TIMBER: The Bad Boy's Baby (15 page)

Harper is before me and all I want to do taste her skin and lick her curves, and press my growing wood into her wet opening.

“Your cock is so hard,” she whimpers, her hands running over her breasts, her nipples hard and tight as she thumbs them softly, licking her lips as she looks me over.

“And you like it hard, don’t you, Harper?”

“I like it so hard,” she says, pulling her hair back, exposing more of her beautiful belly.

Her skin is stretched over the roundness of our boys, and she is a fucking miracle, standing there like a forest goddess or a nymph. All that’s missing are her goddamned wings. This woman isn’t made for the earth. She’s an angel, and she’s mine.

I pull her to me, her soft skin crushing against the strength of my body. My muscles have been worked the past few months like they’ve never been before. My stomach is chiseled, and my biceps flex as I wrap my arms around her.

“Baby,” she breathes into my chest, kissing my pecs, running her hands across the expanse of my back. “I’m so wet for you.”

My hand reaches between her legs, where her entrance is dripping with desire, and I press my finger into her, thumbing her clit slowly, methodically, knowing my woman likes to build up to her release.

“You like it when I touch?” I ask her.

“I like it when you fuck me,” she says, pushing me toward the fallen log.

I stretch out atop the mossy log, and my cock stands at attention before her.

“Your cock is so good to me,” Harper moans, as she walks to where I’m laying out for her, taking my jeans and balling them up, before tucking them beneath me as a pillow.

“Show me how good it is,” I tell her, wrapping a hand around her thigh as she climbs atop me.

She straddles my thighs, and leans down to press her mouth to my throbbing cock. My whole member tightens as she takes so much of me between her lips. She tightens her mouth around me, bobbing up and down, as my veiny cock hardens even more. Her hands press between her legs, and she rubs her pussy juice over my shaft, running her hand up and down as she sucks me off.

“Oh, yeah, honey.” I groan as she rolls my balls in her hand, massaging them tenderly, but also explosively. I’m gonna come in her mouth if she keeps going at this pace.

She pulls my cock out, licking my tip in fast circles that cause pre-come to release, and she licks that, too, as if my cock is a fucking popsicle.

“You taste so good,” she says, moving forward so she can press my hard rod into her pussy. Sitting down on me, she whimpers as a smile slowly spreads across her face.

“That how loud things got in your sex dream?” I ask, teasingly.

“Not even close, Jaxon.” She pants out the words, a deep guttural moan growing from within her. She slaps my chest, her belly between us, but not hindering our love making at all.

I thrust up, wanting to rock her deep and hard, cause her to let go like a wild animal.

It works; her moaning turns to yelps as she grinds against my massive cock. She buries me inside her, her feet balancing on the forest floor as she straddles me like a motherfucking bull rider.

Her tits bounce as she rides me, swiveling her hips as she edges closer to pleasure. My chest is covered in sweat as I thrust harder into her perfect pussy, her juice pouring over my thighs—and I fucking love it when that happens, when she gushes her desire all over my skin.

I slap her ass, so turned on by being in the wild with her, my woman, who likes it hard and rough, who’s begging me to grind deeper into her core.

She loves fucking me. It’s as if her pussy and my cock were made for one another. Her tight pussy lips wrap so good around my rod, and I want to get her off even more. I press my fingers at her opening, rubbing in circles as she rotates above me.

Her back arches as she gasps in desire, her wailing giving way to full-on screams of ecstasy.

Now
this
is a motherfucking sex dream.

I thrust again, and again, until my come shoots from my throbbing cock into her core. She stills as the wave of the orgasm unleashes itself through her. She presses her hands to my chest, gripping me as it flows through her.

“Oh. My. God. Jaxon.” She hollers my name as she’s overcome.

I can’t help but think this woman is gonna be a force to be reckoned with when she goes into labor.

She can’t lay down on top of me, not with her pregnant belly, so instead she climbs off me and I sit up. Then she straddles the tree again, this time with her back pressed against my chest. I wrap my arms around her gorgeous stomach, our fresh, sexed smell mixing with the dirt and the moss, the pine trees and the great outdoors.

Later, we dress, make our way back to the truck, a satisfied smile written on her face and a cocky grin surely on mine. I start the truck and her hand finds mine. She laces her fingers through mine as I turn back to the road.

She has no fucking clue what I’ve done for her.

We drive up the hill, only a short mile more, and turn off onto a still unpaved road. The pavement will happen later. For now, my crew and I have only focused on the structure.

When we turn onto the road, the tires grinding over the long, tree-covered dirt road, Harper looks at me again, almost asking a question. Then she stops before any words leave her lips.

I had a sign made. It reads
Doe Cabin
and, as we pass it, Harper can’t muster any more restraint.

“Whose house are we going to?” she asks.

I don’t answer; I wait until we’ve rounded the corner, and the home is in plain view.

“Our house.”

“Jaxon,” she says, her voice catching on her emotion. “When? How? Really?”

She grabs my hand, taking in the beautiful two-story log cabin, with the wrap-around porch, the stone chimney, the double-front doors that beckon for us to enter.

I smile slyly and get out of the truck, stepping around quickly to her door to help her out. Her eyes are filled with glistening tears, the same bewildered look she had the first night I met her, when she came to my front door in the middle of a snowstorm. When her pale blue eyes met mine, I had no chance of looking anywhere else, ever again.

Harper had me the moment we met.

“I built this home for you, Harper. For our family.”

“All those logs from the yard ... those are here? Built into this house?”

“Every last one. But a lot more, too. Dean wanted to expand our business into custom homes, and our place is the first one we built. My dad did all the carpentry work.”

“In three months? You all did this in three months, for me?”

“Well, to be fair, some days we’d have a crew of thirty men up here.” I take her hand and we cross the stone walkway toward the porch. Trees surround us in every direction and mountain peaks rise above them.

“So it wasn’t just the trucks from the wood mill cutting up the mountain everyday?”

I shake my head, unlocking the front door. “Wanna see inside?”

Harper stops, not taking a step in.

“This feels momentous,” she says, her eyes filled with love and light. “It’s like the first step into our new life.”

“Then, honey, let me carry you over the threshold of our forever.”

T
he cabin is warm
, a glowing fire keeping us warm on this February night. The forest green upholstered rocker was a baby gift from Dean, and I appreciate that his current girlfriend helped him pick it out as it matches the lodge-esque interior of my hand-built home.

I cradle Cedar as I nurse him to sleep, marveling at his little nose and his tiny mouth nestled against my skin, suckling as he falls into slumber.

Cedar is my smallest babe, but not by much. The triplets, born six weeks early, weren’t ten pounds a piece as I’d feared, but his brothers were each a pound and a half heavier–seven!–than little Cedar.

“Alder and Spruce are out,” Jaxon says from upstairs, taking the steps two at a time as he comes into the great room.

“Shhh,” I say, running my hand over Cedar’s head. “You’ll wake him.”

“I got this, honey,” he says, coming over and taking Cedar from my arms. Milk drool escapes his heart-shaped lips, and Jaxon expertly positions him in his arms.

I follow Jaxon upstairs to where the boys sleep in their cradles in our master bedroom.

Jaxon sets Cedar in his, making sure he is tightly swaddled.

“I can’t believe they’re all sleeping at the same time,” I say, my eyes fighting to stay open.

The past four months have been every bit as hard as I feared, but I constantly look at the framed print Jaxon hung in our room.

Last year at this time, when I was left a week before my wedding, lost in a snowstorm, looking for a savior,
Keep Calm and Carry On
was the motto I claimed for myself. It has never been more timely—because, oh my heart, triplets are a lot of work.

“I think we all need to try to sleep at the same time,” Jaxon says, wrapping his arms around my much-flatter-but-not-nearly-the-same stomach.

“Really, Jaxon, you wanna sleep right now?” I ask, suddenly awake. “Because alone time with my sexy lumberjack is not something I have that often.”

“In that case, I’ll show you some wood.”

We both start to laugh at his cheesy line, the line that has actually worked on me more times than I’d like to admit.

But then immediately we clap our hands over one another’s mouths.

Sex may be on the table, but keeping the babies asleep is most important.

Life is funny like that. Things change, priorities shift. I have an engagement ring on my finger but I’m not racing to get married. Right now I have more than enough.

Right now, I have all I need.

I
don’t take
women to bed.

I take them against the wall, hard and fast, and when I come I make sure they remember.

They always do.

I’m cocky as hell, but shit, I’ve got reason to be. I own Spades Royalle, the sexiest casino in Vegas. Fuck, the sexiest casino in the country.

And sure, I’m a player, but why wouldn’t I be? The highest rollers in the world come to play at my tables—it’s no surprise that the hottest ass comes to the same place.

Everyone wants a taste of the action my casino offers. A taste of what I offer.

The cocktail waitresses who work here, with their tits pushed high and asses hanging out, know why they were hired.

The dealers I cut paychecks to know I only want the fastest hands on my casino floor.

The dancers at my shows know I only want the hottest performers in the city.

The DJs at my nightclub, where table service starts at ten grand, know I only want the best beats, the most fuckable women dancing.

The Spades Royalle is my domain. I own this town, and this casino, and every freshly-shaven pussy that sets foot here knows it.

With my tumbler of whiskey in hand, I walk across the casino floor toward the elevator leading to a private suite I’ve reserved for tonight. It’s the perfect place for mixing business with pleasure. I avoid taking anyone to my penthouse on the top floor—this way I can keep all my transactions from getting personal.

I don’t do personal with any woman.

I’m my own man. I don’t need anyone up close and in my shit. I don’t want them to think they have any chance at long term.

I keep my bets safe.

And the safest bet I know is one night stands—make that one
hour
stands.

The only people I trust are my closest friends, McQueen, Jack, and Landon. My family? Not a chance. They’ve screwed me over more than once.

But who needs family when you have Vegas?

Downing my drink of choice, Johnny Walker Blue—neat—I look around for a cocktail waitress. I like playing this game, finding a piece of ass that looks nice and giving her a fifteen-minute break she wasn’t expecting.

They never turn me down.

A perfect brown-haired honey works the room, carrying a tray in one hand, setting down beers and cocktails in front of the men at the tables. They offer her chips as tips, but I have a different sort of tip in mind.

Her face is flushed, tendrils of hair falling in her face as she moves quickly, knowing money is up for grabs if she works the tables the right way.

I press my lips together, ready to sweep her from the floor, toward my suite, and push her round, perfect tits around my cock.

I know she’ll want it. It’s obvious she needs it. A scowl crosses her face as a blackjack player forgoes giving her a tip, and she rolls her eyes slightly as a guy offers her his phone number.

Watching her as she crosses the smoky floor, I know what she needs. It looks like she’s had a long night and she needs to release some of that pent-up hostility. I know there’s plenty of time to work her up and down before my monthly private poker game begins.

She walks toward the hall where I’m standing, an empty tray in her hand. Probably headed to the bar to fill her orders.

Oh, I’ll fill her orders all right.

Fuck. My. Life.

I made one rule when I moved to Vegas two months ago—I would not screw bad boys. Or asshats. Or really anyone I met on the casino floor. And the thing is, I’ve made good on my promise.

However, I still have to deal with these guys. Here I am, another night serving drinks to men who assume I am ready and willing.

Really asshole? You think I want your phone number? You think I’m wearing this black pleather leotard—the one that is giving me a serious wedgie—or these fishnets and five-inch stilettos, for you?

You think I have my tits pushed higher than humanly possible because I want to screw you in a hotel that is actually not where I’m hanging out for fun? Because I’m here for one reason, and one reason only: it’s a fucking job.

And god, I need the money.

My sister Janie is still in the hospital, and the bills for her care are coming out the hoo-ha. Landing in Vegas to make sure she was okay was never my plan. I was supposed to start grad school this fall … but fall is in two weeks, and my ass is still here.

Northern Washington University has been my plan ever since I realized if I wanted to get a leg up in life, I needed to work my ass off and get there myself. Nobody is going to help me get ahead. My parents were MIA for most my childhood—you know, before they kicked the bucket.

So it’s always just been Janie and me … except not. Because she left town the moment she turned eighteen, and I’ve been waiting for her to return ever since.

A text here and there, an update on what city she’s in—that’s all she’s given me over the past four years.

That’s why I’m hanging on so tight. That’s why I’m here to help her when she wakes up from the coma. The fact that she had my number in her phone as her Emergency Contact means something, right?

I want a family. I want people in my corner. I’m just tired of barking up the wrong-ass tree.

My sister is my only chance at a family.

And hard as it is to swallow, it looks like grad school is going to have to wait. It’s going to take forever to get the money to pay for both Janie’s care and school.

Especially at the rate things are going tonight at the Spades. A guy at the blackjack table takes his gin and soda without giving me a tip—which, okay, I get it. These players owed me nothing.

But I am beyond ready to catch a break. The best thing about showing up to work today was when Claire, another waitress who’s been here a lot longer than me, offered me her waitressing spot at some private poker table tonight.

She has a date—and now I have an extra shift.

Win-win.

I mean, except I can’t even remember the last time
I
had a date. The last time I had
anything
for me. I’ve been in Vegas for two months for Janie, and I certainly haven’t gotten any action at the hospital.

And before then I was in school and working … always working.

I need a freaking day off … from everything.

I’m walking toward the kitchen to reload my empty tray one last time, before I switch gears for the poker event, when a man stops me.

More like, we stop one another.

Because damn. One look at him and I can’t take a step forward. He clichés the fuck out of me—he stops me in my tracks just as I’m a foot from passing him.

His eyes are a smoldering green, like an evergreen tree deep in the forests of my hometown. He leans against a wall, with an empty tumbler in hand, and he smiles a slow, self-assured smile.

A smile with a mouth that looks like sex, smells like sex, and I’m guessing could lick like sex.

What the hell, Emmy?

I am not having sex with guys I “meet” here. That is rule #1.

I need to get my mind out of the sex-gutter, whatever that is. I need to focus on this job. On making cash. On getting my sister’s bills paid and getting her back on her own two feet.

I need to keep. walking. forward.

But before I can take another step, he speaks. His voice is as lush as his eyes.

“You ready to take a break?” he asks, standing up straighter now.

I’m above-average height, about 5’9”, but with these damn heels, I’m tall.

He’s taller. He looks at me, pushing his dark hair from his eyes. The pinstripe suit he wears screams designer and I notice a gorgeous gold Rolex heavy on his wrist as he crosses his arms. But he isn’t all nice and neat. I see a tattoo inching up his neck, but I can’t tell what it is.

In a flash I can see he’s working hard to look the part of a high-roller. His eyes and voice tell me there’s more to him than all that high-end bullshit I don’t give a crap about.

“Do I know you?” I know my tone is harsh, but the day has been long. My feet hurt from these damn shoes. It doesn’t matter that he is sexy as hell.

And damn, he
is
sexy as hell. I mean, his shoulders are broad and there’s enough of a five o’clock shadow on his face that I could imagine nuzzling against it…nuzzling my thighs against it.

God! Why the fuck am I thinking about pressing my lady parts against this dude’s face?
Get a grip, Emmy.

“We haven’t met, but I’m prepared to get very familiar with you.” He cocks both an eyebrow and his head toward the other end of the hall.

I don’t even know where that leads. Well, I know where he
thinks
it might lead.

“Uh, I don’t screw strangers. And certainly not while I’m on the clock. I don’t think the owner of this place would like his employees fucking casino junkies. Just saying.”

“I don’t think your boss would mind.” He smirks, ever so slightly, and I hate that. Hate when guys think they know better than I do. I know how much this job means—the fact that I landed a gig at the most exclusive casino in Vegas is no small thing.

I’m proud I got this job and I’m not going to lose it over some horny guy in a nice suit.

Not that I wouldn’t have liked to enjoy this guy in his nice suit. His biceps pull at his jacket seams and I want to rip it off him. See those chiseled muscles for myself. But not on the clock. Not like this.

“I gotta go,” I say. “I’m gonna be late for my next shift if I don’t leave now. Okay?”

“Hey, you take your work seriously, not going to fight you on that,” he says, raising his hands in defeat, a smile pressing across his face again, like he knows something I don’t. “But before you go, what’s your name?”

“Emmy,” I tell him. “Emmy Rose.”

I hustle away, tray in hand, and make it into the kitchen without falling over my own two feet. Because even though I just walked away from his offer, I don’t want to trip on my ass in front of him.

I hope he’ll remember my name and look me up later.

When I’m not at work.