Claiming His Baby

by Nikki Chase

  All’s fair in love and war. But love won’t play any role here. This is an all-out war.

  Elena

  “Hey, princess,” Damon says as he walks into the living room. I don’t know if it’s his confident swagger, his lopsided smile, or his new nickname for me, but instantly my heart starts racing.

  “Hey, yourself.” The corners of my lips pull up behind my Kindle as I set the gadget aside. “How was it?”

  “Eh. As usual.” Damon drops his body on the couch next to me, making the cushion dip under his body weight. He drapes his long, muscular arms over the back of the couch. He looks like a lazy, big cat—relaxed, alert, dangerous. He leans closer and says, in a low voice, “To tell you the truth, it was kind of boring. I’d rather be here, talking to you instead.”

  I know—of course I know—that he’s just saying that. He has probably said that exact same line to a bunch of girls already.

  Still, I can’t help the tingles that start in my chest and spread to the tips of my fingers. It could be true; my dad probably isn’t a rival I need to worry about.

  “Sure,” I respond sarcastically. I pull my legs up onto the couch and turn to face him, leaning my side on the back of the couch.

  “It’s true,” Damon says, staring straight at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. His eyes are so dark I can barely tell if his pupils are dilated.

  I rack my brain for something to say. The things he says and the way he’s looking at me have got me all nervous. It doesn’t help that he’s so close his forearm is touching my shoulder.

  “What are you reading?” Damon asks, glancing at the Kindle I’ve put on the coffee table.

  I can’t tell him I’m making my way through yet another steamy romance novel. He’d think I’m some kind of a perv.

  “Oh, a novel,” I say.

  “Is it dirty?” Damon smirks.

  “No,” I say, a little too quickly. My cheeks heat up with embarrassment, but I hope he doesn’t notice.

  Damon says nothing, but his eyes remain fixed on me as his smirk grows wider. Does he know?

  “Can I see it?” he asks.

  “It’s boring. You won’t like it.” I laugh nervously. Maybe I could quickly navigate away from the book I was actually reading and show him a different one instead.

  “It got you to sit still here all day. Can’t be that bad,” he says. “But, okay. You don’t want to share your dirty novel with me. That’s cool.”

  “Hey. It’s a totally normal novel, okay?”

  Damon laughs as he watches me grow redder and more flustered. He flashes his neat rows of white teeth as his skin crinkles around his eyes.

  “I miss this. This is great,” he says, gazing intently at me. His laughter has died down, but his eyes are still sparkling with mirth.

  “Yeah. It has been a while.” I want to tell Damon I’ve been missing him, but that would be too much.

  He doesn’t need to know that every time I went out with some guy, all I could think about was how much better it would be if I were with him instead. I fantasized about what he would do and what he would say.

  And now, I’ve got him right in front of me, openly flirting with me and staring at me like he can’t take his eyes off of me.

  “Hey, do you want to go out and grab coffee?” Damon asks.

  Oh my God. Damon is asking me out . . . right? I mean, he joked about dirty novels and stuff. This isn’t just a friendly catch-up thing.

  This is my dream, and it’s finally coming true.

  “Sure. When?” I ask as casually as I can. With my heart pounding in my chest, though, I feel like I’m vibrating in place and there’s no way Damon hasn’t noticed.

  Don’t ruin this, I tell myself in a stern inner voice.

  “Now,” he says.

  “Now?” I parrot stupidly.

  “Yeah. Why not? Your dirty book is boring. You said it yourself.”

  “It’s not a dirty . . .” I zip my lips. I should stop talking about the book altogether. “I need to get ready first.”

  “What? No. Look at you.” Damon’s gaze roams all over my body, lingering on my chest and my legs. “You look perfect. You’re ready to go.”

  In my fantasies, I’d have a whole day—even a whole week—to prepare for my first date with Damon.

  I’d carefully pick out the right outfit, maybe even shop for new clothes if I have to. I’d try on different combinations of makeup and hairdos until I find the right look—sexy but not slutty, sophisticated but not stuffy, mature but not boring.

  Right now, I’m wearing what I’d consider my best house clothes. A pink tank top that skims over my curves without showing too much skin and a pair of black yoga pants that makes my butt look good.

  I’m also wearing a bit of makeup—tinted moisturizer, a little blush, and mascara. My hair is simply pulled up into a high ponytail.

  I don’t feel ready. But at the same time, it’s just coffee. Most importantly, I can’t possibly say no.

  “Okay,” I tell Damon. “But give me five minutes. I have to at least get a jacket.”

  “I’ll be here,” Damon says with an irresistible smile. He glances at his watch. “Five minutes. Don’t take too long, or I’ll have to punish you.”

  I turn around and walk away before I turn bright red.

  Punish me? What does he mean by that?

  As I climb up the stairs, I’m aware that Damon is probably checking out my butt right now. I can practically feel the heat of his stare. Does he like it? Does it make him think dirty thoughts about me?

  Entering my bedroom and closing the door behind me, I jump up and down, flapping my hands in excitement. I allow myself a minute to hyperventilate and take a few deep breaths.

  Five minutes, he said. His words keep playing on loop in my head. Don’t take too long, or I’ll have to punish you.

  Gosh, that sounds dirty, doesn’t it? It sounds like something a guy from a steamy romance novel would say.

  As I pull open the door to my walk-in wardrobe, I wonder if how Damon would punish me. Would he tie me up? Pin me down? Spank my butt and make me scream out his name?

  Just thinking about it makes my core clench. Wetness drips between my legs and pools in my panties.

  Maybe I should change out of my yoga pants and put on a pair of jeans instead. And change my panties, too. I’ll stain these pants if I keep this up.

  Grabbing a navy-blue jacket as I dash back out into my room, I check my reflection in the mirror—just like I used to whenever I heard Damon’s voice in the house when we were both younger. I comb my hair with my fingers, put some color on my lips, and stash the lipstick in my shoulder bag.

  Thirty seconds to spare.

  I dash down the stairs to the living room and find Damon waiting for me there. As he gets up, he checks his watch and raises a thick eyebrow.

  “Just in time. Not bad,” he says. “Let’s go, princess.”

  Oh, God. It’s my first date with Damon.

  “Hop on.” Damon revs the engine of his motorcycle and it makes a loud roar.

  I can’t deny I’ve always wanted to ride on his Harley, but my dad won’t like it.

  “Uh, could you just let me know where we’re going? I’ll meet you there.” I look over my shoulder at the two guys—the chauffeur and the bodyguard—who tag along wherever I go. They’re muscular, imposing men who never seem to be in a good mood and never wear anything but black.

  Ever since Dad found out about Rosa’s transgression, they have been taking me to work and back. It’s possible they get paid more than I do, which would mean that me working is an overall loss financially, but my dad always gets his way.

  Right now, the two men are scrambling toward one of Dad’s black sedans, rushing to get it running.

  Damon stares at me. “Really? You’d rather be driven around in that . . . thing than hop on my motorcycle?”

  “Well . . . no . . . but . . .” I glance behind me when I hear the car engine being turned on.
The car glides down the driveway and stops next to where I’m standing. I look back at Damon and lamely say, “The car’s ready.”

  “They can follow us if they want,” he says, cocking a challenging eyebrow. “At least, they can try.”

  Despite the conflict in my chest, I smile. Maybe it won’t be so bad . . .?

  “Come on,” Damon says. “Rules are made to be broken.”

  Oh, God. I really, really want to . . . I mean, #YOLO, right? You Only Live Once. But I don’t know if it’s a good idea to make my dad angry when he’s already so grumpy lately.

  But . . .

  I fidget with the leather straps of my shoulder bag as I take a good look at the big, vibrating motorcycle and Damon’s imposing figure on it. I imagine myself sitting right behind him. I’ll get to wrap my arms around his waist and lean my head on his back.

  “You know you want to,” Damon says in a smooth, inviting voice.

  Damn it. I can’t say no to that voice. And those eyes, daring me to be bad for once.

  I take one step toward Damon, and then another, and then another. I put my fingers on the leather seat, which vibrates along with the powerful engine.

  And, I’m sold.

  I mount the motorcycle and take the helmet Damon hands me. As I put it on, I hear the shouting of my dad’s men in the background.

  The chauffeur has rolled down his window. I can see his mouth moving. He’s saying something. Probably telling me I should get off the motorcycle and get into the car.

  But I can’t hear him over the loud engine, the helmet covering my head, and the blood rushing in my ears.

  Who cares? I know exactly what he’s saying anyway.

  My heart races. So this is what it feels like, breaking a rule. I kind of like it.

  “Ready, princess?” Damon asks, revving the engine once again.

  “Yeah!” I shout.

  “Hold on!”

  I do as he says, holding on and interlacing my fingers in front of his chest. The smell of exhaust fumes and leather fills my nostrils.

  And then, we’re off.

  I’ve never been on a bike before. It’s nothing like sitting in a car.

  This feels like flying. The wind in my hair. The vibrations between my legs. The outside air. The asphalt just inches away from my feet.

  I check behind us to see the black sedan following us, and I can’t help but laugh.

  If someone were to ask me what’s so funny, I wouldn’t be able to explain it. But, I laugh. And I can’t stop myself.

  Maybe being high feels exactly like this. I can see how this could be addictive.

  My first date. My first time riding on the back of a motorcycle. My first time breaking one of my dad’s rules.

  I can’t wait for other “firsts” I’ll get to experience with Damon. Maybe he’ll be the first man I share a bed with too. I definitely won’t say no if he wants to claim my virginity.

  Damon

  Elena and I sit in a booth by the window.

  The ride on the motorcycle has messed up her hair somewhat, but she’s still perfect. The sunlight hits her rich, warm, burnished brown hair in a way that makes it appear like a big, soft halo.

  She really does look like an angel.

  Too bad I’ll have to clip her wings.

  “What?” Elena asks as she lifts her gaze up from her drink.

  “Nothing. Just wondering when it was that you turned into a young lady and why I didn’t notice.”

  That’s not completely false. Elena has changed a lot from the awkward teenager I remember from the days when I used to hang out with Matteo all the time.

  She blushes, which makes her look even more adorable. She goes back to skimming the whipped cream off the top with her plastic straw. When she lifts up the cream-covered straw and licks it clean, my cock stirs in my jeans.

  Fucking hell. Does she know what she’s doing to me? How can a woman be so sexy and look so innocent at the same time?

  I glance at the next booth where chauffeur and the bodyguard, who tailed us here, sit. Poor bastards. What did they do to get assigned as the princess’ babysitters?

  And more importantly, how do I lose them?

  “Was that your first time on a bike?” I ask Elena.

  “Yeah,” she says shyly. There’s something about a girl experiencing something for the first time that’s fucking sexy.

  The wonder in their eyes. The surprise. Being the one who opens up a new door for them makes me feel powerful.

  “Did you like it?”

  “Yeah. Can we do it again?” Elena’s eyes light up.

  I chuckle. “You didn’t even want to do it the first time. What changed?”

  She looks over her shoulders at her father’s men.

  I use the opportunity to check out her tits. They sit high on her chest, defying gravity despite their size. People say more than a handful is a waste—luckily, I have big hands.

  “I was just worried about them,” Elena says when she turns back around to face me. “But you were right. They were able to just follow us.”

  Such a good, obedient girl. I can’t wait to corrupt her.

  There’s something beautiful about ruining a perfect, delicate thing like Elena. I already know I’ll enjoy it, even if she hasn’t personally done anything against me.

  Regardless of how I feel about her, this is the best plan I’ve come up with so far. And if I’m going to do something anyway, I may as well enjoy it.

  “It felt good, right? To go against your dad for once in your life?” I ask, watching every, little micro-expression on her pretty face for clues.

  Her green eyes twinkle with mischief, but it takes her a while to admit it. After a couple of seconds of silence, Elena says, “Yeah.”

  I rest my forearms on the table between us and lean forward. In a conspiratorial voice, I say, “Want to do something even more fun?”

  Elena nervously glances behind her again before she leans closer. “Like what?”

  I’ve got her right where I want her. She may feel bad about it, but she’ll do what I want now. She no longer obeys her dad; she’s finding it more exciting to obey me.

  “Don’t you ever want to go wherever you want without those two following you?” I ask, subtly gesturing at the booth behind her. “I mean, more people have way more privacy than you do. Hell, I’ve seen thirteen-year-olds who get more freedom than you do.”

  Elena’s lips spread into a nervous smile. “I mean, my dad always says things are different for me and my siblings.”

  “Sure,” I say. “But at the same time, young people test their limits, break the rules. If you play it safe all the time, before you know it, you’ll be old and gray, and you’ll regret it.”

  Elena is silent. She tucks her hair behind her ear and bites her lower lip, seemingly falling into deep thought.

  Was that too much?

  Ah, it’s too late to worry about that. I’ll go for broke.

  “This is your time to find out who you are,” I say. “I just don’t want you to miss out on that.”

  “I know who I am,” she counters.

  That sounds a little too defensive to be true. Have I hit a sore spot?

  “Do you?” I raise a questioning eyebrow.

  “Of course I do. I’ve known me for twenty-three years. I know me better than anyone else does.”

  “You have no idea who you are, princess,” I tell her, doubling down.

  “What makes you say that?” she asks, partly irritated and partly intrigued.

  “Because it’s true,” I tell her. “All you know is how to be a princess and how to follow all your princess rules.”

  “Oh, and you know who I am?’” Elena asks, frowning. It’s amusing to see her put on a brave act when it’s obvious this is something she’s insecure about.

  It shouldn’t surprise me, really. This is the girl who has always been the good one. All good girls wonder what it would feel like to walk on the dark side.

  “No.”
I choose my next words carefully. “But I can help you figure that out, find out who you really are outside of your father’s cage.”

  Anger sparks in Elena’s green eyes. She’s so damn fun to fuck with. Now I know why cats play with their food.

  “I’m not living in a cage. I know who I am. Because I’ve had enough space to figure that out,” Elena insists.

  “Have you, really?” I ask. “You’re twenty-three and you’ve got everything figured out?”

  Elena hesitates. “Well, maybe not everything . . .”

  I lower my voice. “Let me tell you a secret, princess. A secret about the way people treat you.”

  She leans closer—just a fraction of an inch forward. But that means I’ve managed to pique her curiosity.

  “Have you seen the way people change when they find out what your last name is?” I ask.

  Elena nods.

  It’s always best to start with a little bit of truth. It lends credence to everything else I say afterward.

  “They start handling you with kid gloves. They’re scared to offend you. They don’t want to get in trouble with the notorious Guerriero family. Makes sense, right?”

  Elena just stares at me for a second, making me worry I’ve lost her. But then she blinks her big, doe eyes, and I catch a glimpse of the loneliness inside.

  “Yeah,” she says.

  “A big part of learning about yourself is interacting with other people. And that just doesn’t happen the way it naturally should when you have a name like Guerriero attached to you. It’s like an armor. Keeps people out.” I stare straight into her eyes. This is it. This is the time to seal the deal. I’d better do this right. “You know what you need?”

  “What?” she asks.

  “You need to get out of your dad’s shadows. You need to meet people who don’t know—or don’t care—who your dad is. People who aren’t afraid of him.”

  Elena’s eyes take on a faraway look. Is she thinking about all the ways people have alienated her? Is she thinking about how wrong I am?

  Despite her innocent facade, Elena can be hard to read.

  I’m pretty good at interpreting people’s non-verbal cues, but Elena seems to be able to close herself off on purpose. I guess growing up with a mafia dad and a horde of house staff who reports to him will do that to you.