Baby Daddy Bad Boys

by Harper Riley

  “Great,” Grisham says, his fingers still working my clit, his tone slightly bored. “We’ll be here. Probably naked. Show up again and we’ll blow your heads off.”

  Spree makes a hand motion and several of Grisham’ men flank the Blazing Pistons, walking them to the front gate. As they disappear, Grisham lets go of me and I feel disappointed, somehow. I mean, what did I expect? He had me blow him in front of an audience as a power play. This whole thing was for show to piss off Kit, to send a message to my father. But it felt like something more. I’m inexperienced, but I know what sexual chemistry is and we have it.

  He walks me back inside, and I look at the floor. Whoever that woman was—the one who got wet sucking a guy off in public—she’s gone now. I feel used and ashamed. But also ... wanting. I still feel his hands on me. I still taste him in my mouth. I still want him.

  I don’t know how to feel. I guess that’s how he wants it.

  Chapter 16 - Grisham

  Fuck. That was not how I wanted that to go. I wanted Tanzie to stay inside. I wanted Kit and his men to leave unsure of whether she was here or not. Then I could have toyed with them, worked more of an angle.

  But fucking Spree, hopped up on whatever, had to bring her out and force my hand. When we say we’ve laid claim to someone, we need to mean it. And I’ve played Mr. Nice Guy with this woman for long enough.

  We head into the bedroom. I shut the door and order her to shower. She starts to protest, but when she sees whatever sour expression I’m sporting, she shuts her trap. She starts the water, undresses, and gets inside.

  I watch her through the glass door like some creep. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, as she makes a show of soaping her body, spending a good amount of time between her legs and over her taut nipples.

  She’s got a beautiful body, this Tanzie Williams. I think she’s only just beginning to discover the power she could wield with it, too. As I watch, my cock strains against the confines of my jeans. I cross my arms over my chest and assume a position of power. I will not lose control with this girl. She means less than nothing to me, which means I can control my fucking self.

  She steps out and the water slides over her skin. She dries off and then heads to the sink to clean her teeth and brush her hair. She stays naked for this whole rigmarole, as if she’s trying to drive me crazy. It’s kind of working, though I refuse to let any part of me show it. Even the part that has a mind of its own.

  Once she’s satisfied, she turns. “What now?” she asks.

  I can’t take my eyes off of her beautiful lips, lips that just sucked me dry. I stare at them a long time, savoring the moment when she licks her bottom lip before sucking it into her mouth, a sure sign of nervousness in spite of her best efforts to look calm and confident.

  “I’ll ask the kitchen to make us some dinner,” I say. “There’s a black dress in the bag I sent. Put it on. “

  She obeys and I make a mental note that she might be fun to play Dom and Sub with later, watching as she pulls on the slinky black dress and nothing else. She leaves her hair wet but twists it into a braid that falls over one shoulder, tying it with one of Shannon’s pink hair ties.

  I lead her to the dining room, which has been cleared of other club members and set just for us. Chef comes out as soon as we arrive, explaining the menu and asking Tanzie if there are any dietary restrictions she should know about. Tanzie says no, and we’re presented with a bottle of wine.

  “Are you even old enough to drink?” I ask.

  “Yes, but I don’t drink much,” she says. “I’m twenty-three, by the way.”

  “Ah,” I say.

  “How old are you?” she asks, sipping her wine. Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline, a pleased smile on her face as she takes another sip. “That was better than I expected it to be.”

  Her obvious pleasure and pleasant surprise make my cock twitch again. I take a drink from my own glass and then say, “Twenty-nine.”

  “Young to run a club,” she says, picking at a piece of bread nervously.

  “I guess,” I say. “It’s a lot of headache.”

  “Why do you do it?”

  “Because I was asked to follow someone else’s lead but that never felt right. I had my own ideas about how a club should run. so I built what I wanted. And I’m a stubborn son-of-a-bitch when I put my mind to something.”

  She nods and looks around the room. “Yes, I’ve noticed that,” she says.

  A staff member comes in and delivers a soup course. She waits for me to take my first bite before she digs into hers. When she takes her first sip, her eyes close and her lips curl as a soft sound of satisfaction escapes her lips.

  “Kit is in love with you,” I state.

  She opens her eyes. “He wanted to claim me for himself. That was jealousy, not love.”

  I tilt my head in question.

  “He’s offered to marry me several times. My father hasn’t said no, so Kit takes it as a yes,” she says. “In all honesty, he’s’ nearly old enough to be my dad and it creeps me out.”

  I consider this as we eat. So Kit came because he really did plan to be the valiant knight who would save the princess. He thought if he could retrieve Tanzie and deliver her home safely, Drew would reward her to him as a prize. It’s kind of pathetic, really, but I get his motivation. All clubs are political. Kit would want to set himself an easy path to leadership, ready to step right in once Drew steps down or croaks.

  “He wasn’t even supposed to see you,” I say. “I intended to leave him guessing.”

  “Well, he saw me,” she says, her cheeks darkening beautifully as she blushes. “A lot of me.”

  “You did well,” I say.

  “You act like I helped you close a business deal,” she says.

  “In a way, you did,” he says.

  “I can’t see how having me blow you in full view of all those people did anything other than enrage Kit, which will enrage my father.”

  I lean onto one elbow, my hand over my mouth. I’m not going to explain myself to this girl.

  She waits for me to talk, and when I don’t, she sits back in her seat with a huff. “I’m not some whore, you know.”

  “Never said you were,” I answer.

  “You treated me like one,” she says.

  “It was a political move, nothing more.” I answer. “And you don’t get to make the rules.”

  “Why, because I’m your prisoner? Or was I supposed to be a guest? I’m just not sure there’s a difference.”

  “Does your father let you talk to him that way?” I ask.

  “What way?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Disrespectfully.”

  She opens her mouth and then shuts it. Takes a swig of her wine. Leans forward. “Seems like I can say whatever the fuck I want, since I’m the one being pawned like a game piece. You need me, and you can’t get whatever it is you want if I’m harmed.”

  “There are many ways to hurt someone, Tanzie,” I say. “I’d be careful if I were you.”

  Chapter 17 - Tanzie

  I’m pissing him off; I know I am. But I feel like this is an act he puts on, this asshole you-need-to-respect-me bullshit.

  Fact is, I’d rather give two hundred public blowjobs than go back and marry Kit. I don’t need Grisham to know that, but that’s how I feel. Mostly. I’m still kind of mortified about having to do that in front of my dad’s guys. I’m also weirded out about how much I liked it. But if I really want to keep it simple, I felt really stifled in my dad’s overprotective world. I wanted to get out, and Spree offered me the opportunity to do just that. So the more Grisham does to keep me out of Kit’s hands, the better. I’m sure that makes me sound nuts, but there you have it.

  I stand up and wander around the table to where Grisham sits. He’s still in his club colors, still dressed in head-to-toe black. I stand in front of him as he stares up at me, face like stone, showing nothing. His jaw twitches like he’s annoyed.

&nb
sp; I climb onto his lap, straddling him. I’m not wearing any underwear, so my bare pussy rubs against the thick material of his jeans. I’m so wet already; this small little thing nearly sends me over the edge. Our eyes lock as I put my hands in his wavy hair, rubbing against him.

  As I lean in to kiss him, he turns away. I try not to feel rejected. I shouldn’t feel rejected, because his massive cock is hard between my legs, indicating that he’s responding just the way I want. But kissing is an intimacy, and his refusal to lock lips with me only means that he doesn’t yet think of me as anyone worth connecting with on that level.

  Oh, well, I’ll just settle for running my tongue and lips along his neck. My hands rest on his shoulders; I work one down his chest, across his abs, over the hardness of his cock. All while I rock against him, the wetness and want growing.

  “I could come like this,” I breathe into his ear.

  He picks me up as he stands, his big hands on my bare ass, and lays me on a nearby, empty table. He keeps our hips connected as he rips at my dress, exposing my tits. His mouth is on them in an instant, breath hot against my pebbled nipples. He sucks and bites and I feel like I might combust. My hips rise, still moving against his covered erection.

  He works my tits as I dry hump him like some teen in a basement. When I come, I’m shocked. I cry out and he covers my mouth with his hand.

  “Chef will think you don’t like the food,” he says, his eyebrows arching just once, playfully, a remarkably endearing thing from such a serious man.

  He pulls my dress back up, covering my breasts once more, but leaves my pussy exposed, my legs open for him as I lie on the table.

  “One taste,” he says, holding up an inDexter finger as he leans in, his bearded face between my legs.

  As his tongue slides along my folds, I nearly melt. But before I can really enjoy the sensation, he pulls away, helping me upright, pulling my dress down, leading my back to my chair.

  When Chef brings our next course, there’s no sign that we’ve just engaged in one very weird make-out session. She places our salads in front of us and we compliment her on the soup.

  My abdomen is heavy with want. I can hardly eat for being so aroused. I keep watching Grisham for some sign that this will continue after dinner, but he’s stoic as always. I want to scream from frustration.

  “Why this multi-course dinner like we’re on a date?” I ask after spending two courses in silence. Chef has just brought out a bowl of chocolate mousse and I damn near might have another orgasm from the sheer deliciousness.

  “I thought you deserved a reward for your performance out there.”

  “So you force me to suck you off, then you placate me with food?” I ask.

  “Did you feel forced?” he asked. “Think about it and let me know.”

  “I ... I mean ... you did order me to do it,” I say.

  “Did you like it?” he asks.

  “That’s irrelevant,” I answer.

  “It’s not.”

  I grind my teeth together. This man is beyond frustrating.

  “Did you like it?” he asks again.

  I bite the inside of my lip and let a breath out through my nose. “Yes. Yes, I liked it. I liked it more than I’d like to admit, but there you go. But just because I liked it doesn’t mean I consented to doing it.”

  He sits back in his chair, his eyelids heavy. I don’t know if this is from all the wine he’s had, or from the orgasm he gave me, or from the memory of my mouth on his cock, but it’s a sexy look for him. One that makes me want to go for round two—crowd of onlookers or not.

  I want him to tell me he liked it, too. That he wants me. That he’ll claim me for real now.

  But he doesn’t. He stands and says one of his guys will escort me back to the room.

  And then he leaves.

  Chapter 18 - Grisham

  Feeling that girl come just from that little interaction was almost my undoing. It took literally every ounce of self-control I have to stop myself from jamming my cock straight into her smooth wet pussy.

  As I wander around the club property, I interact with a few of my guys, thankful for the distraction. A few share updates on deals; one shows me a picture of his old lady and their new baby. It makes me think of Shannon as a baby, of myself as a young, single, grieving father.

  I have to leave quickly, patting him on the back and promising him a congratulatory cigar. But I need to get away because these are the moments when it’s the worst. It’s these in-between moments, when the hallways are quiet and the guys have a minute to share their lives, that I think of Giselle.

  Giselle was a sex worker. She was also beautiful and caring and my first love. My only love, I guess, other than my daughter. She looked like a fucking supermodel with her long black hair and exotic eyes. I met her when I was a cock-strong teenager, full of piss and vinegar and eager to get my rocks off as often as possible. She was actually a few years older than me, and it wasn’t until she came to see me with a black eye when I was maybe twenty that I realized how much I cared for her.

  She kept working, and I kept paying her for sex, but the time in between was more than that. And as I started working my way through the ranks and building my business, I promised her I’d get her out of that life. I wanted to fill her with babies and give her a house with a white picket fence, because that’s what dumbass boys in love promise to people they love.

  When she did get pregnant, I took half my savings and paid off her pimp, telling him she was mine and he was to stay away or end up with a bullet in his head. I meant it, too, and he left with a few choice words and a bag of money, but he kept his word and he never bothered her again.

  It was Giselle who was dead within the year, dead from complications having Shannon. I had raced her to the hospital, the whole time arguing about baby names. She liked Shannon, and I wanted something else—a name I can’t even remember nowadays, but felt worth fighting for in the moment.

  She told me she hated me about fourteen times during labor. I loved her even more as I watched what she went through, and when Shannon was born, her father was, too. They say it’s like that for men, that the father is born with the baby. And as I cut the cord and asked questions about her weight and length, Giselle flatlined.

  Her heart just couldn’t take it. She never got a chance to hold her baby.

  I killed the pimp a few days after her death, just because I could. I’d have killed seven more people if my sister hadn’t forced me to stay with Shannon, to be a father. I wasn’t good at it. I drank a lot and I needed a lot of guidance. I hated being a father because I was doing it without the woman I loved.

  But Shannon means everything to me now. I would literally pull someone’s balls off with my bare hands if they hurt her. I know Drew must feel the same, and that’s why I can’t fully claim his daughter like some common whore. I need her to be able to go home, if she wants to, and claiming her means something in our world. If I claim her and then send her home, it will mark her as damaged. If I claim her and keep her, then she’s mine to manage.

  I know I’m just using her, making a point, staking a claim so I can make the most of this shit situation Spree created. But I need to send her home. After I get Drew’s club out of my borders. After I get him to cede land that should be mine anyway. I’ve got to find a way to allow her to go home with her honor intact.

  This whole situation really pisses me off. I’m angry. Angry because I’ve let myself brood over Giselle. She’s been dead five years and I rarely allow myself to think about her. Angry about Spree and this garbage behavior out of him lately. Angry for not being a better father. Angry for wanting this young woman when I have too many other things to worry about right now.

  When I walk in on a group of club members in a brawl, I toss my kutte and T-shirt to the side and join the melee.

  A roundhouse kick to the kidney lands squarely, pitching me forward. I recover right off the bat and turn to find Spree there, grinning ear to ear.

&
nbsp; “Welcome back, boss.”

  “What, you haven’t had enough?” I ask.

  We dance around each other, oblivious to the rest of the fighting around us. This is pretty normal at the club—guys need to let off some steam after tense deals go down. I usually don’t participate, but fuck if this asshole hasn’t pissed me off enough for me to come out swinging. Add in the girl and I am a nuclear bomb ready to drop.

  “Enjoy getting your fuck stick licked out there, boss?” Spree asks as he punches at my jaw. I duck and land one to his gut instead. He wheezes, but manages to say, “She’s a pretty little cunt, isn’t she? You should be thanking me.”

  It bothers me more than I would ever admit to hear him call Tanzie a cunt. I punch him in the jaw for it, and he lands a knee to my lower abdomen.

  “If you don’t claim that little bitch for real, I certainly will,” Spree says. “My old lady don’t mind when I get a little side ass.”

  I’ve got him by the throat in an instant, lifting him into the air and throwing him like a bag of grain. He hits a nearby table and scrambles to his feet.

  “That little girl’s got you all in a twist,” Spree sneers. “This club don’t need no pussy for a leader, David. Just get it hard and jam it in. Take her like you need to and claim what’s yours.”

  The way he says my real name, like it’s a sickness in his mouth—it makes me see red. I fly toward him, knocking him to the ground, my knee on his chest as I pummel his face for the second time in less than 48 hours.

  “Watch yourself,” I growl. “Unless you want to end up buried out back.”

  This time I don’t need my guys to pull me off. I manage to pull back, leaving him lying motionless on the floor. I stalk off, telling one of my club members to make sure he’s breathing. Part of me hopes he’s not.