Breed Her Hard
Not many guys leave juvie with a twenty-five-year plan.
But then not many guys were like me: driven to the point of manic, determined with an edge of ruthlessness. My plans were simple. Dig myself out of the gutter by seventeen. Three tours in the army by thirty. Become a multi-millionaire by forty.
Check, check and check.
All that’s left on my checklist is the one thing I want most: a baby.
Then she breaks into my life. At twenty, Brea Nelson is too sweet, too innocent.
A damn virgin.
Wholly incompatible with the straitlaced life I’ve planned for myself and the demons I struggle to hold at bay. But this girl has a streak of compassion and a body that just won’t quit.
When my surrogate lets me down and Brea ends up in my bed, there’s only one option.
Improvise. And once I’ve tasted her, there’s no way she’s leaving.
Not until I’ve bred her hard and she’s carrying my baby.
Excerpt
“You’re not sleeping here tonight.”
She froze. “Oh. Okay. Umm…where then?”
I bit back the impulse to say my bed. Not yet. I needed to plan this carefully. Because once she was in my bed, she was never leaving.
“I have three guest bedrooms. You can have your pick.”
“I’ll let you choose, Jett.”
I tensed at my name on her lips. It wasn’t necessarily the name I wanted to hear. Still, it turned me on, firing off another round of fireworks in my balls.
I rose, and she caught sight of my hard dick.
She gasped, her gaze staying on my crotch for several tormenting seconds before rising to my face.
I didn’t bother to hide my erection because fuck it, she’d seen it earlier when I wore nothing but a towel.
Besides, she needed to know, to prepare herself for what was coming.
“You’re fucking beautiful, Brea. I’m sure you’re aware of that,” I drawled.
Another fierce blush pinked her face, and I suppressed a groan. She was going to kill me with this unabashed innocence before I got anywhere near her pussy.
“Thank you…Jett.”
There was a slight hesitation before she said my name this time. As if she found it as lacking as I found it. As if she wanted to say something else.
Bending, I scooped her up, guiltily thankful for the excuse of her injury, so I didn’t have to explain myself. Didn’t have to admit that I loved her in my arms, cradled and safe and adorably tiny.
I chose the guest room closest to mine, naturally.
“Oh my God, it’s beautiful,” she murmured, her eyes wide as she looked around.
For the first time, I saw my apartment through another’s eyes. I’d spared no expense in the decor.
Silk wallpaper complemented expensive, contemporary furnishings. In blending tones of grey, pale gold and dark wood floors, it gave the illusion of dark and light that suited me.
This particular guest bedroom boasted a queen-size bed furnished with three-thousand count sheets, art from three different in-demand artists, and a sleek, voice-command fireplace feature taking up the middle section of an entire wall.
“Glad you like it.”
I went through into the adjoining bathroom and placed her on the wide vanity between the twin sinks. From the guest bathroom supplies, I pulled out a fresh toothbrush and toothpaste.
Any minute, I expected her to hold out her hand, tell me she could do it herself.
She didn’t. She merely watched as I piped a line of toothpaste, run the brush under the tap, and handed it to her.
With a tiny “thank you,” she took it and started brushing her teeth.
The urge to linger was strong, but I pulled myself back from temptation. “You can’t sleep in your hoodie and…whatever it is you have on under there. I’ll get you something.”
Hurrying into my dressing room, I grabbed the first thing to hand, which happened to be a T-shirt that would probably be miles too large for her, and rushed back. Only to freeze in the doorway.
She was bent over, holding her hair out of the way with one hand as she rinsed her mouth.
The hoodie was off, leaving a onesie-leotard combo that clung to her curves.
And as I’d suspected, those curves were spectacular.
I stared, slack-jawed as she spat out a mouthful of toothpaste, swiped the back of her hand across her mouth and straightened.
“Will this work?”
She pivoted, wide-eyed, barely glancing at the T-shirt. “It’ll be awesome, thanks.”
She stared at me. I stared back. I needed to leave. Give her privacy. So why the hell couldn’t I get my feet to move?
I forced myself to turn away. “Don’t walk on your injured foot. Wait for me to come get you, okay?”
She blinked those control-shredding eyes at me. “Okay.”
I left her alone, counting the minutes as I went to pull down the covers.
Roughly one hundred and eighty seconds later, I knocked on the door and entered.
The T-shirt drowned her from neck to ankles, the sleeves halfway down her arms. The only parts of her not covered were her face, wrists and feet.
A huge, fucking crying shame.
“You ready for bed?”
She nodded.
It was terrifying how much I liked scooping her into my arms. I slowed my steps, mourning the short distance to the bed. I placed her at the center, tugged up the sheets around her. “Do you need anything else?”
Her gaze darted around, a sign I was beginning to realize meant she was hedging. When it flicked over my body, lingering in places, I knew what she wanted. What I wanted too, more than anything.
Eventually, she pursed her lips and shook her head. I bit back a groan of regret. But it was better this way. Tomorrow, in the clear light of day, I’d begin the campaign. “I’m good, thanks.”
I stepped back, turned down the glare of her lamp. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
With heavy feet, I headed for the door. Opened it and stepped out.
Just as she said, “Goodnight…Daddy.”
Fuck. Me. Sideways.
I remained frozen for a handful of seconds, then glanced over my shoulder.
In the darkness, I caught the glint in her eyes. An almost feverish yearning that echoed mine. I knew I’d heard her right. That she’d uttered the one term that fed the deep well of my need. That called to the very essence of my soul.
Goodnight Daddy.
Heart hammering loudly in my ears, I stared at her. Waited.
She didn’t take it back. Didn’t laugh it off the way a few mistakes from my past had. Some with embarrassment. Others because deep down, we hadn’t shared the same values.
Hell, she was holding her breath too.
For what?
For me to demand an explanation? For me to call her out on it, perhaps even chew her out for what some would call a twisted, depraved proclivity?
No chance of that happening. They could call me all the names they wanted.
This was what I wanted, what I’d craved for as long as I could remember, perhaps even before I’d been rescued from certain death in juvie. It was what I’d found with Imogen for those all too brief weeks before she was ripped from me.
And this luscious little stranger was handing it to me on a platter. My hand tightened on the door handle, my senses screaming at me to rush to her. To take, take, take!
But I wasn’t going to rush it this time.
Not when the stakes were so high. I couldn’t afford another loss.
I’d barely made it last time. Losing myself in another hellish tour had been my way of dealing with losing Imogen.
This time the only safety net I had was my work.
My company. And even I knew that wouldn’t be enough.
So…
“Goodnight, kitten,” I murmured, my voice a hoarse mess.
She exhaled in a little rush. Made a sound.
Almost a…purr.
Closed her eyes and burrowed into the sheets with a happy little sigh.
As if she hadn’t turned my world inside out with that simple word.
Daddy.