Father's Day Baby Bundle

by Frankie Love

  Her pussy is so good and ready, and just as I begin to finger fuck her properly, she begins to squirt. Fuck, my cock loves what it sees. Her pussy dripping, gushing for me and I lap it up, all her creamy cunt juice.

  She was right, she’s never been probably fucked before — never orgasmed until her toes curl and she’s gasping for breath. Never came like her sweet body was made to do.

  “Oh Dune,” she cries, holding onto to me as I finger fuck her into oblivion. She’s panting, her heat and need reaching a point she didn’t believe was possible. I grind against her pretty pink pussy as she begs me to take her. All of her. To give her the baby batter I promised.

  “You want me now?” I ask my perfect little sprinkled donut.

  She smiles, the satisfied look of a proper orgasm on her face. “Right now,” she begs. “I want your cock, Dune. I want you to fill me up. I want you to be my baby daddy.”

  “Oh girl,” I groan, leading my cock into her tight pussy. “I won’t make you wait.”

  “Ohhh,” she whimpers as I enter her nice and slow. “You’re so big, Dune,” she says, looking up at me. “You won’t fit.”

  “Together we can do anything,” I tell her with a smile.

  “I love your dimples,” she says as I move against her.

  “And I love it when you come against my mouth.”

  She laughs. “I’ve never had a man do that,” she says breathlessly.

  “I could tell.”

  “Did I come more than normal?” she asks, eyes widening.

  I chuckle. “Baby, you have the most perfect little pussy in the goddamn world.”

  “I love it when you talk like that.”

  “Like what?” I ask, wanting to keep her talking so she doesn’t focus on the fact my cock is about three times too big for her little cunt.

  “Like I’m yours.”

  I cup her cheek as I fill her up, my cock moving deeper inside her as she gasps, her legs and arms wrapping around me, not letting me go.

  “You are mine, Dolly.”

  She nods as we come together as one, my cock raging with pent-up need as I take her; as I make her mine. You better believe I’m a man who knows how to deliver.

  “Oh Dune,” she moans as I take her to the edge again, my cock moving against her core in a way that has us both undone. I’ve never had a pussy so nice and tight, so warm and ready, and when my cock explodes against her, I fill her up with the one thing she needs; the one and only thing she asked for in this New Year: my baby batter.

  Chapter Six

  One Year Later...

  Dolly

  I stare down at the twins in their bassinets; they are so tiny and perfect, only three months old. They were conceived the first time Dune and I made love, and they came a little early. But we were just happy they were here, healthy and ready to take on the world.

  We’re in our home, sharing the low-key holiday, knowing a day together is exactly what we both need.

  “Their first New Year,” Dune says, picking up Dorothy. She is swaddled in a pink blanket and cooing up at her daddy. “Can you believe it’s been one year since we …”

  I lift my eyebrows. “Since we put two buns in the oven?” I shake my head with a smile as I pull out the fresh baked donuts from the oven. I set them to cool on the counter.

  Dune moves behind me and kisses my neck. “God you smell good.”

  I giggle. “It’s the frosting,” I say, pointing to the bowl of buttercream I whipped up earlier.

  “You know you didn’t need to bake today,” he says.

  “I know, but I had a craving.”

  “Already?” he asks, pressing a hand to my belly.

  “I know. Only twelve weeks pregnant and already becoming demanding.”

  Dune kisses me. “God we’re lucky.”

  I pick up Denver, our baby boy, and kiss his head. Some women might be anxious about a pregnancy so soon after having twins, but Dune and I think we’re doubly blessed. Who is so lucky to have all their dreams come true like this?

  Denver, though, is all boy, and one sniff of my little goose and I know he needs a diaper change.

  “Don’t worry, babe,” Dune says, switching babies with me. “I got him.” Dune leaves the kitchen, headed for diaper duty, and I kiss my little angel’s face. Talk about smelling good, she is sugar and spice and everything nice.

  Cradling her in my arm, I walk to the babies’ room, and lean in the doorway, watching Dune with his little man. He is so good with the babies, my heart nearly bursts every time I see him look down into their eyes as if they are the most amazing things in the world — which they are — but to have a husband who sees that, who cherishes them as much has I do? It’s everything.

  Dune finishes diaper duty and turns to see me spying on him.

  “You watching me to make sure I do it right?” he asks with as smile.

  I shake my head. “I have no doubt you know exactly what you are doing.”

  He places a hand on my hip, pulling me to him, two babies between us — well, three if you count the baby in my belly. “What is your resolution this year?” he asks, kissing my ear. The twins are sleeping now, and I carry Dorothy to her crib, setting her down gently, watching as Dune does the same with Denver.

  “Hmm, resolutions … you know, I’ve been thinking about mine.”

  “Have you?” he asks as we tiptoe out of the room, not wanting to wake our darlings.

  I lift an eyebrow. “I’m planning on having more adventures.”

  He laughs. “With three babies I’m sure that will be the case.”

  I shake my head. “No, the babies won’t be invited to the adventures I’m planning.”

  He pulls me to him. “Tell me, what sorts of adventures will these be?”

  I lick my lips, my hand on his already hardening cock. “I think I’d rather just show you.” I take my husband’s hand and lead him to the kitchen. I strip for him, right here in the kitchen, and demand he does the same.

  He smiles, his dimples showing, getting my pussy nice and ready. “God, I love you, Dolly.”

  “Good,” I say. “Because I have a real big crush on that baby batter of yours.”

  I grab the bowl of frosting, a jar of sprinkles.

  “What are you doing with those?” he asks.

  I smile at the man of my dreams, and give him a wink. “I was thinking maybe you could frost me … and then let me lick your spoon.”

  Want more?…

  Resolution: Baby Fever by Kim Loraine http://smarturl.it/BabyFever

  Resolution: Bad Girl by Angel Devlin http://smarturl.it/BadGirl19

  Resolution: Double Dare by Dee Ellis http://smarturl.it/DoubleDare19

  Resolution: Eating In by Tessa Blake http://smarturl.it/EatingIn

  Resolution: Exposure by Tracy Lorraine http://smarturl.it/Exposure19

  Resolution: First Kiss by Kelli Callahan http://smarturl.it/FirstKiss19

  Resolution: Free Fall by Fiona Starr http://smarturl.it/FreeFall19

  Resolution: G String by Olivia Hawthorne http://smarturl.it/GString

  Resolution: Good Text by Deana Farrady http://smarturl.it/GoodText

  Resolution: Road Trip by Sierra Hill http://smarturl.it/RoadTrip19

  Resolution: Rock Out by Alexis Adaire http://smarturl.it/RockOut19

  Resolution: Snow Job by Laney Powell http://smarturl.it/SnowJob

  Resolution: Take Off by Dori Lavelle http://smarturl.it/TakeOff19

  Resolution: Wanderlust by Rebecca Gallo http://smarturl.it/Wanderlust19

  About

  I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really, want .

  Her.

  Only Her.

  She walks into my kitchen, hungry as hell.

  “I want to add a little spice to my life.”

  Good.

  I’ll give her that and plenty more.

  It’s Saint Patrick’s day.

  Everyone wants to have fun, to get lucky.

  Me?

&nb
sp; I want to give it to her good and then make her mine.

  Forever.

  Chapter One

  Wannabe

  Bridget

  I’m starving. Literally starving. I didn’t have time to eat before the Blackthorn concert and now I’m beyond hangry. I’m spiraling into meltdown mode. I am thoroughly aware that it’s universally not cute to fall apart over the need of a snack, but I’m not exactly concerned about some rando in Dublin thinking I’m sexy. Especially not on St. Paddy’s day. Being hit on by a drunken Irishman isn’t on my priority list.

  Unless that Irishman has a bag of tortilla chips and a vat of queso. Then I’m in. All in.

  The taxi drops me off at the castle where I have a room waiting for me. I graduated from college two years ago. I was a member of the Mi Alpha Alpha sorority, and my roommate Janie reserved rooms this March for lots of the girls we knew from school. Which is crazy sweet of her. I didn’t even have time to set foot on the property, which is just outside the city, before the show. So I just couriered my luggage to the estate and headed to the Dublin Arena.

  The show was great — if you like that kind of thing. Not that I have anything against dreamy rock stars who grace the covers of magazines worldwide. But I’m all about the old-school, girl power. Spice Girls over Nsync. TLC over Backstreet Boys.

  When the concert ended, Janie went off to after parties, and I hightailed it out of there, in need of three things. Food, a bath, and wine. In that particular order. After a day of travel from Bulgaria I’m beyond exhausted.

  Did I mention I was hungry?

  I pay the driver and head to the front entrance. If the kitchen is closed I’m not above picking the lock and finding what I need. Not that I can cook — ironic for a food writer. Just because I can appreciate food doesn’t mean I can prepare it.

  The castle is quiet, but a gray haired woman sits behind a desk and there’s a small lamp on that illuminates her welcoming face. I step toward her, forcing myself to sound pleasant. Normal. Nice even.

  “Hi, I’m Bridget Bower. I have a reservation?”

  The woman’s face brightens. “Of course, dearie. I’m Tabitha. You know, Ms. Locke was so pleased that her dear friends would be staying here. Busy woman, managing that famous band and all, my word!”

  “Yes. Janie is impressive,” I say, knowing Janie has made an incredible life for herself as Blackthorn’s Manager. Me? Well, I’m living my best life too, but it’s not quite five star accommodations yet. I’m a travel food blogger, and I work for myself. Which means I hustle day and night. A little R&R in Dublin, paid for by my old roommate, is a decadent treat.

  “I must say, I’m surprised to see you here so early.” Tabitha laughs gently. “I thought all you kids would be out till the wee hours of the mornin’. It’s St. Paddy’s day, after all.”

  “Yeah, I’m not exactly a party girl,” I say with an overwrought smile pasted on my face.

  “In that case, Bridget, I’ll let you get to bed. Your luggage is in your room, and here’s your key, dear.” She hands me a key for room 212. Just how many rooms are in this castle? “Now, is there anything you need before retiring?”

  “Is there a restaurant still open?”

  Tabitha clucks her tongue, looking at her gold wristwatch. “Oh, dearie, that kitchen just closed at eleven.”

  I exhale, trying to keep my cool. To keep my level of hangry from showing. “Is there a vending machine? Somewhere I can get a bag of chips or something?” I say a bag, but I’m really thinking about how much change I have, how many coins I can insert to get the most bang for my buck.

  “We don’t have anything like that on the estate, but you can pop over to the kitchen, Beckett’s still there and I’m sure he can scrounge you up a leftover piece of corned beef.”

  “Perfect,” I tell her. “Seriously, I owe you.”

  “Don’t mention it, dearie. Beckett isn’t the friendliest man; don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “That bad?” I ask, putting the room key in my purse.

  “He’s grumpy. Forgot the charming bit of being Irish.”

  “As long as he can cook, I’ll be able to handle him.”

  Tabitha smiles. “Cook he can.”

  I walk down the dimly lit hallway, taking in the regal portraits lining the wall, the chandeliers above my head, aware of the way the heels of my boots echo down the hall. I turn left, per Tabitha’s instructions, and find myself in a massive dining room. There are rows of big oak tables and sturdy benches, candelabras. It’s like I’m a student at Hogwarts, not a blogger who is dying for one of Hagrid’s Rock Cakes and a pint of butter beer. My stomach growls. Loudly.

  The dining hall is empty though, so I walk past the tables toward the double doors at the end of the room. There’s a small window on each door and I pause, looking through it, despite my hunger pains.

  The man in the kitchen — Beckett, I presume — wears a green apron and a scowl. But damn, this Irishman is hot. The sleeves on his flannel shirt are rolled up to elbow, unbuttoned just enough for me to want to see more. Dark denim jeans, and when he turns, setting a pan in a sink, I bite my lip. They hug his ass perfectly.

  I could keep watching him — be a peeping Tom — but my priorities right now don’t include stalking the cook. I need him to make me something, or at least show me the pantry.

  Pushing open the door, I brace myself for the man Tabitha described — a grump.

  When he hears the door push open, his eyes flash with annoyance. “And what are you looking for?”

  “I’m looking for Beckett. I heard he’s the cook.”

  “So he is. What’s it to you?”

  I step forward, not in the mood to play nice. I’m hungry. And tired. And falling, fast. Not for him — no, he looks like a brooding Irishman. I mean, a sexy brooding Irishman — but my focus is elsewhere.

  “I’m Bridget and I’m crazy hungry. Tabitha said you could make me something?”

  “The kitchen is closed,” he says, grabbing a towel and wiping down the counter. Not even looking up at me.

  “I know, but see, I just got in from the concert and I haven’t—”

  “You were at the Blackthorn show? Another groupie who knows nothing about Ireland? Just came for a rock concert?”

  “Well, I mean I wouldn’t say groupie. I don’t even like that music.”

  “Sure, and what is it you like, lass?”

  “I maybe be twenty-five, but I have a soft spot for ’90s girl bands. I’m here because my friend offered me a ticket and a fancy hotel room so I kinda jumped at it.”

  He smirks. “I see.”

  I set my hands on my hips. “What is it you see?”

  “A pretty girl who likes expensive things, flashy concerts, and fancy digs. A lass who wouldn’t understand a poor country boy if she tried.”

  I roll my eyes. “Right, you nailed me completely.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Do I now?”

  “Yep.” I give him the fakest smile ever. And he knows it. “Totally. And I’d love to discuss it further, at literally any other time. But right now? I’ve got laser-like focus. A mission.”

  He leans against the counter top. He is tall, lean, muscular and having way too much fun thinking he knows what kind of girl I am. “And what’s that, lassie?”

  “My mission is food. A whole bunch of food. In my belly. Like now.”

  “And you think I’ll just drop everything, my plans for the night, to make you food?”

  I press my lips together. He does not want to see me rage-quit right now. “If you can’t, I will.”

  “You can cook?”

  I bite my lip. “I can cook eggs.”

  He turns, pulling out a bowl of fresh brown eggs from the fridge. “Will these do?”

  I grimace. “Of course.” I look around for a frying pan. He hands me one before I can locate it on my own. “Oh, right. Thanks.”

  I swallow, taking in the massive Aga range. It has ten burners, runs on gas, and one look
tells me I can’t keep up this act. “Um. Beckett? This is over my head.”

  He crosses his arms. Biceps bulging. Eyes bright green. A smirk that is verging on cocky. “You want my help?”

  I nod.

  He shrugs. “Then you’ll have to tell me what you want. What you really, really want.”

  Chapter Two

  Spice Up Your Life

  Beckett

  The gorgeous American is laughing. “Is that a Spice Girls reference?”

  I grin. “You said you like girl bands, thought I’d give it a whirl.”

  “It’s sexy.”

  “Oh, is it now?” Now it’s me who can’t stop laughing. “’90s lyrics turn you on?

  She bites her bottom lip. “Maybe.”

  I spin, pulling open the fridge, grabbing a container of leftovers. Potatoes, onions, carrots, corned hash. When I turn back around I see her cheeks are red. But she doesn’t need to be embarrassed. She’s cuter than any girl I’ve ever seen ‘round here. Those rosy cheeks, the blonde bob of a haircut swishing at her chin. Red lips. Clear blue eyes. And she’s a curvy little thing; hips and tits that tell me she knows how to enjoy life.

  Even if she has terrible taste in music.

  I’ll give her a bit of a hard time though; I like to see if a girl can handle a little snark with a side of corned beef. I got plenty of beef, and damn, I wouldn’t mind sharing a whole meal with her. I’ve got a feeling she’d enjoy every bite.

  “So you’re hungry but you can’t cook? What can ya do?” I ask, setting the items from the fridge on the counter. This kitchen is where my granny used to cook my brother Gerry and I so many of our meals growing up.