A Secret Vow: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance

by Zoey Parker

  “You’re not wearing any underwear,” he murmurs to me, surprised.

  “Well, you said you might be paying me a visit at school today, so I thought I’d save us some trouble…” I grin up at him. His eyes are full—of what, I’m still not sure, but I’m in no rush. After all, I’ve got a lifetime to find out.

  “You are something else,” he says breathlessly.

  I pull him back towards me. “Shut up and kiss me,” I joke. He doesn’t hesitate to comply. Our mouths are wide open to one another, freeing my tongue to probe and mesh with his. He rubs my wetness, parting the lips to tap delicately on my button. I groan and kiss him harder as I squeeze his chest between my hands.

  The straps of my shirt fall loosely from my shoulders. Mortar takes a handful of my breast, rolling the weight softly in his palm. I’m sensitive already from the breastfeeding, and his touch is overwhelming.

  I move my hands down his front, taking the time to feel the contour of every muscle. I touch each ab in turn and savor the solidity of his body. Sliding down further, I loosen his belt buckle and jeans, then push the fabric below his hips. He springs to life in my hand. I run teasing fingers up and down his length. Tracing each vein where it winds around the shaft, I move to the base and grip him fully. His exhaled breath racing into my mouth lets me know that it feels good.

  It’s hard to focus on my own hands as Mortar continues to rub my clit. Tremors swell outward from his touch. Pressure mounts gradually.

  I hold onto Mortar’s rigid member as he pushes a finger against my opening and slides it partway in. His touch has taken some getting used to in the aftermath of the pregnancy, but I’m craving it more than ever right now. “Yes. Oh God, yes,” I gasp as he thrusts it in patiently. When he has gone as far as he is able, he begins to withdraw, pausing to rasp at my g-spot on his way out. The electric tickle of the sensation reverberates throughout my body.

  I pump at his dick with one hand while my other cradles his balls. His breath begins to speed up in response to my stroking. We play with each other, pushing and pushing at the intensity. The air in the room grows hot and moist. Under Mortar’s fingers, I can feel myself doing the same.

  Mortar stops and leans back. “Maybe not here,” he says, teasing me.

  “If you don’t take those jeans off right now, you’re going to have to stay after school, mister,” I say sternly before breaking into a giggle.

  He raises an eyebrow, then joins me in laughing. “We’ll see about that.” Laying his hands on my hips, he hoists me to a seat on the desk. “Always wanted to hook up on the teacher’s desk,” he says with a wink.

  I respond by wrapping my legs around him and pulling his body close to mine. I grind my pussy on the tip of his cock while we kiss, hands wrapped in each other’s hair. I hear the babble of children in class on the other side of the wall, but it only makes the excitement build that much higher.

  I’m dripping wet now. The head of Mortar’s manhood is gliding up and down my opening. I can feel him yearning towards me, ready to dive in. Looking up at him, I see the desire in his eyes and know that the same fire is reflected in mine. My whole body wants him and needs him.

  I slide my hips forward, holding the base of him, and push him inside. It takes a long moment for me to adjust to his girth. At first, the fit is painful, but it goes away after a moment, replaced by pure satisfaction.

  He starts to rock back and forth in long, slow strokes that bring our hips as close together as they can go and then as far away as possible without him slipping out of me. I press my forehead against his, feeling his breath and mine mingling, our fingertips seizing onto one another for support as we move together.

  He switches his hands to my thighs, then slides up under me to take firm hold of my ass and lift me off the desk. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and bury my face in his neck as he picks me up, then lowers me gently on top of his dick over and over.

  I can feel my climax mounting. In some ways, it feels different than it did the first times Mortar and I were together. There’s another element to it, a kind of fresh color or texture that wasn’t there before. A new smoothness, in a way, less jagged and more whole. The power is unchanged, however. I’m still a while from coming, but I sense it in the distance headed towards me like a barreling train.

  Mortar’s body is warm under my grasp as he turns to press me against the wall. The coolness of the brick on my back contrasts with his warm bulk. We’re sliding together faster now, my juices accelerating the pump of his length deep inside me. At this angle, the grinding of our hips stimulates my clit, adding a new sensation to the mix. I bite softly on his shoulder and groan while we go faster and faster.

  He’s tensing under my grip and I know that he is close to coming, too. He turns and lays me on the desk, knocking aside papers and sending pencils scattering to the floor. I don’t give a damn about the mess. The only thing that matters right now is coming with this man—my protector, my husband.

  My ankles are locked at the small of his back. I won’t let him go. He can’t pull out as far now, so the thrusts are hard, fast, and brutal. We slam together, his hips driving into mine aggressively. Each stroke brings a grunt from him and a quivering moan from me. The train of my orgasm is hurtling closer. Beneath my hands, Mortar’s biceps convulse hard. He is as close as me.

  “I’m about to come,” he warns.

  “Don’t move,” I tell him.

  He looks me in the eye. We just had a baby and I know that he is concerned about waiting until I am ready to discuss having another. But it only takes one look at him for me to know that I don’t want to wait. I want all of Mortar, all the time. I want his children, as many of them as he can give me. I want every shuddering orgasm of his to be with me, in me, until the day neither of us can give anything more. There’s no thinking necessary. I just know.

  “Are you sure?” he asks me. He looks worried. He’s paused at the ebb of a long stroke, biting back the climax with all his force. One more thrust and I know that I will erupt, too.

  “Yes,” I tell him. “I promise.”

  Epilogue II

  Mortar

  The crowd hoots and hollers like they all just won the damn lottery. Shit, maybe some of ’em did. A few of the guys here are high rollers, dropping dough on bets for the races like it’s going out of style.

  Thankfully for the Inked Angels, it’s not going out of style. Far from it. The races are more popular than ever. I look down the street and see people packed in around the concrete girders on either side, screaming at the top of their lungs as two racers come shrieking by on motorcycles hopped up enough to fuel a space shuttle launch.

  I rub my hands together. It’s good to see the people back. It means one thing: money, money, money. Well, it means other things too. More important things actually, like stability, normality, business as usual.

  Things have finally started calming down after all the shit hit the fan. Grady Freeman washing up dead on the beach sure had a lot to do with it, especially after the commissioner caught wind of all the shit his prized protégé had been up to on the side. The commissioner, being a real stick-in-his-ass kind of guy, didn’t take kindly to a cop accepting dirty money in exchange for turning a blind eye to the various stunts that guys like me try to pull.

  It was easy to pin everything on Grady. After all, it wasn’t like he was ever gonna be able to tell his side of the story. That man pissed off enough people in the wrong places that, by the time his body hit the slab in the morgue, he’d earned a rap sheet longer than he was tall. He was accused of damn near every organized crime that had taken place in Galveston over the last few years, and most of the charges stuck. The feds that had been sniffing around, trying to stir up some trouble over the races, had backed off once they found out Grady was involved. No sense in inciting national scrutiny over a bad cop. That didn’t look good for anyone.

  All in all, the Angels have come out of the chaos looking real pretty. I’m doing a hell of a job as
the new president. My first order of business was calling everyone in and laying down the law. This is our territory and it is about time for a strong hand at the wheel. No more of the side deals that had been starting to flourish when Grady was around. We laid Croak to rest proper, as befitting an Angel who’d done as much for the patch as he had, but everyone agrees that it is my time now.

  I’m also happy as hell that Vince has done so well as my number two. I passed down my old gig of overseeing the races. I look over to where he stands, leaning against the fence. There’s a wad of cash stuffed into his jacket that is heavy enough to kill a man if he decided to wind up and really chuck it at him. The races are above-board, now, fully legal ever since we bought a run-down track on the outskirts of town and fixed it up into something usable. We’re turning a tidy profit now that we’re legitimate, even without the drug deals that used to really grease the wheels of the operation. The bikini girls aren’t going anywhere though.

  I lean over the railing and spit onto the track. The bikers fly by again, the wind of their passage raising the hairs on my neck. Adrenaline is one hell of a drug. These motherfuckers are crazy, though, doing the shit they do out there. I’m happy enough cruising on the back of my bike. A good girl and a good drink, that’s plenty for me. No sense in doing two hundred miles an hour around a track just to get a quick thrill. That’s not for me anymore.

  A prospect comes up to me. I give him a look. He’s a new one to the club, one I haven’t spent much time with yet. The ink gleaming on his shoulder is still fresh.

  “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Sean,” he replies. He’s got the right tone: enough attitude to let everyone around know that he’s no pussy without having to overcompensate. I like that. I’m gonna keep my eye on this one. “There’s somebody who wants to talk to you,” he tells me. Says he’s a cop.” Sean jerks his head towards the tunnel that leads behind the stands. “He’s waiting for you over there.”

  “What’s he want?” I ask him.

  He shrugs. “Not sure. Just said he wanted to talk to you.”

  Sean turns and walks away. I frown. There’s been a fragile peace between the Angels and the Galveston police ever since the Grady incident. We know that there were plenty of corrupt motherfuckers on the force, but we’re willing to keep our mouths shut as long as they let us go about our business. For now, that understanding has been enough, no conversations needed. It’d be very strange for one of the pigs to go rogue.

  Looking towards the tunnel, I see a silhouette outlined in the shadows. I tug my jacket up on my shoulders and walk over.

  I take note of all the details as I approach him. He’s tall, on the skinnier side, clean-shaven. He’s got dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes, the brim of his hat pulled low over his head, and the police bomber jacket he’s got on is billowing in the night breeze. Both hands are jammed into his pockets.

  I come to a halt in front of him. My arms are folded across my chest. I stare him in the eye and don’t say a word. Let him speak first.

  “I’m Chris,” he tells me.

  “What are you doing here, Chris?” I growl. “This sure as hell ain’t your beat.”

  He removes his sunglasses and looks up at me. “We met once, a while ago. Do you remember me?”

  I study his face. Then it hits me—at the pier. He was the one who told me about Marley, the undercover mole that Grady had planted in the Angels. What the fuck was he doing back here now?

  I nod. “I remember you,” I say. “You did me a favor.”

  He rubs the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger. “It was the right thing to do at the time,” he says.

  “Well, I owe you my thanks.”

  “I appreciate it, but that’s not why I came here.”

  I shift my weight onto my heels and let my arms swing loose. “Why are you here, then?” I ask.

  “To tell you something else I’m not supposed to tell you.”

  I laugh, low and toxic. As much as he may have helped me out, that was a long time ago. Allegiances shift. Loyalties change. There’s no room for trust in this life. “What is it this time, amigo?” I say.

  “Trouble down south,” he says. His eyes are deadly serious. “The cartels.”

  “And why would that be my problem?”

  “Because they’re headed this way.”

  I freeze. Cartels coming over the border would be a violation of everything that the MCs and the cartel council had agreed upon in the truce nearly ten years ago. There was a clear boundary between our territory and theirs. If this cop was right, then bad things were brewing.

  “How do you know?”

  “Federal intel. We just got a report saying that the Diablos got booted from their turf by the council. They’re itching to find some new place to spread their wings, and since they don’t give a damn about respecting the order, they think Galveston is looking like the right spot.”

  My frown deepens. “So why are you telling me this?”

  Chris shrugs. “We’re too busy reorganizing the department to be able to focus on a threat like that. Besides, the commissioner thinks it’s bullshit. But I spent five years working on the border in El Paso. I know what those motherfuckers are capable of.” He eyes me carefully. “And you do, too. Don’t you, Mortar?”

  I stare him down. How would this man know anything about my past? What happened in Houston is ancient history. There’s no way I can think for him to know what I went through with the Diablos all those years ago.

  “Who are you?” I ask, scrutinizing him. He’s such a nondescript looking man; he could be anyone. Brown hair, brown eyes, blandly white. Not a distinguishing feature about him.

  “Just a friend trying to help,” he says. Then he puts the sunglasses back on his face, turns, and starts to pace away down the dark tunnel. I’m frowning, too lost in thought to tell him to stop.

  Vince pokes his head around the corner. Seeing me, he jogs up. “Everything okay?” he asks. “You look spooked, boss.” He glances down the tunnel just in time to see Chris disappear around the bend. “Who was that?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, what’d he say?”

  I turn to look at him. “He said that people are breaking their vows. If he’s right, there’s a war coming.”

  Vince sucks in a breath. “Shit. What do we do?”

  I grit my teeth.

  “We get ready.”

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  A Sinful Vow

  I'm about to marry a monster – and there's not a thing I can do to stop it.

  Olivia

  I don't deserve this.

  All I wanted was to escape my past.

  But when my brother needed me to get him out of trouble,

  I didn't have a choice.

  Now I'm standing at the altar with an animal...

  A handsome, rugged animal.

  He's going to bend me over.

  Break me.

  Swallow me whole.

  And I'm about to be his...

  'til death do us part.

  Blaze

  I don't chase girls – I replace them.

  And I thought I'd seen the last of Olivia.

  But when the survival of the club depends on it,

  I didn't have a choice.

  But now that I'm about to marry her,

  there's only one thing on my mind:

  Finish what I started.

  She might hate me, but I don't give a damn.

  I'm going to make her MINE

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