A Secret Vow: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance (24 page)

Now that I’ve had her, a life without Kendra is not something I’m interested in. There’s no need to keep going faster when I have her. I don’t want to go anywhere, in fact. I want to stay. I want to grow roots with her, to see what kind of a child comes out of her womb and raise him to be my own, the one who carries on my legacy and my name. I want to hear her crying out my name in pleasure for the rest of my life. I don’t want to go anywhere, not a single place without her next to me. She belongs in my arms and nowhere else.

Her eyes flutter and open. She sucks in a deep breath. Her chest rises to its fullest, then gradually falls back down. Her pupils focus in on me. The faintest smile crosses her mouth. “You kept your promise,” she whispers. Her hand wraps around my wrist.

“I always do. I love you, Kendra.” She smiles again as I lean down to kiss her.

It’s like we pulled this scene straight out of a movie and brought it to life in the middle of Galveston, Texas.

But this isn’t a movie. This is my business. My life.

My girl.

Epilogue I

Kendra

“Kendra!” calls a voice from the back. “He wants you!”

I rinse paint off my hands under the rushing sink faucet and dry them on a towel before I hurry towards the back room. Stepping through the doorway, I see Nancy, my assistant, with a swaddled bundle of blankets in her arm. She smiles as she sees me walk in.

“He’s been making a bunch of noise. Desperate for his momma,” she says with a wink. She offers the bundle to me. I reach forward and take it gently, settling the blankets against the crook of my elbow. I part the blankets and look in on the laughing face of my son.

“Such a good boy, aren’t you, Tucker?” I coo, pressing a soft fingertip against his rosy cheek. He wraps his chubby hands around my index finger and opens his mouth to cry out softly. The wordless gurgle rising from his throat is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I turn to Nancy, who is standing to the side and looking on with an adoring grin. “Do you mind shutting the door, please?” I ask her politely.

“Sure thing. I’ll go get the kids started on the next lesson while you wrap up in here,” she says with a smile before sauntering out. I sigh gratefully. “Thanks, Nancy,” I murmur.

I turn back to Tucker in my arms. He’s starting to fuss now. With my free hand, I slide the strap of my dress off my shoulder and free one breast. I lower him to my nipple and he latches on, suckling happily. The painful pressure of his mouth took some getting used to, but it’s been long enough now that I know what to expect. I settle back in my chair and look around.

The back office is cluttered with stuff, as per usual. There is never enough time in the day to take care of everything that needs doing. Between taking care of Tucker and running the art school, I’m busy around the clock. Stacks of papers totter on the desk, desperate for my attention. I’ll get to them in due time, but for now, I just want to enjoy this moment with my son. It’s rare that I get the chance to sit back and watch him grow, flex, and thrive the way he’s doing now.

It’s crazy to me how little he needs. It’s the same few basic things, over and over—a touch from his parents, some milk, a comfortable bed to sleep in. Just a few simple pleasures are enough to make him happy.

Of course, I’m not all that different from him in that regard, not anymore. I have everything I need: my job at the art school, my son, my husband. Right on cue, Mortar sticks his head in the back door. Seeing me alone, he grins and walks through, careful to shut the door behind him.

“Busy day?” he says as he comes to sit next to me, taking my hand in his.

“Wild,” I tell him. “You have no idea.” I lay my head on his broad shoulder as Tucker continues to feed. Mortar rubs a teasing finger around my lips.

“Hm, no time for a quickie then?”

I smack him on the chest. “In the school? You’re unbelievable,” I say with a laugh.

He grins again, dipping his fingertip between my teeth. I nip at it. “Whenever, wherever, baby.” He chuckles.

Tucker whimpers. I hand him to Mortar to re-adjust the blankets while I fix my strap back on my shoulder. Mortar presses his lips to his son’s forehead, eyes beaming with pride.

“Look at this strong man,” he brags, holding his son up high. “Look at that smile! Look at those eyes! He’s gonna be a lady-killer, this one.”

“It’s his nap time,” I remind him, giggling.

“Shh, this is a male bonding moment,” he jokes

I laugh and give him a glare as he whispers to Tucker while walking him over to the makeshift crib we keep in the back office so he can nap during the day while I’m at work. As gently as possible for a man of his size and background, Mortar lays our son down in his crib. He tugs the blankets carefully around his face and then straightens up.

Turning to look at me, he says, “Now about that quickie…” There’s that irresistible glimmer in his eye, the one I saw the first time we met, the one that has drawn me to him ever since. He steps towards me, slow, biding his time.

“Remember when we met?” he asks me.

I eye him. “Of course,” I fire back. “I thought you were an asshole.”

He wags his finger at me. “No, no, no, you thought I was
charming
,” he corrects.

“A charming asshole, then.”

He sidles up to where I’m standing and puts his hands on my hips. “As long as you admit I was charming, you can call me any other name in the book.”

“Fine, I will, you handsome son of a bitch.”

He puts his hand on his chest in mock surprise. “I’m handsome, too? You are just full of compliments today.”

I grab his shirt with two hands and pull him close enough to me that the tips of our noses touch. “I’d rather be full of something else,” I hint.

“Naughty teacher.” He laughs. “Well, I might know someone who can help you out with that.”

“Who might that be?” I murmur as he brushes his lips against mine.

He nibbles my ear. “Close your eyes and let’s find out.”

His hand slides around the back of my waist to touch the exposed skin there as he leans down to kiss me deeply. My fingertips flutter up his biceps to dance across his neck and nestle in the roots of his hair. I’m on tiptoes as I strain upwards to meet his mouth. The warm pressure of our lips together coaxes a long sigh out of me.

It’s hard to believe how long it’s been since everything with Grady happened. I shudder at the thought of it. Eight months is a long time, and lots has happened since then, but there’s no escaping the things I saw: Grady’s wild eyes in the rearview mirror as he sped towards what he hoped was our mutual death; the darkness underwater that I was convinced was some kind of purgatory, until Mortar’s hands pulled me to the surface; the bloody, bloated body of the man who tried to kill me, washing up onshore. They are images that won’t ever leave me.

Mortar, though, is doing his damnedest to make sure I have enough on my mind to occupy me. Like, for instance, taking me to bed every chance he gets ever since the doctor gave us the go-ahead to start having sex again in the wake of Tucker’s birth. Not that I’m complaining. We suffered through a long enough stretch of not being able to hold each other close. Now that we’ve got the greenlight, I’m certainly not going to stop him from peeling off my clothes and putting his mouth to work all along my body.

He moves his lips to my neck, trekking warm and wet down to the curve of my shoulder blade. His other hand slides around from my back to sneak down the front of my dress, pausing at the bottom hem just long enough to flip his hand underneath and glide back up. I feel his fingertips, gentle and roving, on the fold where my hip meets my leg.

“You’re not wearing any underwear,” he murmurs to me, surprised.

“Well, you said you might be paying me a visit at school today, so I thought I’d save us some trouble…” I grin up at him. His eyes are full—of what, I’m still not sure, but I’m in no rush. After all, I’ve got a lifetime to find out.

“You are something else,” he says breathlessly.

I pull him back towards me. “Shut up and kiss me,” I joke. He doesn’t hesitate to comply. Our mouths are wide open to one another, freeing my tongue to probe and mesh with his. He rubs my wetness, parting the lips to tap delicately on my button. I groan and kiss him harder as I squeeze his chest between my hands.

The straps of my shirt fall loosely from my shoulders. Mortar takes a handful of my breast, rolling the weight softly in his palm. I’m sensitive already from the breastfeeding, and his touch is overwhelming.

I move my hands down his front, taking the time to feel the contour of every muscle. I touch each ab in turn and savor the solidity of his body. Sliding down further, I loosen his belt buckle and jeans, then push the fabric below his hips. He springs to life in my hand. I run teasing fingers up and down his length. Tracing each vein where it winds around the shaft, I move to the base and grip him fully. His exhaled breath racing into my mouth lets me know that it feels good.

It’s hard to focus on my own hands as Mortar continues to rub my clit. Tremors swell outward from his touch. Pressure mounts gradually.

I hold onto Mortar’s rigid member as he pushes a finger against my opening and slides it partway in. His touch has taken some getting used to in the aftermath of the pregnancy, but I’m craving it more than ever right now. “Yes. Oh God, yes,” I gasp as he thrusts it in patiently. When he has gone as far as he is able, he begins to withdraw, pausing to rasp at my g-spot on his way out. The electric tickle of the sensation reverberates throughout my body.

I pump at his dick with one hand while my other cradles his balls. His breath begins to speed up in response to my stroking. We play with each other, pushing and pushing at the intensity. The air in the room grows hot and moist. Under Mortar’s fingers, I can feel myself doing the same.

Mortar stops and leans back. “Maybe not here,” he says, teasing me.

“If you don’t take those jeans off right now, you’re going to have to stay after school, mister,” I say sternly before breaking into a giggle.

He raises an eyebrow, then joins me in laughing. “We’ll see about that.” Laying his hands on my hips, he hoists me to a seat on the desk. “Always wanted to hook up on the teacher’s desk,” he says with a wink.

I respond by wrapping my legs around him and pulling his body close to mine. I grind my pussy on the tip of his cock while we kiss, hands wrapped in each other’s hair. I hear the babble of children in class on the other side of the wall, but it only makes the excitement build that much higher.

I’m dripping wet now. The head of Mortar’s manhood is gliding up and down my opening. I can feel him yearning towards me, ready to dive in. Looking up at him, I see the desire in his eyes and know that the same fire is reflected in mine. My whole body wants him and needs him.

I slide my hips forward, holding the base of him, and push him inside. It takes a long moment for me to adjust to his girth. At first, the fit is painful, but it goes away after a moment, replaced by pure satisfaction.

He starts to rock back and forth in long, slow strokes that bring our hips as close together as they can go and then as far away as possible without him slipping out of me. I press my forehead against his, feeling his breath and mine mingling, our fingertips seizing onto one another for support as we move together.

He switches his hands to my thighs, then slides up under me to take firm hold of my ass and lift me off the desk. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and bury my face in his neck as he picks me up, then lowers me gently on top of his dick over and over.

I can feel my climax mounting. In some ways, it feels different than it did the first times Mortar and I were together. There’s another element to it, a kind of fresh color or texture that wasn’t there before. A new smoothness, in a way, less jagged and more whole. The power is unchanged, however. I’m still a while from coming, but I sense it in the distance headed towards me like a barreling train.

Mortar’s body is warm under my grasp as he turns to press me against the wall. The coolness of the brick on my back contrasts with his warm bulk. We’re sliding together faster now, my juices accelerating the pump of his length deep inside me. At this angle, the grinding of our hips stimulates my clit, adding a new sensation to the mix. I bite softly on his shoulder and groan while we go faster and faster.

He’s tensing under my grip and I know that he is close to coming, too. He turns and lays me on the desk, knocking aside papers and sending pencils scattering to the floor. I don’t give a damn about the mess. The only thing that matters right now is coming with this man—my protector, my husband.

My ankles are locked at the small of his back. I won’t let him go. He can’t pull out as far now, so the thrusts are hard, fast, and brutal. We slam together, his hips driving into mine aggressively. Each stroke brings a grunt from him and a quivering moan from me. The train of my orgasm is hurtling closer. Beneath my hands, Mortar’s biceps convulse hard. He is as close as me.