Knocked Up by the Dom: A BDSM Secret Baby Romance (Babies for the Doms Book 1)

by Penelope Bloom

  I make an innocent face, looking down at my laptop. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

  “Oh don’t even. I see it all over your face. You think I’m being a pushover for letting Cameron keep blowing me off. You think I should break up with him and save what’s left of my dignity.”

  “I mean, it kind of sounds like you think all that,” I say carefully.

  Lacey folds her arms and leans back in the chair and takes a deep breath. “I just keep convincing myself he’ll start paying more attention to me soon. Once the baseball season calms down.”

  “Isn’t he going pro? I mean, I don’t know if it’s ever really going to calm down for him.”

  She runs her hands through her hair and gets up. “I need to get some fresh air. By the way, I heard VirginPrincess88 messaged Jackson Pierce your dorm number.”

  “You wouldn’t!” I whisper angrily.

  “Sorry. It was probably crossing the line, but I had a few drinks last night and it was on my phone and, well, yeah. In all honesty, after the way you said the date went, I’m sure he’s not going to come hunting you down like I thought. A guy like him has got to be way too busy.”

  I shake my head in disbelief, grabbing my things to leave. “You can be really insensitive sometimes, you know that?”

  “Insensitive? Sorry I want my best friend to break out of her writing funk.”

  “Yeah, by practically trying to sell me off to some billionaire!” I snap.

  “A ridiculously sexy billionaire,” corrects Lacey. “Really, I’m starting to see why you’ve been a virgin for so long. I’m basically waving the most perfect, filthy rich cock in front of your face and you just won’t bite.”

  “First of all, I don’t think his thing is the rich part. And even I know you’re not supposed to bite it.”

  “You can be such a nerd,” says Lacey.

  Lacey heads off to class and I head back to the dorm, still feeling pissed and confused. I’m pissed because Lacey should know not to give my dorm number to a stranger from the internet, even if he looks as good as Jackson. It’s not like good looks mean the guy isn’t a serial killer. And I’m confused because I’ve spent so long thinking I wanted this to happen or something like it. I always dreamed of some set of improbable circumstances that practically fast-tracked me into the perfect guy’s bed. It would be spontaneous, romantic, and as inevitable as a trainwreck.

  Now?

  I’m seeing first hand that reality is a hell of a lot scarier than fantasy. Nothing feels as simple and clear as it did when I used to daydream about something like this. I just never bothered to think how scary it would be

  But screw that. I’m a writer, for God’s sake. An author. I’m in this world to experience it and turn those experiences into stories. How the heck am I supposed to do that if I don’t let go for once and live?

  My little burst of energy is cut short when I see the tall figure clad in a dark suit leaning against the wall. I can only see his back and his broad shoulders, but I know in an instant who it is. Jackson Pierce.

  One look at him and my stomach is a ball of ice. Before I know what’s happening, I’m heading back the way I came, running as fast as my feet will take me, jumping down two steps at a time, gasping in air like I’m a marathon runner at the end of a race. When I finally reach the bottom of the stairs and stand in front of the door, I stop, leaning my forehead against the door. I force myself to breathe slowly, letting my head hang as I gather my thoughts.

  “Come on, Bri,” I whisper to myself. All I have to do is pretend I’m in one of my books. Pretend I’m the character and Brianne is somewhere above, tapping fingers at keys and making an ordinary, forgettable person into someone special. Someone who takes risks and doesn’t hesitate. Someone who is brave and strong.

  I turn slowly, looking at the stairs. I take each step with slow, measured strides, ignoring the way my heart races, ignoring the tornado of doubt and fear swirling in my mind, ignoring everything. I only focus on being somewhere else. I’m outside, looking in, because this is what I want. Right?

  I stop short on my way back up the stairs because two men in dark coats are coming down. Considering this is supposed to be a female only dorm, it’s enough to draw my attention. That, and the fact that both men look to be in their thirties. Maybe they are friends with Jackson? I don’t think long on it because they move aside to let me past, but I don’t like the way they leer after me at all.

  I step back into the hallway and head straight for Jackson.

  He notices me when I’m a few steps away. The sight of his handsome features and dark hair almost makes me stop. Almost. But I don’t stop, I keep moving until I’m just inches away from him, craning my neck to look up at him.

  I’m about to say something brave and witty and amazing when he interrupts me with a kiss. He has to bend down slightly to crush his lips against mine and all my thoughts are blasted from my mind the instant our lips meet. His tongue is warm against mine and I’m enveloped by the perfectly masculine scent of him.

  He pulls back, looking down at me with lidded, hungry eyes. “Let me in your room,” he says.

  I fumble for my keys, reaching to put them to the lock before I even stop to think about what I’m doing. Let him in my room? What the hell am I doing? I’m about to protest, but I can feel him behind me. I can feel his tall, muscular frame and the thick weight of his expectation of obedience.

  I pause, shaking my head and frowning down at my hands. I wasn’t really about to just do that, was I?

  “I can’t just let you…” I trail off when he takes a step closer to me, practically pinning me to the door.

  “You can’t, or you won’t?”

  “Well, I mean, I--” I swallow hard. “I just don’t think it’s--”

  “Don’t think then. Listen to your body.”

  Jackson Pierce is a man used to getting what he wants. It’s in his every movement and the even tone of his voice. There’s a natural impulse to obey him, like pulling your hand away from a hot stove. Obey first, ask questions later. Except I’m not even sure it would be safe to ask him questions. One look at his steely, hard eyes and I’m not sure I even feel safe being alone with him in my dorm, yet I am sliding the key into the lock and turning it.

  It all happens in a haze, like things are moving at the speed of light and standing still at the same time. I can’t catch my bearings. I feel like I’m floating somewhere far away, watching this all happen to someone else. Which was my plan, wasn’t it?

  He follows me inside, hands reaching for me. I flinch back, holding up a hand. “Just… Can we slow down for a second here?”

  He narrows his eyes and his nostrils flare. It’s a look that says he’s not used to being asked to wait or slow down. Of course he’s not. I’m probably the only girl on the planet dumb enough to be hesitating in a situation like this with a guy like him.

  “What’s the problem?” he asks.

  “The problem? I don’t know, maybe that you can’t just show up and kiss a person and then demand that she let you into her room, for starters.” My voice is weak and breathless, but I don’t let up.

  “Seems like I can and I did,” he says, taking a step closer. “You also gave me your room number. Remember?”

  I close my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts, which is much easier to do when I don’t have to look at him. “If I agree to meet you again. Somewhere public,” I add, “will you leave?”

  “You want me to leave?” he asks. He’s so close I can feel the heat of his breath on my neck.

  No. I don’t want you to leave. “Yes.”

  He chuckles. “Suit yourself. I’ll pick you up tonight at seven.”

  It’s not a question or a request. It’s a simple statement of fact. I nod my head, because what else can I do? It’s only when I open my eyes that I realize how embarrassingly messy my dorm is. There’s a tipped over basket of laundry I still haven’t put back up from two days ago, and bras, panties, and thongs are spilling
all over the ground, just beside his feet.

  Jackson turns to leave, but pauses, kneeling to pick up a white thong between his thumb and forefinger. “This yours?”

  I reach to snatch it from him, face burning hot as I do. “Yes!” I snap. “Put it down.”

  “Nah,” he says, stuffing it in his jacket pocket with a smirk. “I think I’ll hang on to these. Collateral so you don’t try to stand me up.”

  I bite my lip as he leaves, closing the door behind him. I realize I’m still gasping for breath, and I don’t think it’s from my mad dash down the stairs a few minutes ago. I think he just has that strong of an effect on me. I do know one thing, the heat and tingle that runs from my belly down between my legs has nothing to do with the temperature in the room. Watching him take a pair of my panties like that… Knowing that he wants something so intimate of mine to keep. God. I don’t know why that’s turning me on so much, but it is.

  I set my laptop down and sit in front of it, typing out a frenzy of words before the sex scene in my story. I lose track of time as my fingers bang out word after word. When I’m done, I read back over it, realizing I’ve practically written my own experience word for word, emotion for emotion into the book, just changing the names. I keep reading it over and over, almost in shock that it came from my mind. Even though I haven’t reached the sex scene yet, it’s like an enormous weight has already been lifted off my shoulders.

  It worked.

  The only reason I can’t write this stuff is because I haven’t experienced it myself. And with that simple realization, I feel my reservations toward Jackson start to crumble. Maybe it’s not moral. Maybe it’s not even civilized. But I’m going to go to dinner with him, and I’m going to find out how to end this scene in my book.

  Jackson pulls up outside the dorms at exactly seven. He’s driving some kind of sleek black car that looks ridiculously expensive. The windows are completely black, but I know it has to be him. Anybody who could afford a car like that wouldn’t be going to college here.

  I take a few hesitant steps toward the car before he opens the door. He steps out, looking sinfully good in the suit he wears. It’s a deep blue and the crisp white shirt he wears beneath makes his tanned skin look flawless. I bite my lip, letting my eyes wander up the few buttons he has undone to the stubble on his face and the strong lines of his jaw. I look at his lips and can still remember their warmth and how he tasted.

  Heat swells in my stomach, spreading through my body and making me throb between my legs. I suck in a shuddering breath and walk toward him, suddenly far too conscious of how I must look to him. My clothes probably look cheap. My makeup probably looks like it was done by a child compared to the supermodels he has been with. But I look up into his cold blue eyes and see no mockery or humor. There’s only hunger.

  I’m struck by how hopelessly out of my league I am. I’ve stepped into the ring with a man who has years and years of experience where I have none.

  A chill runs down my spine.

  With only a slight curve of his lips as a greeting, he opens the car door for me, and I can’t help feeling like I’m stepping into his trap.

  I don’t focus on that, though. I think back to how good it felt to make progress on the scene I’ve been stuck on for months. For the first time in my life, I can actually feel the end of my novel as a possibility. It could happen, but only if I keep playing this man’s game.

  He places a strong hand on my back, helping me into the seat and I feel a tingle of warmth toward him at the gesture. I think back to how he called me princess and can’t help smiling a little. From most guys, the pet name would insult me. It would seem silly or childish, even.

  Nothing about Jackson Pierce is silly or childish. Intense, yes. Sexy, yes.

  When I settle into the seat of his car, the fabric shifts slightly around me, lowering itself and bulging or tightening in places until it feels like I’m sitting on a cloud with leather finish. I make a point of not going on about how amazingly cool the car is as Jackson gets in the driver’s seat. He’s probably bored to tears of women fawning all over his expensive gizmos. He’s also probably bored of them fawning all over his you-know-what. That thought makes a wave of panic pass over me.

  So far I’ve only thought about what I might let him do. Will I let him take me on a date. Will I let him sleep with me. I never stopped to think about what I would do beyond that point. Now I just imagine the long list of women he has slept with and how incredibly beautiful they’ve all probably been. I think about all the experience they probably had in bed and the wild, crazy things they did for him. Sleeping with me will be the biggest disappointment of his life.

  “I’m glad you decided to give this a chance,” he says smoothly, gripping my knee and causing an explosion of sensation to trickle up my leg, directly to my core.

  I smile, forcing a calm I don’t feel. What would one of my characters say in this situation? “Good. Just remember it’s exactly that. A chance. Not an invitation.” I have to clasp my hands at my side into tight fists to keep them from covering my mouth in shock. Did I just say that out loud?

  I half expect Jackson to order me out of his car or even to slap me, but he only smirks and bites his lip in the most unbelievably seductive way. “I’ll make note of that, Miss Tarragon.” His tone says he’s well aware I gave him a fake name.

  I avert my eyes, focusing in front of us as he shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road. I forgot about that little fib. He seems to like when I’m playful with him, and seeing his reaction emboldens me enough to push the limits again. “Maybe if tonight goes well, I’ll reward you with my real name.”

  He chuckles, sliding his eyes from the road to me for a second. Something passes over his face that I can’t quite place. Anticipation? Lust? I can’t be sure, but I wish I could just pluck the thoughts out of that gorgeous head of his right now, because I feel like I’m walking blind, and every step could take me over the edge of a cliff.

  Jackson seems content to drive in silence, but I’m fiddling with my hands and desperately searching for something to say after only a few empty moments. “So, do you do this often?” I ask. I try not to wince at my own stupid question.

  “Do what?” he asks. The way his lips just barely curl up at the corners tells me he’s toying with me. He wants me to have to say what I’m getting myself into.

  Well, if he thinks I’m going to be squeamish, he has another thing coming. “You know, the whole dark, brooding billionaire buying a girl’s virginity thing.”

  The hint of a smirk turns into a full grin. “It’s not just your body I’m after, Princess. I want your purity, too. I want everything you’re offering. And then some.”

  I sink back into my seat, staring at the road with slightly widened eyes and a not entirely unpleasant pulsing between my legs. Jesus. How do you even respond to something like that?

  “Well, all you have a chance of getting tonight is my name,” I say with more confidence than I feel.

  “We’ll see.”

  We eventually pull up to a theme park. I frown in confusion. “Is this that place with all the whales?”

  “It is,” he says.

  I glance around the empty parking lot as he helps me out of the car. It’s a very big parking lot and it’s very empty. “I think they’re closed,” I say, suddenly wondering if he brought me out here to an isolated place to murder me in the middle of the night.

  “They aren’t closed for us. Come on.”

  I follow him, wondering exactly what he’s planning. Does he want to take me through an empty theme park while all the lights are off? Sounds… creepy?

  “You know, if this was a movie,” I say, “this would totally be the part where the audience is yelling, ‘don’t go in there, you idiot! He’s a murderer!’” I cup my hands around my mouth to mimic the imaginary audience, but my smile fades at the look on his face.

  “I guess this is your first test of trust, then.”

  “My first tes
t of trust?” I ask.

  “Pure submission requires trust. Consider this practice.”

  I clutch my arms around my sides, feeling suddenly cold and hot at the same time. Being with him is so intense. It makes me feel alive and terrified all at once, but I know I don’t want it to stop.

  When we reach the front gate, a college kid strolls out of one of the ticket booths, yawning wide. He’s wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. Jackson pulls a few hundred dollar bills from his wallet and slips them to the kid, who nods.

  “Thanks, Mr. Pierce. Want me to hit the lights?”

  “Light it up,” says Jackson.

  The kid disappears back into the booth. A few seconds later, the entire park comes to life. Rides buzz into activity, streetlights flicker on, and music starts to pound through the chilly night air. Despite my still lingering sense of fear, a smile creeps across my face.

  Jackson looks over at me and grins. “I love this place, but I’ve never had the patience to wait in lines.”

  “You know,” I say, letting him take my arm as he leads me into the empty park. “They have fast passes.”

  Jackson shrugs. “Yeah, well, I don’t really like people all that much either.”

  “As a person, consider me offended.”

  He looks down at me with those icy eyes, but there’s a cold heat in them, threatening to burn right through all my good sense and all my reason. “You’re not like them, Princess.”

  I squeeze his arm a little tighter, wondering how just a few simple words can work their way into my chest and do such wonderful things, how they can melt away years of insecurity and doubt, and how they can make my feelings toward him blossom so quickly into something frighteningly strong.

  We move through the empty entrance of the park, but instead of creepy it feels almost magical. The lights in all the shops are on and fun music booms through the air. It starts to sink in that this is all for me. He arranged all of this for me, and it’s so far beyond anything a guy has ever done for me I’m having trouble even comprehending. So I don’t dwell on it. I let him lead me by the arm through the park until we approach a staircase to what looks like a rollercoaster.