Page 47 of Sexy Bad Daddy

“You don’t want to know.” She shakes her head and reaches for my cock again, taking it in her hand and stroking me over and over.

I almost don’t register that her pain-in-the-ass best friend has been in my room and filched my fucking condom stash. I’m not sure I care, because she takes my balls in her hand and rubs them gently with her fingers while she tugs on my cock, getting me close again. Jesus, I want more. Pushing her onto her back I get between her legs, her wet heat so fucking tempting. “Work around it?”

“Pill.” She grips my shoulders, pulls one leg up between us and onto my shoulder. “On it.”

“Well, fuck.” I hammer into her, and she rolls her hips to my thrusts, taking me in, taking me deeper. Her tits bounce as she jumps up the bed with each hard fuck that gets us closer. And I can’t wait, so I reach between us and strum her clit until she’s squirming and thrashing. Her inner walls contract around me while her sweat-dampened calf slips off my shoulder.

Every muscle in my body bunches up and releases as the tension in my balls explodes up my shaft.

“Da-a-d,” Abby calls outside the door. “Uncle Callum’s here. He says you’re as naughty as a horny old goat.”

“Oh shit.” Too late.

“Crap.” Erin freezes and then she scrambles away from me, her eyes huge above the hand she clamps over her mouth, and my cock lands with a wet splat against my thigh. “Oh crap.”

“Don’t come in, sweet pea.” I jump off the bed and start tugging on my sweats and a T-shirt. “Why don’t you go find Erin, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“Okay. Uncle Callum said he’s going to make you better coffee to go with your newspapers.”

“Newspapers?” I mouth at Erin who simply shrugs and then motions at my torso.

“That’s mine,” she whispers.

I glance down at the blue-and-white striped shirt hugging my chest. “Shit, sorry.”

Pulling it over my head, I throw it to her before marching into my closet and picking one of my own. When I come back she’s dressed and tucking her hair behind her ear. “What are we going to do? How do you want to do this?”

Callum’s in my apartment and Abby practically caught us. And what the fuck was I thinking? Having her in my bed? Having her skin on skin? “I really don’t want to do this at all, but I’ll go out first. Wait a few minutes before you join us, okay?”

She winces, clasping her elbow with one hand and touching the other hand to her ear while I turn around and stalk out of the room, making sure the door closes behind me.

Callum’s taking up most of the kitchen island surface with newspapers while he swigs coffee from a mug. Reaching for the coffeepot he’s planted on top of a thick swath of papers, he pours more into his cup and then on the surrounding news articles.

“What the heck is going on, Cal?” I grab my cup from earlier and pour my own refill. “And where’d Abby get to?”

“She’s, uh, playing with the goat I bought her.”

From somewhere in the apartment I hear an unmistakable bleat. “No.” I start in the direction of the sound. “Tell me that isn’t a real one. I told you there was absolutely no—”

He raises a hand but not his head. “It’s not real. It’s one of those ones with real sounds.”

“Thank God.” I exhale. That was a lucky escape. This whole morning has been one lucky escape after another.

“Baa.”

Erin traipses into the room with Abby on her hip, another plush goat with extra long legs dangling from the crook of her arm. Erin’s changed into her usual uniform of skinny jeans and a T-shirt, and her hair’s been smoothed out with a brush and pulled into a ponytail. “Good morning, Callum. Have you had breakfast? We’re making French toast.”

“Erin said I can help crack the eggs,” Abby says.

“Come on. Let’s get you set up.” Erin jostles Abby and treads around me, her gaze hitting the floor instead of meeting mine. “I bet you’re starving.”

“So how about it, Callum? Toast?”

“Yeah.” He yanks at his tie and undoes the top button on his shirt.

Normally, that’s a move he keeps for later in the day when he’s had enough of the crazy that comes with managing big sporting careers. The fact he’s doing it in my kitchen while guzzling my coffee at seven in the morning is a bit concerning. “What’s going on, Callum?”

“Look.” He waves his hands at the expanse of black and white in front of him and then lifts his phone to my nose. A video of me and Erin on the course last week is playing. On YouTube. And the amount of people watching me dressing down my nanny is climbing by the second. “Oh shit.”

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