Read Having Jay's Baby (Having His Baby #2) Online
Authors: Fran Louise
Having Jay's Baby (Having His Baby #2) (5 page)
Jay was silent. Brows low over his eyes, he watched me the way he might regard a cornered cat, unsure of where it would go next.
“Technically, at the moment, in the eyes of the law, Aaron is not Nina’s father,” I said. “He has no rights, but no obligations, either.”
“That’s not going to help with any child support claim,” Jay said.
I shook my head. “On the bright side, it also means he’s not likely to be sending you messages about Nina’s parentage.” My brow furrowed. “It’s not really his style, anyway. Unless the note looked like it was scrawled by a six year-old.”
A smile touched Jay’s lips. “It was a text message,” he said, his voice discreet. He blew out a breath and considered me again. “I guess that wasn’t the news you wanted to hear today. About the birth certificate, I mean.”
I lifted my brows in mute agreement.
“What does that mean?”
I shrugged, laughing briefly. “Start again. There isn’t much choice, really.” I glanced at him, my eyes dropping to his hands where he turned his phone over and over on the table. “I can take care of Nina on my own. I’ve got a regular column at the Tribune now that I’m an associate editor. It’ll take me a few months to get some capitol together, but I’m not destitute by any means.”
Hope collapsed internally despite the positive words; it would take months to scrape enough together for a rental deposit, and it would be years before I was ready to buy somewhere again, presuming any bank ever decided to lend to me again after the recent debacle. I didn’t voice this concern, though, wary of burdening Jay with more information than he’d asked for. I focused on his hands instead, taking in the well-shaped fingers. They were square and clean and golden, and looked very capable.
I already knew, with searing efficiency, what they were capable of on a woman’s body.
I flicked my gaze back up to him, biting my lower lip in an effort to stall the rush of erotic flashback imploding in my brain. What the hell was wrong with me today? Talk about craving the oblivion of morphine…
What had we been discussing?
“Do you need me to do anything?” I said, unaccountably responsible for everything all of a sudden. “Take out an ad in the Tribune stating Nina’s parentage once and for all?” My expression fell into a lopsided smile. “I’m sure they’d give me a good rate on it.”
“You could get Nina tested.”
I stilled. The words had been uttered casually but they dropped between us like an unexploded bomb. The silence stretched as I stared into the unyielding lines of his face.
He looked as reluctant as I was. “You said yourself there’s nothing to worry about.”
Discomfort didn’t adequately cover the sensation rippling under my skin.
“You’ll need to get her tested if you want child support from your ex,” Jay said.
I stumbled internally. Today … today was exactly like being in a marathon, only I’d been sprinting all morning. I had no reserves left. I searched around for an argument, but beyond general complaints, I couldn’t find anything coherent to string together.
He was right; if I really wanted to put forward a case to get Aaron to contribute, I’d have to prove that Nina was his daughter. Was I ready to go through all of that? It might require taking Aaron to court just to get him to submit to the test and I wasn’t even sure I could afford that for a while.
Jay touched my wrist. My head jerked up in surprise.
“How did you get that?” he asked. “You never told me.”
Realising I was stroking the scar under my eye—something I was want to do during distracted moments of stress—I flushed with self-consciousness.
“It’s not noticeable,” he said, and then with utter contrariness, “It gives your face character.” Light crow’s feet appeared around his eyes.
I was reminded, suddenly, of a scar on his buttock—a dagger-shaped incision—the memory bursting inside of me with scalding intensity. He’d got it snowboarding, apparently; a much more glamorous way to get a scar than I was used to. He could tell his stories of snowboarding misadventures at any dinner table, whereas my story was not for public consumption. Not even private consumption, between erstwhile lovers.
After an uncomfortable silence, he said, “Don’t worry about the notes, Stella. I can take care of that.”
I nodded, sliding my hand under the table again. “It sounds like you’ve got enough on your plate right now.” I paused. “It’s none of my business, but your father mentioned you were getting divorced, that night when we were at your office.”
Jay made a non-committal noise. His hand lifted from mine and he went back to flipping the phone case.
“Is this going to affect anything?” I asked.
His brows lifted in question.
“The notes,” I said. I paused, unsure how to broach the subject. “Could someone be trying to affect the settlement?”
He shook his head, and said simply, “Prenup.”
I couldn’t help but ask. “Were you with her when we were—together?”
There was a long pause while he considered this. “I didn’t cheat on her, if that’s what you mean.”
It wasn’t an answer, but it gave me the information I’d wanted.
“And you?”
I shook my head. “I broke it off with Aaron before we met.” I sat back, sighing. “It’s one of the colossal mysteries of my life why I decided to take him back after you left for London. But here we are, and life goes on.”
A noise in the kitchen erupted briefly, deep voices calling angrily to one another. I’d dried off now; so had Jay. A well-made suit and a good haircut didn’t suffer from minor soaking, apparently. He looked sharp and in control again. He looked like he belonged to another world from the one I inhabited. In an effort not to stare, I shifted my gaze to the hazy forms passing by the window outside.
My thoughts jumped around like a garden full of rabbits. What could break up a marriage in less than a year? Was he divorcing her, or vice-versa? I wouldn’t like to piss Jay Fitzsimmons off, not after seeing the way he and his family interacted. Were they estranged, him and his ex, or did they still see each other? Was he seeing someone else already?
He stopped flipping the phone case. The inaction caught my attention as effectively as a whistle. He firmed in his mouth in an infinitesimal movement, drawing my eyes there.
No … there was not someone else in his life if that look was anything to go by. He wore an intense sexual curiosity with the same casual confidence as he wore that suit. Never mind talk; what I really wanted to do was taste that firm mouth.
“Are you really hungry?” he asked suddenly.
My lungs seized up. Had I said any of that aloud? His eyes were narrow, but not cold. He lifted his brows marginally and an explosion of raw hunger tore through me like a flash fire. “No,” I said.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
I nodded.
He stood. My blood thickened like sauce, pounding around my body. I had a wild moment of doubt: what the hell was I doing? How was this going to fix anything?
He stepped out from the booth. Before I could question it further, he reached down to clasp my wrist. His hands were cool and firm, but warm enough that an eddy of heat circled up my arm. Lifting my bag with my free hand, I let him guide me to the exit.
He didn’t look at me when we emerged on to the busy street. Like a man on a mission, he slipped into the crowds, guiding me with determined ease. The downpour had started in earnest again. We dashed across the busy lanes of traffic, breathless and dripping when we reached the other side. He stopped under an awning and brushed some droplets from his hair. Momentarily dazzled by the intent in his eyes, I faltered clumsily as someone dashed past. I glanced up to see the awning of an exclusive hotel above us.
His lean body glanced off mine as people rushed past us on every side. The sophisticated humdrum of afternoon life seemed incongruent against the pulsing connection between us. His hand grazed the sensitive skin under my jaw. He leaned down, kissed me, and a kaleidoscope of sensation descended. He tasted of heat, his body solid under the damp clothes.
“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” he said, eyes narrowed as he eased back. “Just one more afternoon together.”
Heart pummelling against my chest, I nodded.
CHAPTER THREE
Jay
I stood back for a moment, undoing my tie. I was hard already, hard from the sheer anticipation of taking her. I slid my hand up her skirt, under the silk of her panties. She flinched, but the simultaneous rush of wet against my fingers let me know I wasn’t going to be rebuffed. Christ almighty ... she was very wet. And hot; scalding against my fingers. No ... she wasn’t going to make her excuses and run. Not the way she’d run from me in the car the last time.
I tossed my tie aside and started working on the buttons on my shirt. “I’ve been thinking about this,” I said, the words a hoarse confession, “way too much.” I touched her again. “I’ve got a lot of frustration to work out with you today, Stella. I hope you don’t have anywhere to be for a while.”
She shuddered against my hand.
Yes ... just let go, Stella.
From the second I’d noticed her across the lobby at City Hall this morning, bending over in that fitted skirt, I’d had to have her. Seeing her here, aroused and dishevelled and open to me, was the only acceptable conclusion. I clasped a hand around her delicate wrist, careful with the slight bones, my eyes nonetheless violently raking the rest of her incongruously curved body.
The silence was taut. There was a grave, possibly vulnerable light flickering somewhere in the dark blue recesses of her eyes. For a split second she was a confusing mix of brittleness and delicacy. I hesitated, unsure, until she flickered those eyes down my chest, her lips parting naturally as she took in the sight of my erection through the trousers. The dam broke, desire rushing me. I’d never met a woman who could control my libido like this; just a well-timed gaze or a loaded silence was enough to flick my switch.
I brushed a finger across her cleavage. “I’ve missed you,” I said. I leaned down, touching her lips. “I’ve missed this.” I kissed her, and then drew back to undo my pants.
Her eyes were heavy with feline arousal. Was she pulsing now, between her legs, aching for me? I hoped so. I was aching to lose myself in her again. I knew from experience that she could take me to a place where it was just pleasure, and wet sensation, and dark hunger.
“I’ve missed this, too,” she said, winded. Her chin pointed precociously as she watched me, memories flashing behind her eyes.
“Do you still think about us?” When she nodded, a deep throb coursed through my cock. I clasped her face in my hands. “Have you fantasised about this?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Unable to hold back any longer, I leaned down to taste the firm, plush lips. She opened to me at once. Her mouth was hot and slick, and as soft as a cloud. I plundered it over and over.
She broke off, panting. It took a second for my gaze to focus on her as she fought to scramble on to the bed. Legs flashed, showing a tempting row of lace under the slim skirt. My whole body stiffened in silent anticipation. Those thighs—they’d be slick with need by the time I’d finished. And those lush breasts, straining under her dress. I hadn’t lied. After the affair had ended, I hadn’t been prepared for exactly how much I’d miss this. She was a heady mixture of hills and valleys, of careless oblivion, thrown together in a glorious map of female beauty that was utterly unique.
She sat up, her wild hair tumbling around her shoulders and down her back. I’d hastily yanked the blind half down, the bedroom drenched with the disconsonant aura of obscured daylight. The heat and the humidity conspired to create a smoky line of makeup around each eye; it was sexy as hell.
I was so busy admiring her that I was only dimly aware of her fingers undoing my belt. She was focused on me to a degree that she seemed barely aware of anything else, and me, her.
“You’re beautiful,” I told her, surprised after the words left my mouth.
She flashed a smile, brows lifted. “You’re beautiful,” she said in a low, definite tone, as though this somehow superseded the way she looked.
She wanted me. I could see it in every glimmering shard of her receding irises. Her hands smoothed across my cock …
oh God, yes
. She eased the zipper down, grazing my erection, making it twitch as though reaching for her in response. Her eyes, heavily lashed, tracked the movement.
“Take off your dress,” I said, my voice rasping with the sheer effort of speaking. “Take it off.”
Hesitating, she then eased back on the bed. That curious mix of shy and bold overtook her. She shifted, skimming the dress across her hips. She revealed firm thighs, pressed generously against the downy comforter. Her stockings ended just a few centimetres below a pair of black silk panties. I could already taste the sweet flavour of skin there, so different from the rest of her body. The cushioned indentation of her waist followed, and then her breasts. They erupted generously from the lacy bra.
Her hair sparked with static as she slipped the dress off over her head and threw it to the ground. I only realised then that I’d been holding my breath, and exhaled sharply. I was still standing and her face was precariously close to my erection. She knew it, too, her eyes goading.
I traced a finger back across the skin above her bra. This skin, that I’d so often touched in fantasy, was impossibly soft. It pebbled under my touch, her body shivering.
Finally, she pressed her cheek against my crotch. I breathed out through pursed lips. I wanted her to take me in her mouth. Tension gripped the back of my throat at the mere thought of it. Clasping her neck, I threaded my fingers in her soft hair and shut my eyes. I had to slow down. I’d be done in moments if I didn’t get a hold on myself.
“Lie down,” I said, lungs tight.
I yanked off my shirt. Leaning one hand on either side of her, I crawled onto the bed. My eyes travelled up the winding edges and shadowed indentations of her legs, settling on the small mound under her silk panties. I kicked off my pants, impatient when she moved further back on to the bed.
Pulling her back down towards me, smiling at her giggles, my face hovered between her legs. Nothing could have stopped me from sliding my hands up her thighs and burying my face in the soft, silk-covered apex. Her scent—so utterly female—soaked into my very pores. My cock twitched painfully as I absorbed the sensation.
“Come here, Jay,” she said, her voice low.
I moved willingly. Right at that second I would have done anything to please her. Our bodies slid together. Her mouth was wet and open, ready for me, and I caught it with jealous need. Kissing her deeply, I pressed her supple body into the feathered down. Where I was hard, she was soft. Her body accepted my pressure and enveloped it. I sank into her. She was everywhere. I was losing myself, and I didn’t care. I ground my hips against her, gasping when her legs encircled my waist, my cock pulsing with need.
“Jay…” she said, as breathless as though she’d run a race. “Let’s do the foreplay later.”
I laughed, the sensation bizarre given the tightly-drawn connection between us.
“I’m serious,” she said. Her skin was as flushed and soft as ripe fruit. “I can’t wait.”
“We have all afternoon,” I said.
I clasped her hands, lifting them to each side of her head and holding her still. My erection pressed against the satin resistance of stomach. Blowing out a breath, I had to admit that she was right. “Maybe we should just take the edge off now.”
“Yes,” she said, the word a mere breath.
The whole morning had been foreplay; hell, since we’d last met in the hotel, there had been plenty of foreplay, in my head at any rate. I couldn’t be more ready than I was now.
The scent of her was everywhere. I closed my eyes, buried my face in her soft neck, licking and tasting. Her pulse hammered against her translucent skin. I eased a hand across her breasts and down, testing the firm flesh, my fingers playing with the lacy edge of her panties. I stroked her until she was dangerously close to the edge.
She squirmed in response, gasped. I slipped my thumb under the edge of the gauzy fabric. She stiffened, but I didn’t slow. I eased across the tight, curly hair until there was a surge of glossy heat against my fingers. My cock pulsed painfully in primitive response. She was ready for me. I could slip inside of her right now and fuck her senseless without even a breath of friction.
Patience
… my fingers slid down, parting her folds and probing. I eased another finger in. She gasped, a moan following, and her body buckled under me.
“I want to taste you” I breathed, not even sure what I was saying.
“Jay, wait—”
“Just a taste,” I said, but I was already moving towards my target.
I travelled down her body, her skin delicate and perfumed under my lips. Her bra slipped open easily, her breasts tumbling out. I buried my face in their extravagant mounds, her nipples hard like pebbles. Suckling each one, I stroked her, and then myself, and kept both of us just on the edge of coming.
“Jay, now,” she moaned, and her thighs slid around me like liquid heat. “Just take me. I can’t hold on any longer.”
I let go of her hands and eased her legs down. “Wait,” I said, my voice rasping.
I watched her for a moment, aroused at the mere sight of how far gone she was. I ached to be inside of her. I yanked her panties down, buried my fingers in soft fur beneath. My tongue separated her folds, searching for the source of her heat. I knew I’d found it when a low, guttural sound emanated from her throat.
“Oh … no, Jay,” she said, the words seeming to come from somewhere low in her body. They vibrated against my mouth.
I suckled, tasting her, drawing her in like nectar. I couldn’t stop. She was moaning, her fingers, sharp, clutching my hair, but I couldn’t stop.
“Don’t … wait,” she said, sounding like she was barely aware of what she was saying anymore. “Please-”
How could I stop? I suckled her again, my tongue sliding against her clitoris. I’d fantasised about this too often. I wanted her out of control, begging for me. Satisfaction reverberated through me as, within seconds, her spasm clenched against my tongue.
She cried out. She buckled, her body rigid under my mouth. I intensified the pressure, suckling her as hard as I could, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure. She stayed taut under me, every part of her body rigid from the force of the orgasm.
Time stood still for a moment. Her nails scratched against my scalp. I gritted my teeth, holding on to her until the pressure eased. Only the strangled sound of her gasping disturbed the air. When, finally, her gasps turned into whimpers, and her body softened, I eased her back down on to the pillows.
I had to hold on. She pulsed beneath me, open and raw, and I was aroused beyond any sense or logic any more. I could smell her. Her orgasm was a drug in my mouth. I knew only on a visceral level that it was Stella lying beneath me, supporting my weight. Lifting her hips, I reared above her, angling my body to take her.
“Are you ready?” I asked, though I wasn’t expecting an answer. I didn’t get one. I registered her spent, dazed expression, her lips full and naturally red, and then pressed my cock into her swollen folds.
She was soft and tight all at once. I bent in the middle, gasping for a moment as I encountered the muscles at the mouth of her pussy. I panted, willing myself not to come. Lifting her hips just a fraction higher, I buried my face deep in her fragrant, pulsing neck. My cock throbbed. I pushed again, feeling her hot insides give way.
#
“You look full of the joys, Jay,” Fueller said, arriving just in time to catch my serene moment of contemplation. “Who is she?”
I laughed. “Who says it’s a woman?”
“No need to be coy, son. I’m too old to be running around stealing younger men’s girls nowadays. I might send out a gossipy memo about it on the Hill, but that’s about it.” Fueller cocked an eyebrow. “Am I to presume you and Elizabeth have patched things up?”
I sat up. “No.”
“Oh, a new model…”
After a wry but non-committal smile, I glanced away. Not a new model; one afternoon, that was all. One glorious afternoon with Stella. Nothing complicated, exactly like we’d agreed. “I’m in the middle of a divorce, and a possible investigation for fraud,” I said in an effort to remind Bull, and myself to a certain degree, of the matter at hand. “No memos, please.”
“Ah, yes, the investigation. I’m going to need a drink for this,” Fueller said, nodding towards the waiter. We ordered. Bull took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. “I take it this is serious, then,” he said. “I figured as much when you called me. Though it would have been a lot simpler to talk on the phone, buddy. Martha isn’t thrilled about my missing the kids’ game this weekend.”