Page 15 of Born To Be Bad

“Yes, yes, yes,” she replies, nodding, her expression telling me she’s on the brink. I keep going, doing exactly what she wants. She’s so close. The look on her face makes my own orgasm rise up, a cascade of pure pleasure as my body stiffens, preparing to explode. Now I’m the one scrunching my eyes shut, gritting my teeth, trying to keep up the pace while holding my orgasm back. Ivy rolls her hips, and a long, guttural moan escapes her throat. I grab her face the way she likes me to and pound my last bit of energy into her, which is what it takes to ignite her orgasm.

Ivy sobs as her climax takes her out at the knees, as if she’s a puppet with her strings cut. I catch her in time, careful not to let her slip, and plunge once more into her pulsing pussy, letting myself go, yelling as I empty everything I have into her.

I don’t realize she’s crying until I open my eyes again.

CHAPTER 10

Insta-Family

IVY

“Oh, Ivy,” Alistair says, hand on my cheek. “Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head, another sob escaping. He turns the water off and dries me tenderly, kissing my forehead. Alistair wraps me in a new dry towel and picks me up in a bridal hold. I lean into his muscled chest, my arms around his neck, warm from the shower and his athletic activity. I’m not crying anymore. He lays me gently on the bed, covers me with the duvet, then kneels beside me. “Are you okay? Are you sure I didn’t hurt you? Next time I’ll go slower.”

It was a lot to take in—everything that had happened—and a lot to process. Too much to process in one day without feeling completely overwhelmed.

The danger and the discovery.

The blood and the baby.

But when Alistair fucks me, it makes everything feel like it’s going to be okay.

“It was a strong release,” I tell him. “I felt it in every part of my body.”

“Okay,” he replies, nodding. Perhaps he felt it, too. It has been an insane forty-eight hours.

Alistair tidies the room and slips into bed with me, his skin still lovely and warm, and spoons me. I can smell the woody fragrance of his designer shower gel. I take a deep lungful. Despite everything, it is the safest I’ve ever felt.

When I wake up, the sun is streaming into the room. Despite a mild headache, I can tell that I’ve had a decent amount of sleep. Alistair’s side of the bed is empty, which surprises me, given his seemingly insatiable appetite. But of course, he’s up—he has an empire to run and enemies to stave off, never mind the recent familial complications. It makes me feel like a veritable sloth. I stretch and jump out of bed, wrap myself in a pretty gown I find in the cupboard, and brush my teeth. The delicious aroma of fresh coffee leads me to the kitchen. I pad in, expecting to greet Brumilde, but instead see Alistair sitting in an armchair, smiling at a gurgling baby Alex, who he is holding on his lap.

“There you are,” I murmur, not wanting to startle them.

They both turn to me and smile, and something weird happens in my heart. It feels like an expansion, and at the same time, a longing. A longing for what?

“Coffee?” I ask, trying not to choke on my feelings.

“Just made a fresh pot,” Alistair replies, gaze returning to the baby. “If you hold Alex for a moment, I’ll pour you some.”

“Er,” I reply.

“Too much?” he asks, then shakes his head. “Of course it’s too much. I’ll just put him in his pen here. It’s a handy contraption. Brumilde keeps ordering baby gadgets and supplies. I don’t know what half of them do.”

“I can pour my own coffee,” I say. “I was offering to pour some for you.”

The baby must have been enjoying his time with Alistair, because he starts whimpering when Alistair lowers him into his playpen.

I must look like a deer in headlights because Alistair comes over and hugs me. “Are you freaking out? It’s a lot. I don’t blame you. Let me pour you that coffee.”

Baby Alexander’s bottom lip is quivering, and his eyes are wide and watery. I can’t stand it. I go over and pick him up. I think he might cry more, not knowing who I am, but he seems relieved to be on my hip. Of course, he must be missing his mum terribly. He needs as much comfort as we can give him. Poor little sausage. I sway him a little and plant a kiss on his forehead. It’s all he needs to relax into me. I stroke his warm back, hoping it will make him feel safe.

“Sweet boy,” I tell him. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“You’re a natural,” says Alistair, placing my coffee on the counter I’m leaning against.

“Don’t get any ideas,” I tell him.

He looks a bit shocked for a moment, then laughs.

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