Dangerously Bad

by Eden Bradley

  “You may be the first woman to ever think I’m the right man.”

  “You’re right for me. You’re exactly right.”

  He pulled her in then and pressed his lips to hers, then pulled back enough to tell her, “I love you, Layla. I don’t care what we have to do to make this work. And it’s not because of the baby. It’s because of you. It’s because of us. I cannot live without you, my lovely hardheaded girl. We’ll help each other through this. I’ll remind you that the world is a safe enough place to love and be loved—safe with me. I will love you hard enough for you to believe it, until the memory of your father fades away. Until we create new memories that will stand in that place. And I’ll love our child. I’ll be a good father. I’ll learn how.”

  She looked up into his hazel eyes and saw the truth of his words. “Thank you. For making the world a safe place for me. For helping me to believe I can be happy, that I deserve it. For accepting this baby, despite the surprise of it.”

  “That part doesn’t matter.”

  “But we’ve only been together for two months, Duff—less than two months.”

  “That doesn’t matter, either. I knew it the moment I saw you, when you came cussing and sputtering into my shop. You were meant for me. I was meant for you. And I will be there for this child, and for you.”

  Reaching up, she held his face between her hands, tears stinging her eyes. But this time they were happy tears. “I don’t know how anyone could have thought you wouldn’t be a good father, including me. Have you forgiven yourself for what happened with Bess?”

  “I’m beginning to. But let me ask you, is it a bad thing, do you think, that I feel somehow this baby—our baby—is a sort of redemption for me? I know the other child can never be replaced, but that’s how it feels to me. Am I some kind of bastard for thinking so?”

  “You don’t mean it that way. I understand, and it’s not a bad thing at all. Sometimes the universe gives us a second chance.”

  He smiled at her, his dimples creasing his cheeks, and for the first time that night she saw real happiness in his hazel eyes. “Fuck, Layla. We’re having a baby.”

  She laughed—and realized it was the first time she’d felt real happiness in several days. And what she felt was perhaps the most giddy happiness she’d ever felt in her life. “We’re having a baby,” she agreed. “Who would have thought it would have been us? Having a baby, and smiling about it?”

  He stroked her face, gave her cheek a gentle pinch. “Are you happy, love?”

  She pressed her cheek into his hand. “I am. I sort of can’t believe it, but I am. I had no idea I wanted this until it happened. Duff, I know you said it didn’t matter, but it has only been a couple of months since we got together.”

  “It’s not that it doesn’t matter—it’s a reality, and I’m a realist at heart—but this is our story, yes? Yeah. We get to decide how we want to write it. I can’t explain how right it feels.”

  “Neither can I. But it makes me feel a little crazy.”

  “You’re pregnant. Aren’t you allowed to be a little crazy?”

  She smacked his arm. “Hey!”

  He grinned once more. “And no less dangerous. You know I love that about you.”

  “I’ve suspected.”

  He leaned in and brushed a kiss across her cheek. “I love you, Layla Chouset. Tell me again that you love me, too.”

  “I love you, Duff Stewart,” she murmured against his neck. “It may take me a while to learn to trust in it completely, and I’ll just apologize in advance for that.”

  “Don’t apologize. Just promise me you’ll learn to like it.”

  She let out a small laugh. “I do like it, even if it’s not exactly a familiar feeling.” Then, her heart leaping in her chest, she pulled back and twined her hands behind Duff’s thick neck, looking into his eyes. “Duff. I thought I’d loved before, but it wasn’t . . . this.”

  “Yeah. It’s never been this. Only with you.”

  “I just can’t help thinking that it’s us. The damaged ones.”

  His face sobered. “Maybe not anymore. Or maybe that makes us exactly the right ones for each other. Now come here and kiss me, woman.”

  She went soft and loose against him as he pulled her into his arms, and when his mouth came down on hers it was as if something in her was set free. Everything felt different with him, and different now than it had been before. But the one thing that hadn’t changed was the chemistry between them.

  He deepened the kiss, his hot, silky tongue exploring her mouth, passion in every press of his lips, in the way he held her. She pressed up against him—she couldn’t get close enough—and sighed in disappointment when he pulled away. But it was only so he could stand up and lift her in his arms so he could carry her to the bedroom. There he laid her down gently on the bed, and undressed her slowly. His hands were so sweet on her skin, and she moaned in pleasure when he stroked her breasts. She realized then what she’d felt for the last week or so, and understood how much more sensitive being pregnant had made her. But her nipples were hard beneath his fingertips, aching in the most delicious way. He paused to draw his shirt over his head, and she hungrily took in the sight of his beautiful body—the impossibly broad shoulders and heavily built chest. His tattoos, which were like art on his fair skin. And the metal piercing his nipple, which always seemed insanely hot to her.

  She parted her thighs without being asked, and one corner of his lush mouth crooked in a smile as he bent over her to kiss his way down her body. Pausing at her stomach, he circled his tongue around her navel.

  “Your skin tastes like honey. Have I ever told you that?”

  “I don’t think so,” she answered.

  “Well, it does. I plan to tell you every day.”

  “Like the flowers.”

  “Hmm? You know what part of you tastes the most like honey, princess?”

  “I’m hoping you’ll show me.”

  He ran his hands over her thighs, then pushed them farther apart, and she loved being so open to him, as she always did. When he licked her, pleasure moved through her like liquid heat, and she wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn’t stop looking at his muscled shoulders bunched between her thighs.

  He licked her again, running his tongue up her wet, ready slit, and she needed to come immediately.

  “Duff . . . I need to . . . May I?”

  “Mmm, yes. Now, if you like. Again in two minutes. I’ll stay here forever if you want me to.”

  “Yes, please,” she murmured as he went back to work, his lovely mouth sucking at her tender flesh.

  In moments her climax began, and it was like a warm wave, washing over her like water, then building into a tidal wave that carried her off, out of her head, as she shivered, filled with pleasure. Filled with joy. Only his touch brought her back to earth as he kissed her inner thighs, kneading her flesh with his hands.

  “That was damn beautiful,” he said. “Again, my lovely. My love.”

  He bent his head and this time he sucked her clitoris right into his mouth and held it there while he swirled his tongue over the tip. Pleasure built so fast she could barely comprehend what was happening before the waves crashed over her again, and she came in a liquid torrent of heat and need and emotion.

  Before it was over, she panted, “More, Duff.”

  “Anything for you,” he told her.

  Once more he teased her to impossible heights with his clever mouth, his tongue pushing inside her while he massaged her swollen clit with his thumbs. And again passion built so quickly she barely had time to realize she was coming; then suddenly she was. She cried out, over and over, her voice going hoarse as her sex squeezed around his hot, wet tongue inside her, leaving her panting.

  “Oh, God, Duff. I feel as if I could come forever.”

  “I’m happy to make that happen,
love.”

  Reaching down, her fingers scrabbled at his shoulders. “Take your pants off and make it happen with you inside me,” she begged.

  He raised himself up, and his crooked grin was back. So were his dimples. “Anything for you,” he repeated.

  As he stood to pull his boots and jeans off, she had a moment to consider what he’d said. But it didn’t make him any less her Dominant. It didn’t mean she was any less his submissive. As he slid over her body, she said, “Duff? I’m yours, you know.”

  “Yes,” he said, slipping her thighs over his.

  “No, I mean, I’m really yours. I belong to you.”

  He held himself over her, watching her face. His brows drew together; then he smiled, and it was a beautiful thing. “Yeah, you are. Mine, lovely. Mine.”

  “Tell me again,” she begged.

  He held her face cupped in his hand and said, “You belong to me. I won’t have it any other way. And when you’re ready, you’ll wear my collar.”

  She would have cried if she hadn’t been so deliriously happy. “I didn’t know until this moment that it’s exactly what I wanted.”

  Leaning in, he kissed her lips, his mouth demanding, telling her without words she truly did belong to him. And she understood that it really didn’t matter what she called herself—Domme or switch or submissive—as long as what they had was real. All that mattered was what they were to each other.

  He left her mouth only to kiss her breasts, and it felt as if he were worshipping them. It was amazing. She held his head there, savoring each tiny sensation, every press of his lips, every tiny nip of his teeth, every lovely, wet sweep of his tongue. But soon her need became too great.

  “Duff, please. Now.”

  He looked down at her, his heated hazel gaze flecked with silver and gold and love. She had never seen anything so beautiful. And as badly as she needed him to be inside her, she needed to be able to see him.

  “Duff, help me.”

  He instinctively knew what she was asking and, slipping his hands under her hips, he turned her, rolling onto his back, until she was straddling his body.

  He smiled up at her. “Do your worst, princess.”

  She placed her hands on his chest, and he kept his hands on her hips, helping her to raise up, then to lower her onto his beautifully rigid shaft, pleasure thrumming like a humming vibration in her body as his heavy flesh pierced her.

  “Ah, love . . .”

  Sensation was something warm and sinuous, yet no less intense than it had ever been. It seemed to weave throughout her body, reaching her arms and legs, the back of her neck as she arched against him. Together they moved in a rhythm that was all about them, as if they were one being made of love and pleasure, heat and desire. She saw his gaze on her, watching her sway above him, and felt so completely abandoned to sensation she was going into overload. But she wanted it—she wanted everything. When he reached up to fill his hands with her full breasts, his touch brought a new wash of pleasure to her system. She was panting, cooing and sighing, and his breath was rough and raw, signaling his pleasure.

  “I love you, princess,” he told her.

  “Ohhh, love you, Duff. Love you, love you . . . Oh!”

  Then she had to bite her lip, trying to hold back. But he was coming in a heated rush inside her, arching up into her, and she ground down, taking all of him, needing every bit of his flesh, every bit of him.

  “Layla. I belong to you, love,” he gasped, pulling her down onto his chest, crushing her to him, but she loved it.

  They stayed there, moving together, hips arching and drawing back, slowing until it was only the smallest motion, like water gently lapping at the shore. And everything felt that liquid to her. Soft and silky. Quiet and gentle. And outside, the rain was still falling, but the storm had passed, and it was nothing more than the sky weeping their joy.

  “Layla,” he said quietly, his voice a low rumble.

  “Hmm?”

  “Would it freak you out if I wrote you some poetry?”

  She giggled. “Are you about to?”

  “I just might. My inner Scotsman is coming out, and I don’t think I’ll be able to help m’self.”

  “Why is that?”

  He kissed her cheek, then her jaw, and she reveled in every point of contact.

  “Because I love you, my princess. Mine. All mine. But I’m yours, too, you know.”

  She snuggled into him. “Good. That’s exactly how I want it.”

  “Anything for my princess.”

  “I love you, Duff.”

  “Good. Because that’s exactly how I want it.”

  “Who would have thought?” she asked after a few moments. “The two of us, of all people? But the universe works in its own time, in its own way, doesn’t it? And as you said, I think this was simply meant to be. I believe that. How silly we were to think we could resist the inevitable.”

  “I’m over being silly,” he said.

  She smiled, her cheek against his chest, his heart beating against it. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

  “Well, you know, not like that. I can’t ever take myself too seriously. But you? This? I know what we’ve got.”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “We’ve got each other. And whatever the future holds, I feel like that’s the important part.”

  His arms tightened around her. “I knew from the start you were a dangerous woman—dangerous to my bachelorhood, as it turns out. But I’m damn happy about it.”

  “And I knew you were a dangerous man. But in the end, it wasn’t a bad thing. Because the only thing we were ever really in danger of was falling in love.”

  “I like a dangerous ending, my love.”

  “So do I.”

  And she did. It was all so unexpected, but she’d needed some of that in her life. She’d needed a big dose of the unexpected, and they didn’t come any bigger than Duff. Or any bigger-hearted.

  Somehow, she’d found the man she’d been looking for, even if she hadn’t been aware she was looking. Or maybe he’d found her. But it didn’t matter. She had her dangerous man, and he had her heart. They’d figure the rest out. Together.

  EPILOGUE

  LAYLA LEANED INTO Duff’s big body as the music started. She’d never been much of a girlie-girl—the type who’d dreamed of weddings since childhood—but this was Summer and Jamie’s wedding and that made it special. And she loved the ambience of this place. The Chicory was a classic old New Orleans building, with its exposed brick walls punctuated by tall, narrow-paned windows, vaulted raw-beamed ceilings and gorgeous wood floors. It was a special day—special enough that she found tears gathering in her eyes as she watched Jamie shifting nervously, waiting for his bride at the altar beneath an arbor of white flowers and tiny faery lights. Or maybe the tears were the damn hormones again. She’d barely been able to stop crying since her pregnancy, and it had been even worse since giving birth three months earlier.

  Her tiny daughter cooed softly, and Layla looked down at the beautiful baby girl sleeping in her lap, the infant’s long lashes resting on her smooth, round cheeks.

  Duff leaned over and whispered in Layla’s ear, “It’s Joy’s first wedding.”

  “Don’t get started on the wedding thing again just because I’m crying.” She sniffed and stroked Joy’s dark, downy hair. “I can’t help it. But it doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Woman, you are gonna marry me someday. You might as well get used to the idea.”

  “I wear your collar—that’s enough for me.”

  “We’ll see.” He rubbed a big finger over their little girl’s cheek. “This one may have other ideas when she gets a bit older, you know.”

  Layla sighed. “Well, if she wants us to . . . I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to refuse.”

  Duff bent to pick up the sleepi
ng infant’s hand and kissed it. “Hear that, my darling girl? Have a talk with your mum for me, will ya?”

  Layla shook her head.

  “You’re awfully sentimental today. Duff? Are you sure you don’t regret turning down Jamie’s invitation to have you as his best man?”

  “Nah, Mick is doing a good job of it. Jamie understands I wanted to be with you and Joy for this.”

  She turned to him, smiling as she gave him a quick kiss. He’d barely been away from her side since she’d given birth, even taking two weeks off work to stay home with her and the baby. At the time she’d told him it was unnecessary, but she loved him for doing it—for wanting to do it enough to argue his way past her stubbornness, which, she had to admit, had been at an all-time high during her pregnancy. Duff was an amazing father—an amazing man—and her heart surged with love as she took in the sight of him gazing down at their daughter’s sweet face. She had to be the luckiest woman on earth.

  But today wasn’t about her. It was Summer and Jamie’s day, which she was reminded of when the music shifted. Adele’s “Make You Feel My Love” began to play, and a new wave of emotion rolled over her. She glanced down at Joy, pressing her pinkie into her baby’s tiny fist, trying to hold back tears as everyone stood to watch the bride walk down the aisle.

  Summer looked like something out of a fairy tale in her sweeping vintage satin gown, her hair a cascade of blond silk dotted with tiny white flowers beneath the long veil. The pale December sun shone through the sheer white curtains on the tall windows, filling the room with a misty light as Summer moved down the rows.

  Layla had to sniff back more tears at the expression on Jamie’s face when he caught sight of his bride. There was such a profound and powerful happiness there, and it was a feeling she knew now, thanks to Duff being in her life.

  She leaned her head on his broad shoulder, and he slipped an arm around her, kissing her hair as Summer joined Jamie, flanked by Mick at Jamie’s side and Summer’s best friend, Dennie, standing by her as maid of honor. The ceremony began, all of it a blur of emotion as the officiant talked about the nature of love and commitment. But Layla didn’t need to concentrate on the words to revel in the beauty of the day.