Page 48 of Secret Baby for the Bad Boy

I nod, unable to speak in the moment because the pain of missing my son and my gratefulness for a drink and this time together are intent on choking me. He hands me a bottle of water, condensation beading on the glass like morning dew.

“Thanks,” I say, popping the cap and taking a generous sip. It's chilled, combatting the heat of the sun and my body in a way that’s refreshing and cooling.

He settles next to me, close enough to touch if either one of us moves. And when his forearm brushes my leg, tingling heat explodes through me. His leg presses against mine, firm and unyielding, and it's as if he's holding me in place with nothing more than the excitement of his touch and this closeness. My heart slams and I glance at him, stunned by the depths of this need I feel for him.

“Good?” he asks, and I’m not sure if he’s talking about the yacht, the water, or his touch, but all three are good. Very good.

“Very,” I whisper. And I'm not just talking about the drink. My fingers tighten around the bottle, the coolness of the glass seeping into my palm.

“Are you enjoying the view?” he asks, a hint of humor in his voice, and I know he’s not just asking about the ocean.

“I can't complain.” My gaze shifts to his profile—sharp, handsome, every bit the bad boy millionaire who once captured my heart and never quite returned it. Not that I’d ever admit that to him, of course. I struggle to admit it to myself.

I set my glass down with a click against the deck, drawing in a deep breath to steady the sudden heat flooding my system. I'm playing with fire, toeing the line between what I want and what I should do. But oh, how tempting it is to just let go and let him in again. The pleasure he promises, the pleasure I know he’ll bring me… it’s so tempting. Too tempting.

As if reading my thoughts – or sharing them - Lark leans in, his body demanding mine get closer. His breath warms my ear as he whispers, “I want you.” The words, soft as they are, echo around my brain louder than a shout. His scent—salt, pine, and masculinity—fills my nostrils, intoxicates my senses.

“Here?” I whisper, unsure as I glance around. The ocean stretches as far as the eye can see and there are no other boats within eyesight. But still…

“Here,” he says, his gaze intense and making my heart and body do strange things. I’m heating up and trembling, too hot and too cold all at once, and desperate to do what he’s asking.

Still, if I was smart, I’d remind him and myself that we’re supposed to leave the past behind us and move forward. We’re in business together, work together, and I’m his boss. Sleeping with him would be a very stupid move.

But maybe I’m stupid, because I want nothing more than to say yes.

My gaze drops to his lips, full, inviting—silently begging him to kiss me. He understands, he always has. His mouth claims mine, a kiss that tastes like the past, like mistakes, like the most thrilling moments of my life.

This is a mistake, but I’m going to enjoy making it.

The yacht rocks gently beneath us, and there's no hesitation as his hands strip off my clothing. I tuck my thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and work them down, revealing every glorious inch of him ready for me.

I lean in, tasting the tip of him and he lets out a sharp growl, pushing me back and pinning me to the plush lounger.

"You're driving me crazy," he murmurs against my neck, his breath hot and exciting. I arch into him, wanting more, needing all of him.

“That was kind of the plan,” I whisper, gazing up at him.

He trails kisses down my body, setting every inch of me on fire until I’m squirming, desperate for more. I arch into his touch, a primal need driving me to meet his every move. His touch consumes any rational thought or lingering doubts, and I’m just hungry for him. All of him.

"Are you sure about this?" he whispers against my ear, his voice husky with desire.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” I say.

He doesn't hold back, his hands roaming over my body with a hunger that matches my own and I tilt my hips, ready to take him as I feel the hot tip of him brush my inner thigh. I want him to stop teasing me and to actually fill me up. I’ve been waiting years for this to happen again, and he’s going so slow it’s almost frustrating.

“Please,” I whimper.

He seems to take pity on me and I feel him press against my entrance. I exhale as he gently pushes in a fraction of an inch, his expression intense as he works himself into me bit by bit.

I grip the side of the lounger, my fingers digging into the upholstery as he continues to enter me. It feels like a dream, like I’m finally where I belong. He slows his pace, his eyes locked on mine as he looks for a response.

“You feel so good,” I manage to whisper, my voice barely audible over the sound of the water lapping against the sides of the yacht.

“So do you,” he growls, his teeth scraping the side of my neck.

I pant, feeling the exquisite pleasure and pain of his slow, deliberate entry. Every inch of him pushes in, then pulls back a little bit, then pushes in again, like he has to work his way inside me and it’s intense and delicious all at once. I can barely breathe, and when he's finally fully inside me, I let out a gasp.

He raises himself up, hovering over me, his gaze locked on mine. “Did I hurt you?” he asks.

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