Heart: BWWM Secret Baby Romance

by Kara Jones

  I turned and stalked out of the room.

  “Hey!” She called behind me. “Wait!”

  I didn’t wait. I took the stairs two at a time. My intended destination was my bedroom. Once I was there, I’d put on some clothes and figure out what to do next.

  “Richard!” She laid a hand on my shoulder. “Can we talk about this?”

  I turned around at the top of the landing. She gazed up at me boldly.

  I realized then why I was so determined to get away from her; I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing the rejection creep onto her face, as it inevitably would. She hadn’t signed up for this.

  But, the rejection was not forthcoming. Instead, she said, “I’m not going anywhere, Richard.” Then, at my look of surprise, she said, “I can see it all over your face. You think I’m about to run out of here.”

  I’d never been an easy man to read. I was impressed that she had been able to tell, but didn’t like having that secret revealed as well.

  “You should run,” I said. “I’m an unpredictable beast.”

  She smiled sadly and shook her head. “You’re not.”

  I sneered in response, and a stern look crossed her face.

  “You’ve gotten better recently, haven’t you?” she challenged. “You’re not out of control. You’re just misunderstood.”

  I chuckled darkly. “Misunderstood?” I said. “Darling, to be misunderstood there must first be people around to form an incorrect opinion of you.”

  “No,” she said. “Not when you’re misunderstood by yourself.”

  That was an insight I hadn’t expected to come out of those perfect lips. It wasn’t that I hadn’t thought her capable of such reflections. She was clearly an intelligent girl. I just had never thought that anyone would be able to tell me anything about my condition that I hadn’t already decided for myself.

  “You may be many things, Richard,” she continued. “Pretentious and a bit of an ass are two things that come to mind, but a monster? Absolutely not. You saved me.”

  “He was going to kill you,” I said. “Obviously, I had to save you.”

  She shook her head, smiling to herself. “You saved me from crashing and burning. You gave me a job when I clearly wasn’t a good fit for it, and you’ve been pushing me to follow the dream I’ve been avoiding for so long.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. “You’re a good man.”

  Her words touched me, and the contact of her hand on mine touched me in another way. I’d never allowed my fantasies of her to go farther than just a passing fancy. It simply hadn’t been an option for me. I couldn’t let anyone get that close for fear of them discovering my true nature. The only one who had seen my beast form since the death of my grandfather was Gaston.

  Now, with her standing in front of me, accepting me, and caring for me… I felt a stirring in my loins that I had been suppressing for months.

  She noticed.

  Before she could say anything, I spun and continued my trek to my room. I didn't know what to say to her.

  "Richard!" she called after me again. I closed the door, but she barged in anyway.

  "You have no idea what you do to me!" I cried, turning to face her.

  "I think I have some idea," she said, in reference to my growing erection.

  Mina

  Apparently, he wasn't in a joking mood. His face grew cold, and he walked up to me, crowding me. I refused to take a step back, even as I felt him press against my thigh.

  I mean, it wasn't exactly a nightmare for me. I'd only been dreaming about seeing him naked since the first day I met him. And, what a fine specimen he was — lean muscles that lined his broad frame, an impressive package, and the perfect amount of chest hair trailing across his pecs.

  In short, I was going to see how this went.

  "You're playing with fire, Mina," he growled. "Don't play games with me."

  All I managed was a wide-eyed stare and a head shake. I was able to add to that gesture,

  "I'm not playing."

  His gaze softened slightly. It was still full of lust, but it had lost its irritated edge. "Mina," he breathed. "You should go."

  I shook my head resolutely.

  "Not until I ask you one more thing," I said.

  "What's that?"

  "This." I leaned up on my toes and pressed my lips into his. They were warm and salty and, at first, unresponsive. After a moment of presumably deliberating with himself, Richard responded with feeling. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled my body tight against his, his mouth ravaging my own.

  Every ounce of the longing that I’d felt until that moment poured into that kiss. His lips against mine were demanding, full of the same passion and desire. He kissed away every sigh that had eased from my lips as I ached for him in silence. He kissed away every lost look over the dinner table. He kissed away everything.

  Even as I thought he was already quite impressive, I could feel him growing against my stomach. A rumble of pleasure rolled through me, straight down to my core. I could already feel myself getting wet in anticipation, aching for his touch.

  His hands explored me, dipping under my shirt to rub against my bare skin; massaging my breasts, my stomach, and my ass. I explored him too, tracing the lines of definition on his body, tangling my fingers in his chest hair, and finally, dipping below to feel him.

  He growled against my mouth, pressing himself further into my hand as I began to work on him.

  I was lost in longing as I held him, focusing on the feel of his skin sliding against mine.

  He began to undress me, and my clothes fell to the floor in a line as we trailed over to the bed. When we were there, we were both naked. He moved his face to my neck and kissed me there, then headed down.

  His lips against my nipples were warm and wet, eliciting a tingling pleasure that I arched up against. He backed me onto the bed and laid me down, then continued to trail his kisses lower.

  When Richard's tongue slipped between my folds, I began to tremble. He was an expert, knowing exactly where to lick, where to kiss, and where to suckle. I felt like he moved in time with my thoughts, delving into me just as I felt I couldn't survive without the feel of him inside of me. His tongue, though only a substitute for something else, was not a poor substitute by any means.

  I lifted off the bed in pleasure as I felt my orgasm building. Each lick, each stroke, each rumble of lust from his throat brought me closer to the edge. He sunk a finger inside of me, and I blasted apart. I cried out, my orgasm causing me to buck up off the bed. He stayed on me, holding me against his face as he continued to thrust his finger inside to eke out the last of my climax.

  When I fell back, exhausted, he climbed on top of me. When he kissed me, I tasted my essence on his lips. I licked my lips and his eyes lit up brightly.

  "Are you ready?" he asked.

  I nodded my head, pressing my lips to his throat and trailing kisses along his neck. He moved between my legs and sunk in, allowing each inch to stretch and fill me with an agonizing slowness.

  When he was fully inside, I groaned in delight. I was in heaven.

  He pulled out and thrust in again, the urgency of his need beginning to surface. I wrapped my arms around him and went along for the ride.

  He pulled my face to his for another fierce kiss as he filled me, setting a dizzying pace. The more he sunk into me, the more his tongue tangled with mine, the more my core began to tingle, to burn with a heat that could only mean one thing.

  I matched his thrusts with my own, fervent with need. I needed to crest the hill of my second orgasm. I needed him. I needed.

  He moaned against my mouth and pulled away, panting. He was close too. I wrapped my legs around his, urging him to sink deeper, to thrust harder. He took my invitation, bringing me to an earth-shuddering climax, the likes of which I’d never experienced.

  I tumbled from my peak with sheer joy, calling his name in rapture again and again. As I came apart in his arms, so too did he find his release. I f
elt him pulse inside of me, and I pressed my mouth against his shoulder to kiss him in the only way my foggy mind could think of.

  I felt at perfect peace. When I pulled back to look at his face, I could see that he was too.

  “Still want me to leave?” I murmured, a coy smile dancing on my lips.

  A rumbling laugh rose from his throat, “Never.”

  *****

  Though the mansion had already been tastefully decorated, I couldn't resist adding my own touch. The crowning achievement of my decor was the engraved glass award I placed on the mantle above the fireplace.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind that it’s there?” I asked one evening, snuggled up in Richard’s arms on the couch.

  He nuzzled his face against the top of my head. “Of course not,” he said. “You should be proud of your achievements. Everyone should love you as much as I do.”

  His warm body surrounded me, filling me with a sense of serenity. He was feeling it too, and I didn’t need him to tell me that to know. He hadn’t lost control of himself in months.

  “Who would have thought that I’d win an award for my work,” I mused. The physical embodiment of my writing achievement glinted from the light of the flames.

  He chuckled and pulled me tighter against him. “Well,” he said, “you were never going to win one for cooking.”

  The End

  Bonus - Secrets of an MC Bear

  *****

  The table was long, and built from solid oak that had been painted black and engraved with the family crest. At the head of the table sat Derren Prince. His hair was long and matted at the ends with braids that interlocked the auburn strands. His hands were meaty and scarred and, as they sat upon the table, the other members of the gang could see they'd been in the wars.

  "So, let us vote," Derren Prince raised a hand and cheered before picking up his tankard of beer. "It's about time these young fellas joined our ranks."

  He nodded his head down to the bottom of the table at the three teenagers who were half the size of everyone else. It wouldn't be long; however, until they were real men and, just like their older brothers’ fathers and uncles, they'd fit right in as part of the motorcycle gang, The Sons of Pestilence.

  “It would be an honor to have you guys with us,” the oldest at the table, Jerry, twiddled with the end of his gray beard.

  "I agree," spoke the second oldest, with his face wise and crinkled by the sun.

  "So then," Derren slammed his tankard down with a thud, wiping the foam off his moustache. "Let's get to it. All those who agree to these three young gentlemen joining the MC, raise your hand."

  As he looked around the table, he saw everyone had raised a hand. Well.... everyone except his own father, Samson.

  "Paps," he nudged him in the arm. "What's wrong with you?"

  "I dunno," the old man shrugged. "It just seems that we're allowing anyone in these days."

  "Don't be ridiculous," Jerry chuckled. "We're all the same bloodline. We're all one family, so what the hell you talking about?"

  "I know they're family," grumbled Derren's father. "But, they still seem a little wet behind the ears, don't they? Look." He flung a crumpled up cigarette paper at the youngest one. "He hasn't even started to grow any whiskers yet, and that one," he threw another paper. "How old are you, kid? About twelve?"

  "I'm twenty one, sir," the poor kid blushed and looked to his lap where he was fiddling nervously with a bandana.

  "Twenty one, my ass," Samson grew angry. "You look like you should still be hanging off your mother's teat."

  "For Christ’s sake, Dad," Derren resumed drinking his beer. "Give the guys a chance. We were just like them once, remember? Young kids who needed to prove themselves."

  "I sure wasn't some smooth-jawed kindergarten like that little nugget down there," Samson pointed a cigarette before lighting it.

  "Whatever," Derren clapped a hand to his brow. "We all vote yes, you voted no, so it still stands. They join the MC. Congratulations kids. You'll do us proud, I know you will."

  Derren walked over to the back of the room to pick up the patches that were the official uniform of the gang. Handing them over to the young men, they beamed with pride while their leader patted them on the back and shook their hands. He felt as though he was their father and he was proud to see them grow up.

  He had, after all, known them their whole lives. The community was a small one, but it was one that was tight and close. Everyone was related to each other in some way or another and that was what made them so special; that and one other thing. They were all shifters. It was a clandestine existence; one that had isolated the sacred bloodline and the motorcycle gang in the middle of the woody mountains on the cusp of civilization. However, after generations of living this way, they didn't know much else. None of them at this point had ever been in a large city and had only travelled to nearby towns for business.

  Now, as Derren looked down at his new recruits, he smiled and his blue eyes shimmered in the strong sunlight. He remembered them all when they were just babies and when he was their age. They were all cute as a button and he had loved them as if they were his own little brothers. But, that was the way of their life. Everyone was your brother or your sister and you loved everyone equally, unless you were Samson, and then your grumpy principles would keep you tethered to your own lonely, little hut with nothing but your pipe to keep you company.

  "I'm real sorry about my Pa," Derren sheepishly looked at the boys. "You know what he's like, just gets real.... I dunno, grouchy I guess."

  "We know," they all said in unison. "Thank you Mr. Prince.”

  "Oh please, kids, it's Derren."

  They nodded respectfully before making their way out of the club-house to put on their patches and climb on top of their motorcycles.

  "Probably going to have to get their Mommies to sew their patches," a voice came from behind Derren.

  It was his closest friend, Max, a guy that matched him in both age and size, and had been his best friend since they were both old enough to toddle about. Their parents had fond memories of seeing the two boys climb onto their tricycles and race each other.

  "Yeah.... I remember not being able to do mine either," Derren laughed at the memory of getting his club patch for the first time.

  "Ha! Those were the days. Fancy something stronger?" Max pointed to Derren's empty tankard. "Scotch?"

  "Sure."

  As they walked through the club-house to the bar area, Derren felt a surge of pride and comfort within his body. He'd never felt more at home anywhere in his life, and it was times like this that he imagined there was nowhere else that existed apart from this little area known to the locals as Prince Country. He was the leader as far as his eye could see and the feeling of accomplishment was second to none.

  "You've got that weird look in your eye again," Max sat down at the bar and ordered two drinks.

  "Really?"

  "Yeah, like that one you get when you get all philosophical and start talking about life, and the universe, and all that stuff."

  "Nah nah. It's nothing like that. I'm just real happy being here with you guys."

  "And soon, you'll be even happier, am I right?"

  "Maybe," Derren winked and took a sip of his drink. "I mean sure! It'll be the best day of my life," and he raised his glass.

  Derren and the whole gang were pleased because it was going to be the biggest day to take place in the area in years. Derren, after all, was going to be married to the most beautiful girl Prince Country had to offer; the gorgeous and sensual Ciara. Like everyone else, he had grown up with the girl and he'd liked her since he was five years old. So, when his father sat him down with the elders of the community and explained he was to be wed to her in an arranged marriage, he was ecstatic. Not that he said that though, he bowed his head and feigned being humble.

  "Thank you, father." He looked to the ground and bit a lip to stop himself from smiling too obviously. "I will do my very best to honor
and obey this union."

  And, he meant it too. He couldn’t think of a better way to live his life than in his community, forever with his gorgeous wife by his side.

  "I hope you have dozens of babies, old pal," Max elbowed him in the ribs and snapped him from his reverie.

  "Me too," Derren grinned with a cheeky look on his face.

  Samson came striding out of the back room with a stern expression on his face.

  "It's time to stop celebrating and get back to work," he announced with his usual aloofness. "You boys have got errands to run."

  "Are you telling me what to do, Pa? Cos the last time I checked, you weren't the leader of the MC anymore?" Derren joked, although mentally, he was still irked that his father bossed him around.

  "Don't talk back to your old man," Samson barked. "I need you to go down to the town and see a friend of mine. We've got business to do with him, but I need you to see him first."

  "What kinda business?" Max asked skeptically with a raised eyebrow.

  "Never your mind, young man. Just head out over to the Wilson house and ask for Clayton."

  "Fine," Derren moaned.

  *****

  Phaedra had been working in the Wilson house for just over six months and she absolutely hated it. Not that she had much choice though because the family had taken her in from the wilderness and she owed them her life. That's why she toiled away night and day in their place as a way to say thank you. But, she couldn't help but think the only reason they rescued her was to get free labor.

  The Wilson house was an old tavern that had been on the brink of collapse for nearly a hundred years. Somehow though, it stayed together and Phaedra always joked it was the blood and dirt that kept it held together.

  "This place is a craphole," she mumbled under her breath as she straightened up the rickety sign on the front porch. These days, after a long and bloody history, it was being used as an inn for the local drunks. They'd pay for their stay in any way they could and, in return, they'd get a floor, a mattress, a loaf of bread, and some coffee in the morning. Phaedra always wondered where these guys came from, as they always seemed to emerge from the woods like vermin. Yet still, week after week, another one would show up and he'd soon pass out upstairs when the Wilson kids would rob him blind. That was, if he ever had something to steal.