AFRICAN AMERICAN URBAN FICTION: BWWM ROMANCE: Billionaire Baby Daddy (Billionaire Secret Baby Pregnancy Romance) (Multicultural & Interracial Romance Short Stories)

by Carmella Jones

  “What’s te stop a lad an’ a lass from doin’ what comes natural?” he whispered.

  “You’ll be healin’ up and on the run again,” she replied. The truth gushed out of her before she could stop it. “My heart can’t bear to let ye go.”

  “Yer heart?” Her confession pushed him back from her with more force than that of her hands.

  “I…” She started to let go of the feelings that were crowding through her; tried to put them into words. The words wouldn’t come out as she looked up into his eyes. They were many, but she couldn’t get them to come together into anything intelligible. Instead of saying anything more, however, she retreated, scooping up the bucket and rushing for the entrance of the cave. “I’ve got to get some more water.”

  With her mind in a whirl, she hurried out of the cave, paying little attention to her surroundings as she did so. Cairistine had been very conscious about her coming and going and had kept a sharp eye out for whoever might happen through the woods. She had never seen sign nor encountered anyone, but she had remained vigilant just the same; up until that moment. It was at that moment that someone did happen to see her hurrying out of the cave and along the base of the cliff toward the shallow vale and trickling spring. That someone fell in behind her, feeling fortunate to have come across such a shapely form with fiery red hair where no one around would hear her screams. He’d been hunting Raghnall MacGregor and need a little diversion; she’d be just right for that.

  The thunderous rhythm in her heart had overtaken all of Cairistine’s thoughts. The noise of conflicting voices in her head and drown out any other sound around her. Her escape to the spring had been the only response that fit in that moment. Though she certainly felt the stirring deep inside of her and relished his kiss, those feelings created too much confusion inside of her. She had run free for much too long to allow the first man to force a kiss upon her to be her undoing. He was certainly a rogue and an outlaw and she shouldn’t expect him to have any other than a forceful manner about him. I won’ stan’ fer bein’ forced into it, she told herself. The moment the thought entered her mind, it was his daring that argued against her. In truth, she longed to let him kiss her again. It was the kiss of a man; wild, daring and full life and the natural course of things.

  She forced herself to think of something other than his kiss. She revisited all of the arguments that had kept her running free through the woods and the highlands. She wasn’t looking for a man. She didn’t want to be tied down to a humble shack with children pulling at her skirts. Nor did she want to break her back doing the same monotonous tasks every day. Besides, he’d just use her and be gone.

  “Er’nt ye a tasty treat,” the voice chuckled behind her.

  Startled by him, a scream left her throat before she whirled about and threw the bucket at him.

  “It won’ de ye no good te scream,” he laughed. “Won’ nobody hear ye.”

  Realizing that her scream would bring Raghnall to her and into certain danger, she turned to run.

  “It won’ de ye no good te run either.” In a half-dozen quick strides, he was on her, grasping a handful of her bright, red hair and pulling her back into his arms; crushing her in his grasp. He moved his dirty mouth against her neck and cheek, trying to bring her mouth to his.

  Though she fought him, twisting, turning, scratching and kicking, he had gotten too tight of a grasp on her and her struggles had little affect against him. “Ay, lassie, ye migh’ as well settle down an’ enjoy it. Yer no goin’ anywhere.”

  “I’ll scratch ou’ yer eyes,” she hissed.

  “I’m no gonna le’ ye do tha’,” he chuckled. “I jest wan’ a lit’ fun wit’ ye. Hey, wha’ was tha’?”

  Cairistine heard a loud thump. It was though something hard had struck a hollow stump. In that same instant, she felt his grip loosen and she pushed herself free, whirling away to flee once more. From the corner of her eye, as she turned, she saw the tall, muscular form of Raghnall stepping into the clearing with a stone about the size of a man’s fist in his hand. He hurled another at her attacker, striking him in the chest.

  “Ye, is it!” he bellowed. “I though’ ye were dea’.”

  “I’m ver’ much alive,” Raghnall answered, taking several steps forward.

  From a safe distance, Cairistine turned to watch the two men begin to circle each other like a pair of highland bulls about to go at it. Though she was glad to be free of the dirty man’s grasp, she feared for Raghnall. He wasn’t well enough to be fighting.

  “Ye been patched up, then?”

  Raghnall didn’t answer, he reached up, grasped a low branch on a dead pine and pulled down sharply. His muscular chest and shoulders rippled as he pulled away a club and started breaking away the smaller branches. Cairistine could see his ribs, but there was no doubting his weakness. He looked like a lean wolf or wild cat, clearly focused on how to attack his prey. A tingle ran through her at the sight of him and she forgot her worry over him.

  “Ye can trim branches from the entire wood, bu’ it no is goin’ te help ye again a sword,” the dirty man announced, drawing out his heavy claymore and raising it up in front of him.

  “Raghnall, no!” The shout left her before she had a chance to control it.

  “She’s wit’ ye then, eh?” the dirty man laughed. “I’ll finish ye off an’ then have me way wit’ her. Two treats in one day. Killin’ a MacGregor and havin’ that fiery haired…”

  His sentence went unfinished as Raghnall attacked.

  V.

  Slumped to one knee over the body of the dirty man, Cairistine was sure that Raghnall had reinjured himself and she rushed to him. “Er ye okay?”

  “I’ll live,” he panted. He grimaced as he tried to catch his breath and stretch himself against the pain and stiffness in his side, using the hilt of the claymore to force his lean body from the ground.

  What she had just witnessed has been nothing short of incredible. Armed with nothing more than a club, Raghnall had forced an attack upon the sword bearing man, dodging wild blows from the sword and delivering precise blows with his thick club. There were moments when Cairistine was certain that Raghnall would be run through or sliced deeply with the wildly flashing claymore, but in each instance, he would somehow contort his body away from the sharp edge and slip in from another angle to deliver a blow. He was savage in his attacks and brilliant in his defense. Though it seemed to last forever from her vantage point, it was over with quickly and the claymore, in the hands of Raghnall, delivered a fatal blow.

  It was in the moment of his rising that Cairistine noticed several streaks of blood making trickling from the wound in his side. “You’ve torn away the stitches,” she said, rushing to him to examine his side.

  “We’ve got te get him hidden,” he whispered, still working to regain his breath. “An’ then I’ve got te be away.”

  “But yer hurt an’ ye need care,” she protested.

  “Don’ ye see, Cairistine,” he said, wrinkling his brow. A painful expression came upon his face. “As long as yer near me, ye’ll be fightin’ off the likes o’ him. I have te be goin’.”

  “I’m no afraid o’ the likes o’ him,” she replied hotly. “Ain’t a Campbell that has e’er seen the like o’ me.”

  “I don’ doubt it, but runnin’ is better tha’ fightin’ fer me,” he replied. “I’ll survive longer.”

  He was right, of course, but she didn’t want to give in quite so easily. “At least le’ me have another look a’ yer woun’ an’ tend te ye before ye go; since yer boun’ te.”

  With the body pushed into a low place and covered over with stones and brush, Cairistine filled the small bucket in the spring and the two of them made their way back to the cave, watching closely as they neared its entrance. Satisfied that no one else was around, they entered the cave. Raghnall leaned the sword and sheath that he’d recovered from the dirty man and lowered himself beside the dying fire.

  Without another word between them, Cai
ristine built up the fire, got out another clean rag and moved in close to him to inspect his wound. If the spark between them hadn’t been powerful enough before, it certainly had ignited into a full flame by the time she touched him with the damp cloth. Suddenly, all of the arguments she’d been having inside had gone silent. There was only one, primeval voice inside of her as she caressed his flesh. It was a voice without words to it and it was born of something beyond reason. As she wiped away the blood, she leaned in to kiss the wound.

  Raghnall drew in a sharp breath and the muscles of his chest and stomach contracted at the feel of her kiss on his flesh. His reaction only stirred the rising flame inside of her and she began to place even more soft kisses around the wound, listening to how his breathing changed and his flesh responded to each of them. Before long, her kisses were traveling to other parts of his stomach and chest and she was no longer concerned with the condition of his wound as his fingers began to comb through the strands of her hair.

  Continuing to move further and further up his chest with her tender kisses, she felt the nervous hammering of her heart inside her chest and dryness in her throat. She worked at moistening her lips before each kiss, finding that it was becoming harder and harder to breathe as well. When her mouth drew near to his, she hesitated and looked up into his eyes.

  Before, while he was fighting for his life, they were the eyes of a savage creature, but in the flickering light of the fire, they were soft and warm, yet there was still the haunting flicker of his wildness in them too. He did not force himself on her like he had earlier, only invited her to do as she pleased. It pleased her to press her mouth against his soft lips. What had been a fluttering tingle before was growing into an ache bourn of longing and desire.

  Their kiss began with sweet tenderness, but quickly grew into something much more savage as Cairistine began to let go of the pent up conflict that had been inside her for much too long. She felt his fingers in her hair and then moving to caress her back as their kiss intensified. The ache inside of her had grown out of control and as she melted against him, she felt the hardness between his thighs pressing into her. Every inch of her body wanted to feel him pressing against raw skin.

  She drew back from his kiss and continued to gaze into his eyes as she worked at stripping away the garments that had become an entanglement to her. At first, his eyes questioned why she had stopped kissing him, but very soon a hungry look began to rise up in them as he began to understand what she was doing. Watching his reaction as she exposed her ripe breasts before him only intensified her desire and she became even more intent on revealing all of herself to him.

  His eyes caressed every inch of her nude body and he reached out with quivering hands to touch her. Colored by the highland sun, his dark fingers stood out in dark contrast against her pale skin and there roughness sent tingles racing up and down her spine and a fluttering ache between her thighs.

  Responding to his reaction and his touch, she moved her fingers down to the waist of his kilt, working the buttons free and began to draw it lower. He raised his hips to assist her and she soon had the firmness that had grown between his legs free. Taking it with a firm grasp, she was rewarded by a soft moan as she began to stroke him.

  The hunger between her own thighs had grown to a point that moisture was beginning to trickle out from the soft folds of her opening. All reason was lost as she continued to stroke him and leaned in once more to kiss him with a passion that had grown out of control.

  With garments tossed aside, there was no longer any encumbrance between the joining of their flesh and her hunger had grown to a fevered pitch. Still clutching him, she moved her thighs to each side of his hips and guided his rigid shaft between her moist, tender lips. There was a sting that shot through her and a trickling of blood as she lowered herself onto him, giving her innocence to him in that moment of passion. She squealed softly, squeezed her eyes tight and grimaced as she felt the sensation of tearing go through her.

  The burning was soon forgotten as the fullness of him inside of her began to full the deeper ache that drove away all thoughts of the initial pain. She began to move her hips forward and back upon him, slowly as first, allowing her body to become used to the feel of him inside of her. After a few moments, she dug her fingers into his chest for support and began to raise herself up and down upon his thick shaft, gasping at the intense pleasure that spread throughout her body.

  His moans encouraged her even more and her pace quickened as the ache inside of her grew stronger with each thrust. She began to cry out again, not from pain, but from the growing ache that was overtaking her. Savagery overtook every part of her as she forced herself up and down upon him until the growing ache began to release itself in a radiating wave of tingling warmth throughout her entire body. The waves reached an enormous height before she felt the release of thick, hot moisture shooting into her as well. In one voice, they cried out, lost in some primeval call that echoed through the cave and out into the growing dusk of the highlands.

  Their passion did not subside throughout the night. Their lips and their fingers found tender places on one another’s flesh that brought tingles and again built into passionate lovemaking. She discovered that his wound did not hold back his power to give her pleasure and he took her into the depths of savagery before the two of them collapsed beside the crackling fire in exhaustion.

  The last thing she remembered before drifting into peaceful sleep were his crystal blue eyes gazing into hers. They were deep pools of tenderness mixed with savagery and they made her shudder as well as melt into comfortable warmth. If fate was to be her own, she would never leave his side.

  Fate was not her own, however, and she awakened with a chill beside a fire that had long died out. There was no longer a lean, muscular body lying beside her, nor was there any sign that he had been there except for the discarded, bloody rags that had been used upon his wound.

  “No,” she whispered into the silent cave, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes. Intense pain ripped through her chest, even as, with her mind, she tried to apply reason to the wound that was left inside of her. Like the wild creature that he was, he was gone.

  THE END

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  For Anne, going to bed was an extended affair. This was not because she wanted it to be, but rather because her husband demanded it. She had five servants who all had different jobs to perform, from rubbing her with fragrant oils, to cleaning her hands and cleaning and re-cleaning beneath her fingernails, to combing her hair and choosing her night garb.

  Were it her wedding night, or some other very important night, perhaps it would have been a welcome surprise, but for Anne, this was every night. And it only made her feel trapped and alone.

  Anne winced. A snag in her hair had caught the comb.

  “I’m sorry, Duchess,” the handmaiden said.

  “It’s all right, Sarah.”

  And Anne meant it. Sarah was her only friend, and Anne knew she was only trying to do her job as quickly as possible because Anne had confided to her how much she hated these stringent requirements her husband, the duke, had imposed upon her.

  Finally, the women finished their work, and Anne found herself alone in the massive bed she shared with her husband. Some women, she had heard, especially amongst the nobility, had beds to themselves. It was not unusual for women of Anne’s stature to have their own suites, and Anne wish often that this was a privilege she had been granted. Perhaps if she were from a more noble house, she thought, and she hadn’t been traded to the
duke in marriage as a sign of respect and subservience, she would have the bargaining power to secure even this small freedom for herself.

  But no, she wasn’t. She was trapped as she’d always been, waiting for her brute of a husband to haul himself into bed and lie on her for a few minutes before falling asleep next to her.

  Anne yawned. The hour was late, and she would sleep if she could. But the knowledge her husband would eventually roughly disturb her slumber always made that impossible. It was only when he himself was snoring rudely next to her that she found herself able to get any rest.

  So Anne waited. And waited. And eventually could wait no longer.

  The Duke’s palace was large and cold, and Anne had to bundle up for the search. She was afraid of being found and turned in to her husband, but she kept these fears at bay with the knowledge that he’d never explicitly told her that she couldn’t come looking for him. Besides, if he did find her, what could be more loving than simply telling him that she could not wait for him to come to bed any longer and had come to find him? It would be a lie, she knew, but it would be a flattering lie. And she knew her husband well enough to know he was dumb enough to believe any ridiculous untruth so long as it was flattering.

  The halls seemed strange in the dark. During the day they were so alive, with servants always hurrying here or there, nearly running so that they would not be chastised for taking too long about their tasks. But now the only movement was the flickering of Anne’s candle as she walked – as quietly as she could – toward the rooms where she knew her husband often spent his time.

  As she grew closer, Anne heard the voice of her husband’s chief advisor.

  “But if the king should find out, Your Excellency, what then? Would we not be subject to his rage?”

  Anne slowed her steps, and took greater care to make as little sound as she could. If there was something the king shouldn’t know, she felt certain that her husband believed that she shouldn’t know as well. The prudent side of her nature encouraged Anne to go back to her room, but her feet would not do it. Some mixture of curiosity and hope propelled her cautiously forward.