Bad Boy's Bridesmaid: A Secret Baby Romance (28 page)

Coming Late
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Sweetest Sin – A
Priest Romance

Forgive me
Father…for I am flirting with temptation…

…and so are you.

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Bonus Novels

Bad
Boy’s Baby

Bad
Boy’s Revenge

Play-maker. Trouble-maker. Baby-maker?

Star professional quarterback Jack
Carson has the worst reputation in the league. He’s arrogant and gorgeous, and
if he’s not in bed with a new woman, he’s sleeping off the party in a jail
cell.
But now he’s gotten in trouble too many times and needs my help to protect his
career. As his publicist, I’ve hidden his dirty exploits and silenced the sexy
rumors…but I missed the hottest scandal of the year.
Apparently, Jack and I are
dating
.
When the trouble-maker lies to the league and claims we’re in a committed
relationship, he jeopardizes both our jobs. I can’t trust the tattooed bad boy,
but now I’m stuck defending him. I have to make him seem respectable—no matter
what.
But his shameful reputation isn’t fixed with a few photos of us on a date. With
the league determined to expel him for bad-behavior, Jack has only one option
to convince them he’s wholesome, dependable, and responsible.
Jack Carson wants to start a family.
And he’s chosen me to give him the baby.

Bad Boy’s Baby

Copyright © 2015
by Sosie Frost

All rights
reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work
of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are
either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely
coincidental.

This book is
licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or
given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another
person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you’d like to share
it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

Cover Design
: Mayhem Cover
Creations

http://mayhemcovercreations.com/

Cover Images
Purchased from
: 
http://www.depositphotos.com

To L.G.

Cause I know how
much you love bad boys…

Chapter One - Jack

A party wasn’t a
party unless I had two women begging to take me home.

And the fun only
started when I agreed to fuck both of them.

The blonde
grinded against me first. Not that I wasn’t partial to blondes, just had seen a
lot of them lately. Blue-eyes, sexy curls, lips that pouted more than they’d
ever smile. She was the kind of girl who’d suck out a man’s willpower through
his cock then demand a credit card to go shopping. I’d learned to stay away
from those girls. Good for one fuck, maybe two, but then they’d always want the
same thing.

Money. Tickets
for their friends. A car. New tits.

Somewhere out
there, four women had eight, brand new tits courtesy of Jack Carson. It was
almost like a public service.

And the league
said I needed to devote more time to charity. I was doing the world enough
favors. 

Only a few of my
teammates joined us for the night out. Half of them took off before the party
got rowdy. The rest grabbed more beer and a girl of their choice.

I ordered the
waitresses to bring us another round of everything—alcohol, wings, phone
numbers. The music pounded, and two of my teammates shook the jukebox until
their change poured out. The R&B blared, and some of the girls started to
dance.

And those lovely
ladies knew just what to shake.

After a song—and
three discarded thongs—another handful of coeds slipped into our private room.
They giggled as they recognized the stars of the Ironfield Rivets and paraded
to my table. I let one through, a pretty little brunette I stacked next to the
blonde.

Now this
brunette I liked.

She wore a sexy
black dress, something deserving of the Vegas strip, not the city of Ironfield.
When she curled into my lap, the hem rose. I covered that exposed thigh with a
hand.

Soft. Warm.
She’d do for a night.

The brunette
coo’ed, fake and practiced. She didn’t need to patronize me. I preferred a real
moan. My fingers tucked inside her panties.

Shaved.

I liked that.

I tickled until
I earned her genuine, sexy sigh, except my flirting pissed the blonde off. That
wouldn’t do. I gave her a wink, and she settled down, leaning close enough to
let me glance at her tits. She had a better rack than the brunette. The
heart-shaped tattoo was familiar though…

Now I
remembered. Last week, I saw her blowing Orlando, one of my linemen. It wasn’t
unusual for the same girls to pass through the team. I had to admire her
dedication. She worked her sweet-ass up from a lineman to the star of the offense.
She wouldn’t stop until she fucked me—the team MVP.

She couldn’t get
any better than me.

And she wouldn’t
have a night better than what I’d offer.

The blonde
licked her lips at me. The brunette wanted me to finger her. I studied both of
their bodies.

“You girls might
want to exchange names.” I tugged on the blonde’s dress strap. “Tonight, you’re
gonna get to know each other real well.”

The brunette was
into it, but I was pinching her clit. She’d do anything I said. I hoped the
blonde liked brunettes or they wouldn’t have as much fun when I took both of
them home. Then again, some resentment was sexy. It was entertaining when the
girls got territorial. A little cat-scratching, back-biting, and hissing to
stake their claim made the sex damn exciting.

Besides,
everyone loved competition—especially me, especially when two big-titted women
fought over my dick. A man didn’t get to the top of both his game and his women
without encouraging healthy rivalry. And it was a good night to shoot for my
personal best.

A threesome was
fun, but it didn’t impress anyone anymore. A foursome though—entertaining
three
lovely ladies?—that sounded just right. I was in the business of making plays
and memories.

Fortunately,
another blonde roamed the room, searching for a lap to grind in or a cock to
suck. I hauled her into the seat next to me.

“You.” I didn’t
even ask her name. “Sit.”

Her voice was
breathy. “Yes, sir.”

I’d never get
tired of that. The new girl earned the scorn of both the brunette straddling my
lap and the blonde at my side. I expected one of them to bolt, but even a third
of my attention was enough of a thrill. They all stayed, staking their
particular claim. The new blonde tested the limits of her halter-top and rubbed
my bicep. The first blonde entwined her hand on my other arm. The brunette
shimmied against my thighs.

“Girls…” I
grinned as their fingers roamed over my chest. “It’s gonna be a
damn
good night.”

Bryon Washington
sloshed his beer at me. The half-hearted toast was as much a congratulations as
I’d get from my best friend and teammate. He smacked the waitress’s ass as she
delivered another round of desserts. We hadn’t ordered them. She shifted from
Bryon’s roaming touch.

“Compliments of
the owner,” she said. “He’s a diehard Rivets fan.”

“Thanks, babe.”
I remembered my manners even with three girls hanging over me. Wouldn’t my PR
team be proud? “I’ll send him an autograph.”

She glanced over
the table—covered in empty glasses, spilled beer, chicken bones, and a general
mess. I doubt she wanted an autograph, probably just needed a night off after
we trashed the place. At least she was cute. She could have gotten a ride all
the way home if she played her cards right.

Bryon mourned
her departure as she collected a tray of empty plates and escaped from the
shouting and riotous laughter. He got over her rejection quick enough.

“You should
share the wealth, Jack,” Bryon said, surveying my blondes. “A pretty boy like
you don’t need
three
girls. It’ll look better if the team captain bangs
only one lucky lady at a time.”

I didn’t care
how it’d look, only how it’d feel. So far, the brunette stroking my hard-on
through the denim promised a night to remember.

“Hoping I
shuffle one off to you?” I asked.

Bryon winked at
the brunette in her skin-tight, black dress and patted his lap. “You gotta
maintain that gentlemanly image, Jack. Coach’s orders.”

“What
gentlemanly
image?” Like
anyone
had ever called me a gentleman. “I’m not doing
anything wrong. I plan to show these lovely ladies a night on the town. They
should be lucky to have Jack Carson as their tour-guide.”

“They won’t see
much of the city from their knees.” He grinned at the brunette. “Come here,
honey. He won’t miss ya.”

That wasn’t how
this worked.

I was the
leader. I was in charge.

And, like any
alpha in a pride, I ate first. The others could have their scraps after I took
my fill.

I didn’t let
Brunette slip from my lap. 

The last time
the guys and I went out for a night, Bryon came to dinner with rainbow stripes
around his dick—three different colors of lipstick ringing his cock. He bragged
about it for a week, thinking he was hot shit.

I wasn’t a man
who got out-classed or out-done, especially with women.

The blonde
giggled and teased her fingers around my shoulders. Her nails poked when they should
have stroked, but she’d have a good grip on my cock later.

“Yeah, go on,
Honey,” Blondie said. “I’ll take good care of Mr. Carson.”

The brunette
arched an eyebrow that might have screamed a dozen obscenities if it weren’t
plucked to death, drawn in, and botox’ed stiff. She licked her lip and turned
her attention to me.

“I can entertain
him all by myself.” She breathed in my ear. “Right, baby?”

She smelled like
cigarettes and one too many martinis. Blondie scowled. The other blonde
adjusted her halter-top and let her tits do the talking.

Three
under-sexed, intentionally-starved, loose-moraled women vying for the
opportunity to get fucked by the Rivets’ quarterback? Yeah, I’d take those
odds.

I waved to
another waitress, frantically mopping up a spill. She leapt at the chance to
serve someone other than my offensive line as they chugged another pitcher of
beer and gnawed on the bones of their third order of barbeque wings.

She was just
some chubby little college girl, pushing up glasses and huffing as the pitcher
spilled. Beer soaked into the carpet. She was cute, but too flustered. I liked
a girl with confidence.

“Another round
for these ladies.” I waved over my newest fan club. “Whatever they want.”

“I know what
I
want…” The blonde bit her lip, her eyes skipping the flirting and darting to my
groin.

The waitress
sighed and grabbed her pad and pencil, though halter-top blonde scoffed as she
had to repeat her order over the noise. My offensive line roared in laughter
and stole the remote, turning the television to a show replaying one of our
critical games last season.

One of my best
passes was highlighted in full glory for us to admire. The table bumbled, and
glasses went flying. The girls laughed. Blondie ran a hand over my throwing
arm.

She squeezed the
muscle.

Giggled.

She’d learn soon
enough that wasn’t the hardest part of me.

The waitress
bolted to the kitchen and returned, red-faced and brushing the sweaty hair from
her cheeks. She looped the room, depositing drinks and collecting dishes. This
time she left the door open, and our private party was no longer separated from
the restaurant. It wasn’t a great place, just some trendy little burger bar
that seemed a good investment for when I got my contract renegotiated. The
burgers were greasy, the women attractive, and it offered a night of endless
fun.

Except Rivets’
management said we weren’t
technically
supposed to be partying in public
anymore. They said we were likely to cause a scene and our behavior was hard to
spin to the fans.

I didn’t understand
that. We acted like any other red-blooded man who had a couple million to blow
and the attention of short-skirted women. Apparently, that was a problem. The
team and league were as big a pain in the ass as my publicist.

What was the
point of being rich, famous, and sporting a nine-inch cock if you didn’t get to
celebrate with it once in a while?

Or two or three
times a week?

I only lived
once. I owed it to myself to make the most of it.

The brunette
freaked before anyone could enjoy their drinks. “Waitress, I ordered
olives
not
onions
.” She punctuated her displeasure by eating the onion anyway.

“Sorry!” The
waitress gritted her teeth as the brunette tossed the martini glass at her
tray. It splashed on her apron. “I’ll get you a new one.”

“With
two
olives. Or should we write it out for you?” She giggled at me. “Honestly, is it
that hard?”

The waitress
blushed and looked at me. “Anything else for you, M—Mr. Carson?”

“Call me Jack.”

“O—okay.” The
waitress teetered between star-struck and terrified, like she stared down the
entire defensive line of the Ashenville Hawks. “Anything for you, Jack?”

“Nah.” I watched
Bryon grab another girl. He cornered her in the shadows, and that meant it was
time to go. The guys were a little too rowdy, and my women were antsy. “Just
whatever the girls want, honey.”

“Aw, come on.”
Blonde halter-top tapped my beer bottle. “I thought Jack Carson liked to
party.”

“Baby, the party
hasn’t started yet.” I rubbed her thigh. She wore too much perfume and no
panties. Too easy.

“Don’t you want
to play?”

Yeah, but there
was a fine line between fun and forgetting the condom. “You ain’t seen nothing
yet, baby.”

I left half of
my beer and gulped the rest of my water. If I wasn’t blacking out, no sense
wasting calories. I planned to bulk, but we were doing it right. Chicken
breasts. Eggs. Almonds.

Besides, my
publicist had a shitfit the last time a story passed on the internet about me
being drunk. I wasn’t even driving and, somehow, I became the bad guy for
having fun.

Of course, the
story also included the picture of the girl with her hand down my pants. And,
if I remembered that incident right, we might have had an issue with some
slight public exposure too. Nothing that embarrassed me, but, then again, what
I packed deserved to be admired.

Still, we were
supposed to be
partying
. If my publicist couldn’t understand that, then
Leah needed to get laid instead of bitching about my image and bad publicity.
My chosen friends were more impressed by the story of me bouncing three girls
in my lap, but the league and media wanted ribbon cuttings and donations to
charity. I did that too, but where was the
fun
in it?