Page 81 of A Very Daddy Christmas

Riggs holds me by the chin and fucks my throat.

I can barely breathe, but I don’t want them to stop.

I come hard, holding on to Riggs’s linebacker thighs as Sebastian slaps my ass. The sting translates into a devastating orgasm.

Ripples blow through me.

I come again. “Harder, please!” I scream, and my men gladly oblige. Riggs pulls me back and slides his cock down my throat. One thrust. Then a second. At the third, I look into his eyes and lose myself in those dark pools as he explodes with a hard grunt.

I feel him pulsating in sheer ecstasy.

I taste the cum on my tongue, then feel it gliding down. Swallowing every drop, I smile in a delirious haze as Sebastian smacks my ass with one hand and grabs a handful of my hair with the other, yanking my head back.

He comes second, shooting his seed deep inside me. Waylan grunts like a beast, planting his feet into the mattress as he lets loose and fucks me into oblivion.

“Fucking hell, Cora!” he snarls as he comes, my pussy filled to perfection.

Sweat drips down my body as Sebastian gives me his last few thrusts, kissing my shoulder while his fingers squeeze and pinchmy generous hips. I’m stuck somewhere up in the heavens. All I can see are the eyes of my men. I smell their sweat and desire. I taste them and revel in their presence.

“I’ve missed this,” I breathe, melting into the wonderful afterglow, my tender pussy still grinding against Waylan’s hot groin. “I’ve missed this so much.”

“We’re nowhere near done, baby,” Sebastian whispers.

I believe him.

I couldn’t think of a better way to end this whole nightmare but in the company of the men who ultimately helped me through it.

26

Cora

My beautiful dream keeps falling apart.

When I sleep, I’m laughing and dancing with joy, baking fine pastries and gleefully serving customers in a newly refurbished Levine Bakery. The walls are painted a soft, grassy shade of green. New tables and chairs. Frosted glass windows. Tiffany-style wall sconces and pendants. Everything I ever imagined for our bakery is translated into my dream, and I revel in the details, remembering we’re finally free. We own this place.

My men come in, every time, smiling and laughing.

I welcome them with open arms.

Then they glance down and see my ginormous baby bump. I can never hear their voices, but I can see their lips moving, and I am horrified by their reactions. They’re disgusted, and they push me away.

Every time, I wake up on the verge of tears.

“Just a dream,” I tell myself, then go on with my day.

With the secret growing in my womb, along with the eerie silence from Orson St. James and George Hamilton, it makes for a great recipe to induce unnecessary anxiety. I could easily resolve it by telling the guys about the pregnancy. But I’m scared. I have my reasons, though most no longer sound rational. Not when Sebastian, Waylan, and Riggs have repeatedly proven themselves as honorable and reliable men.

“Where’s your head?” Eva asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

We’re in her car, on our way to the bakery. It’s December twenty-eighth, and we have a few large orders to prepare before New Year’s Eve. It’s not our usual volume, but it’s better than nothing. The guys are at the house with Dario and the girls enjoying hot chocolate while we work.

“Sorry,” I tell Eva. “Just thinking about everything. Have we heard from the lawyers yet?”

She shakes her head, turning the corner. I listen to the clicking sound of the car’s turn signal. “Not yet. They haven’t been able to reach Orson’s people, but they said it’s to be expected in between the holidays. Most attorneys don’t reopen until after the New Year, if not later.” She gives me a long, worried look. “We’re going to be okay. It’ll go through. It has already gone through, actually. The minute the clock hit midnight, the place was ours.”

“I know, I know. I’m just still uneasy.”

“Probably because you’re growing a new life and you haven’t told the father yet,” she says pointedly.

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