Baby Daddy

by Kendall Ryan

  And yet I can’t stay away from him. I don’t even want to. I swore that I’d never be the kind of woman who needs a man. But somehow, despite my best efforts, here I am . . . unable to escape his gravitational pull.

  I start packing a suitcase, already abuzz with anticipation for three solid days of Emmett.

  • • •

  We touch down on the LaGuardia tarmac mid-afternoon and arrive at our hotel on the Upper East Side an hour later. When we see our room, I’m almost afraid to touch anything. The luxuriously decorated suite boasts a balcony offering a gorgeous view of the city skyline, a huge marble-floored bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub, and a plush king-sized bed bearing a small box of truffles on each pillow. I wander around, taking it all in, while Emmett tips the bellboy who brought up our bags and sends him back downstairs.

  Without taking off his suit jacket or shoes, Emmett moves my suitcase to the foot of the bed, leaving his own suitcase by the coat rack. “I’ll be in meetings until five,” he explains, “so I’m afraid you’ll be on your own during the day, but we can do whatever we want at night. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Will you be okay? I feel like a dick for leaving you.”

  I wave him off. “Don’t. I’ll be fine. I may take a nap, and a bubble bath in that tub sounds amazing. You don’t need to worry. I’ll be ready for dinner when you get back.”

  “I’m not worried. I know you’re a big girl, Jenna. I just don’t like abandoning you. I hear the hotel has an excellent spa.” His mouth quirks. “Or there’s the New York Public Library, the museum . . .”

  “Of course. You know me too well.” I chuckle.

  “I try my best.” He leans in, hesitates, and bends down to pick up his briefcase. “Well, I’ve got to run. I’ll be back as soon as I can get away, and then let’s decide where to go for dinner.”

  The door closes behind him, leaving me alone and unsettled. Did he just stop himself from kissing me good-bye? God, that doesn’t help my state of mind. I’m overthinking this; my mind is playing tricks on me and my heart isn’t getting the message. A trip to the library sounds like just what I need . . . silence, solitude, and the friendly company of books will clear my head.

  After I freshen up, I call a taxi to drop me off near Bryant Park. I walk across the manicured grass, between the great stone lions guarding the New York Public Library, and into a breathtaking literary cathedral. The scent of old paper embraces me. Room upon room and shelves upon shelves of books stretch out on all sides. For a long while, I just wander the stacks and reading rooms in peaceful awe, admiring the beautiful architecture and the combined wisdom of centuries. I could spend the rest of my life reading here and never finish even half their collection. It’s incredible, and I’m at a loss about where to start.

  I decide to just stroll around the literary fiction section and pick up whatever catches my eye. With relish, I read snippets from all the new titles I’ve heard good reviews for, but haven’t gotten around to evaluating for myself.

  After a while, though, I realize I’m still antsy, which in turn frustrates me. I have hours to kill in one of the world’s grandest libraries, dammit—I should feel like a kid in a candy store. But my thoughts keep turning back to Emmett, especially that moment in our hotel room earlier, when he stopped himself from kissing me.

  It only heightens the anxiety that was already building around our relationship. What do I feel for him, and is it the same as he feels for me?

  I shake my head. No . . . it doesn’t matter. Our lives don’t fit together, period, end of story. Acknowledging this rift out loud would, at best, make it impossible to go on without making changes that I’m not ready for. At worst, it would bring everything crashing down, and drive away the man I’m finding it harder and harder to imagine my days without.

  But that awareness of how precarious our situation is only lends a desperate edge to my craving. I find myself glancing away from the book in my hand and to my watch every twenty minutes or so, looking forward to the time I’ll have him all to myself again.

  On a mission, I put the book back into its rightful place and turn to leave. I’ve decided that when he comes back to our hotel room, I want him to find me waiting there.

  • • •

  Arching up off the mattress, my feet braced on Emmett’s sturdy shoulders, I squirm and moan for more as his tongue flickers over my clit and his skilled fingers massage tirelessly inside me. What we’re doing doesn’t make sense. Oral sex won’t accomplish the reason we started meeting up in the first place. But neither of us comments on that obvious truth. We’re just enjoying ourselves . . . and dancing around the elephant in the room, trying not to burst this bubble of unspoken tension.

  At least, that’s why I’m keeping my mouth shut. But while it might just be my oversexed imagination, I sense that he’s doing the same.

  When we got back to the hotel room after dinner, I pounced on him, yanking his pants down and hungrily sucking him off until he almost emptied himself into my mouth.

  Only Emmett thought to stop us, to make sure he ejaculated inside me. And, boy, did he. The memory of his deep groan is enough to send me hurtling to the edge.

  I throw my head back with a wild cry. Despite everything, despite myself, my time with Emmett is still a blessed vacation from my life. His touch transforms me into a wanton, greedy creature of desire. Just a female animal in heat with no past or future, no worries or shame or overthinking, no bullshit about work . . . just the pure, simple pleasure of the moment. With a desperate moan, I tip over the edge, my body spasming around his fingers in wave after blissful wave.

  “So beautiful when you come,” he says.

  Emmett rises and situates us in the bed together. We lie down on our sides, facing each other.

  We share a leisurely, sated kiss, enjoying the sensation of our lips lightly brushing. We part . . . and for a moment, time pauses while our gazes linger on each other. He brushes a stray hair from my face with a smile that skewers my heart.

  Emmett looks so tender, I almost tell him how much he means to me. But no . . . that wouldn’t do anyone any good. He made his feelings clear from day one. He doesn’t have the time or desire for a girlfriend, let alone a family. I shove away the terrible, foolish idea, and it feels like I’m ripping away something inside me along with it.

  We turn off the bedside lamps and snuggle down under the covers together. I curl up with my head on his chest, basking in his warmth and the sense of security he always radiates.

  I had hotly anticipated three nights of sex with Emmett. What I didn’t count on was the fact that I’d spend those nights sleeping in his arms too. Just like the wedding we went to, I love it . . . and hate it. I crave this intimacy so badly, despite knowing that it’s a stupid impulse to give in to if I want to avoid getting attached. But maybe it’s too late. Maybe I’m already attached, and the best I can do now is let myself enjoy this while it lasts.

  His hand gently stroking my hair soothes the ache in my chest. But I know that it isn’t gone, only retreated, waiting for the next time I’m alone with my thoughts.

  I clench my eyes shut, as if I could block out the truth along with my tears, and let his heartbeat lull me to sleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Emmett

  It’s the last full day of our New York trip, and I’m torn. On the one hand, I’m grateful to be almost done with these stupid meetings, because I was sick of them about five seconds after the first one began. But it also means that Jenna and I will soon have to part ways again.

  I try not to think about the moment that this arrangement will be over for good. But it’s coming closer and closer no matter what. When she’s finally knocked up and doesn’t need me anymore . . . I don’t know what I’ll do.

  The meetings drag on until I start to wonder if someone sabotaged all the clocks in the room. Finally, the representatives from the distribution company rise to their feet and say good-bye, and I tear out of there like my ass

is on fire.

  I head back to the hotel and walk into our room with a weary sigh of relief. “Thank Christ that’s all over. You have no idea how glad I am to be ba—”

  Jenna looks up from the vanity mirror where she sits with her hairbrush in hand. I stop to admire the view she’s so generously treated me to. She’s wearing heeled boots and a long suede skirt in deference to the crisp weather, but her top half is adorned with only a lacy black bra.

  She quirks her eyebrow at me, smirking ever so slightly. “I take it you like what you see.”

  “I always do.” I lean against the wall and flash her a lewd grin. “Don’t stop on my account. Go on, I’ll just enjoy the show.”

  She finishes brushing her hair and picks up one of the many makeup jars and palettes scattered in front of her. “As you can see, I’m running late getting ready for dinner.”

  I tilt my head. “You do your hair before putting on your shirt?”

  “I left it for last so I wouldn’t get makeup all over it. Women do that.” She starts brushing beige powder all over her face.

  “Hmm.” It makes sense. I just never would have thought of it on my own. I’ve seen plenty of women dressing or undressing, but never readying themselves for a date. I realize that I kind of like seeing Jenna this way. It feels oddly . . . intimate. Domestic.

  After I’ve watched her put on blush, eyeshadow, and lipstick, I ask, “Where do you want to go tonight? If you don’t care, I was thinking steak.” I’m in the mood for seared cow, and I feel like treating Jenna to someplace upscale.

  “Steak sounds great. Do you know a good place?” She blinks as she carefully applies mascara.

  “Not really, but we can ask the front desk.”

  She stands up. “There, I’m done. Sorry for the wait.” She leans toward the bed to pick up a dark red blouse.

  “Wait.” I cross the room and reach out to caress her breasts through her bra.

  She sucks in her breath almost too quietly for me to hear. Almost. “H-hey . . .”

  I bend down to kiss first one breast, then the other, and straighten up to peck her on the cheek, careful not to smudge her makeup. “All right. I’m satisfied . . . until later tonight.”

  She laughs, though her cheeks are a little pinker than before. “Okay, horndog, I’m putting the boobs away now.” She shrugs into the blouse and buttons it up.

  After asking the concierge for a recommendation, we get into a cab and head to what he claimed was the best steakhouse in the area. We both order bacon-wrapped filet mignon medallions and quickly absorb ourselves with flirting, debating about books and movies, and retelling funny anecdotes from our younger years. I love the way her sharp tongue and even sharper wit keep me on my toes. The waiter’s return barely breaks our stride; we keep chatting and laughing as we eat, completely comfortable together.

  Jenna always has a way of lifting the weight off me, and by the time we’ve finished our meal, the stress from work has drained away. All I needed was some good company, good food, and easy conversation. Well, maybe this isn’t everything I need—I definitely plan to follow up on that flirting in bed tonight.

  As I polish off my last bite of tender beef, I ask, “Have you enjoyed the trip?”

  She nods with a bright smile. “Definitely. Everything’s been great. The library, museums, the hotel spa.” She makes a little noise of pleasure at that last one. I was happy to pamper her. She’ll be pregnant soon and certainly deserves it. “And I’ve worked a little during the day too on my laptop, and checked in with my assistant and the shop.”

  I nod. “What do you want to do with the rest of our last night?”

  She considers it. “You’ve been to New York before, right? Surprise me.”

  I rub my chin. “How about we start with dessert? I know a restaurant that sells nothing but artisan cheesecake in little jars.”

  Her eyes light up so dramatically, I have to laugh.

  “Guess I picked the right suggestion,” I say, teasing her.

  She pokes her tongue out at me with a grin. “What are we waiting for?”

  At the next restaurant, we stuff ourselves silly sampling all the different flavors: turtle, blackberry, green tea, lemon ginger, red velvet, and salted caramel apple. Afterward, we visit an art museum, where Jenna excitedly points out the Greek, Roman, and Byzantine influences in every painting and sculpture. Then it’s off to a speakeasy where we drink French cocktails and sway together to a live jazz band. Playing the night by ear, we go on a whirlwind adventure through New York City’s nightlife, hopping from bar to club to gallery, ending with a leisurely people-watching walk through the city streets as we wind our way back to our hotel.

  The instant the door clicks shut behind us, I pull her into the bedroom for a hungry kiss. Still devouring her mouth, I unbutton her skirt and let it fall to pool on the floor around her feet. I nudge her backward to sit on the bed, then finally break the kiss to kneel. Too impatient to finish undressing her, I pull aside her panties and dip my head low, inhaling her heady scent before my tongue slips out to taste her. Jenna stifles a groan as she runs her hands through my hair, gripping to hold me in place. I love that groan.

  My cock strains painfully at my zipper as I slowly lave her clit and tease her opening with my fingertips. Jenna stares down at me, her cheeks red and pupils dilated, captivated by the erotic sight. Then I flicker my tongue in the exact way I’ve learned drives her wild, and she falls back flat on the bed with a whimper, her hands clutching at my shoulders and head. I suck on her clit and hum, knowing what the vibration will do to her.

  “Emmett,” she cries, her nails scraping along my scalp like she’s trying to hold on.

  I lap at her like I’m dying of thirst, drunk on her sweet honey, unable to get enough of her. Her hips twitch and grind up into the stimulation. Her cries pitch higher, louder, and then suddenly she gasps and her thighs clamp down around my head so hard they quiver. Her pussy pulses rhythmically against my lips and chin. I don’t stop licking until she chokes, “S-stop. Oh, fuck . . .”

  Still breathing hard, she sits up and bends in half to kiss me. In my lust-fogged state, it takes me a second to realize that she’s fumbling at her blouse buttons.

  “Hang on,” she mutters.

  “Screw the shirt, the boots too. Just come here.”

  I lie on the bed and lift a half-naked Jenna in my arms. She straddles me, unzips my dress pants, and sinks down on my cock. I groan aloud in ecstasy. As much as I love her mind and spirit, the baser side of me also loves fucking her bare, and I don’t know how I’ll ever go back to using condoms with the one-night stands I pick up at bars.

  Jenna rides me hard, pounding me into the mattress, and I buck up to meet her with every plunge. My fingers grip her, helping her move as my thumbs work furiously at the firm, slick bud. Her thighs tremble with exertion and mounting pleasure. I can’t get enough of her. In moments like this, everything else falls away. She becomes my whole world and I want nothing more than to keep her in my bed forever, to make her feel so good that she’ll never even think about leaving me. My fingers dig bruises into her hips as stars burst white over my vision, and I empty myself inside her. With a little encouragement from my hands, she falls apart a second later, moaning as her inner muscles spasm around me.

  Slowly, almost reluctantly, she lifts off me, and I feel a pang of loss when the last of my cock slides out. She tugs off the rest of her clothes and lies naked on her side next to me. With a dreamy sigh, she drapes her free arm and leg over me and cuddles close.

  I don’t want to disentangle myself from her, even just for the moment it would take to get undressed. I pull her into a secure embrace, my bliss already tinged with melancholy. Some premonition, some gut instinct warns me that the first month was a fluke and she’s sure to become pregnant this time. And then . . .

  And then she won’t need me anymore. I will have outlived my usefulness at that point. The thought is sobering.