His Secret Baby (A Bad Boy Romance)

by Waltz, Vanessa

  Sighing, I close the distance between us and brush back the hair from her face. “You were right. About everything.”

  The smugness on her face should be a punishable offense. “It’s about fucking time you believed me.”

  “I’m sorry. I feel like an asshole. You were warning me about her this whole time. Honest to God, I didn’t see it.”

  She touches my face. “I know.”

  “Want! Dada!”

  Daniel whines in his crib as he sits up and reaches for me, his cute little face molded into a perfect pout. I pick him up, rubbing his back as Christine beams at me.

  “You were right, and I was wrong. You’ll never have to leave him here again. Promise.”

  “I’m not going to thank you.”

  “I know.”

  But she slides her hand in mine all the same as we walk out of the day care and back to our apartment. Daniel whimpers the moment we step inside, and Christine shushes him, stroking his little cheeks. My brain’s still fried from everything that happened, but it’s a comfort to hold his small body and feel the strong grip of his hand curling around mine. Gradually, he goes limp in my arms, and I lay him in his crib for him to sleep.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  Christine folds her arms over her chest, glaring at me over the crib. The last thing I want to do is rehash that clusterfuck to my wife.

  “You were right. What more do you want me to say?”

  “How did you find out I was right?”

  That’s a dangerous question.

  My mouth suddenly dry, I walk past her into the kitchen. I grab a glass from the cupboard, and when I close the door, she’s standing in front of me. My fingers whiten around the hard edges as my heart jumps. She watches me fill the glass with water from the sink and gulp it down.

  “Stop stalling.”

  I put it down on the counter. “She’s out of her mind, Christine.”

  “You’re just making things worse by evading the question. What. Happened?”

  Fuck it.

  “She took my hand and put it on her tits.”

  Her eyes narrow dangerously. “She what?” Christine’s arms are locked so firmly against her chest that I think I’ll need a crowbar to loosen them.

  “Baby, she’s sick. It’s not worth getting upset over.”

  “I’m going to fucking kill her.”

  And she marches toward the door presumably to do just that. Laughing, I seize her arm. She spins around, looking furious.

  “I’m glad you think this is a big fucking joke! What if a man grabbed my tits?”

  I’d kill him.

  “This is different.”

  “How the hell is it different?”

  “She’s sick, Christine. She deserves to be committed, not beaten.”

  Christine looks like she doesn’t give a fuck. To tell the truth, I doubt I’d be able to keep my fists off any man who touched her, no matter what his mental state was. I stroke her cheek with the back of my hand, but she slaps it away.

  “I can’t get over how sexy you look when you’re pissed off.”

  Her mouth trembles as though on the verge of letting out a stream of insults. Everything about her screams, Don’t fucking touch me.

  And that’s why I have to touch her.

  I grab her shoulder, and she tries to twist out of my reach, so I grab her waist and yank her into my body.

  “Thane, stop it!”

  She says stop, but her body softens against mine. My skin tingles when she lays her palm flat on my chest. This woman drives me mad with lust—I can’t keep my hands away when she’s that furious over another woman putting the moves on me. There’s no chance in hell I’d ever take the bait, but it still makes me happy to see how much she cares.

  “The jealousy is hot but completely unnecessary.”

  “As if I’d be jealous of that psycho.”

  “Good, because you have no reason to be.”

  I slide my hands down the waistband of her jeans, watching her eyes widen as I cup her mound, my finger massaging her clit.

  “I’m only interested in this pussy.” For the first time in my life, I mean it. My veins rush with heat as my cock starts to throb. “Ever since we’ve met, I’ve only wanted you.”

  “Even when we were apart, you never—?”

  “Never.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we were married. It’s a sacred vow. Believe it or not, that means something to me.”

  “I thought you would find someone else. You have to admit the whole playboy act is a bit jarring.”

  “I had my fun, but when I met you I knew it was time to settle down.”

  “What was it about me?”

  She was the girl in the park. Every time she held my hand, I couldn’t speak. My dad would make fun of me afterward for how my face would turn bright red.

  I loved her. That was all. Why can’t I just tell her?

  “I fell for you hard and fast.”

  Tears slowly fill her eyes. “I think in the back of my mind, I was hoping you’d find us.”

  “I know.”

  Her eyes close as she meets my lips in a kiss that deepens immediately. The back of my neck tingles as she slides her fingers through my hair, her nails dragging. She flattens her other hand over my back, pressing down hard as she curves it over my ass and squeezes. I bury my hands in her hair, kissing her flustered mouth. My voice rises into a hiss when her fingers curl around my cock, and then she breaks away from my lips.

  “This is mine.”

  It’s always wonderful to have a woman’s hands wrapped around me, but I’ve never had one grab me and claim ownership over my dick. I can feel my heartbeat pounding through her hands as I gaze into her fierce eyes.

  “I love you.”

  I say it without thinking, because I don’t need to think to know I love her. Yes, my cock is hers and everything that’s attached to it too. My pulse races when she touches me. She won me over when we were kids, and still her fearlessness awes me, her unwillingness to submit.

  She crashes against my lips, diving her hand down my slacks. We’re too far from the bed, so I drag her to the couch, stripping her clothes from her beautiful body. The moment she grabs my cock, I feel faint. It’s as though all the blood drains from my head to pool in my groin. She jerks me through the fabric as I knead her tits, enjoying how they fit in my hands. Then I bend down and bite, loving the high gasp that breaks the air-conditioned air. I’m knuckle deep in her pussy, and she pants over my shoulder.

  She’s ready for me, so fucking wet I can hear it, so I yank her jeans down. They snag on her hips, but I keep pulling. Her panties follow them, and then I get a nice view of my fingers buried in her pink cunt. There’s not a part of her I don’t love: her thick thighs, the smoothness of her skin, her belly just begging to be nipped, even her feet and her red-painted toenails. She sags against me when I slip out of her pussy, and then I glide my wet fingers in her mouth. My cock jumps as she sucks them, her eyes locked on mine. When I pull them out, she damn near knocks me over with her mouth crushing against mine. Her tongue swirls in my mouth, and I can taste her pussy. I break away from her swollen lips and make a sound deep in my throat, a primal growl that surprises me. I take her shoulder in my hand, and I throw her over the arm of the couch.

  Christine’s bends over, ass up, her back sloping down and her tits hanging like teardrops. I can’t get my slacks off fast enough, and then I fist my cock. The head bulges through the closed circle of my hand, and a stream of clear precum dribbles down. I smear it around my head, and then I spread her ass cheeks to find her warm, wet heat. I sigh in ecstasy as she gives me the slightest resistance, and then I enter her. That sound she makes when I fuck her is like angels singing. Damn, it turns me on. She bucks her hips as I anchor myself deep. My thrusts pitch her body forward, and I yank back on her bony hips.

  Smack. Smack. SMACK.

  Just the sight of her tits swinging back and forth is almost
enough to get me to come. Her lips part as she lets out a sharp cry with every thrust, and I lean forward, grabbing the white-blonde hair that makes her look so innocent. I pull on it hard, forcing her to arch her neck, and I almost lose myself at the thought of knocking her up again. I want her smooth belly growing big with my child. Goddamn. If she thinks I’ll leave her alone when she’s pregnant, she’s fucking mistaken.

  Christine’s arms tremble. I pull out, her pussy squeezing me like a glove. She curls up on the couch, her face flushed and her hair mussed around her head in the perfect combination of sexy and just-fucked.

  “I want you to look at me when you take my cum.”

  She lifts her hips, wrapping her legs around me. Blood pulses to my cock, almost painfully. I ease myself back inside her as she lifts her head and grabs my neck, her fingernails scratching me. She yanks me down, impatient with my slow strokes. Her heels dig into my ass. I embrace her, wrapping my arms under her back, and I’m overwhelmed with how her body feels. I can’t keep track of all the sensations. My balls tighten as my tempo increases. She grabs my face, kissing me, begging me, her eyes burning.

  A torrent of cum explodes from my cock as I hammer her deep, the wetness a seductive sound. Intense relief pours over me as Christine tightens around me. She melts in my arms, and I’m still pounding at her pussy because it feels so damn good, because that voice keeps insisting on spreading my cum as deep inside her as possible.

  It feels different. She can’t look away from me. Can’t stop touching me. She smiles at me, and I grin back.

  “You always fuck me so perfectly.”

  “That’s why we’re made for each other.” I kiss her then, and she responds hungrily, as if I didn’t just fuck the shit out of her. Our lips break apart, and I untangle my fingers from her hair to stroke her body.

  “I love your beautiful body. I love your hair. I love your smart mouth. I love you, Christine. I always have.”

  Her mouth parts. “Always?”

  “I was the boy at Mission Dolores Park, and you were the girl who caught grasshoppers.”

  “Oh my God—Shane—Thane! You’re him! I can’t believe it.”

  I smile at her. “So you do remember.”

  “Why didn’t you come back? I looked for you every week, but you never came back to the park.”

  “My father thought that it wasn’t worth the risk. I never forgot about you, though. I hoped I would see you again, and when I met you at the bar, I knew.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? All this time…”

  “I don’t know. You didn’t seem to recognize me, so I didn’t want to bring it up. I guess I was just waiting for the right time.”

  She searches my face with a sad little smile. “Those were the happiest times of my life.”

  “We’ll make more happy memories together. I promise.”

  “I love you too.”

  My heart squeezes and releases as a tear runs down her cheek. I kiss it, and her mouth finds mine. She whispers into my mouth.

  “Give me another baby.”

  I slide off the couch and lift her in my arms as she laughs, and then I head straight for the bedroom.

  * * *

  Want something done? Do it yourself.

  George was murdered. So was Paul. Different methods. One was stabbed in the chest repeatedly—crime of passion. The other seemed like an opportunistic crime. Wrong place, wrong time. Paul was beaten, he was overpowered, and then they hung him over the stairwell for good measure. What was the point of it? To send a message?

  I just don’t know.

  Underneath the infirmary is where the syndicate keeps the dead. They’re all locked in cold storage until funeral arrangements are made, and that’s likely where Paul’s body is. At the very least, I’ll be able to read the coroner’s report.

  The memory of the last time I visited the morgue wasn’t pleasant. When I came here years ago, it was to identify my brothers and father. I walk onto the stainless steel floor, surrounded by the smell of formaldehyde.

  “Good morning, Mr. Blackthorn.”

  The coroner is a man in his sixties with close-shaved, white hair and a beard. His protuberant eyes always give the impression of incessant staring.

  I shake his proffered hand, and he gestures toward toward the bodies lying flat on the steel tables.

  “Walter, I’m here about George and Paul. Is that him?”

  “Yes, indeed.” He pulls back the heavy, white, plastic drape over the body, revealing Paul’s waxy face.

  It looks nothing like the man I knew.

  Walter points at the ligature marks around his neck and his bloodshot eyes. “You can see here the marks the rope and the burst capillaries in his eyes. Suffocation due to strangulation will likely be the official cause of death. I haven’t tested his carbon dioxide levels yet, but note the bluish tinge of his fingertips. Yet another symptom of acute hypoxia.” He shows me Paul’s hand; his thumb and fingers are a dark blue.

  “Were there any other marks?”

  “There was slight bruising on his skull, but that’s all. No broken bones or any other signs of trauma.”

  “So whoever killed him knocked him on the head, threw this noose around his neck, and hurled him over the stairwell?”

  “His neck was unbroken, so the fall did not kill him. Most likely, he was strangled before his body was hung over the stairwell.”

  A prickling feeling creeps up the backs of my arms.

  “What about George?”

  “Multiple stab wounds to the chest from a single-edged knife. I found blood in his lungs, so he was alive for some time after being stabbed.”

  Jesus. It’s a lot more than I wanted to know. His last moments must have been agonizing.

  “Could you give me a minute?”

  “Sure. Take your time.”

  Whistling to himself, Walter opens a door and disappears behind it.

  What did I expect to learn from visiting here? I did learn a bit about the murder weapons but nothing that could point me in any one person’s direction. Paul’s lifeless face stares at the ceiling. I throw the white plastic drape over his body in disgust.

  I don’t bother with a good-bye as I elbow my way out of the morgue, my heart heavy with disappointment. It was a complete waste of time. I don’t know why I expected anything different.

  “Thane!”

  I pause midstep, halfway up the first flight of stairs back to my wife. A young man sprints to the bottom of the steps.

  “There you are!”

  “What is it?”

  He grimaces at me, breathing in deep gasps as he clutches the stitch in his side.

  “It’s your wife. She’s hurt.”

  10

  Christine

  Thane’s chest rises and falls like the sea. The air billows in his lungs and blows out. One of his heavy legs is thrown over mine, and my arm is starting to cramp, but I don’t care. I’m exactly where I need to be. I study the lines of his face, my fingers riding the soft waves of his hair. Finding out that he was connected to that lost fragment of my childhood was like putting together a very important piece of the puzzle. It’s like discovering a new person. He’s the boy. The sweet, shy boy I would have never connected to the cocky man I met in the bar.

  It took weeks of him repeating over and over that we were meant for each other, that he wanted children with me, for it to sink in and take root. He’s an amazing father. A loyal husband. Beautiful. Fucks like a champion. And it turns out I knew who he was all this time. Those summers in the park. He looked so lonely, standing beside his father. I took his hand and introduced him to the other kids. He kissed me on the cheek once, and I remember how it burned and how we both blushed. It was a sweet, childhood affection, but it was real. I used to feel sad when I looked back on it, wondering whatever happened to the boy in the park. Turns out I’m married to him.

  I stretch my arms and legs, wincing with a smile. Every inch of my body throbs. Last night was insane. Thane an
d I fucked three times in a baby-making frenzy. It felt like when we’d just started dating, when everything was new and crazy-hot.

  I press my lips against his strong jawline, and a sleepy smile spreads over his face. Dark eyes crack open. Thane rolls over on his side. I can’t stop staring at the dimples carved into his cheeks, his dark hair splayed over the pillow, the dent just below his Adam’s apple, and his broad chest, warm and inviting. He leans over and gazes at the clock on the nightstand, wincing when he reads the time.

  “Fuck. I gotta go.”

  “Do you have to?”

  I’m a bit let down. I was hoping we could stay in bed together for a little while longer.

  “Believe me, I wish I could stay.” Then he gives a rib-cracking yawn.

  “Long night?”

  He grins at me, and then I feel his hot hand snaking around my waist under the covers. My stomach shivers as he palms my womb, his lips at my ear.

  “If you’re not pregnant after last night, I’ll be very surprised.”

  “You know it doesn’t work like that, right?”

  “Smartass.”

  But he kisses my ear. He peels back the covers and sits up.

  “Listen, I’m going to go out for a few hours. I want to check out the coroner’s reports for George and Paul.”

  “What are you hoping to get out of that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they missed something.”

  “Maybe, but it’s really unlikely.”

  “I can’t just sit here and do nothing.” He pulls a pair of tight, black briefs over his shapely legs. “Whoever he is, he’s targeting people like me. People who used to be connected to the Council.”

  I sit upright, heart beating fast. “Who cares who you were connected to? It’s done, for fuck’s sake. What more do they want?”

  “Revenge? I really don’t know. There’s a lot of bitterness lingering over the Council.”

  “It just seems…extreme.”

  “Yeah, well, no one is making headway in this investigation. We don’t have cameras in our stairwells, and no one was seen entering George’s suite.”