Dirty Daddy: A Secret Baby Bad Boy Romance

by Alexis Angel

  My pussy on his face, I lean forwards, grabbing his cock and pointing it straight at my mouth. I let it slide inside of me in a hurry, his burning flesh rolling over my tongue hastily. I suck on him as hard as I can, cupping and caressing his balls with one hand.

  I try to focus on what I’m doing, but it’s harder than it seems. He keeps flicking his tongue at me, thrusting with it and then sliding it all along my slit, all while he rubs on my clit with the dexterity of a true master. We’re pleasing each other with our mouths - my pussy in his mouth, his cock in mine - and it feels like the perfect thing to happen during our little date. I sway my hips against his face as hard as I can, all the muscles in my body tensing up as a nocked arrow, and I realize that I’m already dangling over the edge of pleasure.

  Just like that, I take his cock out of my mouth and let a high-pitched scream tumble out of my mouth and fill the small cramped office. I grab his knees hard, arching my back as a jolt of mind numbing electricity runs through my spine. I’m coming hard and, fuck, he doesn’t ease up. He keeps licking me, his fingers hooked on my hips and keeping me in place. I tremble in ecstasy like a madwoman until I can’t take it anymore; I roll to the side, closing my eyes and breathing hard.

  “Now it’s my turn to say it,” I hear him say as I roll to the side. “I want it. I want your pussy,” he growls, and then he sits up on the couch and pulls me onto his lap. Straddling him once more, I lock eyes with him and let a spirited wildness take over me.

  “Then take it,” I simply say, and he moves fast.

  Sliding his hand between my legs, he feels the wet folds of my pussy with his fingertips and then, no warning at all, he just thrusts his hips forward and presses the tip of his cock against me. With expert and caring movements, he moves his hips slowly, rubbing the head of his cock over the length of my folds. He keeps doing that until it becomes almost unbearable. I know what game he’s playing, and I don’t really want to play it.

  I bury my fingernails on his back and, summoning all of my strength, I thrust at him. He holds his position, only allowing his tip to slide inside of me - but that’s already enough for me to moan harshly, the sound climbing up my throat in a hurry. I buck my hips more fiercely, wanting to feel all of him.

  He knows it’s no use fighting me, so he simply thrusts with all his might - in a fraction of a second his cock parts my wet folds and strains against my inner walls as it slides deep inside of me. He slides back out and then goes all the way in once again - with each thrust of his my moans grow louder and fiercer.

  His rhythm grows patiently, his body moving in a perfect cadence as if every single muscle in his body was designed with one simple purpose in mind: pleasing me. And my God, I’m inclined to believe that’s really the truth - each time he thrusts it’s like the most perfect thing ever, almost a religious experience.

  My fingernails bury themselves deeper into his flesh as he guides me towards a masterful crescendo, this symphony of pleasure close to the climax. I moan - no, I scream as he thrusts, every muscle in my body burning from the inside out. I pull him in hard and force him to stop moving as wild spasms take hold of my muscles. My whole body is electrified, high voltage running through me with the ferocity of a thunderstorm. I come for the second time, stabs of pleasure piercing my mind without any semblance of mercy.

  I don’t even wait for my body to recover from this orgasm - with my pussy still spasming around his cock, I place my hands on his chest and make a sideways movement with my hips, forcing him to roll to the side. As he lays down on his back I follow after him, rolling on top of him while his cock never slides out of me.

  Now with the upper hand, I grab his wrists and place his hands on my breasts; he squeezes them happily, his fingertips brushing over my nipples as I start swaying my body back and forth. I ride him hard, screaming with an intensity I have sorely missed during these past weeks.

  Each time I move my hips it’s as if something wild and primal stirs inside of me, pushing me forward until my feet are dangling over the edge of an abyss of undescriptible pleasure.

  “Oh God!” I exhale sharply, lighting hitting me all at once. I scream, my throat growing sore with the effort as ecstasy flies through my veins.

  I feel Magnus’ cock pulsing harshly inside my pussy, but I’m not ready to give up just yet. Oh no, not at all. With my muscles still twitching in pleasure, I grab his cock by the root and slowly get up, his shaft sliding out of me.

  He looks at me with wide eyes, not believing I stopped when he was so close to the end. That’s me, my sweet ex-stepdaddy - I’ve learned a few tricks from you, it seems. Winking at him, a devious smile on my lips, I go up to my feet and then kneel down on the floor; I bend forward and place both my hands on the floor, assuming and all-fours position and wiggling my ass from side to side as an invitation.

  With hungry movements, he kneels himself behind me and, grabbing his cock, aims it straight at my pussy. He pushes his cock against my folds and, hooking his fingers on my thighs, he thrusts with all that he has. I let out a high-pitched scream the moment I feel him piercing me, an omen of unstoppable pleasure to the way he slides his cock in me to the hilt.

  He fucks me in abandonment, his movements a perfect compass of never-ending joy. He thrusts so hard that, before I know it, my elbows start burning from the carpet underneath me, locks of sweaty hair falling in front of my face as my body sways back and forth wildly.

  “Oh, God, oh God,” I moan over and over again, delighted with the way pleasure laces the words coming out of my mouth.

  “That’s it, cum for me,” Magnus says, leaning forwards just enough so that I can hear him over the steady sound of his thighs slapping against my ass.

  “Harder…” I simply mumble, my voice quivering. “Harder!”

  He doesn’t say a word - he simply rams his cock into me with as much strength as he can. Just like that, I come once more.

  It’s an avalanche, there’s no other way to put it. It’s as if I’m being hit by a pure mountain of pleasure, ecstasy covering me and making me drown in it. I don’t even know if I’m moaning or screaming, and I don’t even care. I collapse to the floor, all of my energy fading away as my body twitches and spasms uncontrollably.

  I remain frozen, my right cheek on the carpet as Magnus keeps pounding me with the ferocity of a wild beast. I don’t even know why I do it, but I place my hands against the floor and prop myself up once more. I move knees and thighs forward, forcing him to slide out of me. Turning to him, I smile lazily.

  “Come for me, daddy,” I whisper. Even though he’s my husband and the father of my child, I simply can’t resist calling him daddy whenever we’re going at it. It just feels right in the most wrong way, you know?

  He takes the hint and stands up, towering over me like a God. I can’t help but marvel at the way his taut muscles move, as if he was God’s greatest engineering feat. Grinning and still shaking, I reach for his cock and start stroking him hard, using both my hands. I go as fast as I can, his cock feeling like hardened steel under my fingers, and I don’t stop until I feel it pulsing violently and starting to spasm.

  Before I can even react, thick strands of cum gush out of him and into me. His warm semen hits me straight in the face; I open my mouth, allowing his salty juices to coat my tongue as well. I keep stroking him, my hands moving in a blur as an endless fountain of cum springs from his cock. He keeps going for who knows how long, completely covering me in his fluids: I feel it dripping down my face and neck, long strands of it already covering my breasts and chest.

  Only when his cock gives its dying spasms do I let go of it; I take my hands to my breasts then, running them over his glistening fluids and spreading them evenly over my chest. Magnus looks at me in a trance, his eyes never leaving the circular movements of my hands. I grab his right hand and gently pull him down; he goes to his knees right in front of me and I grab at his hair, forcing him to lower his head towards my chest.

  What am I doing? I truly have no
idea, but Magnus leans forward willingly. He places his lips over my drenched tits, scooping up strands of his cum as he laps with his tongue at my left nipple. More, I want more!

  Allowing instinct to dictate what I’m doing, I grab his hair even more firmly, forcing him to throw his head back. Then I lean into him, pressing my mouth against his; our cum coated lips slide off against each other, the flavor of his mouth and semen mixing in a mind-numbing way. I close my eyes and slide my tongue inside his mouth, feeling the saltiness of his semen dancing between our lips.

  I pull back, smiling as I see a strand of cum dangling from his lower lip; I lean in once again, licking it off his mouth with the tip of my tongue.

  Completely naked and covered in cum, I let myself fall back on the floor and laugh. I laugh as loud as I can, the sound of my voice filling the whole office, and then suddenly sit up and look at Magnus straight in the eyes.

  “What are you laughing about?” He asks, tenderly smiling.

  “I feel like some horny teenager right now, sneaking so that I can get some alone-time with the local bad boy.”

  “Are you saying I’m a bad boy? Because I’m the nicest guy you’ll ever meet,” he teases me, reaching for my right nipple and pinching it devilishly.

  “Of course you are,” I laugh again, and then just crush my lips against his one more time for good measure.

  Outside, hundreds of workers continue their mission of making the Equinox Tower dream come true, completely oblivious that their boss and his wife have just fucked themselves to exhaustion. And all just a few feet away from them.

  Ah, forget about the money and the fame. Nothing beats making memories like this with the man you love.

  I’m the luckiest woman on Earth, that much is for sure.

  Another Note From The Author

  And now…

  And finally a preview of a Mona Cox, Becca Vs. Biker.

  Thank you so much for reading!

  xoxo

  Alexis

  Becca Vs. Biker

  Getting kidnapped by a motorcycle club? I should be so lucky…

  My boyfriend is cheating on me. My job is killing me. My commute sucks.

  So when Harlan Masters kidnaps me and holds me hostage one morning, my reaction is…

  WOOHOO!

  Seriously, now I’m the center of attention!

  Lil’ Princess waited on hand and foot by big, bad, bikers.

  They give me everything I want…I mean, literally, everything I want. Yes, even that. It’s amazing.

  No job. No bills. No responsibilities.

  A girl could get used to this.

  The Black Fist MC thinks they’re tough?

  Wait till they go up against the power of pink. We’ll see who’s left standing.

  *** It's the cute single girl versus the Big Bad Biker in this installment from Mona Cox. Guaranteed to be sweet, sassy, and fun. No cheating or cliffhangers. Happy Ending? Always, babe ***

  160

  Becca

  I wake up with a groan, whacking my iPhone into submission. I stare up at the ceiling. God, I am starting to hate my job. Three weeks ago, my law firm had me start working with some clients on Long Island, and the commute … it’s murder.

  I roll over and stare at my boyfriend, Tye, for a moment. Speaking of murder...

  I push myself out of bed before my body can relax back into sleep. I pad into the bathroom and pull out my toothbrush. Brushing my teeth through a haze of exhaustion, I stare back at Tye, snoring loudly in my bed.

  Well, his bed. His apartment. Not that he’s doing anything, like pay the rent. He lost his job at Carter Jeffries, an investment bank, like a month ago, and fuck all if he hasn’t just started spending his time partying and drinking. The bills are all on my shoulders now, and I just don’t have enough energy to keep paying for them.

  I spit into the sink and then turn back to stare at Tye, brushing away. Should I wake him for a morning fuck? I mean, fucking him lately has been about as much fun as going to work, which is to say exactly no fun whatsoever, but damn, it’s the only thing we have left. I usually just close my eyes and think about Paris in the springtime. You know, the kind of trips I used to be able to take before all of our household bills landed squarely on my shoulders.

  I move on to a shower and then a PowerBar for breakfast, leaving Tye to continue sawing logs in bed. Fuck it. He hasn’t been able to keep it up lately anyway. Talk about a turnoff. Not only is his dick on the small side, but his adventurous side has totally disappeared. I can’t even remember the last time he talked dirty to me, let alone gave me a nice spanking.

  I paw through my closet, looking for something to wear—anything even remotely appropriate—and realize that I haven’t done laundry in like three weeks. Dammit. I have no lawyer clothes left—you know, beige skirts with matching jackets, that sort of thing. The sort of thing that a lawyer should be wearing.

  Instead, I can only find my party clothes or my gym clothes, which says a lot about my life that the only clean clothes that I have left should either be worn to a yoga class or on a dance floor because lately, I haven’t been able to spend much time at either place.

  My hand hovers over my bright purple Fabletics yoga pants, and I imagine walking into my client’s office in them, but with a sigh, I move away. As much fun as that’d be, and as comfortable, I really don’t think Mr. Williford, my boss, would appreciate it.

  Which only leaves my party clothes. I eye my skirt choices, trying to judge which one is the longest. I usually don’t go out with much covered on a Saturday night—c’mon, what’s the point in that?—but I really don’t want to spend the day trying to keep from flashing my clients accidentally by simply leaning over. They probably don’t need to see my thong panties, and I’m thinking that if they did, I should start getting paid more for this gig. Just sayin’.

  I finally pull a black miniskirt with silver threads running through it off the hanger and pair it with a low-cut black silk blouse. There would be no bending over today. This is my punishment for sleeping on Saturday instead of doing laundry. I shimmy into the skirt, taking care not to breathe too deeply—the whole point of it being to show off every curve I have, so it’s…a little on the clingy side.

  Saran Wrap would be less form fitting, really.

  I put on some low-heeled black pumps. The least I can do is not wear stilettos. Mr. Williford’s tongue is already going to be hanging out of his mouth when I come walking in.

  With a sigh, I head out. Now comes the worst part of my commute: The driving. Seriously, who drives in New York? It’s madness, I tell you. But ever since they started me on this Long Island job, I’ve had to rent a car every Monday morning and then return it on Friday nights. I’m lucky I even know how to drive a car. Half my friends have no clue. Owning a car in Manhattan is just stupid. But taking a taxi cab from Manhattan to Long Island every day? Even dumber.

  I walk into the rental office.

  “Hey Becca,” Roger says, looking up from his paperwork. He’s like 19—a kid, which means that I’m usually able to flirt my way into an upgrade. If I’m going to be stuck driving in NYC traffic, at least I get to do it in style. God bless hormonal teenage boys. And this week…

  I walk in with a sultry sway to the counter, leaning over and giving him a nice eyeful of my tits. I figure if I’m gonna wear it, I might as well get mileage out of it, right? With this much cleavage showing, I figure I’m probably gonna walk out of here with the keys to a Porsche 911.

  Today is already starting to look up.

  “Hey, Roger,” I say with a flirty smile. “What do you have for me this week?”

  “Uhhhhh…” His pimple-covered face falls, and I look at him, worried. That isn’t the response I wanted, and it sure as hell doesn’t bode well for me.

  “So, we had a spate of tourists this weekend, and…well…allIhaveleftisaminivan.”

  It comes out in a rush and it takes my brain a moment to process what he just said. I really need t
o add more coffee to my morning routine if Roger is going to start talking like an auctioneer.

  “A minivan?” I finally repeat, having pulled the words apart enough to understand them.

  With a guilty look plastered all over his face, he nods.

  Ffffuuuucccckkkkkkk…

  Minivan? A minivan?

  I wonder if my ovaries are going to start spontaneously producing children if I drive a minivan for a whole week. Is parthenogenesis a thing in humans? I could be the first human in history to end up prego from driving a fucking minivan. Will I lose my ability to speak in complete sentences and only leave the house in sweat pants and a sports bra?

  Will I stop highlighting my hair?

  With a sigh, I hold out my hand. “Give ‘em to me,” I say, and with another guilty look, he hands over the keys.

  “Red, back of the lot,” he says and I head out the door without another word. Usually, I like Roger, truly I do. Mostly because I can show him a generous amount of cleavage and I’m in a sports car for the week.

  But this morning?

  It’s a little questionable.

  I spot the minivan—not hard to, since there’s hardly anything else in the lot—and mentally revise that to “a lot questionable.”

  I unlock it and climb inside, instantly feeling my ovaries going into overdrive. I get a mental picture of having two squalling babies in the back, and shudder. I’d let myself dream about that when Carla’s boyfriend, Chase, first came into town with his riding partner Jason, but as soon as Carla told me that Jason had a wife and 2.5 kids at home in Oklahoma City, I squashed that dream real quick. Me and kids just aren’t going to be a thing.