Baby Daddy Can't Get Enough
Page 1
Baby Daddy Can’t Get Enough
BB Hamel
Contents
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1. Casey
2. Ryan
3. Casey
4. Ryan
5. Casey
6. Ryan
7. Casey
8. Ryan
9. Casey
10. Ryan
11. Casey
12. Ryan
13. Casey
14. Ryan
15. Casey
16. Ryan
17. Casey
18. Ryan
19. Casey
20. Ryan
21. Casey
22. Casey
Also by BB Hamel
Copyright © 2020 by B. B. Hamel
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1
Casey
I turn the lock in the smooth black door and push it open. The foyer is dim, the floor polished wood, and I can smell smoke coming from somewhere.
I don’t have time to think about that though, because a dog comes running at me like a hurricane.
“Hi, Billy,” I say, laughing, as the big black lab jumps up to greet me. “Down, get down, there you go.”
He throws himself against my legs until I pet him. His leash is hanging in the usual spot.
“Ready to go?” I ask him and he nearly does a backflip with excitement.
I grab the leash and hesitate. There are lights on upstairs, which is unusual. I’ve been walking Billy for a few weeks now, but the guy that owns this place hasn’t been home a single time. I’m honestly starting to wonder if he even lives here.
“Stay,” I say, walking to the stairs.
The smell of smoke is stronger here. My heart starts beating fast and I can picture a fire up there, the guy passed out in his kitchen or something, dying in an inferno. Or maybe it’s nothing and everything’s fine and I’m being a total psycho.
I can’t help myself. I walk to the end of the stairs. “Hello?” I call out. “Excuse me?”
Silence. Billy rubs against me, whining now. He’s so excited and his tail’s like a whip. He’s a good boy, maybe a little undertrained, but a nice dog.
“Hello?” I call again.
I stand there, listening. The house is gorgeous. The stairs are lined in plush carpet and there are paintings hanging on the walls that I swear I’ve seen online, and they’re definitely not fakes or prints. I don’t know what’s up there, but I can only imagine.
The guy that hired me was pretty short and cryptic, but he had one ironclad rule: never, ever go upstairs.
“We should go,” I say to Billy as I step up onto the first step. He whines a little bit, like he knows I’m making a mistake. “We should totally go, right?”
But the smell of smoke is stronger. I can’t help myself. If someone needs help, I have to at least try.
Slowly, I walk up. My heart’s beating so fast that I feel like I might pass out before I make it. Billy bounds up next to me and rushes upstairs, out of my line of sight. “Billy!” I hiss, but the dog’s already gone. “Shit.”
Now I’m committed. I’m the dogwalker, and I can’t exactly leave without the dog.
I don’t know my employer. I only ever spoke to him online. He pays well and he pays on time and his name is Ryan. That’s pretty much all I know and really all I need to know. Oh, and he has a rule about going upstairs.
“I’m so getting fired,” I say to myself. “I am so, so, so getting fired.”
I reach the top and hesitate. I should turn back and stay downstairs. Billy might come back if I call him, and I really need this job. Being a dogwalker doesn’t exactly pay a fortune. I’m drowning in student loans, unable to find a decent job, and basically living on the edge of homelessness at all times.
But god, I guess I’m really stupid.
I step up and I’ve broken the rule, the one single rule. Might as well see it through.
The smoke hangs heavy as I push through a door. I cough and it takes me a second to understand the room I’m in.
It’s a large, open living room and kitchen. The smoke is coming from the oven, and as I take a step toward it, the smoke alarm starts blaring.
Of course. I freeze, standing in place. The room is beautiful with one huge glass door that opens out onto the balcony. Billy is standing over near it, whining a little, when the door pulls open.
The smoke billows outside. Someone steps in, coughing, cursing. “Oh, you motherfucker,” he says, stomping across the living room. “You dumb motherfucker. Oh, shit.” He gets to the oven, throws it open, and laughs.
I stand there, mesmerized, unable to move. He waves his arms before grabbing a towel and waving it around, trying to disperse the smoke. He curses again and runs over to the windows, whipping them open. When he turns back, he finally notices me.
I stare at him. This must be my employer, Ryan. I’ve never seen him before, and I’m almost glad I hadn’t.
He’s not wearing a shirt. It’s the first thing I notice. That, and the tattoos and the muscles. The man is ripped, seriously chiseled in that beautiful, perfect, stupidly unbelievable way men can get. He’s lean but cut and I feel my heart racing. The tattoos swirl over his skin, letters and pictures, making an already incredible torso that much better.
I finally meet his gaze. He has piercing, insanely green eyes. His hair is cropped close and pushed back casually. It’s a dark brown color, almost auburn. He has a beard, well-kept and trimmed close. He’s handsome, really stupidly handsome, just the right level of pretty to go along with that insanely ripped body.
He cocks his head at me casually. “Who the hell are you?”
I open my mouth to speak and nothing comes out.
He rolls his eyes and goes back to waving the towel around.
I stand there like a moron. I don’t know what to do. He’s not telling me to leave but he’s also not telling me to stay. Finally, I go grab another towel, and help him.
He accepts this wordlessly.
Eventually, the smoke disperses. We end up in the kitchen together, looking into the oven at what looked like it was once a chicken, but is now a smoking chunk of ash.
“Damn,” he says. “There goes dinner.”
“How hot was that oven?”
He hesitates. “I’m not sure. Five-fifty?”
I gape at him. “That’s… way too hot.”
“I see that.”
“Have you ever cooked a chicken before?”
“Nope.”
“I can tell.”
He finally turns to me and crosses his arms over his chest. “Who the hell are you, by the way?”
“Oh,” I say. “I’m, uh, the dogwalker.”
He lets out a little noise as it all clicks together for him. “I guess that explains why Billy has his leash on.”
“I’m sorry,” I say in a rush, “I smelled the smoke and I called up first and I couldn’t help myself I know I’m not supposed to be up here and I’m really sorry I won’t ever do it again I promise just don’t—”
“Slow down,” he says. “Jesus fuck. Relax.”
I take a breath and let it go. “Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.” He gives me a long look and a frown. “
You need a drink. Come on.”
Before I can argue, he turns away. He goes to the door to the balcony, pushes it open, and disappears outside. The door silently shuts behind him. Billy glances at me before following his owner.
I stand there in the kitchen for a long moment next to the still slightly smoking hunk of vaporized chicken and wonder if I should just run away. I can find another client. I don’t need this job that much. I’ll survive.
I walk to the door. The glass is cool as I push it open and step outside. The balcony is big and nice, with a few chairs around a little fire pit, which has to be illegal or something, but whatever. Billy’s sitting at his owner’s feet, tail wagging, as the guy runs his fingers through the dog’s fur.
I walk over and hesitate. “I really didn’t mean to, uh, intrude. I can just go walk Billy.”
“It’s fine. Sit.” He gestures at the chair next to him. I hesitate again before sitting. I have to look away from him. The man’s too gorgeous and the fact that he has no shirt on is doing weird things to my body.
“Here.” He pours a drink and hands it to me. It’s brown and smelly and probably whiskey, but I don’t ask. He pours one for himself and downs half.
I don’t want to be rude, so I take a sip. It’s actually not bad.
“So, you broke my rule.”
I wince. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, you said that already.” He watches me carefully. “I didn’t know you were so hot. You’re not this hot on your profile.”
I laugh despite myself. “Smooth.”
He shrugs. “Whatever. You just watched me nearly burn down my house. I think we’re beyond being slick here.”
“Fair point.” I arch an eyebrow at him. “Do you normally wear a shirt?”
“Yep. Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“Not at all.” I quickly look down at Billy. “Not even a little.”
“Right. Well, what’s your name again?”
“Casey.”
“Thanks for helping me save my house, Casey.” He holds up his glass. “To burning chicken.”
I smile at him. “To burning it really good.”
We clink glasses and drink. Before I know it, he pours me another, and he’s telling me a story about the time he forgot he lit a cigar and nearly burned an entire couch.
“So do you almost burn down your house on a regular basis?” I ask him.
“Pretty much. I don’t even have a thing for fire, it just happens.”
“You’re cursed.”
“I guess so. What a shitty curse.”
“You’ll be nearly burning things down forever.”
He sighs dramatically. “One of these days, I’ll finally go up in smoke.”
“If only you could be so lucky. It’s your curse to walk the lands forever, burning everything down around you, but never burning yourself.”
We laugh and he pours more drinks. He asks me about being a dogwalker, about all the dogs I’ve worked with. I have a few funny stories about that and I go through them, which he seems to appreciate.
It starts to get later and later. I know I should probably go, but we’re drinking, he’s stupidly handsome, and I just don’t feel like leaving.
“Come here,” he says, standing up. “Come over here.”
I join him at the railing. The sun’s going down over the city and we have a pretty fantastic view.
“I got some shitty news today,” he says.
I look at him. “Yeah?”
“I have to go home.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
He laughs. “You don’t know my family.” He turns to look at me. He’s so freaking hot, and maybe it’s the whiskey and maybe it’s the sunset, but when he leans in and kisses me, I don’t stop him.
I just kiss him back and feel the thrill jolt through me.
I stumble back, away from the railing. He kisses me the whole way, his hands on my body. My shirt comes off, I guess to match him, and my bra gets thrown on the ground. He pushes the door open and we go inside. It still smells vaguely like smoke but the air’s clear at least.
I fall back onto a couch. He drops to his knees in front of me, kissing my neck, my chest, teasing my breasts. He licks my nipples, getting them hard and pink. I gasp, running my hands through his hair.
We don’t talk. It’s like we don’t need to. We both know what’s going to happen from here, and really, I think we both just want it.
He pulls my pants off. I gasp as slides my panties down then pushes my legs apart. He licks me, top to bottom, tasting my wet. I’m soaking, have been since I walked in the door and saw him without a shirt. He licks me fast before coming up and kissing me. I pull down his jogger sweats and find his cock’s already half hard, half huge. I pull down his boxer briefs and take him in my hands.
He gets hard almost instantly. I groan as I take him in my mouth. He’s huge, way bigger than I thought he’d be. I suck him slow and he grabs my hair, holding it tight, pushing me down. I moan and suck him faster, taking him into my throat until I gag.
He pulls me back and kisses me. I climb to my feet before he sits down on the couch and drags me down on top of him.
I straddle his hips and slide back along his shaft.
“Shit,” he whispers. “I should’ve changed that fucking rule a while ago.”
I moan in response. I slide down him, pushing his cock deep between my legs.
I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve never slept with a guy like this in my entire life. I’ve had boyfriends and stuff, but I’ve never just let a total stranger inside of me.
It’s so fucking thrilling and dirty and wrong and it feels so good. Or maybe that’s just him.
He’s gorgeous, so handsome, and his muscles flex perfectly. I love his cut, defined arms as he slaps my ass. I ride him faster, panting, moaning. He licks my nipples and thrusts inside of me.
We fuck. I don’t know how else to put it. We fuck hard and rough and dirty, just pure bodies expressing ourselves in pleasure. I ride him faster, faster, panting, loving every inch of him before he pulls me off and pushes me over, getting me on all fours. My ass is up in the air when he spreads me wide and licks. I gasp, looking back at him, but he’s already sinking his massive cock inside me again.
I groan as he fills me to the brim.
He fucks me rough like that and I lose myself. I’m lost in pleasure, in my body ringing with need. I groan his name, Ryan, Ryan, fuck me, and he responds. His body’s tense and he takes me faster, harder. His hand reaches around my hip to rub my clit and that just pushes me over the edge.
I come like lightning. It’s an explosion all through my skin. He doesn’t hesitate, he keeps going, fucks me through it, fucks me faster and faster. He spanks my ass and lets out a growl as he grabs my hips. I feel him push deep and I feel him fill me to the brim.
He comes hard, deep between my legs. We gasp together, we moan together, and slowly our orgasms finish together.
I end up on the couch, panting. He’s next to me, grinning a little bit.
“Yeah,” he says. “Should’ve changed that rule.”
I laugh and lean my head on his shoulder. “I’ve never done that before.”
“Fucked? You’re good at it.”
“No, I mean, with, you know—”
“A stranger?” He laughs. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay,” I say. “I won’t.”
He puts his arm around me and I stay like that for a little while. We catch our breath after the intensity of that moment. I swear I just lost my mind, letting him fuck me like that, but it felt so damn good I don’t know how I’m not getting him hard with my mouth and riding him all over again right this second.
“You know,” he says. “We should get married.”
I sit straight up at that. “Excuse me?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Married.”
“Is this some weird, psycho thing?” I ask. “You’re not about to murder me, right?”
He fetches the alcohol and comes back, watching me pull my clothes on. Billy runs around, happy to be a part of the group again.
“Look, it was fun, but let’s never talk again, okay?” I say to him, suddenly embarrassed like crazy.
“Let’s get married,” he repeats.
“You’re freaking me out.”
“Sorry. I know. Please, sit, and I’ll explain what I mean.”
I hesitate a second. Billy nudges against me. I should just get out, but that sex was fantastic and he still looks incredible without a shirt on, so I find myself slowly sinking into the couch again.
He sits in a chair opposite me, leaning on his knees.
“I come from a very wealthy family,” he says softly. “A very, very wealthy family.”
“That would explain all this,” I say, gesturing around.
“My father’s been sick for a long time. He’s probably going to die very soon, or at least that’s what the doctors say. When he goes, he’s going to name an heir to the fortune and to our family’s company. Have you heard of Mead Electric?”
I snort. “Of course I have. They make, like, every single lightbulb in existence. What do they have to do with—”
I stop myself. He’s smiling at me.
“We started with lightbulbs. But Mead owns a ton of different companies in a hundred different industries now. We’ve owned and operated Mead for seven generations, and I’ll be the eighth, if my father chooses me.”
I gape at him. “So you’re, like… old money.”
“As far as America goes, the oldest,” he confirms.