DOTTY (The Naughty Ones Book 3) Page 18

  I don’t want to hurt her—

  “Harder. Oh God, that feels so good,” she moans, digging her nails into my arms where my hands are gripping her hips.

  Her urging spurs me on, and I let go, battering her with my lust. The sensations of heat and tightness are too much, and I angle deeper, searching for that spot that will set her off.

  Ladies first after all.

  That does the trick, and I feel her tense and the tremors deep within and let go, spilling inside her in a long stream of mind numbing pleasure that goes on for long minutes before I collapse to the side, wrung out and so blissed out my eyes won’t stay open.

  “You’re bloody amazing.”

  When I get no response, I turn my head only to huff out a laugh when I see her fast asleep, her body sprawled across the sheets in abandon.

  Shit. I definitely need more before I can give her up and walk away. This has easily been one of the best sexual experiences of my life, and believe me, that’s a bloody compliment because while I’m not a glory hound like Rob, I have and can equal his score if not top it.

  I’m a highly sexed man, and when I’m not busy keeping things running smoothly, I’m indulging my sex drive.

  The fact that I’d been going without—besides that empty coupling with Sophie, that had in no way diminished my lust—tells me that I am in deep with Shaw Mallory.

  Do I want her? Yes. Do I want to want her? The answer is—most emphatically—a no and if I could have slaked my lust with another, I would most definitely never have laid a finger on her.

  But it seems my dick has become more discerning in recent months, and I’ve finally given in. Now I just need to find a way to get what I need from her without my parents knowing and without putting more in than I am willing to give.

  “Stop thinking so hard. I’m not gonna run out and start scouting rings,” she mumbles from her pillow, her mouth curved in a rueful smile.

  “No?”

  Why am I offended by that rejection?

  “Nope. That was good sex, but I’m not dumb enough to see it as more than it is, so you can chill out. Oh God, I need to go back to my room, but I’m not sure my legs agree with me.” She groans, struggling to a seated position on the side of the bed. “Could I ask you to get my gown? Please? I can’t bend that low without embarrassing myself.”

  I do as she asks, stifling my disappointment that she’s leaving me to sleep alone. Surely she can stay for a while? Enjoy the afterglow and maybe another round.

  “You should stay a little longer.”

  “Look out the window, Cameron. It’ll be dawn soon, and I doubt you want your mom finding me sneaking out of here.”

  I look to my left and curse when I see that the sky is indeed just starting to turn a lighter shade than pitch black.

  “Oh, you’re right. Should I walk you?”

  “No. Thanks. I’m good.”

  When she walks to the door and pauses, I prepare for histrionics.

  “You know, I never wanted anything more out of life than to have a good job that I worked for and maybe an apartment in a good side of town. I don’t want or need your money for me. This baby may not be planned, but I love him enough to shame myself if it means giving him the best that I possibly can.”

  She’s gone before I can say a word, and I feel the euphoria I’d been nursing slip away to leave a bitter regret behind.

  I want to believe her, and that is perhaps more dangerous than wanting her body because it means that I could want something more, and more, I don’t do.

  Ever.

  Chapter Eleven

  Shaw

  Breakfast is the same old process. Marge talks non-stop, Vic smiles indulgently, and I listen as best as I can as she chatters on a mile a minute.

  Only this morning it’s an added struggle, as I try to ignore Cameron’s heated stares and the way his tongue keeps flicking at his bottom lip.

  “You have an appointment today, Ducky. Oh! I’m so excited. We’ll get a photo of the ultrasound, and the doctor says that with these 3-D scans you can see just what the baby looks like. Isn’t it exciting!”

  I notice Cameron tense before his head dips, and he makes a noncommittal sound that sounds like a grunt.

  “Well, I for one am quite curious to see if the little tyke will have the Stone mouth or take more after Margie’s side. The Maxwells have less lip and more nose.”

  “Oh you!” she chides, her eyes shining brightly. “You know full well the lads are only as handsome as they are because of me.”

  She must realize what she said because her eyes get moist and soon she’s sniffling into her napkin.

  I feel so guilty for some reason that it’s physically painful not to jump up and run away. It’s hard to commiserate when I didn’t love her son and he didn’t love me. I can’t even have one of those ‘Remember Rob liked to…’ kinds of talks because as far as I remember he liked drinking, dancing, and sex.

  And no commitment.

  “Oh hush, you old watering pot; you’re upsetting the poor girl. You alright, Ducky?”

  “Yeah, I just don’t like it when Marge gets sad, but I understand. This must be hard for her since…”

  I don’t finish, and when I look up Cameron is glaring at me. I ignore him and smile at Marge before digging into my breakfast.

  I can’t believe I slept with him just hours ago, and here he is, right back to his old nastiness. I shouldn’t be surprised; he is a dick after all, and I freaking know it, I just didn’t expect…

  Whom am I kidding? Like Cameron getting some from me would magically change his opinion. It’s probably the opposite. Now he just thinks I’m an easy lay. Or maybe a glutton for punishment, because really, who in their right mind gives it up for a guy who can’t stand them.

  Me apparently.

  ***

  “Oh goodness! Would you look at that?!”

  I smile indulgently at Marge and watch as she looks at the ultrasound photo and exclaims for the millionth time. We’re on our way home now, and she hasn’t stopped gushing since that wand touched my belly and the very clear picture of the baby popped up on screen.

  I think the poor kid looks like a goblin, but Marge is in raptures about the eye shape and the ‘proud Stone nose.’

  We don’t know what to call it yet since the stubborn baggage wasn’t showing winky or cookie, so we’re surmising, maybe hoping on Marge’s part that it’s a boy.

  “He’s so beautiful, Ducky. So perfect. Why I don’t think my lads were this adorable.”

  “Okay, now I know you’re just full of it. I’ve seen both your sons, and from what they are today, I can guess they were little cherubs when they came out of the womb.” I snort, giggling when she blushes and shrugs.

  “Robbie was big and red and chubby, with this shock of blonde spikes that made him look like he got a shock. Cameron, well, that boy came out as quiet and serious as he is today, but Lord, was he gorgeous. He takes after my side with all that dark coloring. Looks just like my dad.”

  “They’re so different. I couldn’t believe they’re brothers. Robert was…well, he was light and quick to jump into anything. Once we went out to dinner and he saw an ad for a theater production. I shake my head with the memory because I’d spent three hours trying to stop my stomach growling. When we’d finally got done—the production was not my kind of thing—he’d dropped me at home having forgotten dinner and I’d been forced to eat a can of tuna before falling into bed.”

  Cameron would never do that. After that first day when Marge had pointed out that he’d forgotten to feed me, he’s never allowed me to forget meals—even if he just calls Marge to remind her.

  It had irritated me at first, but now I realize it’s his silent way of making that episode up. To me. To himself more than likely.

  “Aah, Robbie was a cad and an incorrigible scamp. He was ever getting into scrapes and such, and we indulged him most of the time. I think I told myself that he was just free spirited, but I’ve come
to accept that he was a little selfish in his pursuits especially with—”

  I know what she’s going to say and part of me wants to press for information now that I’ve slept with Cameron, but it’s not my business and what’s more, I’d chop off a limb before causing this woman distress.

  “Well, mothers tend to overlook some things for their children.”

  “Not all mothers, Marge—so don’t feel too bad. My mom stopped buying groceries the year I turned fourteen and put a lock on the refrigerator. My brother worked as a packer at a supermarket to feed the two of us. And when I moved back home and Mom found out I was pregnant, she kicked me out of the house, knowing I had less than a hundred bucks to my name and nowhere to go.”

  It’s humiliating to admit that my mom is a walking ad for women who should be sterilized. At birth. I tell her though because she deserves to know how great she is.

  “Oh Ducky! If I ever get my hands on that filthy excuse I’ll, I’ll—”

  “Calm down, Marge. I have you now; I don’t need to even think about Gloria,” I say, smiling when her face lights up and her eyes go all teary.

  “That’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, Ducky.”

  “You deserve it. Now stop crying and take a gander at our handsome boy. Isn’t he great?”

  “Why, yes dear, that he is.”

  The rest of the drive is a happy one, and I’m still smiling when we walk inside, only to have a tall, thin, very chic-looking blonde rise from the sofa in Marge’s sitting room, her eyes skipping between us and narrowing thoughtfully.

  “Hello Margery dear.”

  I feel her stiffen, and she moves to stuff the photo behind her back, her spine going ramrod straight and seems to fuse as she looks back and gives the woman what I can only assume is a haughty look meant to kill lesser mortals on the spot.

  “Letitia. What on earth are you doing in my home without an invitation?”

  Oh no, Marge is never rude. Ever. She doesn’t like this—wait, did she say Letitia? As in the Lettie who hoodwinked her Cameron and left him heartbroken.

  Strangely I think I am more upset by this gall than Marge is, and I refuse to admit why.

  “I need to speak with Cam, but he’s refusing to take my calls and the security at the Stone building is refusing me entry,” she says heatedly, and I think she’s genuinely surprised by this.

  God, if I look closer will she have rhino skin, because seriously, that shit must be thick.

  “Obviously Cameron does not want to see you, Letitia. And who can blame the lad. You tried to sleep with his brother, which he was forgiving you for, and yet you still had the gall to try and pass another man’s child off as his.”

  Oh shezaam!

  “That was a mistake, and one I regret deeply, Margery. I just want—”

  I think old Marge is about to start throwing punches when the man of the hour walks in, pulls me into his body and kisses me so passionately I see stars circling my head. Or is that birds. I dunno, but I can safely say I’m floored and a little more than turned on by this display. Especially when he palms my belly and growls low in his throat.

  “Hello my darling. How are you and my lad today?”

  Oh hell.

  I can play this in a number of ways, but as Letitia’s reptilian blue eyes widen in outrage, I find myself smiling back, grinning really and hamming this the hell up.

  “Good, babe. We got a photo of him and everything. Want to see the next generation of Stones?”

  Marge is of course almost bursting with glee, and she practically starts hopping when she thrusts the photo at Cameron and his smile widens.

  “Good looking lad that,” he purrs, going a step too far and squeezing my ass suggestively.

  “Cameron? Are you with this, this…person?”

  Oh no. Really?

  Cameron turns to her, his face holding a shock of false surprise, and he looks at her like a bug in his drink.

  “Letitia?”

  Her eyes tear, as we all sit, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her delicate sniffs only to giggle when I catch Madge doing the same, her mouth quirked in a smile that tells me she’s taking a shit load of pleasure out of watching her son claim, not only me, but the baby as his.

  There my brain freezes, and I groan when I realize what I’ve done. It’ll be all over the place by afternoon, tomorrow at the latest, that Shaw Mallory is carrying Cameron Stone’s child and…and…I don’t know why, but I think I’m going to have panic attack.

  “Are you okay, darling? The baby moving too much again?” he asks, caressing the swell.

  “Er, fine.”

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, turning back to his ex.

  The woman has the audacity to sneer and glare my way.

  “I missed you.”

  “That’s novel. Did you have this overwhelming rush to reunite before or after Jonathan kicked you out and filed for divorce?” he muses, winking at Marge. “Seems Lettie here hasn’t been a very good wife or mother, and Jon got tired of her tupping the gardener’s son.”

  “Well, I do say.”

  “That’s preposterous! I never did such a thing. He…I missed you, and I wanted to come back and beg you to give me another chance. We were so good together once Cam—”

  “Oh, good Lord. Are you blind, dumb, or batty girl? Can’t you see he’s already committed to someone else? You must have heard the stories already. Shaw and Cameron are going to be parents.”

  “Er—”

  “Yes, and we’re very happy together besides,” Cameron says, interjecting and giving my hip a squeeze before I can say anything.

  “Her? You’re in love with her? But she’s so—”

  “Perfect. Yes, we all quite agree,” Vic drawls, strolling in like the lazy, happy lord of the manner.

  If I look closely, I’m sure I’ll see a canary feather peeking out of his mouth. Or a drop of cream. Only the man’s more like a lion than a cat, and if he’s a lion, his son is most definitely not a tame pussycat either.

  “This is ridiculous. Whatever would you see in a girl like her?” she rails, jumping to her feet in a fit.

  I pause and hold my breath, recalling that time Cameron had asked me the very same thing. What did Rob see in you?

  I didn’t know how to answer then, and I don’t know now, I just hope it’s a smidge more complimentary than he’s been thus far. The man blows hotter than a furnace before going arctic so I never know what to expect from one moment to the next.

  “The list is quite endless I assure you, but if you really must know…she’s kind, caring, she has a dead sexy arse when she’s not trying to hide it, though I don’t mind that much since I don’t like other blokes looking at what’s mine. Oh yes, and she’s not a bloody liar like so many woman I know.”

  Well…that was just…wow.

  I make a choking sound that only carries to him and feel a responding squeeze before he pulls me in and kisses my forehead.

  “And she’s not trying to palm her lover’s child off on me. We’re in this together. My blood inside her.”

  “Cameron, I—”

  “I think you should leave, dear. We’re having a family celebration, and you are most certainly not welcome. Victor dear, please do something about the riffraff.”

  The scene she makes while being escorted out is in no way pretty, but I can’t really find the will to pay much attention. No, my attention is firmly fixed on a grinning Cameron and the satisfaction I see in his eyes.

  “What did you do?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Cam

  I’m balls deep in the only woman who has ever made me feel this desperate and well and fulfilled all at once, and I want it to last forever. The pleasure is a great, swirling tidal wave that knocks me back and flings me up even as the strong contractions surrounding my dick pull me back down and focus my every nerve right on her and the pleasure I see exploding on her face.

  When it ebbs, leaving only the light glo
w of satiation and fatigue, I pull out and fall to the side, chuckling when she stretches sensuously and pulls the sheet up, turning on her side to face me.

  “You can’t keep sexing me up just to avoid the issue, Stone.” She growls. “We need to talk about this. Please.”

  I feel my muscles tense and prepare for the argument I’ve avoided for days. First, I’d begged off, pleading a full work schedule, and when that gets me nowhere, I fuck her to exhaustion and sleep with her cuddled around me, waking early enough to be gone before she rises.

  Mum and Dad are, of course, over the moon at this new development and fob Shaw off whenever she starts arguing about the craziness of the whole situation. I can’t say what had possessed me to do what I did.

  Perhaps it was the way Lettie had strolled in and expected a warm reception. Perhaps it was the disdainful way she’d been looking at Shaw. I can’t say if it was one or the other or maybe a combination of both, but I’d gone with instinct and just claimed her, stamping my mark on her for all the world to see.

  And I’m not bloody regretting it either.

  If that baby is Rob’s I will love it no less than if it were my own. If it isn’t his and it turns out she lied, well, I find myself not giving a damn either way.

  Fact is that baby is now mine along with his mum, and I fully intend to keep them. Whether Shaw agrees to that or not.

  “What’s to talk about, baby? Did you not see the papers yesterday? And the day before? And the day before that? You are my fiancée. We met in Spain, where you were running with the bulls and had a wild, passionate love affair only for you to discover that you were pregnant with my child. The Daily said you had to finish some very intense Archaeological project before you could join me here to start planning our wedded bliss.”

  “Oh Jesus! You actually read that stuff?”

  I love it when she gets all indignant and pretends that her and Mum don’t cackle themselves half to death over the ridiculous gossip and speculation.

  “Why indeed. How else am I to know what to say when people ask me how I met my little dumpling?” I ask, grinning and pulling her close.