Filthy Rich: The Billionaire's Baby (A Bad Boy Romance) Read Free Page B

closer. I could feel his lips open, and my knee’s danced when I felt his powerful tongue.
    His strong tongue quickly overpowered mine. He explored my mouth as his hands explored my body. His giant catcher’s mitts moved down my body and rested on my hips before moving up towards my chest. Nothing could break our kiss, not even the had-a-few-too-many drunkards that were pouring out onto the street.
    A hand glided up my body towards my breast, and not even the fear of getting caught was enough for me to ask him to stop. My nipples tightened into a point as he pushed his body forward and pressed me against the cold concrete wall.
    Letting go of his now-tousled (thanks to me) hair, I reached forward and clutched his belt.
    That condescending voice that TJ beat into my head piped up again.
    You can’t do this!
    But my old, confident California voice drown it out.
    Shut your Ben & Jerry’s Boston Cream Pie-hole.
    My hand moved further south as my confidence grew, and a moan fell from my lips when I felt the girth of his cock through his expensive trousers. If his hands are mitt’s, then I think I’ve found the bat.
    I struggled at his zipper as he moved from my lips to my neck. Soft kisses moved down my body as I struggled to open his pants.
    “Do you have a condom?” I whispered.
    The kisses slowed. Then they stopped.
    Louis took both my hands in his and pressed them above my head. He was able to pin both of my hands to the wall with just one. His free hand cupped my head, and he dragged his finger along my jaw like it was the rim of his glass.
    “About that…” He whispered as a long black limousine pulled up outside of the bar.
    ***
    The warmth I felt in the alley stayed there, and I’m left with the cold. Molly has texted three times already, but I don’t know what to say. What can I say?
    Marriage?
    Kids?
    I thought he just wanted to fuck. Now I just want to get home and forget all about Louis Kingsley.
    He made it all sound so reasonable. Like this was a thing that happens in every alley in America. He wants a son. Someone to carry his name. And he needs a wife. Someone stable and motherly that is worthy of the Kingsley name.
    I thought he wanted me, turns out he just needs an incubator.
    But a part of me wonders what it would be like. To be his wife and to carry his child. To create something, someone, that is a mixture of the two of us. I came to New York to be safe, but the first time I felt safe in years was when Louis pressed his body against mine.
    There’s no way TJ would be able to hurt me if Louis was around. And any kid that we’d have together would be born with a silver spoon in his mouth, ears, and nose. No more Denton. No more coming home at night stinking of booze and sweat and regret.
    I clutched at my bag and thought of Louis. He gave me his business card.
    Call me anytime, he said.
    Right now I need a warm bath and a cold shower. The bath to get this New York weather out of my bones and the shower to get Louis Kingsley out of my mind.
    My phone vibrated in the cute floral-pattern tote bag that dad gave me before I left home. I stopped to answer. Maybe Molly can help. She always does. I reached inside, but a clammy hand snatched at my wrist before I could reach my phone.
    “Clint Howard, that’s hysterical,” he said.
    His red curls were blowing in the wind, and the muscles on his forearms twitched as he rolled his wrists around.
    “Excuse me?” I asked as I looked down to avoid his buggy eyes.
    My voice cracked more than Denton’s did when he was eyeball-to-nipple with Louis.
    “Back in the bar. What was it you said again? Oh, that’s right, you said that I look like Ron Howard’s weirdo brother. His name is Clint, by the way. I Googled it when you and your boyfriend were dry-humping in the alleyway.”
    If only I could go back to the alley and get my confidence back; I’m sure I left it on the floor somewhere.
    “He’s not my boyfriend,” I mutter.
    “Oh, so you’re single