Adelyn stops mid-swipe over the counter. “Frankie speaketh the truth.”
“You know I ain’t lying.”
“Is Porter obsessed with your boobs? Because Oliver is completely fixated on mine.”
“Yesss.”
“Boobs, beer, and ball. The three B obsessions.”
“You forgot booty.”
“The four B obsessions.”
Lucas, Oliver, and Porter are in the living room drinking beer while they watch the football game. Typical Monday get-together for these guys—the men of Iron City.
Emeric jolts when a string of loud cuss words carries into the kitchen. “Guess the wrong team scored.”
A few minutes later, warm rock-hard arms wrap around me from behind. “Hey, baby mama. Game’s over. You ready to go?”
“Yup.” I’ve been ready to go for an hour. My ass is hurting from sitting on this barstool.
“Thank you for having us, Lawry. We enjoyed it.”
“Maybe we’ll miss our get-together next Monday because y’all will be holding a baby.”
“I’d be okay with that.”
I drop my seat back when we get into the car. “Having pains?”
“My ass is. I sat on that barstool too long.”
“Ass pain could be good.”
“Trust me. Ass pain is never good.”
“Think you can pull off giving birth tonight?”
“Well, that would be okay with me.”
“Good. Because I’m going to fuck you into labor when we get home.”
“You’re going to do what?”
Porter chuckles. “Don’t get mad.”
“Don’t get mad at what?”
“Oliver and I made a bet.”
Porter and his bets with Oliver. “What kind of bet did you make this time?”
“He bet me he could fuck Adelyn into labor before I could fuck you into labor.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No. We put a thousand bucks on it.”
“A thousand dollars? You don’t think you should have consulted me about this first?”
“You know I can’t back down from a bet with Oliver.”
“I’m tired.”
“I’ll do all the work. And I’ll make you come. Hard.”
I’ve never been one to turn down orgasms. “I guess.”
“Will you wear something sexy for me?”
“I will if anything fits.”
I actually find a few pieces of lingerie that fit, but I go with a black and red baby-doll gown because it’s always been one of Porter’s favorites.
My breasts are spilling out of the top and my belly is making the gown split open, but I don’t think he’ll mind. Gives him a nice view of the tiny matching G-string.
He’s sitting on the side of the bed naked and with a huge erection when I come into our bedroom. “Damn girl, you look good enough to eat.”
I put my hand over the black triangle between my legs. “Hope you’re hungry. ’Cause this is an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
Damn. That was sort of gross, but I’m rolling impromptu with the nasty talk. I’m not as good at it as Porter. But I try.
“Mrs. Beckman. Do you eat with that filthy mouth?”
“I do more than eat with this mouth.” I demonstrate the tongue-roll thing like Porter does. Again, I’m not as good as him.
He uses his finger in the come-hither motion. I go to him and lace my fingers through the back of his hair as I kiss him. His hands are at my lower back and he pulls me closer, making my belly press against him.
He moves to kiss my stomach. “I can’t wait to meet our baby.”
“Me either.”
His hands caress my breasts through my baby-doll top before pulling it up and over my head. He thumbs my nipples, watching them harden, and then takes turns sucking both. The top of my abdomen tightens and relaxes. Happens every time he plays with my boobs.
He pushes my panties down my legs and rubs his hand in a circular motion over my bump. “Damn, girl. You look good with my baby inside you.”
“But I’d look better holding your baby.”
“You’re going to look good holding our baby soon. I’m about to make that happen.”
We slide to the middle of the bed. “Lie on your side. I’m getting me some of this pound cake from the back.”
Good grief.
Once I’m situated, he positions himself as though he’s going to spoon me from behind. He bends my top leg at the knee and pulls backward, so it’s resting over his legs.
He kisses my shoulder in the bend where it meets my neck and eases into me slowly. “Oh fuck. That’s some fucking fine-ass pound cake you have! Best pound cake I’ve ever had.”
I giggle because I can’t help it. “Your warm drizzle on my pound cake is the best ever.”
“Mmm… Daddy likes that mouth.”
He pulls back and thrusts slowly. “Shit, I can’t believe how tight you feel.”
I move my hips against him, and together we pick up the pace. “Is this good for you?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He bends my knee and puts the sole of my foot flat against his thigh so my leg is hiked out. He reaches around and strokes my clit. “I’m going to make you come so hard.”
He circles it fast and hard and then slow and soft. He’s stroking me on the outside with his fingers while his magic cock rubs me inside. “Harder.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He moves faster and harder and the first wave begins. “That’s it, baby. Come all over me. I want to feel your body quiver and squeeze my cock because you’re orgasming so hard.”
My orgasm feels different, like quivers radiating throughout my vagina. It’s tingly and weird but no less wonderful than usual.
When Porter finishes inside me, he kisses my bare shoulder. “That was so fucking good. Give me fifteen minutes to build up another one, and we’re going to do it again.”
“You really want to win that bet, don’t you?”
“Fuck yeah. It’s like going head-to-head to battle out who can fuck his wife better. I have to win; the loser will never hear the end of it.”
“Have you considered that going into labor might have more to do with the baby actually being ready to come?”
“Maybe, but we’re going to talk this one into coming tonight. We’re winning that bet.”
We did it four times. Maybe five. Porter finally drifted off to sleep after the last time but not me. No way I can go to sleep with these contractions I’m feeling.
An hour in and they’re getting stronger and closer. Downright painful.
I get up to walk, hoping it might relieve the discomfort in my back. It doesn’t. I try bending over the arm of the couch, but the pain only becomes worse. And real.
I turn on Porter’s bedside lamp and say his name. Nothing. I nudge his shoulder when he doesn’t stir. “Wake up, Porter.”
After another attempt, he finally awakens with wide eyes. “Did I do it?”
“Yes. We have to go to the hospital because you fucked me into labor.”
“Fuck yeah. I am the man. Oliver and his little cocktail wiener can bow down to the fuck master. And hand over my G.”
We’re pulling into the hospital when we see Adelyn’s SUV at the admission entrance. “No. Fucking. Way.”
“What?”
“Oliver and Adelyn are here. They beat us here.”
“I don’t give a shit who’s here. I am hurtin’ so damn bad.”
“I know. I know. I’m sorry, baby.”
Oliver is standing at the admissions desk talking to the clerk when we walk up behind him. “Think you’ve won, don’t you, motherfucker?”
“I don’t give a damn about that bet. Something’s wrong with Adelyn.”
“What happened?”
“She’s bleeding. A lot.”
“Aw, man. Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know. They came and got her out of the car and told me to come t
o the front desk and get her admitted while they examine her. I just finished, and I’m about to go back and see what’s happening.”
“Everything is going to be okay, man. They’ll take care of her and the baby.”
“I gotta go.”
“Let us know what’s going on as soon as you hear.”
“Oh, Porter. I hope nothing is wrong.”
I’m admitted to the hospital, in labor at four centimeters, and Porter calls my parents. The pain is bad, but my thoughts are with my friend Adelyn. That girl and I have become so close over the last two years—she’s like a sister to me.
“I know you’re upset about Adelyn. I’ll give you an update the second I hear from Oliver. But for now, try to concentrate on what’s happening here.”
I nod and breathe because I’m starting to have another contraction.
The pain increases every hour and approaches an unbearable level. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“You can do it, baby. You can.”
My mom wets a washcloth and places it over my forehead. “Breathe in through your nose. Out through your mouth. Slow and deep.”
I hear Porter’s phone alert him to an incoming text. “Adelyn had a boy. Naming him Maxwell and calling him Max. Both are doing great.”
Maxwell—her maiden name. Cute. “Thank God.” That’s one less worry off my mind.
“What’s it gonna be? Is Iron City’s future in the hands of three rough-and-tumble boys, or are we going to shake up the mix with a girl?”
“I think we’re gonna shake it up.”
“I think so too.”
I’m starting to feel a ton of pressure in my butt. “I think I should have gotten the epidural.”
My mom pushes the wet strands of hair away from my face. “You’re so close to being done.”
Porter is at my side, holding my hand. “Do you want me to tell the nurse you’ve changed your mind?”
“I don’t think there’s time. I’ve got to push.” It’s something I can’t control. My body is doing what it wants without my permission.
I squeeze Porter’s hand. “Call the nurse, and tell her it feels like the baby’s coming.”
It happens so fast. My nurse comes in and confirms that baby Beckman is indeed on his or her way, and I’m placed in position to deliver.
“I just texted Mom. She and Dad are still an hour away, but she told me to tell you that she loves you.”
“Oh, I hate that they’re not going to be here when the baby comes.”
“It’ll be okay. They should get here right after.”
My mom pats my hand. “I’m going to the waiting room with your dad and brothers. Don’t be afraid. You have a wonderful husband who’s going to help you through this.” My mom kisses my forehead before she leaves. “Love you. Can’t wait to meet my grandbaby.”
The heaviness of the reality hits me—I’m about to become a mother.
Porter brings my hand to his lips for a kiss. “This is happening.”
“Yes, it is. It’s happening right now. I’ve got to push.”
I thought the whole thing was over when the pushing started. Turns out that part doesn’t happen as quickly as I thought. But after about a dozen contractions, the nurse says that I’m ready for delivery.
And I agree 100 percent with that judgment call.
Porter leans down and kisses my face. “I love you so much, baby.”
“Love you too.”
My doctor comes into the room, gowns up, and sits on a stool between my legs. “This little one got in a hurry about arriving all of a sudden.”
“Sure did.”
“You’re starting a contraction, so push hard and let’s meet this little one.”
The next few moments are an agonizing blur. Until I hear that first squeal—that sweet, earth-stand-still cry of our child.
“What is it?”
My doctor turns our baby around, and Porter and I say it simultaneously. “A girl.”
Porter kisses the top of my head. “You did it, baby. She’s beautiful, just like her mama.”
“She has her daddy’s hair.”
“Definitely. That is wild Beckman hair for sure.” Porter kisses my head again. “Thank you for giving me a daughter. Even if it does mean I’ll have to carry a big-ass stick around all the time to keep Lucas’s and Oliver’s boys away from her.”
She’s going to grow up with two Iron City boys. She’ll be around them all the time. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Lockleigh Elise Beckman is placed on my chest and tucked inside my gown so we’re skin to skin. I stroke my finger down my daughter’s cheek and I can’t remember ever feeling anything so soft. “I already love her so much. I didn’t know it was going to feel this way.”
Porter hasn’t taken his eyes off Lockleigh and me. “I knew you’d look good holding my baby.”
An awkward teenage girl falls in love with her father’s handsome boss and later becomes his wife and mother of his children. My life is a fairy tale come true. And now it’s time to live out our happily ever after.
The End
Author Note
It is my greatest hope that you enjoyed these books. I appreciate the time you invested in my stories… in my words… in a part of me.
I would be honored and grateful if you choose to leave a review.
Continue reading to enjoy an excerpt of A Necessary Sin: Book 1 of The Sin Trilogy.
Excerpt - A Necessary Sin
The Sin Trilogy Book 1
I’ve watched him from afar for years. And he has no idea.
I take joy in that.
Through my observations, I’ve learned what makes this charming villain tick.
Whisky.
Power.
Beautiful women.
And Sex. Lots of it.
Sometimes you must get into bed with the enemy for the greater good. And that’s what I’ll do; it’s all part of making Sinclair Breckenridge fall in love with me so I can penetrate his inner circle.
There’s hell to pay.
I’m a dark horse. The perfect storm.
I am Bleu MacAllister. And I’m coming for him.
Prologue
Stella Bleu Lawrence
Age Seven
I’m wearing my pretty pink princess apron and chef hat while doing my most favoritest thing in the world–baking chocolate chip cookies with my mama. I inspect the shiny plastic roll of dough, studying the picture of the white fluffy pastry boy on the package before turning it around for her to see. “Mama, look. He’s wearing a puffy hat just like mine. Except mine’s prettier.” Everything is prettier when it’s pink.
My mama sprays the pan we’re using for our cookies. “He sure is, Bleubird. And I think you’re right. Yours is much prettier. Did you know only the best chefs in the world wear hats like yours?”
Wow. This hat makes me one of the best chefs in the world so that means these cookies are going to be the most delicious I’ve ever baked.
“It’s your favorite song,” I squeal when “Amanda” begins to play. Mama says Boston sings that song just for her. I think she could be right since Amanda is her name.
We always listen to music when we’re cooking so I’ve heard this song a million times. I know every word by heart but I don’t understand what it means. Mama says it’s all about grown-up stuff and I’ll understand one day. I’m not sure I ever want to understand. Grown-up stuff makes my mama cry. A lot.
I’m singing my guts out because it always makes her crack up. I love seeing her laugh because it means she isn’t crying. She’s too pretty to cry so much.
She holds the plastic roll of dough to her mouth and pretends it’s a microphone. She sings so pretty. Everything about Mama is pretty. I hope I grow up to be just like her.
The song gets to the part where there are no words, only guitars, so she puts her pretend microphone on the counter and slices into it with a sharp knife. She always does that part because she says I’m still too litt
le to use knives. My job is to roll the dough into little balls. I’m not always great at it, though. Some come out big, some little. But she always tells me I’ve done a great job–even when I know I haven’t.
“Can I have a bite of dough?” She’s making her “no” face. “Please… with lots and lots of sugar on top.”
I can’t remember why she said it’s okay to eat the cookie dough after it comes out of the oven, but not before. “Hailey’s mama lets her have cookie dough.”
“Maybe one little bite will be okay, but we’re not going to make a habit of this, little lady.” She pinches off a tiny ball and I almost jump up and down because I’m so happy. I’ve always wanted to taste it because Hailey says it’s delicious.
I miss cooking with Mama. We used to do it all the time but that was before she started her new job. She works at night so she has to leave me with our neighbor. Amelia’s nice to me but she’s old, smells funny, and never wants to play. All she does is sit in her chair with her feet up and watch that news show where the same stories repeat over and over. It’s sooo boring.
I finish my tiny ball of cookie dough and immediately want more. “Another? Please, with sugar on top.” That worked the first time.
“No, Stella. I said one bite and that’s what I meant so don’t ask again.” I knew she’d say no but it was worth a try.
I line the balls of dough on the pan and she puts them in the preheated oven. “We’ll check them in ten minutes.” She sets the timer on the stove because we don’t want to burn them. We love our cookies gooey. “What do you want to do while we wait?”
I look at the roll of leftover dough in the roll. “Umm… eat cookie dough?” I grin and bat my eyelashes, as if that’s going to get me what I want but she doesn’t budge. I only succeed in making her laugh, which is better than making her mad since I asked again after she told me not to.
I sit at the table in our kitchen, tortured by the smell of baking cookies. “They smell sooo good. How much longer?”
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