I smile to myself when I realize how important she has become to me over the past few weeks. I would’ve looked down on the idea of a nanny, because I thought it was just an excuse to neglect the kids, but I used to spend more time cleaning, cooking, and keeping up the house than I did focusing on Dean. Angie being here has given me so much more quality time with Dean than I ever could’ve had before, and it means I can sneak out of the house during his naps and at night without fear that he’ll wake up while I’m gone, because I know Angie is there.
It’s been perfect, like just about everything else since Damian came back into my life.
Damian insisted on a strict dress code of bathing suits for the flight, so we all look ready to go for a beach party as we descend the stairs from the plane. Angie, Melina, and myself all wear cover-ups over our swimsuits, while Damian, Alec, and Dean opted for board shorts and no shirts. I’m having trouble deciding between admiring how adorable Dean looks wearing a matching shorts to Damian’s with his little belly hanging over the waistband, or at how sinfully good Damian looks with his sculpted body on display. I eventually decide there’s no problem in enjoying both.
Damian ushers us all into a limo, which takes us on a half-hour ride before we have to switch vehicles to a small convoy of jeeps that can handle a little bit rougher terrain. He has professional drivers taking us through relatively dense forests that the drivers must know well, because it looks like we’re driving straight into trees half the time, only to turn at the last second and take a hidden path.
We eventually break free of the trees to a view I never thought I’d actually see with my own eyes. It’s lit by starlight instead of a blazing afternoon sun like in the postcard, but I’d know the scene anywhere. It’s my beach. The beach I’ve spent half my adult life fantasizing about visiting, like coming here would somehow be a remedy for all that was wrong in my life. The irony is I only managed to make it here when my life is already fixed--when it’s already perfect.
I squint down at the beach and notice tiki torches and some cloth tents set up a distance from the water. I also see a dozen or more people mulling about down there. I turn to Damian with a confused expression.
Except he’s not standing. He’s kneeling in front of me with both his hands raised up toward me. He’s holding a diamond ring that catches the distant light of the torches and bounces it back in every color imaginable.
Everyone is standing around us in a semi-circle, watching with smiling faces, but they are just a blur to me right now. An engagement ring?
“Will you marry me?” he asks. Then he lowers his voice until only I can hear it. “Remember the consequences if you displease me.” Damian winks.
My eyes well with tears of happiness. I fall down to my knees, forgetting the ring and hugging him so tight I don’t know how he keeps from dropping it. I’m laughing and crying like a complete idiot, but I don’t care.
“Well?” he asks after I’ve calmed down a little. “You’re kind of leaving me hanging here.”
“Yes,” I say, taking his face in both my hands and kissing him. “Yes. A million times. Yes.”
He slides the ring on my finger and grins at the sight of it. “Good. Because I would’ve had to explain to everyone down there why the wedding ceremony was canceled, and I brought them a long way to see this.”
I frown in confusion. “Wedding ceremony? Isn’t there usually the whole planning thing and--”
“Usually,” he says. “But I couldn’t wait. I’m sorry. I want it all. And I want it now.”
I bite my lip, looking toward what I now realize is the place I’m going to get married. It’s perfect.
“You’re lucky I’m not one of those girls who spent her whole life fantasizing about my wedding,” I say.
“Not lucky,” he says. “I just did my research. I asked Melina. She said you always dreaded having to plan your own wedding because you hate making decisions. She said you also never cared much for traditional weddings with big dresses and suits and ties. What was it you said? It seems so stuck up and stuffy?”
I glare at Melina, who is studying the top of a nearby tree innocently.
“You knew?” I ask her.
She reluctantly looks back toward me. “Only for a few days. He made me promise not to say a word.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling. “Traitor.”
“Well, they’re all waiting for us,” says Damian.
We all make our way down the somewhat steep slope of grass that eventually turns into pure white sand. I kick off my shoes so I can feel it between my toes.
“I’ve never felt sand this soft,” I say.
Damian kicks his own shoes off and nods in approval. “Wow. Yeah.”
Dean takes two steps before he face plants into the sand and sits up with a grumpy look on his face.
“This is so past his bedtime,” I say with a laugh. “Are you sleepy, Deanie?”
“No,” he says firmly. “Daddy. Hold,” he stands up, reaching for Damian and yawns.
My heartbeat quickens when I realize he just called Damian daddy for the first time. I’ve spent some time with him trying to explain to him that Damian is his father, but at Dean’s age, it can sometimes be hard to tell what’s sinking in and what isn’t. I wanted it to be a surprise for Damian, who thought we were still waiting for the right time to tell Dean. As far as I was concerned, the right time was right away, because I couldn’t wait.
Damian kneels down and wraps his arms around Dean. At first, I think it’s a trick of the light when I see something catch the light and slide down Damian’s cheek as he squeezes his eyes shut and hugs Dean, but it’s no trick. I feel my own eyes watering and I move in to hug both of them. My little family.
And my little family is going to keep growing if Damian has his way. Not that I’m complaining. Not in the slightest.
16
Bonus Content - Punished
Thank you so much for reading Knocked Up by the Dom! I’ve included a free copy of my top 50 bestselling novel, Punished, to make sure the BDSM fun doesn’t have to stop yet!
SYNOPSIS:
I have a dirty little secret.
No guy has ever been able to get me off.
They try. They fail. They leave. Rinse and repeat.
Until I met Logan Steel.
Until he punished me.
He’s a self-made billionaire, and he’s heart-stoppingly gorgeous. Oh, and did I mention he’s into BDSM? Like… really into it.
He says I can trust him, that he’ll take care of me, that nothing bad will happen so long as I’m his. His kitten.
I want to believe him.
I want to trust him.
I want to surrender to the heat of his touch and submit. I want to let him have me in all the ways he wants me.
But it’s not that simple. Nothing ever is.
**This is a full-length, standalone billionaire BDSM romance. No cheating or cliffhangers, and as always, Happily Ever After guaranteed.
Prologue
She’s already glistening wet for me. My Kitten.
I grip the leather paddle in my hand, dragging the edge down her spine slowly so I can watch goosebumps form in its wake, rippling across her milky soft skin.
“You’re mine,” I say. “But you know that already, don’t you?”
She moans softly, arching her back and pushing herself toward me imploringly.
I smirk, wanting nothing more than to plunge my rock hard cock into her warmth, but that would be too easy. She has been hiding something from me. I’ve been seeing the signs for weeks now, and I’ve given her long enough to tell me on her own.
“You don’t get to keep secrets from me,” I say, lowering my voice. I pull the paddle back and she tenses. I bring it down. Whack! She jolts, sucking in a breath and letting it out slowly with another soft moan. A bright red circle forms on her ass. Beautiful. I caress the heated mark, basking in her response to my touch. My voice is a whisper in her ear. “It’s your choice. Te
ll me now and I’ll give you what you came here for. Or you can keep hiding the truth from me and we’ll start every session this way.”
She turns her head slightly. I can see just the tip of her pert nose and her long eyelashes. “I’m not hiding anything, Sir,” she says. There’s a tone of defiance in her voice that makes me clench my teeth and grip the paddle tighter. She turns her head to look toward the wall again, clutching the sheets tighter in her fists to brace for the paddle.
I smirk. Fine by me. She can drag this out as long as she likes, but I’ll get what I want in the end. I always do.
17
Logan
Two weeks earlier
“Mr. Steel?” asks a hesitant voice.
I look up to see my new secretary poking her head into my office. I gesture roughly for her to hurry up and come in. She straightens her skirt and noisily crosses the distance to my desk. Click. Click. Click. Her cream colored heels look uncomfortable, and there’s no way the tight pencil skirt she wears isn’t cutting off her circulation. She sets the file on my desk, making sure to lean forward enough that I could have an eyeful of her cleavage if I wanted.
But I’m not in the mood. She’s not my type, for starters, and the last thing I need right now is to get entangled in another relationship that could hurt the image of my company. I’ve spent too long trying to fix the public’s opinion of me to throw it away now. A few years ago I might have taken her up on her obvious offer, adding fuel to the public’s opinion of me as a playboy billionaire. I was young, successful, filthy rich… and filthy between the sheets.
Eventually, my business partners started to wonder if I was taking the company seriously. The fuckers tried to maneuver behind my back to take my own company out from under me. Their mistake. I left every last one of them in financial ruin. No mercy. No regrets.
Now, I trust very few people. There’s my little sister, and my business partner, Dean. That’s it. Everyone else can go fuck themselves as far as I’m concerned.
“Sir?”
The secretary has worked her way around the side of my desk and I can smell her perfume. It’s nice, but she’s wearing too much. She’s trying too hard, and I can practically hear her heart thundering in her chest.
I snatch the thick envelope from her hands and let it flop loudly in front of me. I temple my fingers in front of my forehead, breathing out my frustration. It’s not her. It’s this week. Hell, it’s this year. My patience has been pushed too far. I can feel myself on the verge of snapping. “That’s all,” I say, forcing a calmness into my voice that I don’t feel.
I turn in my chair, looking out the floor to ceiling windows lining the back wall of my office. The view should be beautiful. I can see the entire city laid out before me. From up here on the 92nd floor, I can imagine it’s all mine. In fact, a lot of it is mine, but the realization brings none of the pride I thought it would while I was fighting and clawing my way to the top. For as long as I can remember, striving for more was enough. It was what got me out of bed in the morning and what helped me fall asleep at night. I knew I attacked every day with an intensity most men can only dream of, and I knew no one was better at this than me.
I hear the click of my secretary’s heels and the door closing gently behind her.
I huff a humorless laugh as I turn back to my office, taking in the opulence on display. “Living the fucking dream,” I mutter to myself dryly as I open the manilla envelope the secretary brought. I only need to read the first few words on the thick packet to know what it is. More of my ex-wife’s bullshit. I scan through the first page and realize she’s trying to get money out of me again. I guess the last check I cut her has dried up already.
I flip through the pages of the document, knuckles turning white as I unconsciously grip the armrest of my chair. The lines keep referring to “the Newbury family” as potential recipients of the money they are seeking. Family. When I think of what she did to me, my reputation, and most of all to our unborn son… Fuck. It’s no wonder I have anger issues. I slide the packet to the side, making a mental note to deal with it later.
It’s not like me to put something off, but today would have been his birthday, if she hadn’t…
I sigh, shaking my head. It figures she would serve up some bullshit like this today of all days. I stand from my desk, sliding my arms into my jacket and adjusting my tie. I make my way through the empty office. Everyone else has gone home for the night. I’ve always been last to leave. Some might call it a point of pride, but it’s just how I operate. I have always out worked every last fucking person I’ve met. Nobody puts in more hours or more effort than me. That’s why I am where I am. I take my dreams by the fucking throat and beat them into submission. Maybe that’s why I don’t like the way they look when I finally reach them.
I have a missed call from my sister, so I call her back as I pass through the darkened office. She picks up as the elevator dings and I step inside.
“Hey, loser,” she drones.
I smirk. Nothing like my sister’s perpetually sarcastic and dry personality to cheer me up. “What is it?” I ask.
“Oh, I just wasn’t feeling depressed enough so I decided to call you. I can always count on you for bad news.”
I raise my eyebrows, only slightly surprised that my sister’s intuition is so accurate. “Lana is trying to get three mil out of me this time.”
“Shit,” says Olivia. She has a talent for cursing. She draws out the word, twisting it around her mouth so it sounds like the most filthy and black thing ever to pass through a human’s lips. I can practically picture her balling her fists, wanting to hit Lana. I’m not the only one in the family with a quick temper, and the thought makes me grin.
“Before you ask,” I say, stepping into the lobby on the ground floor. “I’m still not giving you her address. The last thing I need is her murder on my conscience.”
“You can afford any lawyer you want. Just sue the shit out of her for a change, Logan.”
“Yeah,” I say sarcastically, “And give her the excuse she has been waiting for to take her bullshit public and ruin me? I’ll pass.”
Olivia sighs heavily. “Bullshit is the right word. I know you would never do any of that shit she said you did. Let her try to lie about it. The truth will come out.”
“Right,” I say distractedly. I know my little sister just wants to help, but I still have to meet Dean and I have a long night ahead of me. “Look, I need to go. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Asshole,” she says, but I can picture her crooked smile as she says it and hangs up.
I step outside to a gust of wind. The cold November air bites straight through my suit coat and dress shirt, but it fits my mood just fine. A few years ago, this would have been the kind of mood that sent me prowling for a woman to slake my thirst. I would’ve buried myself in her for the night, teasing out her every need and desire, bringing it to life. Dominating her. Then Lana happened.
I met her at a BDSM club and we had a healthy sex life. We had clearly defined boundaries. I never pushed beyond her limits and she loved every minute of it. Until she got pregnant. She was on the pill and it was a fluke. I never thought I wanted kids, but as soon as I knew it was like a bomb went off, rocking me to my core. I wanted to meet my son. I wanted to be a father. I wanted it so badly it hurt.
After that, things are like a blur. I’ve thought about it so much the memory has gone dull, like an old polaroid that has been handled so much the ink has faded. I remember having yelling matches about it. But I never touched her. I never hurt her. We couldn’t agree about the baby, so she went to the club where we met and found some deranged asshole to beat her bloody. She had pictures taken to document the abuse and then claimed it was me., Then she ran off and got an abortion at some shady fucking place over the border where they don’t keep records. She took my son, and uses her bullshit evidence to squeeze money out of me whenever she wants more. According to her, she has enough evidence to bring me down and send me
to prison overnight.
If it costs me a few million a year to keep her off my case, so be it. I can afford it. The real damage is a hell of a lot less tangible.
My play room has been closed ever since. I hid the key in the false bottom of a potted plant in my bedroom and left it in my past. All of it. I’ve been with women since, but I can’t take them the way I crave. Sex has become nothing but a release for me. The pleasure just isn’t there anymore. Lately though? My old desires have emerged stronger than ever. My body pulses with a desperate, pounding need to dominate. It might be the lack of fulfillment I’ve been getting from work lately. It might just be that it has been too long. I don’t claim to know why, but I do know it’s time. I’m ready to move on.
I need to find the perfect submissive. I want to bend her to my will, to shape her, train her, and make her follow my every command.
I thought that part of me was buried in the past. Maybe not. I feel a wild flush of excitement cut through the black mood I’ve been in. I could go to Club Crave. I’m still a member. It would be simple to cancel my evening plans for tomorrow. My dick hardens just thinking about it, but I’m not sure I could actually immerse myself in a dominant and submissive relationship again. Lana may have spoiled that for me, but I won’t know unless I try. Fuck it. Why not?
18
Knocked Up by the Dom: A BDSM Secret Baby Romance Page 14
