Of course, we are old enough to do what we want, and this is going to happen either way.
“I think Susan will have seen it coming,” Keagan says.
My mom always knows things in advance. I nod.
“And my dad will just have to get used to the idea,” he adds. “He knows what love is, and he can’t deny that we love each other. That’s all we need.”
Keagan kisses my hand again, and we drive in silence toward home. We’re going out to dinner, but I know that Keagan will have his way with me again first.
And I’m more than happy about that.
Now take a look at the first three chapters of…
Mountain Man Baby Daddy
A Billionaire + Virgin Bride Romance
By Vivien Vale
Copyright 2018 by Crimson Vixens
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.
Vivien Vale
Jack
The crystal blue waters of the lake are ice cold, but my cock is hot and thick and rock fucking hard.
My coat is laying back on the cooler I brought with me. So are my boots. My coveralls, my flannel, my jeans—every fucking piece of clothing that most men need to survive this kind of cold, I’ve left high and dry back on shore. Right down to my socks and my goddamn underwear.
Shit like this takes time to learn. You have to train your body to endure the harsh conditions, the deadly chill and most of all, the pain.
I prepared myself for this. Got my aim just right. I’ve been doing this for ten fucking years now, and I can’t remember the last time I missed.
Diving into the freezing waters of an iced-over lake like this would kill most men. Even those hot shot billionaire bad boys in the city who think the whole fucking world ought to bow to their horny little pricks and hairless little balls.
It won’t fucking kill me.
At this point, I don’t think anything can.
My body breaks the surface of the water with all the finesse of an Olympic diver. Like I said—practice. I dive down deeper than I need to, all the way to the lake’s bottom. When I get there, I open my eyes and take in the full scope of the lake life beneath the frozen surface.
At this point, most people would be enraptured in awe if they weren’t fucking dead already. The beauty of it all still gets me sometimes, and I’ve marveled at this more times than I can count.
Up above me, through the big Jack-sized hole I sawed into the ice, the last rays of an early winter sunset light up the water, illuminating my exit. All around, the lake life continues, business as usual, despite the blanket of ice shutting them off from the outside world.
It’s breathtaking, sure.
It’s also like reading a fucking menu.
I select my prey with ease, swimming up and snatching a sizable bass with my rough, thick fingers. I rip it right out of its path.
It struggles hard, but my grip is tighter. What a fucking beauty this is going to be. I can already feel my stomach grumbling in anticipation.
My body is still so hot as I swim back up to the surface, the water practically boils where it meets my skin. I follow that light shining up overhead, though it’s dimmed a bit by now. Winter days turn to long winter nights pretty quick out here in the mountains.
It’ll be dark soon, and I’ll be glad to be back in my hand-built cabin, dinner in my belly and not a fucking worry in the world for the rest of the night.
I hold the bass between my teeth as I hoist myself up back out onto the thick sheet of ice covering the surface of the lake, kicking my feet to raise my legs behind me. Fuckers as big as me and as heavy with muscle as I am are in danger of cracking even the thickest layers of ice if we don’t come up out of it properly.
Not that there are many fuckers as big as me.
When the cold air hits my body, the beads of water tangled in the thick, dark hair of my arms and chest turn to steam against my skin. I toss the fish off to the edge of the lake adding to the pile of what I already caught with my homemade fishing rod. It usually does the job, but some fish are just better caught with your own two hands.
WHIP! WHIP! WHIP! My hair cuts the still air as I shake my head, getting out any extra wetness. I ring out my beard and towel off my skin with my flannel. Nothing like a brisk fucking day to put a little more hair on your chest—not that I need any.
My bare feet sink down into the snow as I make my way over to my tree-stump seat. Part of me just isn’t fucking ready to call it a day and trudge home yet. Days like this, it’s easy to remember why I came out here in the first place.
On the other hand, I have my days where I can’t help but be haunted by the memory of my fallen brothers. They trained for shit like this too, same as me—shit like this, and shit far fucking worse. And after all that training…it just blew up their goddamn faces. Literally.
I relive those tortuous fucking moments every fucking day. The nightmares might not happen with every sleep anymore, but they still won’t leave me alone.
I can still see their lifeless faces as clear as day. I did nothing to save them. Couldn’t have done anything, even if I’d tried.
I just ran. We all fucking did. That’s all we could do to save our lives from certain death. It was instinct kicking in.
Unfortunately, the only one still alive by the time my breath tore through my chest and my legs gave out was me.
I lived. But the guilt still fucking kills me. Moving back home after my so-called “honorable discharge” was too much pain to bear. I saw their faces in the newspaper, on TV.
Worst of all, I saw their families. Every fucking one of them wanted to chit-chat with me after their funerals. Lay their hands on my big, broad shoulders and tell me that they were glad I survived.
I can’t even say that for myself.
Their loved ones died, while I walked away unpunished. Pieces of shit like me don’t deserve the privilege of living in the comfort of society surrounded by the people who love them.
I’m a fucking failure. A disgrace to my uniform.
And when the night terrors come…
I’m not safe for anyone to be around, period.
I left home in the middle of the night, not a word to anyone. As much as my parents tried to reassure me that I did nothing worthy of bearing guilt, I didn’t fucking buy it. Unconditional love wasn’t made for assholes like me, and if there’s one thing I can’t stomach, it’s living a lie.
So here I am, ten years later. I’ve built a cozy, structurally sound environment for myself. No people, no problems. Every month or so, I run some firewood into town in exchange for a ration of some minor groceries.
There’s a little old lady down there who keeps me stocked with eggs in exchange for silly little honey-do tasks she can’t complete herself, and the general store is happy to operate on trade. Good fucking thing, too—I’d be lost without flour for my pancakes.
Just thinking about the past has left my breath ragged. It billows out in front of me, the vapor manifested in the air. I peer around through the trees and see an orange-yellow sun veering off to the west in the sky.
That’s my cue. Dinnertime.
I get my clothes back on my body, lickety-split. When it gets too dark, I’ve been known to leave garments out here on occasion and just walk back up the mountain in my boots and my manhood. All this thinking about the past, though…tonight, I just don’t wanna fucking deal with it.
On the bank of the lake, I gather a bundle of sticks and logs and pile them on each other. I take my flint and starter and get a quick flame going. It catches immediately on the wood. Sure, I can ignite a fire with just my sticks, but some days I like to reserve myself. Even a monster can use a break once in a while to stay sane.
I take my big old cast iron skillet, settle it
over the flames. When it’s nice and hot, I toss in a knob of butter half the size of my fist. While that melts, I gut the bass in a few easy strokes of my knife and slap it into the pan. Nothing like the smoke of a homemade fire and the sizzle of something you’ve caught yourself to make you feel at home.
As the pan sizzles over the fire, cooking my fish nice and thorough, a hellish screech comes shrieking through my quiet habitat.
Sounds like a car. For the driver’s sake, I fucking hope it ain’t. These mountain roads have been nothing but black ice for a week now, and with a storm coming in…
I just fucking hope it ain’t a car.
I stand up and look through the trees to see a red sedan swerving out of control up on the path. I watch its movements, bracing myself to bolt if it comes this way.
Suddenly, the car flies off the road and starts rolling down the mountainside. I hear it crash into the mountain each time a side hits the terrain.
I don’t even think about it. In my line of work, you weren’t trained to think. You were trained to just do . There’s someone piloting that car and no matter how dumbshit I might think they are, I need to help them.
I swiftly scoop up my flashlight and charge in the direction of the crash. I know one thing for sure: if anyone is even in that car anymore, they’re in rough shape…if they’re even alive at all.
My heart races as I strain myself, using trees and natural footings in the mountain to climb my way up to the crash.
When a person is injured, you waste no time. You don’t look back. You just keep pushing on.
And that’s what I have to do right now, for this driver and who knows how many passengers. I’m already mentally preparing how much I can ration out of my own supplies to be able to help them.
That’s the trouble of living alone. I used to worry about it a lot. Hospitality was a big part of my family’s lessons growing up. You don’t hog to yourself what you can give to others. But when you haven’t shared with a soul in ten years, you become relaxed and tend to keep less around you.
I continue forward. Damn, it’s a trek up here. I’m surprised the car tumbled so quickly. They’re lucky they stuck where they did, but still…I’m not expecting the best-case scenario with this.
The headlights are still lit, shining against a snow-covered mountainside. From what I can tell, the car is about a foot shorter than it was when it started at the top. Not a good sign at all.
As I make my way up the tree-littered hill, I realize just how strong I’ve become out here. I’m tearing through trees, breaking branches, moving earth as I launch myself towards that car.
I finally arrive at the crash site. The car landed upright, but there’s a big tree that must have crashed on top of it when the vehicle made contact.
I peer through the window, shining my flashlight inside, and I see a woman. She’s young. Blonde. Admittedly, even unconscious, she’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
Only fucking problem is, she’s covered in blood, gasoline and who the fuck knows what else, and I just heard the sizzle of the car engine catching fire.
I reach for the door handle and pull it with all my might. It won’t budge. I push my foot against the side of what could formerly be considered a car to get more leverage. Still nothing.
Panicking, I take my elbow and slam it against the windshield, shattering the glass. This woman is already cut to hell, so I feel bad. But I have to help her out in time, if she’s even still with me.
I lean into the car and see that she’s in a big, fancy wedding gown. What in the world was this girl doing all the way out in the woods like this? What a wedding day to have come crashing down the side of a mountain.
I reach my hand out to her neck, and feel that there’s still a pulse. Shallow breaths rise and fall in her chest. There’s hope for her yet. But first, I’ve got to get this fucking tree out of the way.
Avery
I need to focus on the road like, so bad right now, but this stupid freaking bridal veil keeps falling over my stupid freaking eyes. I guess that’s the purpose of a veil, when you really think about it…but right now? Not helpful.
I rip it out of my hair, undoubtedly damaging my precious blonde locks in the process, roll down the window and toss it out. I can see it flutter behind me in the rear-view mirror, catching on the cold winter wind and floating away.
That’s exactly what I need to do right now. Float away, down from this mountain and into a new freaking life.
As my foot continues to add pressure onto the gas pedal of my car, and my hands tighten their grip around the steering wheel, I can’t think of anything other than how badly I needed to get away from that resort.
Never in my life have I ever been so hurt, so devastated by the people who are supposed to care most about me. What a day. What a freaking time! People are supposed to pamper a bride on her wedding day, aren’t they?
Instead, I got to discover that everyone I know and love is a liar and a traitor—and not just to me.
Seriously? What kind of a life is this nonsense? My entire childhood, I was an obedient and loyal daughter. I held on to every word Daddy spoke. I entertained every idea he put forth. The children of some congressmen don’t take to it well. They feel the need to rise up and rebel and make some kind of statement about how the State doesn’t own their lives.
But me? I took to it like a fish to water. I fulfilled every freaking request, asking for absolutely nothing in return.
I guess I should have asked for honesty.
Especially before I agreed to marry a man just because Daddy said so.
How didn’t I see this before? How could I have been so blind?
I admit, I was naive. But Adam was so handsome! So charming! And it was all arranged by my father, who I was so sure loved me. I believed he would never do anything, anything at all, if it would put me in danger of any kind. If there was any risk of me getting hurt.
I trusted my father to do right by me, just as I’ve always done for him. After all, that’s how parents are, right? They want what’s best for their children.
Instead, I’m here, mentally broken and physically jarred.
Adam’s grip around my arm is still so fresh in my mind. Feeling the ghost of his lust and anger brings tears to my eyes.
Part of me knows I should stop driving. I’m emotional and all out of whack. I’m not a great driver even on a good day. I’ve never had to be. On a day as bad as this one, I know I’m just as much of a danger to others on the road as I am myself.
But there aren’t any others on the road. Not tonight. And I have to leave. I need to go as far away as possible, so I can finally try to remember what it’s like to feel safe again.
Safe from my father and his political manipulations. Safe from the man who was supposed to be my husband. God, I can’t even think of him like that anymore. I won’t let myself.
Yesterday, everything was normal. Our wedding was set in stone. Our honeymoon was arranged. My paperwork to change my last name was filled out and sitting on the vanity of my luxurious bridal suite, ready to be signed and dated.
A January wedding. Mommy loved that. Her little princess bride, all decked out in holiday red and ice blue with a backdrop of snow just as pure as I am.
But all of that’s changed. It’s out the freaking window and I’m never letting it back in as a thought, let alone an option.
The Avery that was supposed to marry Adam is gone. The Avery that was interested in Daddy’s career over her own happiness has died.
Maybe I’ll dye my hair brown. That would really throw both of them for a loop. It would make it so much harder for them to find me, and I never want to be found. Green contacts could be good too. A trench coat. I’ll get a trench coat—something from Burberry. I’ll start wearing sunglasses. I’ll buy a hat!
I’ll start over. Become someone new. How I’m supposed to achieve all of this without Daddy’s money, I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.
<
br /> I need a new phone number too. In fact, I’ll need a new phone.
God, that phone. I thought it was cute when Adam bought us matching cells. Picking up Adam’s by accident just before the ceremony ruined everything. Now, nothing will be the same again.
But do I really want it to be? I consider it for a second. Like, really freaking think about it. It’s the world’s most tortuous “Would You Rather?”.
Would I rather live in the dark, married to a man who nearly just raped me? Making a home for him and filling it with children without ever realizing what goes on behind closed doors?
Or would I rather have the truth, and all the fear and uncertainty that comes with it?
I push the pedal to the floor.
The truth. I always want the truth.
There’s no point in living if the life you’re living is a lie.
Doubling down on the gas makes me feel powerful, but the car doesn’t like it one bit. I can feel it starting to fishtail. The last thing I need is to crash this freaking car right now. But now that I’ve hit this speed, I know slamming on the breaks is the worst possible option.
I have to maintain my speed, easing off it little by little.
Driving on ice is a hard thing for even a professional driver to do.
And like I said. I’m not a great driver on a good day, and this is a bad one.
As I try to focus and try not to panic, I feel it coming. The water works. I can’t help it. When your entire world turns upside down on you, you just want to break down and cry.
I won’t accept judgement from anyone for that. It’s perfectly healthy to have real feelings. It’s okay to not know what to do. I’m going to figure this out.
But I don’t even know where I’m going, even if I don’t die on this mountain tonight. Driving aimlessly isn’t smart. It’s uncalculated, it’s underprepared. It’s a grown-up version of a childish impulse to escape from whatever it is you don’t like.
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