes burn, hoping that the gown I bought at BCBG will be okay for whatever it is he has planned. A tinge of guilt stabs at me when I remember the price tag—nearly four hundred dollars. Thane gave me the money—insisted that I buy something nice for myself.

  The doorbell rings, and my heart slams into my chest. Thane stands in front of the door, his hair swept back and his face recently shaven. I can smell the aftershave on his cheek when he bends down and gives me a peck on the lips.

  I could say it.

  Thane, I’m pregnant.

  “Is this okay?”

  He told me to dress nice. Wouldn’t tell me why, what, or even when, just that it was a surprise. I’m thinking that I should wait until after the surprise to drop the bomb. Why ruin whatever he has planned? The baby—fetus—will still be there, growing inside me.

  Jesus, let it go.

  “You look beautiful.”

  I don’t feel the warmth from his compliment like I usually do. Probably because there’s a voice inside me chanting: You’re pregnant, pregnant, pregnant.

  “Thank you,” I say finally when his jaw tics.

  He takes my arm and leads me into the circle of his arms, which lock around me as he nuzzles my neck and gives my skin a playful bite, and suddenly I have an insane thought: Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I had the baby. He’s good to me, isn’t he?

  Sure, if you count the quality of the restaurants he takes you to. You’re reaching.

  My chest tightens, trying to think of the life inside me as not a life at all, but some kind of parasite that’ll surely ruin my life forever. I walk with him hand in hand to his car. He squeezes me hard. Almost too hard. Thane seems almost grim-faced when he opens the door to my car, and for a freakish moment I think he’s guessed the truth.

  “Is something going on?”

  Then he breaks into a smile and slaps my ass impatiently. “Get in.”

  I swing my legs into his Audi, careful to pull my dress inside before he shuts the door. I can’t describe the atmosphere once Thane gets into the driver’s seat and starts the car. It’s almost tense.

  “So, where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you to my place.”

  He doesn’t mean the dorms in the syndicate?

  “You’re taking me to the syndicate?”

  “Yeah.”

  My hands twist in my lap. In the two months that we’ve been dating/fucking/whatever the hell you want to call it, he’s never brought me to the syndicate. I told myself that there was probably a good reason why we always stayed over at my place. Maybe it was a rule of the syndicate’s, or perhaps it was a self-imposed one to spare me anything that might come out of that horrible place.

  “Why?”

  “It’s a surprise, hon.”

  “I really don’t like these kinds of surprises.”

  “How do you know what kind of surprise it is?”

  My head wheels around at him. “Something’s got you all keyed up.”

  “Yeah?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe it’s from looking at you in that dress.”

  “Now you’re trying to distract me
with sex.”

  He stops at a red light and gives me a look. “It’s not all about fucking, you know.”

  “Right.” I smile at him and look outside the window, the perfect image of calm as blood careens in my veins.

  “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love making you mine, but that’s not the reason why I had to have you.”

  “Thane, I don’t even know what you do for a living. Look, I’m not complaining. I’m not really sure I want to know, but I’m just having a hard time believing what you’re saying. We’ve done nothing but fuck since we met. Again, I’m still not complaining.”

  “There’s a reason for all of that.” Then he smiles to himself as if he’s laughing at a private joke. “You’ll find out tonight.”

  Fine. Whatever.

  Thane navigates through the snarl of traffic on Powell Street and turns into Union Square. My skin goes numb when I see the black, faceless building of the Black Dragons Syndicate. I always gave it a wide berth whenever I shopped in Union Square. News outlets don’t report on the syndicate, if only to publish charitable events they’re involved in. Every once in a while there will be a burnt down building, or a body in Golden Gate Park, and the police chief will make a statement about the “senseless tragedy” and make some kind of plea to the community to help “clean up the streets,” but nothing ever gets done. No one’s willing to stand up to them, especially when they own the city.

  We turn into the heavily guarded garage, which opens with Thane’s thumbprint on a scanner outside. The black door rolls upward, and he withdraws his arm to close the window. Facing us is a fairly unremarkable parking garage, although I don’t know why I expected anything different. There aren’t as many cars as I thought there would be, although I doubt most members need one when they could just hail a taxi anywhere, and probably get a free ride.

  Thane parks the car and I open the door, my heels clicking on cement. We walk in a slow pace toward the service elevator, my heart beating abnormally fast. I’m a bit nervous—a lot nervous—and not at all happy to be here. His arm curls around my waist the moment we’re alone in the elevator, and he kisses my forehead.

  The ground lurches as the elevator rises from the parking garage to the lobby. I get a view of white marble rising around me, and a giant black logo blazing against the white. Two black dragons are arranged in a circle, their jaws opened toward each other’s tails. At the center of the circle, the syndicate’s logo: Se mortem provocatio. I don’t know what it means, but if it’s Latin it can’t be anything good.

  Sprawled on the ground floor is something similar-looking to airport security. Beefy guards in in commando gear wave at Thane as we step out of the elevator. There doesn’t seem to be much activity in the lobby, and our footsteps echo over the high ceilings, reminding me of a church.

  “Put your purse on the belt.”

  “Are you serious?”

  I do it anyway as I pass through the metal detector, my head pounding with the strangeness of it. Another guard nods at the screen, and I’m handed back my purse. Thane’s reassuring hand clasps my waist as he walks through without incident, and I drink in the details of this place. There’s a hospital on the ground floor, or at least, the red letters say INFIRMARY. Four sets of elevators sit on the ground floor, and Thane takes me to one of them.

  His hand keeps rubbing my waist in gentle circles.

  “Okay, now you have to tell me what’s going on.”

  A deep smile curves into his cheeks. “Soon. Come on.”

  I hang back as the elevator doors open, thinking of refusing to come until he explains whatever the hell he wants from me. Thane leans against the frame, his hand keeping the door from closing. He watches me with those quietly smoldering eyes.

  “Come.”

  And he looks so inviting that I take his hand.

  * * *

  The elevator sinks into the ground as Thane’s hand tightens around mine. I watch the floor disappear as we go down. The moment we vanish from the lobby, he pushes me gently against the cold wall of the elevator and his mouth descends over mine. The butterflies take flight as he squeezes my waist, and I lean into his kiss, overwhelmed by the rush flooding my veins. I’m extremely aware of his body leaning against mine. I lower my hand, touching the solid bump between his legs. He smiles against my lips and pulls away.

  “Not yet.”

  “So where are we going?”

  He eyes me with a maddening glimmer, paired with the most self-satisfied smirk I’ve ever seen. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

  I let out a swift breath. “You know I don’t like this shit. Did you dress me up just to fuck me in something nice for a change?”

  “Partly.”

  He bows his head, his mouth teasingly out of reach for a few seconds before they burn on mine again. I’m stunned by his lips, even though his kiss lacks the gunpowder it usually has. He’s never been this soft. My chest tightens when he pulls back and gives me that look, the one men give you when they’re hopelessly head-over-heels. Then he reaches out and smacks the button to make the elevator grind to a halt.

  “You know I’m crazy about you, right?”

  Something about how he says that steals the air in the room. The air freezes in my chest.

  “We’re together every weekend, Christine.”

  “To fuck around, yeah.”

  “You think I take all my girls to the places I’ve brought you? You think I really need that to get laid? I know it’s only been a couple months, but I have a really good feeling about you.”

  “I—I have a good feeling about you, too.”

  I’m pregnant.

  It’s not the best start to any relationship. It’s probably the worst. I’m afraid to tell him, and even more terrified of how he’ll react. I can just see the ugly look on his face. The best part of my week is going out with him, and yes, taking him to my bed and having him fuck my brains out three, four times in a night. I don’t want to end that.

  “I was praying a couple days ago.”

  A little smile hitches on my face. “To that dragon you worship?”

  “No, smartass. I’m trying to tell you something important.”

  “All right,” I say in softer voice. “I’m sorry.”

  He nods. “I was praying, and then I knew what I had to do. It was as if this lightning bolt of clarity hit my head. I’ve never felt this before about anyone.”

  “I don’t know anything about you.”

  “There’s a reason for that, Christine.” He takes my chin in his hand. “You’re the one for me. I know it.”

  How can I look at him and tell him he’s wrong when there’s so much conviction ringing from his voice? If he were any other man, I would laugh, because I wouldn’t believe him. Men will say all kinds of shit to get into your pants, but not Thane. Lying is beneath him.

  If he left you, how would you feel?

  A sick feeling grips my stomach.

  “You can’t be serious?”

  He shoves his hands deep in his pockets. “I’m dead serious.”

  “Thane, what the fuck are you saying?”

  “I want to know if you feel the same way.”

  “I—”

  I’m not the sensitive type. I don’t cry during scenes in romantic comedies where the hero professes his love for the heroine. I cringe at grand gestures. Flowers make me sneeze. I don’t talk about my feelings, because I was always taught that expressing yourself was embarrassing. Thane’s just so fucking open, and it scares the shit out of me because I think I feel the same way, too. And I’m carrying his baby, and a sliver of hope darts in that maybe, just maybe I’ll be able to keep it.

  “I don’t even know what you’re asking me.”

  “Do you believe in fate?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, I do. Some things are just meant to be. That’s what I feel when I look at you. I want to be with you.”

  “I want to be with you, too.”

  The s
mile on his face darkens, turning into that feral mask that always makes my panties wet. He smacks the button again, and the elevator continues to descend.

  “Was that so hard to admit?”

  “Cocky bastard. Now will you tell me what all this is about?”

  He finds my hands, squeezing them hard as his eyes blaze. “I’m making you mine. For good.”

  Suddenly, the car lurches to a stop and the doors swing wide open.

  “What in the hell does that mean?”

  “Come on.”

  Still holding my hand, Thane leads me into a dark hallway with hollowed out holes for candles. They glow softly, illuminating the black walls and the strange, gold calligraphy. Men line the hallway, and smile at him from recognition, almost as if they were waiting for us.

  “Thane, what is this?”

  His hand tightens over my wrist ever so slightly. “Trust me, Christine.”

  Did I ever trust him?

  The hallway leads to a doorway that looks as though it was carved out of jagged rock. There are rows of pews, and they’re all filled with people I’ve never seen before in my life. The only light comes from the candles hidden in random alcoves, in the hollows of the wall. There’s an altar, and an old man wearing spangled dark robes behind it.

  What the hell is this—a chapel in the bowels of the syndicate?

  I take a closer look at the altar, and there are two very sharp-looking knives setting on red velvet, and a stone basin molded into the mouth of a dragon, stained with something that looks horribly like blood.

  “Thane?”

  My voice bounces sharply on the rough ceiling, and I hang back, pulling against his grip. He curls his hand over my wrist and yanks hard. I fall into his chest and look into his eyes, which are black in the darkness, flickering with candlelight.

  “I’m making you my wife.”

  The hallway explodes with my laughter. All of this—it has to be some kind of elaborate prank—some weird way of asking me to be his girlfriend. His lips curve into a little smile, but I notice how it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I stumble into the chapel as he pulls me along, still convinced that this is a joke.

  If it’s a joke, why the fuck are there two knives on the altar?