Guarding Her: A Secret Baby Romance

by Lexi Whitlow

  I bring my lips to her cheek, just where the skin there meets her ear. I kiss her there, lips touching the soft downiness of her skin. Her hair smells like something fruity and tropical, like coconut and passion flower, like American shampoo and beauty products.

  “Matthias—this isn’t something I do. It’s not why I came to Amsterdam. Or Europe for that matter.”

  “Not many people go somewhere thinking that they’ll meet someone and have a night—or perhaps a week—of something nice.”

  “A surprising number of women do exactly that. Especially right after they graduate from college. I’m not—I’m not like them. I’m not ready for anything—”

  “That’s good. Because I’m not asking for anything. I’m not the type of guy who does.” Gently, I push her against the stone of the building, and I tilt her head toward mine. “You’re not ready for anything, and I’m not asking for anything except a night. Maybe a little more if you like what I’m giving you. I’m going to show you that you’re not all the things you think you are. You’re more.”

  I kiss her again, lips pressed to hers, less urgently this time. I taste the subtle hint of whatever sweet drink she ordered, feel the flick of her tongue against mine. She melts into me, her body going limp, save for her arms, which climb up to my neck, long cool fingers resting against my skin. My cock stirs, and it’s all I can do not to lift her right there and carry her up the stairs to the main floor. There’s room there to do all the things I want, to demonstrate exactly why she’s lovelier than any of the women I’ve met in this town. With this girl, though, there’s a need for exquisite slowness, time spent in exploration. I try to convey that with my kiss, lips meeting lips, skin touching skin. A soft moan escapes her lips, the sound communicated to my mouth alone.

  When I pull away, her lips are cherry red from the kiss. The slight change makes her face even lovelier, her vulnerability even more apparent. I’m the kind of man who doesn’t notice these things about women, who doesn’t even want these things.

  But I’m not one to dwell on emotions.

  I take her hand, and she lets me lead her up the creaking wooden stairs to the place where I’ll change her forever.

  Chapter Six

  Mallory

  A thousand girls would like to be me right now. I’m on my own, beyond the reach of my mother and the rest of my meddling family, traveling through Europe, and I’m standing in an apartment—or does he own the whole building? — of possibly the hottest guy I’ve ever met in my life.

  “What’s wrong?” His lips brush against my neck, hands wrapped around my waist, his body pushing against mine and pinning me against the wall. Maybe pinning me isn’t the appropriate description—it’s more that he’s gently holding me there, like he’s afraid I might break. There’s something strange about that. He doesn’t seem the type to be slow or gentle, and it’s freaking me out the slightest bit. Especially since I’ve never done this before. Any of it.

  “Matthias…” I’m not exactly a virgin, but I’m not exactly experienced. Those aren’t the words a guy wants to hear in a situation like this. I might look like I’m easy—or that’s what my mom said about my tattoos—but I’m not anything of the sort. I swallow hard. “I don’t do things like this. This is a little new to me. The whole one-night stand thing. And you’re being…”

  “Too fast? We can slow down.” The warmth of his breath hits my skin, and I shudder, arousal and fear coursing through my body in equal measure.

  Do I want this?

  “You’re being too slow—I mean—I might lose my nerve—”

  Yes, I want this. I wanted it when I saw him leaning against the stone wall next to that bar. Maybe he can cleanse my palate of all this grief I’ve been carrying around. Kim would approve. I choke down that other feeling—the anxious, nervous feeling that I might genuinely like this guy, despite his more infuriating qualities.

  His long, steady fingers brush against the nape of my neck and wrap into the curls of my hair. With a wicked grin, he takes a handful and pulls my hair gently, tipping my head back. “Maybe that’s something I can teach you too, American girl. Slow is much better. But if you need it a little rougher, I can manage that too.”

  His grip on my hair tightens, and I gasp. This time, his lips meet mine with renewed determination, his tongue pressing through my lips with brutal precision. A moan escapes my lips, and my arms go limp, hanging against my sides, the backs of them brushing against the raw, exposed brick. Strong lips roam away from my mouth, finding my neck, and then the thin fabric of my white shirt. Warmth touches my right nipple, and teeth tug at the sensitive flesh, bringing it to attention. Matthias’s free hand cups my other breast, a thumb brushing against fabric and flesh beneath until I’m moaning, the sounds coming from somewhere deep.

  Please, hurry. I need this. I want you to obliterate me until I’m nothing more than flesh. I need the voices and the memories gone.

  I don’t say these things. Instead, I close my eyes as his hands both find my waist and turn me so I’m facing the wall, fingers grabbing and pulling off my shirt and then the thin fabric of my skirt. The seam on one side rips—I hear it as he pulls it down to expose my panties. Hands grab my ass, and a deep, rumbling voice echoes in my ear. Gritty and filled with lust, nothing like the carefully accented European voice I heard today.

  “So conservative,” he growls, his thumb hooking under the waistband of my plain cotton briefs. His hand travels across the length of my back, fingers finding the back of my bra. Matthias laughs, the sound dark and rich, like liquid gold or chocolate, something equally decadent. “This too. A girl like you, you need something that shows off your curves. Something that doesn’t hide them.”

  I don’t stop to point out that I didn’t exactly pack my carryon bag with sexy lingerie. Or that I should probably leave right after this, since the money I spent on my rental is slowly being wasted—that this is a one-night thing, and tomorrow I’ll go to the Van Gogh museum by myself.

  I don’t say that, because his deft fingers unhook my bra, and I let it fall to the floor. Slowly—true to his word, he pushes my body against the brick. My nipples, stiff and sensitive and pressed into the rough surface, send shocks through my nervous system. The hair on the nape of my neck stands on end, and like he’s reading my mind, Matthias places his lips there and then bites gently.

  “Don’t worry, Princess. I’ll make everything else go away.” Matthias’s hand slips between my legs, thumb brushing over my sensitive button and down the length of my sex. The cotton fabric is slick with my wetness, and against the brick, my cheeks turn bright red. It’s not like he didn’t know I wanted this too, but I never let my guard down like this. The brief affairs I’ve had have taken place under the cover of complete darkness, in a bedroom, beneath the thin, scratchy sheets of college dorm rooms.

  “Yes,” I manage to respond. “Please.” I’ve never asked for this before, not with words, never wanted it so desperately.

  He moans, the vibration of his voice hitting my skin. “You’re already very wet. Naughtier than I imagined.” Thumbs hook in the waistline of my panties and pull them down slowly, the elastic tracing over the line of my legs as he pulls them down and kneels behind me.

  “Lift your right foot, Mallory, and then your left.”

  I do as he says, shivering. The air of the room is light and cool against my skin, and I realize I’m completely naked, while this man is still clothed. It’s a simple thing, but it puts the power in his hands. He could do anything to me—the danger makes my heart race, but it also sends deeper, pulsing need to my sex.

  I hear him unbuckling himself, and I suck in my breath—is he going to fuck me here, like this, pressed against the wall? Or…?

  “What are you…”

  “Quiet.” His hand finds my ass and squeezes one cheek, fingers slipping between my legs again, moving over my slick folds and cruelly—expertly—avoiding my clit. “And close your eyes.”

  “Okay,” I breathe. I
close them instantly, surprising myself.

  “Mallory,” he says, pushing a finger inside of me with aching slowness. “Tell me how many men you’ve been with.”

  I swallow hard, blood rushing to my head. My sex pulses, throat growing tight, lightning filling my veins. “I—I don’t know. Two. Maybe three.”

  A second finger slips inside of me, pressing against my walls, spreading me open. I can hear a rhythmic stroking sound, and I groan involuntarily, imagining him behind me, stroking himself hard. “Was it good for you? Those few times?”

  “I don’t know—I don’t know what you mean. It was—fine—”

  He chuckles, but it’s not a disparaging laugh. “But you didn’t come. Did you?”

  Ashamed, embarrassed, I shake my head. He removes his fingers from inside and pulls my wetness up around my clit, circling it, fingertips brushing over its hardness. I cry out, bolts of energy pouring through me, centering on the place where his fingers move in circles.

  “We’ll remedy that tonight.” He moves closer to me, and I feel his breath, hot against my sex.

  “I don’t—” The protest sticks in my throat.

  “Spread your legs for me,” he says, and again, I do as he commands. Light, heat, energy spread through me in glowing waves. Obeying his voice takes me higher, thoughts coming in fragments now. His lips meet my sex, tongue replacing fingers and trailing over my wetness, tasting and touching. Unless my ears are mistaken, he’s still stroking himself, even as he holds me steady with his other hand. My body shakes and shudders, responding to his mouth. I groan—loud this time—as his tongue travels back and touches my tender, untouched ass. His stroking grows more insistent, and he turns me so my back is touching the brick wall now, my eyes still closed.

  “Mmm,” he moans. “Your eyes are still closed. Very good. I’m going to make you come now, and then I’m going to fuck you. I like to make my women come before I fuck them for the first time.”

  “Why—”

  Before I can say another word, his lips find my clit again, covering it this time and pulling it into his mouth, sucking and licking. I’ve come plenty of times—all on my own—but it’s always seemed like a perfunctory bodily function, nothing terribly exciting, a quick relief of built up tension. But as he kisses my sex, lips encircling my clit, the coil that tightens inside me is at once far greater and more consuming than anything I’ve ever experienced. My body begins shaking, the back of my head pressed into the wall, naked body exposed to him, completely. Mind tipping into oblivion, I come, glittering light rolling through me. The experience isn’t like any I’ve had before. Even after a few hours of knowing this man, there’s a trust between us I can’t quite describe. There’s danger too—of course. Perhaps it’s that mix that makes my body let go the way it does. And perhaps it’s why I confessed details of my past that I only ever shared with one human being. The two men—or the two and a half, if you count the one awkward night spent with my roommate’s brother who “couldn’t quite get it in—hadn’t desired my pleasure in any way. Those college experiences had been awkward, quick, and wholly forgettable.

  But with Matthias… well. Perhaps it’s because he’s older, or because I am. It could be the freedom of a one-night stand, or a multi-night stand, or whatever the hell this is.

  I’m left shaking, panting, back pressed hard against the brick wall, listening to Matthias’s breath as he pants too, his hand still moving over the flesh of his stiff cock. “You can open your eyes now, Princess.”

  Princess? I blush at the moniker. Nicknames haven’t been part of the relationships I’ve had, and that one doesn’t feel like me, not in any legitimate sense. I’m not that type of woman, am I? Or am I one of a long string of women that Matthias calls by that name?

  He doesn’t give me long to think. “I said, open them.” His voice comes out raspy with need, but the commanding tone of his voice is apparent.

  This is how he talks to other women too, Mallory. Don’t be fooled.

  But still, I obey him, still reeling from the touch of his tongue. When my eyelids flutter open, I peer at Matthias, still kneeling before me on the floor. His jeans are casually open, the bottom few buttons of his shirt undone. On any other man, it might look ridiculous. But on him, I can see the definition of his muscles under his shirt, the defined lines leading down to his perfect, exceptionally hard, and utterly massive cock. I gasp.

  It won’t fit. It won’t.

  Still, the overwhelming feeling buzzing through my mind is one of intense, unabashed desire. I want it. I want him. If that means pain, I want that too. Anything that will bring me closer to that body of his, the tight, sculpted creation I’ve desired since the moment I laid eyes on him.

  Slowly, he takes one hand and unbuttons his shirt, casting it to the side. He rises and steps out of his jeans. His length is gravity-defying, stiff and straight. I haven’t seen a man so unashamed before—not that there’s a reason he would be. The body beneath his clothing is exactly as I imagined—worked on and sculpted to physical perfection. The muscles in his arms reflect the judo he says he’s practiced for the past decade. There are scars from fights, one running down his thigh, another across one bicep.

  I gulp. He takes his cock in one hand and brushes his fingers over the length, making a glistening bead of precum appear at the very tip.

  “You want this, Mallory? Tell me you do. Tell me how much you do.”

  At this moment, I want to sink back into the brick, to become one with it, to escape the depth of what I want—the finality of what he’s asking. Being with him changes my identity, even if only for one night. This isn’t the type of girl I am.

  But who’s to label the type of girl you are? Kim’s voice comes to me as I stand there, shivering. Not me, not Mom. Just you. And that can change drastically over time, believe me.

  “Yeah, I do. I do want this.”

  “What is it that you want, Mallory?”

  I swallow hard, the taste of fear filling my throat. But there’s no denying the overwhelming desire pulsing through me, making my sex wet and full again. “I want you,” I whisper.

  “And what do you want me to do to you?” He steps closer, hand traveling absently over his hardness.

  “I want you to fuck me.”

  “You want me inside of you?” He takes another step and presses his cock against my thigh.

  I nod. “I want you inside of me.” My words come out in what sounds like a pathetic squeak, but he gives a small groan, leaning in closer and kissing my neck. His hand rises greedily to my breast and pinches a nipple, sending another rush of blood to the dark, waiting place between my thighs. “I want you—I want you to fuck me. I want you to come inside me.” I balk at my own words. They tumble out of my mouth before I can consider what I’m saying.

  I want all of this and more. I want him all at once, everywhere. Maybe this is Kim meant by playing it casual—maybe this is what you get.

  “My pleasure,” he says, gripping me by the waist and hoisting me up so that my legs are wrapped around him. He kisses me then, mouth hot and hungry, the outline of his muscular torso long and lithe against my far softer flesh. The length of his cock is pressed to my sex, my clit rubbing against the hot, smooth skin. The nearly agonizing need builds inside of me again, and the heat spreads through my thighs and lower back. I want to come again—and I feel like I could. I try pressing my body closer to his as he carries me back to his bedroom, but he holds me still, laughing and nipping at my neck.

  “Eager little thing, aren’t you? Not yet, not yet.” He throws me down on the bed like he’s a caveman home from the hunt. Surprising myself again, I raise up on both elbows to watch him rip a foil packet open and slide a condom onto his waiting cock. My entire body pulses in anticipation.

  When he comes to me, I tremble, legs shaking. He moves a lock of hair away from my eye and kisses me again. He brings my body to the edge of the bed, positioning himself so the head of his cock meets my entrance. His expert thumb goe
s to my clit and works it in small circles again, and I feel the rush of wetness I know he’s looking for. He works the head against my opening, stretching me open as I lie there before him.

  I yelp—it feels like it’s been a century since I’ve done this. “It hurts,” I pant.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he mutters, thumb still pressed against my clit. “You feel so good. I want to finish inside you, sweet girl. And I want to make you come again.”

  I sigh, my body egging me on. The ache inside me intensifies, and I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that I need him completely, his entire length. When his tongue met my flesh, he must have known I couldn’t let a night go by without him.

  “No, don’t stop.” I hook my legs around his waist, drawing him in closer, listening to his groans and sighs.

  His hands reach for my hips, and he steadies himself, pushing further in and then retreating slightly before thrusting deeper. “You’re so tight. God, you’re tight. Jesus, that’s good. I’m going to take you all the way now.”

  I nod, biting down on my lip. I feel myself stretching to accommodate his size. There’s pain, yes, but there’s a deeper feeling of fulfillment too. He pulls back and pushes inside of me again, filling me deeper this time. With one final movement, he fills me to the hilt, the base of his cock making contact with my clit.

  He holds himself there for a while, fingers buried in my flesh, groaning with his own private need. I’m at a limit I’ve never known, my clit pulsing.

  “Please,” I sigh. Matthias lets out a great groan and begins fucking me in earnest, his thighs pressed hard between mine. I cry out with each thrusting movement, close to the edge of orgasm. I feel my muscles spasm, clenching involuntarily, a long throaty moan coming forth from somewhere deep and hidden in my body.

  “Matthias,” I cry out, moaning his name. He falls into a faster rhythm, pumping deep inside with controlled thrusts. With that utterance, I feel myself starting to come again, the rising tide of my pleasure longer and sweeter than the last orgasm. My thighs shake beneath his, my muscles clenching and pumping thick waves of pleasure through my sex and into the outer reaches of my body. I moan, long and loud, wrapping my hands around his back, my nails raking against his skin. The tide of my orgasm washes over my body, finally settling into the golden peace of an afterglow.