by Jamie Knight
“Come here, baby girl.”
Jameson guides me off the couch and sits back. He turns my hips and brings my pussy down over his hard cock. He slips inside me, filling my pussy up and hitting my cervix. Just the feel of him starts little shutters down my spine.
Pulling and pushing my hips, Jameson helps me fuck him. He lifts me off his dick and then lets me sink back down, over and over again. Friction builds between us, things getting wetter and wetter. I feel the tension in my torso get tighter. My head swims and I burst, just as he does, little lights lining my vision.
My head lolls to the side when I come down, and my husband kisses the side of it. He pushes my hair away from my face.
“Absolutely gorgeous.”
I smile, satiated, but also more than happy to keep going.
“Why don’t we go upstairs?” Jameson suggests. “I think you’re going to love the bedroom.”
I nod, and he helps me off the couch. The two of us go upstairs.
Everything has led me to this point. There was a lot of uncertainty going into this, and neither one of us can predict the future, but, if there’s one thing that I know, with the two of us together, everything is looking bright.
THE END
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Sneak Peek of My Father’s Best Friend’s Secret Baby
Enjoy this sneak peek of the first book in my His Secret Baby series, My Father’s Best Friend’s Secret Baby.
Prologue
Bradley
I shouldn’t have been doing this. Shouldn’t have these thoughts about James’s daughter.
But, she was so damn hot. And she had been practically throwing herself at me. Those hips, those lips, those eyes… it was as if she was begging me to do what I wanted, which was to bend her over my lap and spank her ass for being such a bad girl, and then thrust my dick deep inside her mouth.
Her father James was the only good friend I had these days, and he had been ever since I so desperately needed one. After I was injured at war and discharged from duty, he’d taken me to his house and let me stay with him even though he had only been my commanding officer. We’d grown close, both due to the gratefulness I’d felt for him and the bond we’d shared as he’d helped me get back on my feet.
Fucking his daughter was no way to repay him for his kindness— even though it was clear she wanted me to take her for her very first time. Sure, she was an adult and seemed to know exactly what she wanted— which was very obviously me. And I wanted to take her— every which way I could.
From behind, while she was on all fours calling out my name and I was pulling her hair. From on top, while I was looking into those pretty eyes she liked to bat so innocently at me. From underneath her, so that she could spread those legs wide and let me all the way into her tiny, tight, wet little pussy.
I couldn’t do it. Could I? It could have all sorts of negative consequences. James would no doubt kick me out of his house. And what if I knocked her up? She had her whole life ahead of her, and mine had just been unexpectedly derailed.
I had to fucking control myself. But could I? Not with those curvy hips of hers walking in front of me, while she was dressed only in her bikini, begging me to come for a swim with her. Swim with her? I wanted to swim in her. And I always got what I wanted.
Chapter 1
Bradley
“Hope the chicken isn't too spicy for you,” said James, looking over at me while I absentmindedly scraped my food around on my plate. I was so lost in thought, I almost forgot where I was.
I was still trying to process everything. So much had happened. I knew that, all things considered, I was very lucky. Too bad that lucky felt so fucking shitty.
I shifted in my chair to try to relieve some of the pressure from my hip. I winced at a sharp pain shooting from my toes up my leg.
I had been an aircraft mechanic in the Air Force for about eighteen years. Some people have looked at that as “not shit” since I wasn't in direct combat much, but for me, it let me do what I loved while still serving our country.
I was a self-taught mechanic, learning everything I knew as a young kid working on the cars of friends, family, neighbors, basically anyone within a ten-mile radius who would let me near their car. People would remark with amazement when their car was fixed using little or no parts, and drove better than it had before it needed work done on it. News traveled fast about the teenage boy who could fix cars and did it for next to nothing, sometimes even for free.
I vividly remember a lady walking up to my house, looking nervous and afraid.
“B-Br-Brad?” she asked quietly.
“'Yeah,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
Wringing her hands and glancing around nervously, she continued, but in a language I did not understand. It wasn’t Spanish or French or any of the languages I’d heard in school. Might’ve been Hungarian.
“I’m sorry, ma’am…” I remember extending out my hand slowly, with caution.
She was so scared. It was then I realized her body was wrapped in some unusual garment I’d never seen before. I couldn’t tell if it was one of those fashionista things or one of those National Geographic things. The sadness in her eyes touched my heart.
“C-Caaar? Car? Help?” she asked in an unsure voice.
“Sure, I'll help you. Let me give you a ride to wherever your car is.”
As I said it, I made a motion with one of my arms as if I was using a steering wheel to drive, while gesturing at her with my other arm to come with me. She understood what I was saying and lit up right away, smiling.
We drove the mile to where her car was and I saw what was wrong right away. Her car had overheated and needed coolant. I drove her over to the gas station and she bought some. I put it in her car, had her start the car, and after a few minutes, her engine sounded better and she was ready to go.
“Tank you,” she said, bowing her head deeply, holding my teenaged hand between her two hands, clasped as if in prayer.
“You're welcome.”
She looked up into my eyes, hers welling with emotion. “God… God repay you,” she said.
“It's okay. Really. I'm just glad that I could help,” I told her.
I saw two car seats in the back of her car and wondered where her children were. I didn't bother asking her. But, I was happy that I could help.
That was when I realized that my interest in being a mechanic was more than just a hobby. I wanted to make it my profession.
I worked hard and put myself through trade school, paying for it by working at a fast food joint. Those were long, hard days, going to school during the day and working at night. Sheer will got me through those nights when the restaurant was slow.
But, I knew that if I had any hopes of doing anything with my life, I would have to keep going. I came from a dirt-poor family. Most of them had barely gotten through grade school, let alone had any real profession to speak of.
So, when I graduated from trade school as a mechanic, I felt like I was on top of the fucking world. Unfortunately, though, there weren't very many opportunities in the town where I lived. And I didn’t have the money to pack up and move.
When an Air Force recruiter came around and asked if I wanted to join, I signed up right away. I knew that this was it—my ticket to freedom.
And I was right. Being a mechanic in the Air Force opened my eyes to a whole new world. Honestly, it was an entirely new level of existence. I never even knew anyone who worked that hard, with focus, in order to accomplish—and to be accomplished—as the guys in my unit did.
I’d kind of always been a bit of a daredevil. I just couldn’t “keep my booty still,” as my old great-aunt Birdie diagnosed at my fifteenth birthday party. (It was a great time—we
were jumping off the roof into a kiddie pool filled high with shredded foam from a mattress I’d ripped up by hand.) I didn’t like trouble, you see, I just had a nose for action—a thrill for the outdoors, that sort of thing.
So when I discovered that I had this natural bent for fixing things, I was so excited. I was also relieved—my brain could be the one making me a living, not my brawn or bravado. I mean, sure, being a mechanic involved using my hands and muscles, too, but working on planes also involved figuring out problems and thinking about the best way to fix things.
This new direction of mine was a major step up for my family. It meant I might live to see old age, unlike practically every male in my bloodline.
Plus, none of us had ever served our country in the Armed Forces. Me joining up was an even bigger step forward for us. For me personally, joining up meant my freewheeling, garage experiment antics might have a constructive, positive outlet while I learned more skills and grew in my abilities.
More, I completely relished the traveling part of Air Force life. Mercy, the world had never seemed so big. Or beautiful, honestly.
Obviously, combat was what it was. But as things changed in all those long years, I found newer and cooler methods to indulge my thrill-seeking ways. When I was a kid, I never would’ve imagined rock climbing in the Swiss Alps would be just one of the many adventures life brought me.
But most of all, I loved the culture of performance. Of excellence. Oh, of course, there were jerks, wimps and assholes, as there are in all aspects of life, but I had the best of luck in all my deployments. The people around me inspired like nobody’s business. And so, that was my world, a world where I had a place, a duty and a status no one could take away from me.
That world all came crashing down, though, when I got into an accident that forced me to retire.
Continue reading My Father’s Best Friend’s Secret Baby
Continue reading My Father’s Best Friend’s Secret Baby
If you would like to read more books in the standalone but connected His Secret Baby series, listed below are the book in the series!
My Father’s Best Friend’s Secret Baby
My Dad’s Rival’s Secret Baby
My Professor’s Secret Baby
Single Mom’s Secret Baby
My Father’s Rich Friend’s Secret Baby
Click here to see all the books in this series!
Sneak Peek of I Hate You, Move In
Enjoy this sneak peek of the first book in my Hate You series, I Hate You, Move In: An Enemies to Lovers Accidental Roommate Romance.
Chapter One
Tina
“You should be living at home,” argued my dad, even as he carried a mini-fridge into my brand-new dorm room. “Why can’t you commute?”
“Daddy, we’ve been over this,” I pleaded. “I want to meet people. Plus, Kensington State College recommends that I live on campus for the first year. They said it helps freshmen transition to university life way better than if they tried it living off-campus. Or not at all,” I added, with a note of sarcasm.
I knew I should appreciate the fact that my parents were helping me move into my dorm for my freshman year of college. But I didn’t ask for their help and honestly, I didn’t want them there.
My parents were very old fashioned and that often equaled embarrassment. It was always a huge battle with them, to get them to let me do anything on my own.
I couldn’t understand it. I was eighteen, not eight. Didn’t they want me to grow up and be independent? Didn’t they want me to learn how to be an adult?
Quite frankly, I couldn’t wait to be free from their iron grip for a while. I mean, actually having a room to myself where they wouldn’t be constantly looking over my shoulder and judging me just sounded like heaven.
Not that I hated my parents or anything crazy, but you know how they can get, at least if you have the over-protective, smothering kind of parents like I do. They crawl all up in your business until you can’t breathe and can’t even think.
I wanted to live on campus just so I could meet people alone, in my own space. Without my mother running my life and without having to see my father’s judgmental looks right before he locks me up, Rapunzel-style.
“So, you’ll move back home sophomore year?” Daddy asked hopefully.
He set the minifridge down next to the old wooden desk that came with the room. Someone had scratched party on into the dented surface.
“Daddy, I love you, but I need to start living on my own,” I explained for the twentieth time, as I walked over and opened the dorm’s only window. “How am I going to learn how if I don’t?”
“I could teach you,” he offered, totally serious.
“You did teach me. For eighteen years,” I corrected, putting a hand on his shoulder. “And now I’m going to put what you taught me into practice. That’s how it’s supposed to work. You’ll see. It’ll be great.”
Mom came in with an armful of my clothes. She found the dresser and started arranging my belongings, just like she did at home.
“I don’t see why you even need to go to college,” she muttered, her long, conservative dress rustling softly.
“Oh my gosh, Mom,” I said, embarrassed, fighting the urge to roll my eyes.
“You just need to find a good and Godly husband,” she insisted. “And you could learn to cook.”
“I know how to cook,” I corrected her, walking over to watch her organize my clothes. “You taught me, remember?”
“It’s just that, well, you’re not that good, dear,” she said, patting my cheek.
I sat down heavily on the twin bed. I didn’t feel as insulted as I probably should have by that comment. I hated cooking, anyway.
“Mom, please,” I begged. “Can we not do this? I’m already here. Do you really want to drag me away from the only chance I’ve ever had to see what life holds outside our apartment? Away from the only thing I’ve ever worked towards and pinned my hopes on? Would you seriously trade all my dreams for my return back home today?”
“Yes,” she said determinedly, not looking up from the drawer she was organizing. “Yes, I would. I’m prepared to make that sacrifice.”
“I’m going to move more boxes,” I said, getting up and giving up on the conversation.
I marched outside to the parking lot to get some fresh air before I did something stupid, like snapped and screamed at her. My parents always set me on edge, especially my very religious mother, but today they were reaching new heights.
I calmed myself by thinking, They’re going home in a few hours. Just get through this and they’ll be out of your hair soon.
After saying that about 20 times, I reached my parent’s sedan. I picked up a lamp and a box of stuff for my desk. I tried to think about my class schedule and finding time to go to the book store.
I was already going to have to adjust my schedule. Half the things the college automatically signed me up for made no sense. History? Theatre? I was a business major; why would I need those classes?
Apparently, though, this was the norm. We were to learn first what the world was made of, before we ran a business in it. I guess that’s ultimately what I was here for.
When I’d visited the campus as a future applicant, we were told that it was usually chaos when the freshman arrived. And now I was seeing it for myself. The parking lot was full of other families and students and their mismatched dorm furnishings.
I had never seen so many tie-dye tapestries, except in movies. I took a little comfort in overhearing some of the other students’ eye-roll-worthy conversations with their folks.
That was, until I realized how all the other parents were actually happy that their kids were going to be in college. If anything, what was annoying to these students was that their parents smothered them with too much love and support.
Wow.
That was never really a problem I’d had. I sighed at this sad realization and moved even more quickly to shorten my time wit
h them here.
When I got back to the small dorm room, Dad had my bed frame in pieces and the mattress lifted to the side.
“Dad! What are you doing?” I panicked.
I set the lamp and the box on the floor and hurried over to him.
“Relax,” he said. “I think there’s a screw loose somewhere. I’m just fixing it. I don’t have my tools, so I’m using this dime as a screwdriver.”
“Dad, please put my bed back together,” I said, trying to sound calm.
I didn’t want to start a fight, but he was so embarrassing. I hadn’t met anyone yet, but I would hate to have a new floor mate walk by and see this mess.
“We have to pay for things like that if we break them.”
“I told you, I’m not breaking it, I’m fixing it,” he assured me. “Give me two minutes.”
My mom came over and put her small hand on my shoulder. She drew me away from my dad and over to the dresser.
“Tina, I put your underwear and bras underneath your sweaters,” she whispered. “That way, the boys can’t see them when you open the drawer.”
“Oh, my God,” I muttered to myself, rubbing my temples.
“What, dear?” she asked.
“Great, Mom, thanks. I’m going to the car, again. Be right back,” I said.
At this point, I really wished I had some Advil. My head was pounding, and my stress levels were through the roof. This is what my parents did to me— they made me crazy. Absolutely crazy.
I went to the car and grabbed another bag and my laptop. Then I glanced again towards the dozens of other students who were also moving in. It was utter madness on move-in day.
Across the street, one of the frat houses had a bunch of guys sitting on a couch outside with a sign that said, “You honk, we drink” and a second sign that said, “Okay, dads. We’ll take it from here.”
