A Secret Vow: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance by Zoey Parker Page B

into his bedroom, throws me on his bed, and then sprawls on top. His weight on me is perfect, exactly the pressure I need to block out this whole situation and just focus on his touch, the one made for my body, the one that sends heat burning along my thighs and between my legs. I run my hands along his biceps. He’s strong, shaped by years of hard living. I think about Grady’s fleshy, sweaty bulk, and I can’t imagine him putting up any kind of resistance to a man as chiseled as this. I feel safe.
     
    I let myself be taken by him, opening my mouth up to his tongue and my legs to his grinding hips. I can feel his stiffening erection through his jeans. The friction on my mound feels good, but it’s not enough, not even close.
     
    He lifts the edge of the shirt I’m wearing over my breasts as he slides his hands to grip them. I let out an easy sigh as he kneads them in his hands, rubbing each nipple between thumb and forefinger. A soft sensation wafts through my body, like a breeze before an oncoming hurricane. I sit up slightly and help him pull the shirt the rest of the way off. I push his over his head, too, and toss it to the floor on the side of the bed.
     
    His chest is thick with knotted muscle. I run my fingertips across it, tracing the curvature of his pecs and his abs, sliding my hands along the hard muscles of his back and arms. He is so solid to the touch, so unyielding. His body is a perfect reflection of who he is. I lean into it, molding myself against his heat and bulk.
     
    I still don’t understand how he drives me so crazy with the simplest touch. Nothing like it has ever happened to me before, not with Grady or any of the other few men I’ve ever been with. With them, orgasms were few and far between, and their touch was more tolerated than anything else.
     
    But every time Mortar kisses me or eases his fingers to where my thigh meets my hip, I feel my pulse quicken and my core heat up. Even if my mind is still unsure what to think of him, my body knows exactly what it wants, and it asks for it.
     
    He lowers his head to my waist and starts to nibble and suck at the skin there. His tongue moves across my abdomen from hip to hip, then paints each thigh. Without the shirt, I’m naked save for the white panties I’d worn to the wedding. He dispatches those easily, tugging them down the length of my legs and casting them aside.
     
    I expect him to run his tongue along my hot slit as he dances tantalizingly close. Instead, he undoes the buckle of his jeans with one hand and shoves them quickly off his body. He rubs softly at my clit with the other thumb, enough to keep me occupied while he frees himself from his boxers.
     
    I’m wet enough for him to slide a finger tentatively inside me. I look down to see him fully naked and sitting back on his heels as he strokes himself to full hardness. Hungry to feel him, I lean forward and reach for his member, but he pushes me roughly onto my back. I notice the weight of the bed shift as he scoots forward and touches the head of his cock to my moist opening. He starts to move into me, but I sit up and put a hand on his chest.
     
    “Mortar,” I interject. “What about a condom?”
     
    “You accepted the deal, didn’t you?”
     
    “Well, yes, but…”
     
    “Then there’s no sense in waiting. I want what we agreed to.”
     
    I don’t know what to say. This is all happening too fast, too suddenly. My old life is already gone, and this new version of things is zooming into place without stopping to ask if I’m comfortable with the pace.
     
    It wouldn’t be impossible to tell him to stop. I even think he’d listen, despite the devil may care attitude he embodies. But the truth is I don’t want him to stop. I want to feel him inside me with nothing between us, to feel his bare cock against the dripping wet walls of my cunt. I’m every bit as hungry for it as he is.
     
    “I’m going to fuck my baby right into you,” he says, eyes fiery