Protecting Her: A Billionaire Secret Baby Romance

by Kira Blakely

  “I want to take you from behind,” he growled softly, and I moaned in anticipation, rubbing my ass against his hard cock.

  He slapped my ass before I felt his cock brushing against my entrance. He pushed inside of me with one long stroke, and we both quivered with need.

  He grazed his teeth on the shell of my ear as he pounded into me, his tongue coming out to taste my neck, and I convulsed in pleasurable agony.

  My arms gave out, and I dropped my head to the mattress. I saw his hand near my face, and I grabbed it and bit hard onto his thumb as he continued to pound into me relentlessly, gaining momentum until the headboards started to shake and the bed started to squeak, threatening to collapse from the power of Sean’s thrusts.

  My body stiffened and the blood in my veins started to sing, and I arched my back as I came again, squeezing around his cock and making him groan.

  He moved inside of me a couple more times before he let go, pouring his seed inside of me, spurting it along my wa

  lls so strongly that it stimulated me into another orgasm. He pulled out quickly, and I winced at the sudden, empty feeling he left behind. He fell to his side and pulled me with him, wrapping his arms around me and kissing me on the forehead first before putting his head down to give me a gentle kiss on the lips.

  It was moments like this when my heart soared as the contrast between our passionate lovemaking faded into such gentle and affectionate touches afterward. I sighed, fully content.

  “What is it?” he asked, his voice laced with drowsiness, and I smiled, feeling the same pull of exhaustion.

  “Nothing. I was just thinking that I’m really happy you almost ran me over that day or we never would’ve happened,” I answered.

  His chest rumbled as he chuckled quietly. “I’ll remind you about that the next time you yell at me while I’m driving,” he teased and kissed me one more time, murmuring words of love before I finally fell asleep in my love’s arms.

  Exclusive

  BIG HOSE

  A Dirty Fireman Romance

  *Never before published.*

  Fighting fires and fucking are what I do best.

  So when my drop dead gorgeous neighbor’s house catches on fire, I spring into action.

  HOLY SHIT!

  I find her naked from just getting out of the tub.

  This is one damsel I don’t mind rescuing.

  I pull her naked body to mine and carry her to safety.

  The next day, she wants to show her gratitude.

  But her eyes say she want to slide down my pole.

  Chapter 1

  Theo

  I could feel the sweat dripping down my chest, along my biceps. I was having the dream again. Fire licked at my toes and singed my hair. I was trapped, bursting an ax into the thick, stone wall, knowing that no matter how much muscle I put into it, I wouldn’t make it out alive.

  I would die within the hour.

  Sputtering, I awoke. I blinked around at my new home—a full ten hours’ drive from my hometown in Alabama. Indianapolis, IN. The place my brother had recently moved to with his family, when he’d nabbed a job in construction. After the bad fire of the early spring had robbed me of my confidence—and nearly killed my best friend—I knew I needed a fresh start. I needed a new fire station, a new group of firefighters who wouldn’t look at me with those eyes that said, “Man. You guys almost died in there.”

  Truth of it was, I was a damn good firefighter. Stronger than most of the other men on the force, I’d been the driving energy of most of our saves in the previous five years. I thought that a move north would give me that confidence back. But the dreams still crept in when I wasn’t wary. They swamped my mind.

  Rising up, I glanced out the blinds to inspect my new neighborhood. Fountain Square was a strange mix of old-world Indiana hillbillies and new-world hipsters, with twenty-somethings gardening in some front yards and dying cars rusting in others. The heat wasn’t as blasting as it was in Alabama, which meant that—finally, for the first time in months—I could get a fresh breath of air.

  Across the street, my pretty brunette neighbor, with huge breasts that burst over her V-neck T-shirt and short, cut-off jean shorts, stood atop her stone steps and looked down at a dark-haired, skinny hipster below. He was weaving his fingers through his hair, shrugging—giving the impression of a near-dead animal in the woods, who just wanted to creep away to die. Grabbing a beer from the small fridge I kept in the main room, I watched from afar as the breakup continued: the gorgeous girl sobbed, while the boy slunk away, terrified.

  What an asshole.

  The moment the guy got into his rickety white Chevy, the girl crumpled. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-two years old, her thin shoulders quivering with the weight of being alone. Slinging the rest of my beer back, I was struck with that feeling I had when I saw someone get injured or trapped: I had to go help her. I had to wrap my arms around her thin frame and keep her from shaking.

  I had to tell her it was all going to be all right.

  Jesus Christ, Theo. Get ahold of yourself.

  I’d lived in Indianapolis for only a week and had my second day at the nearby station in an hour’s time. I gave the pretty woman a last glance, admiring the way she slipped her long brown curls behind her shoulders, letting them bounce, and the way she crossed and uncrossed her long, thin legs, seeming lost in a haze of fear and disappointment. And then I shuffled back to my bathroom for a last-minute, eye-opening shower.

  I was miles away from anything I knew. I had to focus, lead my mind away from thoughts of the accident, from thoughts of women. I couldn’t be distracted. Indianapolis was counting on me.

  I drove the pickup to the station on the corner of Maryland Avenue and Capitol. Slotting into the parking lot, I watched as my new co-firefighters, Mason and Dillon, strutted into the side door, each of them holding a soda and flashing white teeth. They paused, glancing back at the brooding new guy from Alabama, and then held up their hands in greeting.

  They were frightened of me. I was bigger than they were, with a better track record than anyone on the Indianapolis force. When they hired me, they read my stats, my physical abilities, and couldn’t comprehend the number of push-ups I could do at once. Shrugging evenly, I dropped to the ground and did a simple 200, for their eyes only. In the end, they were dumbfounded. Had probably gone home to check their protein intake, how many greens they were eating.

  Anything to try to keep up with me.

  “Hey, man,” Dillon said, clapping at my shoulder. “Second shift?”

  “Yep,” I replied. “As always, hope it’s a quiet night.”

  “Sure. Was thinking we could try doing that push-up contest again,” Dillon said. “I’ve been lifting even higher the past week or so, since I heard of your record. Damn, Theo. You must think you’re hot shit. I know I would.”

  I didn’t answer. Didn’t want to. Wanted to keep a firm distance between me and the others. Someday, hopefully not soon, we’d be together on the front line. And if anything bad happened to them—as had almost happened to my best friend, currently in the hospital back home in Alabama—I didn’t want it to affect me. Not like it had.

  It had run me out of town.

  But the past had a way of doing that to you. Of forcing you to carry it around with you. Of making you feel you shouldn’t be allowed to live another second.

  Chapter 2

  Sarah

  I sobbed myself into exhaustion on the front porch. I was bleary-eyed, weak, realizing I hadn’t eaten in nearly two days, since the breakup had begun. Josh had started the conversation in that super-smart, smarmy way guys liked, saying that he felt he was holding me back, that he didn’t think we really “connected” anymore. Were these words he thought women liked to hear?

  Was this supposed to “let me down easier”?

  Josh and I hadn’t been together long, really. It had been around Christmas, nearly six months ago, when we made things official. And even then, I’d alwa
ys sensed he wasn’t really in it. Could I say he was using me for sex? Sure. Could I say I was using him so I didn’t feel so alone? Perhaps.

  But in the end, it never feels good to be left alone. And that’s how I felt, there at my front porch steps, in the house I could hardly afford in Fountain Square. I pieced together the rent and other bills using money I earned at the nearby diner, where I’d worked for the previous three years. I was sure I would die alone.

  Lifting up from the steps, I eased into the kitchen, reaching for the top shelf, where I kept an emergency bottle of red wine. Uncorking it, I poured myself a massive glass—nearly up to the rim—and glugged it like water. Ripping my mouth back, I felt drips of red wine ease down my chin. But dammit, I didn’t care.

  After another few sips, I began to come around on the idea of Josh leaving. He’d filled me with torment, asking me to fulfill him sexually and never giving back in return. It had been ages since I’d spread my legs for him, watched his tongue flit around the lips of my pussy before diving into the pink folds. Ecstasy and pleasure hadn’t been strongholds with him in my bed.

  And maybe, just maybe, I deserved something a bit more.

  Filling a pot of water, I salted it and dropped in a layer of spaghetti. After dropping a skillet onto the side burner, I added tomato sauce, vegetables, oils, and spices, loving the way my brain was feeling fuzzy at the edges. My movements were dream-like, lost. I was going to fuel myself, in all the ways I hadn’t allowed myself in the previous few months. Trying to stay stick-thin for Josh hadn’t allowed for pasta. It hadn’t allowed for pleasure.

  And dammit, what was it all for?

  I turned on the burners, then grabbed the bottle of wine, filling my glass once more. I flicked on the speaker system in the corner, playing some of my favorite ‘80s pop tunes and strutting around the kitchen, feeling the weight of the breakup fall from my shoulders. The sauce began to sizzle, and I stirred it with a swoop of my spatula, bringing a bit of the red sauce onto my finger and then licking it. It sizzled against my tongue, burning me. And I felt hungry for more.

  After a song break, I flung myself into the hallway near the kitchen, abandoning my glass of wine so that I could drink straight from the bottle. I giggled to myself, ripping down the hallway and easing into the bathroom. The bath looked inviting, the porcelain clean and bright. I drew the water, locking the drain and stripping myself naked. Blinking into the mirror, I reassessed my ideas about my body. Pretty, sleek and thin, like a deer’s, with large, milky breasts that had firm, saucer-like nipples in the center.

  As the bath began to grow taller, I sipped more of the wine, beginning to toy with my makeup selection, painting on dramatic red lips, using dark purple eyeshadow to highlight my deep brown eyes. Perhaps I would call my best friend, Chelsea, and go out dancing downtown. Perhaps I would head to the Brass Ring bar, just a few blocks away, and flirt with that bartender with the mustache, the one who played jazz music and spoke in a pretentious way about his favorite bands and the best drummers in the world.

  When the bath was drawn, I dipped one toe into the center, like a cartoon character. Finding it to be steamy—yet unable to resist its charms—I eased into it, bringing the water up around my neck. Reaching for the soap, I created a bubble bath, bringing my fingers across the surface to swirl the bubbles around.

  With my legs spread wide, I began to feel sensual desire course through my veins. With a final swig of the wine bottle, I dropped it, empty, onto the bathroom floor and then brought both hands to the pink softness between my legs, bringing two firm fingers against the tight knob at my clit. Drawing my head back, I felt intense pleasure. Josh certainly hadn’t touched me like that, with such tenderness, in weeks, perhaps months. And I felt myself devolve into animalistic urges.

  As I touched myself, bringing two fingers into the soft darkness within, I brought my feet along the edge of the tub. Pressing two fingers against that impossible G-spot, I began to stroke my clit, feeling my body begin to quiver with pleasure.

  And just as my body filled with ecstasy, as I allowed myself to forget the horrors of the world around me—the fact that I was abandoned, that I wasn’t good enough for someone—I smelled it.

  Burning.

  Smoke.

  And I knew, somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind, that I’d really fucked myself over this time. There was no going back.

  Chapter 3

  Theo

  The first hour or two of the shift was pure drudgery. Dillon continued to try to reach 200 pushups, drawing his energy thin as he sweated in the corner of the room. A few of the other guys played cards, swapping decks to try to make sure they had a full set. Mason had decided to get to the “bottom” of me, of who I was, and had begun tossing questions like lightning.

  “You were in Alabama your whole life, then?” he asked.

  “Sure was.”

  “Listen to that accent,” he said, chuckling. “You can tell you’re such a southern guy. A real gentleman. I bet you even open the doors for the ladies and all that shit, don’t you?”

  “I guess if you’re calling it ‘all that shit,’ you ain’t getting laid that often,” I fired back. He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes becoming slits. I needed to reel it in. But I knew, in that moment, that I’d earned his respect.

  “So why’d you leave, then?” Mason demanded. “Why’d you leave this place where you’re apparently getting laid all the time, where you’re the champion of the force, where your entire family is?”

  “My brother moved here.” I shrugged, speaking truthfully. There wasn’t any way I was going to tell a shoddy guy like Mason my truth. He didn’t deserve it. Perhaps nobody in Indiana did.

  That’s what starting over meant, I reminded myself. It meant you were supposed to regroup. To find peace. To bury your past, for good.

  “What’s it like there?” Dillon asked then, pushing up from his stance near the corner, sweat oozing down his forehead. “In Alabama? I never been. Heard it’s hot as fuck.”

  “Sure,” I answered, swiping my fingers through my dark blond hair. “It’s hot. Everybody’s friendly, more or less—“

  “And the women?” Dillon asked. “Skanks, all of them. Right? Pretty easy?”

  My nostrils flared. People in the north did tend to think women in the south were easy, wearing short, booty shorts and stripping for skinny-dipping on the daily. They weren’t far off, of course. My ex-girlfriends had all been sexual beings, spreading their legs wide on the second date, if not the first.

  “He doesn’t want us to talk about his sister that way,” Mason said, trying to take the upper hand.

  My heart hammered in my chest. With my nostrils flared, I searched for words. But they gave me aggressive eyes, showing me they’d take me down in an instant: all of them, versus me.

  That’s when the alarm began to blare. With my heart hammering in my chest, I bolted toward the locker to don my big, bulky burnt-yellow uniform. The others shuffled around me, their faces growing dark with concentration. Together, we shuffled toward the pole and slid down, our anger from the previous few minutes fell around us like sand. It didn’t matter.

  “Address?” Mason boomed, jumping into the driver’s seat.

  “Spann Avenue,” Dillon answered, grunting. We leaped into the truck behind Mason. The siren began to blare above our ears, becoming our heartbeat, our pulse.

  “Spann?” That was my road, deep in the heart of Fountain Square. “Which number?”

  “411,” Dillon replied.

  Not mine. My head spun toward the window, watching as cars jumped out of our way. Mason shifted into driving gear and roared down the downtown street, blaring, and whisking us toward the next disaster. I felt resolute, sure, affirmed: finally, I was doing what I was meant to be doing, after so many months of no action.

  I felt useful. I felt somber. I felt sure.

  Chapter 4

  Sarah

  “Fuck. No. No!” I jumped up from the tub, my mind finding sobrie
ty quickly and taking on panic, instead. The smoke had begun to filter in through the bottom of the door, first coming in slight gray wisps, but then becoming black and tight, making me cough. My body dripped with water from the tub: water dribbling down my tits, toward my stomach, and onto my thighs. I reached for the doorknob, wanting to peek toward the kitchen—perhaps there was a way out I couldn’t comprehend?—but saw only darkness.

  It all came rushing back, then. The sauce in the skillet, steaming. The water and noodles boiling in the pot. The wine, guzzled. I could still hear the ‘80s music, blaring from the speaker. But nobody was there dancing to it any longer.

  The singing felt too bright. You could almost see the horrible outfits they’d worn, the bad lipstick, the earrings dangling to their shoulders. I glanced into the mirror at myself, still done-up from the makeup I’d dredged out of the closet, and felt I was in some sort of nightmare music video. I was running from the monster. But now, the monster would swallow me whole.

  I smacked the door closed once more as the smoke continued to roar. The fire flickered against the hallway walls, blackening the paint, and making me more fearful than ever. After a brief glance at the single window above the sink, I knew I’d never make it out. It was just a single strip, near the ceiling, more for ventilation than anything. I opened it, knowing this would keep me alive a bit longer. It would clear out a bit of the smoke, keep me breathing.

  But it wouldn’t save me, in the end, when the fire nibbled my toes and burnt my hair and made me crispy.

  Jesus.

  I eyed my clothes on the floor, wondering if I should get dressed. If I should be moral, when people found my body. It felt morbid, considering this. What would they say about me, after I was gone? Would they know that I never really loved Josh? That I hadn’t meant to kill myself, all because of him? Perhaps I could leave a note, with my lipstick sliding across the mirror. I could tell the world that my love was reserved for someone better. For someone with more balls. For someone who would love me the way I needed to be loved.