Stolen Goods: A Secret Baby Romance (5 page)

8

Weslyn woke up
screaming. The pain ripping through her leg stole her sanity, the heat that
came with it seemed to burn her alive. From her thigh to her calf, an
unbearable, knotted mass of agony twisted and turned inside her skin. She’d
never felt anything like it.

She tried to move,
but that only brought another scream from her aching throat. She tried to turn
over, but her hand was cuffed to the headboard. Then a warm presence sprang
into action, jumping onto her bed and seizing her roughly.

For a moment, she
traveled far beyond panic. Weslyn had no idea what was going on, who the man on
the bed with her might be, or where she was. Fear pierced deep, but then a
familiar voice called her name and a big, hot hand closed on her hip. Emotional
comfort flooded her, instincts telling her she was safe, even as another pain
scored her calf.

“
Weslyn
,
what? What’s going on?” The bedside lamp flicked on, showing her the terror
etched into Findley’s face. He tossed his gun onto his own bed. “What’s wrong?”

Tears streamed down
her cheeks—she was unable to hold them back. Weslyn panted through parted lips
and gritted teeth, but as another rolling cramp stretched down her leg, she had
no words to explain. She could only pull against the handcuff and arch her
back, fighting to drag her knee up to her chest even as she forced it straight.

Findley tore at
her waistband. For the second time in less than twenty four hours, he pulled
her jeans low, but this time he kept yanking until they were down her legs,
then off and on the floor. Weslyn whimpered, caught between the fear of being
in her underwear in front of him, and the possibility of something truly
terrible happening in her muscles.

He glared at her
plain cotton panties. “Is it the baby? There’s no blood.”

She managed to
shake her head. She also made an effort to reach her calf, where the pain
seemed to bite harder. “My…leg,” she gasped.

Huge, hot hands
closed around her calf and thigh. Findley’s heat sank deep, through muscle and
bone, maybe deeper, bringing an immediate relief of mind, if not body. For the
first time in years, Weslyn wasn’t alone, and the federal agent’s presence next
to her suddenly brought a larger measure of comfort than she could have
expected.

In the lamplight,
Findley’s eyes turned silver. “Charley horse. Back when I was married and my
wife and I were trying to conceive, I read a bunch of baby books. What to
expect, you know? It’ll be all right, Moon, relax and trust me.”

His voice was soft
and smooth, encouraging. Weslyn let his tone wash over her and soothe her. His
fingers worked over her skin, his hands kneaded and massaged. The pain still
ebbed and flowed, but little by little the cramp released its awful grip on
her. As the knot in her leg unraveled, Moon let her body relax more, and she
closed her eyes to better appreciate the relief Findley brought her.

His hands felt
nice on her skin.

She didn’t like to
be touched. For years, she’d avoided any contact at all, but Findley had kept a
near constant hold on her since he burst through her door in Chicago. At first,
she could hardly think beyond the need to make him
let go
, but somewhere
along the way, Weslyn had started getting used to him.

He’d been gentle
and careful in the emergency clinic. He’d been a safe haven at the train
station and agreed to be her legal protector in the car on the way to
Cleveland. And now he was a healer, easing her cramp at the same time he teased
her with the possibility of what it could be like, to let a good man touch,
stroke and fondle.

A good man she’d
been dreaming about for months.

“You should see
the look on your face,” he whispered. “You close your eyes to hide, Moon, but I
can still see you.”

She felt Findley’s
touch change, soften. His palms smoothed over the curve of her calf, cupped the
heel of her foot, then his thumbs dug into her sole with beautiful pressure.
Pleasure bloomed, racing up Weslyn’s spine until she felt as if she could melt
into the mattress. Her foot was warm and relaxed, and Findley repeated the
caress on the other one.

His hands gripped
her ankles, but his touch was light enough that Weslyn felt no panic, no fear.
In some way, she trusted Findley, and she recognized the alien emotion and
allowed it to work on her nerves. She remained pliant as he stroked up her
calves, kneaded her knees, then massaged her thighs.

His touch changed
again, not just a warm, soothing slide of skin against skin, but suddenly
charged with intent.  He drew circles on her thighs, edging higher, farther
between her legs. Heat transferred from his hands to Weslyn’s body, curling
through her at an alarming rate. But this was the fantasy she’d held secret
since she’d picked his picture out of a book. She gasped, and before she
realized what she was about to do, she’d spread her legs to let his fingers
roam a little farther.

“Better now?” he
asked quietly. “Or should I keep going?”

“W-we probably
shouldn’t.” Weslyn tried to think past the tingling plea growing in her clit.
She fought to be rational. “I’m your prisoner and…it’s probably unethical.”

“We’re consenting
adults.” Findley’s fingertip drifted over the damp center of Weslyn’s
underwear, then away. “I’ve just had my medical evaluation and I saw your
records in the clinic. We’re both clean, and you’re already pregnant with my
child.”

“But…but…” Weslyn
gasped and arched as Findley found her clit with his thumb and rubbed over it a
single time. His retreat left her feeling empty and deprived, a true battle
against needs she hadn’t surrendered to in a decade.

She was torn,
unable to decide what she really wanted in that moment. It wasn’t as if she’d
never experienced pleasure, but after her last boyfriend, Weslyn hadn’t been
able to trust anyone enough to let them anywhere close to her body. For some
reason, Findley was different. Different than any man she’d ever known—harsher
in some ways, but gentler in others.

And, as he’d said,
she was pregnant with his child. Something in that statement released her
inhibitions. Made it okay to do what she wanted with him.

She wondered if
her pregnancy had something to do with the desire welling up within her. Maybe
her lust sprang from hormones, but, then again, she had to admit that she
hadn’t wanted sex before Findley found her—and she definitely wanted sex, if
the sudden wetness of her pussy was anything to judge by. Perhaps it was a mental
thing, where she went all soft and willing under his patiently stroking hands
simply because she would be the mother of his child.

Maybe it was the
way he didn’t pressure her to fuck him, or the single-minded way he looked at
her or the possessive way he touched her. He was her hero, her protector and
the best chance she had to escape the worst of the punishment she knew would be
coming. Maybe her libido though she owed him, or could tempt him into a better
plea deal.

Or maybe it was
just him. Maybe she’d wanted him since the moment she saw his photo in the book
at the Barre Birth and Reproductive Center.

“Have you ever had
anyone take care of you, Moon?”

“My sister took
care of me,” she whispered.

“Any man?”

She shook her
head. Findley groaned. His fingertips traced indecipherable patterns higher and
higher on her thighs. Weslyn could have sworn she felt the brush of his lips
over her hip.

His hands kept
rising. Soft and smooth, a drag of his palm over her waist, a stroke of his
fingers around her belly button. Unable to help herself, Weslyn opened her eyes
just as Findley drew back and swung his leg over her.

She’d refused to
look at him when they’d arrived at the motel, while mild anxiety held her stiff
on her bed, when he’d undressed to lie down. His clothes had been crumpled from
their travel, but he’d taken them off and hung them over a chair before
climbing into his own bed, two feet from hers.

Now, with him
straddling her, Weslyn had an excellent view of Findley’s boxers, and the
gapped opening gave a shadowed impression of what was beneath. She sucked in
oxygen.

“Relax, Moon. Let
me take care of you.”

She lifted her
eyes to his. Silver, with bright flecks of green rimming the edges. She nodded,
wondering what the hell she was getting herself into, yet she obeyed the
instincts begging her to let him do whatever he wanted. She dropped her gaze to
evaluate him. Findley’s lips were curved in a gentle smile, his pulse made
itself known in his neck. His shoulders were broad, his chest well-formed and
the dark hair sprinkled down the front of him looked soft and tempting.

And his touch made
her feel beautiful, wanted and treasured.

Weslyn wondered if
she’d lost her mind. But she still said, “Yes.”

9

Findley leaned
over her body and kissed her on the mouth.

Weslyn fell into
the caress in small degrees, still too cautious to fully open, yet curious and
thoroughly enticed by the unhurried, smooth slide of his lips over hers. He
licked into her mouth, softly, slowly, shallowly. He didn’t ravage or conquer,
but neither did he give her a choice. He took what he wanted, but also gave her
so much in return—a sense of safety, trust and pleasure. Weslyn relaxed.

“Good, Moon. I
want you just like this, looking sleepy-eyed and ready for more.”

She didn’t bother
to answer as he dipped his head and kissed her jaw. He kept his weight off her
as he licked down her neck, then dropped nipping kisses along her collarbone.
His knees dug into the mattress at her hips and his one elbow was braced near
her shoulder, until he drew back to remove her shirt.

Again, as he’d
been doing all along, Findley made the exposing of Weslyn’s stomach a sensuous
diversion. He had a habit of sweeping the fabric up her torso with short slides
of his hand, but this time Weslyn felt the difference in his touch. Before,
he’d been aloof, but now he was invested, and her skin prickled with
anticipation under his palms.

“You are so damned
beautiful,” he murmured. “From the first time I saw you on camera at the
Reproductive Center, I—”

He didn’t finish
his statement. Instead, he leaned down and kissed Weslyn’s navel, then licked a
hot path due north. The sleek velvet of his tongue was a delicious contrast to
the scratchy cotton he shoved above her breasts, and Weslyn twisted impatiently
to get the shirt off. It tangled around the handcuff confining her, muting the
sound of the metal against the headboard.

Findley unhooked
her bra and removed it in less than a heartbeat. It, too, caught on the
handcuff, but neither of them paid any attention. Findley stared at her, the
silver in his eyes dimming under a wash of green, then resurging like molten
mercury on a hot day. He breathed out roughly and cupped her breast with
exquisite gentleness.

“Have you been sensitive
here?”

“I-I don’t think
so.” Weslyn struggled to answer.

Findley leaned
down, licked her nipple and breathed over it. Hot, then cool—the peak puckered
hard and fast, leaving Weslyn arching and gasping as sensation shot through her
chest.

“Yes,” Findley
growled. “Sensitive.”

He kissed both
breasts in turn, moving his head from one to the other and using his mouth to
great effect. His tongue and lips, a gentle, barely-there suction, his fingers
to measure and fondle her flesh. Weslyn struggled to catch her breath as
pleasure washed over her, a pleasure that didn’t come with doubts of how it
would end or when it might get too rough.

Nolan would take
care of her.

Weslyn let herself
feel. She let herself live in the moment and accept the gift Findley gave her.

He moved down her
body, licking, stroking and sucking. He showered her skin with sensation and
delight. Heat. He kissed her scars and hushed her embarrassed murmurs. Weslyn’s
nerves pulled taut and her hips rose off the mattress. Findley helped her out
of her underwear.

And then she was
naked before him. With unhurried finesse, he encouraged her to spread her legs,
to let him push closer. He made a space for himself, angling his shoulders
against her inner thighs until he could breathe over her aching clit.

“This is all for
you,” he told her. “I want you to feel good.”

He held her stare
as his tongue flicked out. Weslyn lost her breath, only to have it rush back
into her lungs, too fast and hard enough to burn her throat. Hot and wet, the
tip of his tongue traced her clit, rubbed and stroked. Nerves all around the
peak quivered and hummed, and deep inside, Weslyn’s pussy trembled with need.
She could feel how wet she got.

Findley settled in
to feast. Never before had Weslyn thought of what it would be like to have a
man’s tongue between her legs. She’d never imagined how it would feel to be
licked, stroked and fucked with the hot, wet intensity Nolan brought to bear.
He thrust into her pussy, tasting her thoroughly, before pulling back and
sucking on her clit.

She nearly came
off the bed. Weslyn gripped fistfuls of the covers in an effort to be still,
but Nolan seemed determined to get her twisted. Soft licks, hard flicks and the
delicate scrape of teeth had Weslyn grunting and arching, riding his face as he
tongue-fucked her into oblivion.

She was close—so
very close. Her fingers had made their way into his short hair, her nails
scoring his scalp. One foot was planted on the bed for leverage as she worked
her hips, the other was thrown over his shoulder, her heel pressed to his back.
His tongue swept over her flesh, no inch left un-licked until she bit her lip,
pleasure bursting inside her, hovering on the edge of a much-needed explosion.

Nolan pulled back.
Weslyn nearly screamed in frustration, but he moved quickly, rearranging her
limbs and settling against her body. He gathered her close, wrapped her legs
around his hips and notched his thick dick against her dripping opening.

“Hurry,” she
demanded.

“Hell, no,” he
gritted out. “I’m taking my damn time. You’re pregnant.”

“It’ll be okay.”

“Oh, I know it
will.” He pushed forward a single inch, opening her, stretching her, making her
wild with need.

The reality of the
situation smacked Weslyn upside the head. Still, he felt so good driving into
her that she said nothing, made no protest and didn’t ask for a minute to get
herself together emotionally. But somehow he knew, and he rolled to his side,
keeping her close and pulling her leg over his hip. He adjusted them both on
the mattress, until her handcuffed wrist was in a less awkward position.

“Take me when
you’re ready,” he breathed. His hands smoothed down her back to grip her ass.
He rocked a little, sending sheet lightning rumbling through her pussy, but
otherwise didn’t push farther.

“I
am
ready,” she claimed.

Nolan kissed her.
Sweet and slow, a leisurely kiss that implied they had all the time in the
world, totally at odds with the pulsing, jerking hardness buried in her body.
Weslyn broke the kiss and hid her face against his neck. Then she did as her
pussy demanded and lifted against him, taking him the rest of the way inside
her.

It had been so
long. She’d been so empty, so lonely, and Nolan was
there
. His cock
filled her, rubbing over the sensitive place that always made everything all
right, his baby was in her womb and she was in his arms. At that moment, Weslyn
couldn’t have asked for more.

But Nolan gave it.
He withdrew and surged back in—gently, but no less intensely. Again and again,
he thrust deep, working her nerves and her emotions until Weslyn was tangled in
pleasure and desperate to get even closer to the hard, male body sheltering her
from the world.

Writhing on his
cock, pressing as close as she could, she gasped against his neck, licked out
and tasted the salt of his sweat and the flavor of Nolan. His arms held her
close and his dick hit just the right spot. Pleasure exploded in a wave of heat
that melted her spine. Weslyn came with a strangled scream and a heavy
convulsion of her inner walls, her cream slicking from her pussy to drip from
his shaft onto her thigh. Nolan sped up, pressed deep and soon followed her
over the edge of orgasm.

Somewhere in the
silence that descended upon them, Nolan released her wrist from the handcuff
and rubbed the raw skin he’d revealed. Then he turned off the light and
gathered her close again.

Weslyn didn’t
remember falling asleep.