“Well,” she said and smiled before she kissed me again.
Deep kisses. Slow kisses. Wet kisses. The kind of kisses a guy dreamed about getting and receiving. I devoured her mouth. She kissed me back like she was starving for me. We kissed until my lips chafed and my balls ached.
I wrapped her ponytail around my wrist. She turned to straddle my lap. If we kept this up, I was going to fuck her on the ground, hard and embarrassingly fast.
“Venetia.” Her name ripped from my throat. I cupped one of her breasts in my hand, admiring the weight and fullness of it, the way it fit my palm perfectly, upturned and perky.
She dipped a hand between us and gripped my cock through my jeans. I groaned and pressed into her palm. A shudder of need rippled down my abdomen and straight into my groin. She rolled her hips, lighting explosions of desire inside me. “Come on, Beckett. Where are all those smooth moves I’ve heard about?” Her lips brushed against my open mouth as she spoke. I felt her smile.
“I’ve got moves,” I said. The hiss of my zipper released the pressure behind my fly as her hand slipped into my jeans to stroke me.
“Show me.” Long fingers wrapped around my cock and pulled up from the base to the end.
“Ah, God,” I muttered. Who was I kidding? I wanted her, wanted to do wicked, dirty things to her. I thrust into her hand, enjoying the glide of her soft palm against my hardness, horny beyond reason. She stood and pushed her shorts over her hips while I dug a condom out of my wallet. I unrolled it over my dick and held it by the base. I hissed as she lowered herself onto me. She was tight and wet and slippery. I tried to hold back, but when she lifted and slammed down, I lost all control.
With one arm around her back and the other on her hip, I held on to her while she rode me, fast and furious. Short whimpers of pleasure ripped from her throat. Frustrated by the need to drive into her, I laid her on the grass next to the stump. I hammered her soft flesh, sinking balls deep, and kept going. Her legs tightened around my hips.
“Faster, Piers,” she whispered.
The sound of my first name on her lips spurred my efforts. At this point, I’d do anything to please her, to get her off. I doubled my speed, ramming against her until my knees ached from the hard ground. She tilted her head back, eyes closed, lacy lashes fanned over her cheeks. The morning sun bathed her skin in gold light. Fuck me if she wasn’t the prettiest thing I’d ever seen. I dipped my head to tongue one of her nipples through her shirt. She groaned, deep in her throat.
“You feel so good,” she said, her breath tickling my ear.
The pressure of her fingernails cut through my hoodie and into my back. The pain gave clarity to my thoughts, sharpened the sensations of the friction and heat between her legs. I tried to absorb the moment, savor the taste of salt on her skin, the scent of her body spray, and the slick wet heat of her gripping my cock.
“Don’t let go,” she begged.
“I won’t. I’ve got you.” The vulnerability in her plea drove a crack into the shell around my heart. I forgot about my own aching need and focused on hers. She responded to every brush of my fingers, every kiss of my lips, with a new sound. The power went straight to my head then to my dick. I murmured into her hair, praising her, letting her know how much I appreciated her, and took pride in her gasping cries. “So good. So sweet. Just like that, baby.”
A rush of fire shot through my veins. Venetia tensed and stilled beneath me. I came with a jerk, relief flooding through my legs and into my toes. Her pussy clenched and spasmed around my erection, wringing electrified jolts of ecstasy from me. Air burned in my lungs as I gasped for breath.
I buried my face in the curve of her shoulder and tried to regain my composure. What the fuck had just happened? The power of the experience obliterated the memories of every girl I’d ever been with. There was only her. Beneath me, her body trembled from head to toe.
I pulled back to look at her, alarmed. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?” I searched her face, relaxing a bit at the flush in her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes. I brushed aside the tangled mess of her ponytail then plucked a blade of grass from her shoulder. To my smug satisfaction, she looked well and thoroughly fucked.
“I’m good.” Dimples I hadn’t seen in quite some time deepened in her cheeks as she said, “You can hurt me like that anytime.”
Chapter 20
Venetia
BECKETT INSISTED on accompanying me to the doctor’s office for my first visit, even though I’d told him it was unnecessary. Neither of us addressed the sex by the waterfall, agreeing by unspoken consent to ignore the chemistry between us. Lately, it had been all I could think about. The touch of his fingers, the abrading stubble of his five-o’clock shadow, the way he’d grunted and groaned as he’d hammered into me. Sex like that could turn a girl’s head, but I vowed to put my lust for him aside for the sake of our baby.
As I sat in the waiting room, I still couldn’t believe this was happening. He sat in one of the hard plastic chairs at my side, large, square-jawed, and overtly male amid the expectant mothers. He paid no attention to their admiring sideways glances, but I heard their hums and whispers. I stared back at them, a prickle of possessiveness lifting the fine hairs along the back of my neck.
Beckett glanced up, catching my gaze. “You okay?” he asked in his rich voice. The sound of it hummed through me. My nipples, which seemed to have a will of their own these days, tightened. Brown eyes studied me.
“Yes,” I said, giving him a shaky smile.
He winked at me then returned his attention to whatever he’d been typing into his phone.
While I tried to quell the butterflies in my stomach, he scrolled through texts and emails on his phone, briefcase at his side, absorbed in his work. How could he be so calm? It took all of my self-control to keep from breaking into hysterics. By contrast, he looked like he’d done this a thousand times before. He must have rearranged quite a bit of his schedule to be here, and it warmed me to know our child was a priority for him.
I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to breathe through my panic. This was just a preliminary visit. I already knew I was pregnant. Getting the results of the test was a mere formality. It wasn’t going to change the fact. Then I saw it, the telltale sign of his anxiety. Using his thumb, he spun the silver championship ring around and around his tanned finger, over and over. I put my hand on his, calming his fingers, and gave a small squeeze. He smiled and squeezed back. The flash of white teeth did a thousand crazy things to my insides.
“Thank you for being here,” I whispered.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he replied, and I knew without question he meant it.
The woman next to me smiled kindly. She balanced a toddler on her lap, mindful of the huge swell of her pregnant belly. A second child, a curly-haired girl, sat at her feet and hummed a happy tune while coloring in a book. The mother caught my gaze. “Is this your first?”
It took a few seconds before I realized she was talking to me. Strangers never spoke to me. “Um, yes,” I replied, hesitant to share the details. “Is it obvious?”
“You have that deer-in-the-headlights look,” she said. “So does your man.” She nodded at Beckett, who was engrossed in his phone.
“It was a bit of a surprise.” Even though I rarely shared the private details of my life with anyone, this tidbit popped out of my mouth. The need to tell someone overwhelmed my common sense, and the confession rushed out before I could stop it.
“Mine too.” She pulled the toddler’s fingers from his mouth. He squirmed on her legs until she handed him a colorful rubber dog. “At least this one was.”
“I’m a little scared,” I confided.
“No need to worry. This is my fourth,” she said, resting a gentle hand on her stomach. The little boy blinked at me with round, innocent eyes and made an ineffectual grab for my pearl necklace. His mother thwarted the attempt with a practiced hand. “And every one of them has been a blessing.”
Four
children? She couldn’t have been more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Her hair was pulled into a messy twist and secured with a plastic butterfly clip. Shadows of fatigue darkened her eyes, but her smile held warmth and happiness. The little boy gurgled and kicked his feet.
“How do you manage?” I asked. “Isn’t it a lot?”
“It is, but you do it anyway.” She captured the boy’s feet with her hands to still them. “They’re totally worth it.”
“He’s adorable,” I said, admiring his chubby cheeks and pink lips. Children had never held much interest for me before this, but I felt a profound tug deep inside. I smiled and the boy clapped his hands gleefully.
“Thank you. He’s a hellion is what he is,” she said with a shake of her head before dropping a kiss on his forehead. “Takes after his daddy.”
“Daddy,” the little boy mimicked.
She nodded toward Beckett. “I’m sure your baby is going to be beautiful. With that one as the father, there’s no way it could be anything else.”
Beckett shifted in his chair, too large to be comfortable and decidedly out of his element. Sensing our scrutiny, he looked up from the phone and frowned. “What?”
“Nothing.” I smiled and shook my head. The woman was right. Beckett’s broad shoulders, sinful good looks, and natural athletic ability guaranteed our child would be blessed. A bit of my anxiety disappeared. How lucky was I? I’d hit the alpha male genetic jackpot.
“Venetia Seaforth.” The nurse called my name.
I stood, expecting to undergo the exam on my own, but Beckett rose to his feet and followed me. “You don’t have to—” I began, but Beckett waved my hand away.
“No, I don’t, but I’m going in.” He sounded as if preparing for battle.
“You can get dressed now,” the doctor said and patted my hand before leaving the room. Beckett turned his back while I slipped into my dress. Aside from being pale, he seemed to take the news in stride. It was real to me now. So freaking real. According to the doctor, I was due sometime in late April.
“I want to have this baby,” Beckett and I said in unison. We stared at each other.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I’m not talking about adoption. Because you don’t have to be a part of it if you don’t want. I can do this on my own.” I wasn’t at all sure I could, but it was important that I gave Beckett the option to choose his level of involvement. “You need to be certain.”
“I’m sure.” His jaw flexed, a familiar gesture of stubbornness.
“It’s a huge commitment.” A tingle of awareness prickled over my skin as he took a step closer and stared down at me. “We can’t do this halfway.”
“When have I ever done anything halfway?” he asked; a touch of cockiness twinkled in his gaze. All-star basketball champion, Ivy League law graduate, and successful attorney. Everything he did, he did with dedication and gusto. “You and I are going to be kick-ass parents.”
“I’m sure you will be, but I’m not so sure about myself.” Making the decision did nothing to calm my insecurities. I still had a mountain of issues to work through.
“I hope it’s a little girl,” he said. “With pretty blond curls and big blue eyes, like yours.” His words filled my insides with warmth. I smiled up at him. At my side, his hand found mine and squeezed.
Chapter 21
Beckett
A LITTLE past eight the next evening, I picked up my phone and hovered a thumb over Venetia’s name in my contact list. I thought about the miracle of our baby with a mixture of panic and awe. We were doing this. I was going to be a dad. No matter how many times I rolled the title over my tongue, I couldn’t say it out loud. The man who’d raised me, the one I called Dad, was one of the kindest men I’d ever met. He’d nursed my skinned knees, taught me how to shoot a basketball, and loved me like I was his own flesh and blood. Until now, I’d never fully understood the magnitude of the gift he’d given me or the sacrifice it must have been to raise another man’s child. If I could be half as wonderful to my kid, everything would turn out okay. I had to believe it.
By contrast, Venetia had little to work with in the way of role models. Maxwell’s arrogance still rankled, the way he referred to her as if she was no one of importance, more nuisance than blessing. The burden of his secret burned in my chest.
I needed to see her. Dozens of excuses rolled through my thoughts. We needed to discuss custody arrangements and child support, names and religious views. I opened a new text message.
Me: Hungry?
Venetia: Always. You?
Me: Let me take you to dinner. My treat.
Venetia: Is this a date?
The same dilemma had nagged my thoughts for the past twenty-four hours. What, exactly, were we going to be to each other? We’d been through too much in the past few weeks. I already felt an unfamiliar ache in my chest every time I thought about her and the baby—which was constantly. Labeling our relationship as “just friends” seemed to belittle the strong bond growing between us. Then again, she’d been adamant about setting boundaries.
Me: Not a date. Dinner.
Fifteen minutes passed and no answer. Had I offended her? Maybe she wanted a relationship. I had to admit I was beginning to warm to the concept. A few weeks ago, the thought of more had sent a shudder of pure bachelor fear down my back. Today, it seemed more palatable. I liked spending time with Venetia. She was funny, mischievous, and reminded me there was more to life than work. Raising a child would require us to spend a lot of time together. We might as well get started right away.
I studied the piles of legal briefs on my desk, the list of unopened emails in my inbox, and the number of appointments on my calendar for the next day. The responsible thing to do was to stay at the office, eat Chinese takeout from the restaurant down the street, and power through the night. The longer my text remained unanswered, the more desperate I became for her reply. When she still hadn’t answered after twenty minutes, I fired off another message.
Me: I’ve had a hell of a day. I could use a friend. Maybe you could, too?
With Tucker out of town, I had no one to talk to but Sam, and I’d promised Venetia to keep the baby under wraps until she was ready to tell everyone. The secret swelled inside me until I felt like bursting. I needed to talk to someone about the situation. Who better than her?
Venetia: I’m at the building next door. Give me twenty. I’ll pick you up.
Me: Meet you in the lobby.
After I splashed cold water on my face, shaved, and changed shirts, I boarded the elevator and rode down to the lobby. Venetia waited near the exit. She turned when the elevator door opened. The sight of her smile caused excitement to replace the unease in my gut. I forgot the mountain of work waiting upstairs and realized with a jolt how much I missed her during our short time apart. Maybe this baby was our wakeup call. A child might be the anchor we both needed to finally put down some roots.
“Hey.” I gripped her elbow and leaned in to kiss her cheek. The soft brush of her skin against my lips left me hungry for more than food. “I’m glad you could get away. I couldn’t stand the idea of eating alone again tonight.”
“Me either,” she replied. Her hand brushed over my sleeve. “Thanks for asking.”
“No problem.” I opened the door. A pleasant tingle electrified my chest when her shoulder grazed my shirt. “I feel like we should celebrate. And we can get a few business details out of the way while we’re at it.”
She nodded and passed by on a subtle cloud of expensive perfume, trailed by undertones of her shampoo. I resisted the urge to bury my nose in her glossy hair and followed her to the curb. Crisp fall air swirled around us. I drew in a deep lungful to cleanse away the hypnotic pull of her scent. Walnut and elm leaves in colors of gold and orange skittered and skipped along the sidewalk at our feet, escapees from the small park across the street. She stood a few inches in front of me, balanced on a set of the highest heels I’d ever seen. The heat of her body warmed my chest as I cl
osed the gap between us.
“I’m driving,” she announced.
“Are you sure?” I asked. My chin hovered over her shoulder and next to her ear.
She tossed a saucy glance back at me. “Absolutely.” Our lips were close. Her gaze flicked to my mouth, hints of blue irises barely visible through the lacy fans of her lashes. I could kiss her so easily. Just a shift of weight to the balls of my feet, and our mouths would meet. I leaned in until her back rested against my front. We were in the dying light of day on a busy street, but I didn’t give a damn. I needed to claim those full, sexy lips for my own. Before I could act, the purr and whine of a twin turbocharged engine interrupted.
I cleared my throat, straightened my tie, and tugged down the sleeves of my dress shirt. Few things excited me anymore except pretty women, front-row seats at an NBA game, or a well-crafted automobile. This, however, wasn’t just a car. This was a Bentley Continental GT Speed, the car I’d been lusting over for the past six months, a perfect mix of luxury and performance. Tinted windows, black paint so deep it looked bottomless, and chrome wheels sparkled from the pavement. I hoped to buy one for myself someday, maybe with the proceeds from the Seaforth case.
“This is your car? You’ve got to be kidding.” I let out a low whistle as the driver’s door opened and the valet exited.
“Yes, it’s mine, and no, I’m not kidding,” she said with a wide smile.
“Jesus, V,” I muttered. “I’m in love.”
She took the key fob from the valet and crossed to the driver’s side while I stared—make that panted—on the sidewalk. The sight of a gorgeous blonde next to the car of my dreams sent testosterone rushing through my veins.
“Put your tongue back into your mouth. It’s obscene,” she said. The easy way she teased me only exacerbated the testosterone speeding through my body.
“Can I drive?” I tried to tamp down the enthusiasm in my voice.
Pretty Dirty Secrets: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 3) Page 12