Dirty Little Mistake (Dirty #2)

  Dirty Little Mistake

  Written and published by Amber Rides

  Copyright 2014, Amber Rides

  Cover image courtesy of freewallpaper.net

  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.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Prologue

  His hands found her hips and guided over the smooth curves. It was dark, and this was new, but he was already familiar with every inch of her. His palms circled to the small of her back, then scooped down to cup her ass possessively. The flesh there was soft and tender and full enough to make him throb with need.

  “I want you.” His voice was husky with desire.

  “How do you want me?” she teased.

  Her fingers were on his back, tracing the muscles that went from his shoulders to his waist, over and over again in an agonizing motion.

  “How don’t I want you?” he groaned.

  “Tell me. And I’ll touch you.”

  “I want you fast,” he replied, aware that he had answered a little too eagerly, but not caring at all. “And then slow. And fast again.”

  Her lips closed over his earlobe and her hand skidded over his abs and down to his thigh.

  “I want you on me,” he stated. “I want you underneath me.”

  She dragged her fingers up. They closed over his hard cock and gave it a gentle stroke. Too gentle.

  “I want you to feel me inside you,” he breathed.

  She gasped and her grip tightened around his erection.

  “I want you like that,” he told her.

  She caressed him firmly, perfectly, and he had to rein himself in.

  “I want to taste you.”

  “Do it,” she teased. “I dare you.”

  “Oh you dare me, do you?” he growled.

  In a fluid motion, he slid down the bed and rolled her to her back, and nipped playfully at her calves – first one, then the other. Her knees fell open easily as he worked his way up the entire length of her legs. When he reached the center, he paused to slide his hands across her stomach, and then brought his thumbs down to meet the wetness between her thighs.

  She arched herself against his ministrations because she couldn’t help it. The circular motion he made over her clit brought on waves of heat, radiating from her core to her skin, then back again.

  She wasn’t sure how much longer she could contain her need.

  “I accept your dare. I’m going to taste you. Now,” he announced and his promise made her tremble.

  His tongue darted into her, teasing and playing and sucking lightly. His tempo increased, as did the depth of his exploration. She cried out as his mouth worked. A coil built up inside her, tighter and tighter, begging to be released.

  And she begged too. “Please! Oh, please!”

  His fingers pressed deep into her while his lips clamped down on her now-swollen clit and all at once, her world rocked and then shattered. He stayed there for a long moment, letting her ride the wave of her orgasm against his hand and his mouth. When he did release her, she was spent. Almost empty.

  But he didn’t let the emptiness last. He lifted himself over her and planted a soft kiss on her lips. She could taste herself on him and warmth immediately shot through her again. With one hand, he propped himself above her, and with the other, he toyed with her nipple until it ached pleasantly. Very quickly, her body was on fire once more.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t bear the need anymore, he drew back and plunged himself into her. He pulled back slightly, then drove himself in even further. She wrapped her legs around his waist and rose to meet him. Each thrust brought her internal flame higher and higher. With a final, deep push, he shuddered within her, and in another indescribable burst, she came against him once more.

  They collapsed onto the bed together, wrapped in nothing but each other, and fell asleep in a mess of bare legs, satisfied bodies, and contented hearts.

  FIVE WEEKS LATER…

  Chapter One

  Brenna

  “Oh, no.”

  I stared down at the seemingly innocuous white tube in my hand and willed it to change.

  Please, please, please.

  It didn’t budge.

  “Oh, no,” I said again. “Oh, no, oh, no. Ohnoohnoohno!”

  I pulled my glasses off my nose, rubbed them on my T-shirt, then stuck them back on and looked again. The stubborn pink plus sign glared back at me mockingly.

  Why, oh why had I bought it? And why, once I purchased it, did I decide to pee on it?

  So what if my monthly visitor was a week late? I should’ve been celebrating the reprieve by going for an unencumbered swim.

  So what if my roommate, Risa, told me my boobs looked like swollen melons not once, but twice in this last ten days? She said all kinds of crazy shit.

  My brain didn’t like the answer to my questions. It didn’t want to acknowledge the P-word at all. It didn’t want to recall the one night of drunken-ninja sex which occurred precisely five weeks earlier. Hell. My brain couldn’t recall it. Not really.

  It remembered a shot of tequila. (Or three.)

  It remembered exquisite, mind-bending orgasms, one after the other.

  It remembered giggling and kissing and the dizzying scent of the perfect, understated cologne and not much else.

  It did, however, recall with too-perfect clarity the walk of shame the morning after.

  So what if all my brain wanted now was to crawl away from my skull and slink into the toilet to be flushed away.

  I’m going to have a drunk-ninja baby.

  The thought popped into my head and it might’ve been funny. If I was living in a sitcom. But this shit was real. So all I could do what stare stupidly at the pee-stick and curse my impetuous behavior and tell myself I wasn’t my mother. I wouldn’t become her.

  Because for all twenty-two of my years, I’d been vowing to make sure that wouldn’t happen. I’d told anyone who would listen how I’d mapped out my life, how I’d made a plan and how I was sticking to that plan like a fly on honey.

  No one knew better than I did how tough life could be for a child whose parent lived hand-to-mouth. How it felt to wonder each morning if there was enough money for milk, or if this was going to be another day with water in the cereal instead. I was well-acquainted with – and done with – a mother who had brought a squalling, unwanted infant into the world with no father, no direction, and no intention of doing it right.

  I’d promised myself I wouldn’t be that girl. I wouldn’t be that mother. I wouldn’t be my mother.

  My kids would be planned and loved and in sync with my plan.

  I would do it right.

  Except now…My plan was fucked.

  I brought my hand over my stomach.

  “Hello, ninja-baby,” I said softly, and in spite of myself, my heart filled up.

  I spread my fingers out, trying to recall what I knew about a five-week old fetus. Was it the size of a pea? Or smaller?

  A clatter outside the bathroom door cut off my ponderings and warned me that the pee stick and I were no longer alone.

  My roommate burst through the door, blurry-eyed from her double shift at the restaurant wh
ere she waited tables. She hiked up her skirt and dropped her panties before she finally saw me. When she did, she shrieked in what I fondly called a Risa-dramatic way.

  I waited until she was done screaming, then raised an eyebrow and greeted her. “Hi, Risa. How was work?”

  “Holy shit, Bren! Give a girl some warning!” she exclaimed.

  My eyebrow went up even further. “Sorry. Next time I have to pee, I’ll send you an email.”

  She huffed. “Well. I’d appreciate that.”

  She bent to grab her underwear and paused, standing up without actually pulling up her panties. Her eyes fixed on the pregnancy test, then grew so round they took up a quarter of her face.

  “What’ve you got there, Bren? That can’t be what I think it is.”

  “It can. It is. Unless you think it’s something other than a pregnancy test.”

  Risa whistled. “Hooooolllly shit.”

  She ripped the test from my hand, glanced at its result window, and then tossed it into the sink. She dove at me and hugged me, paying no attention to the fact that my PJs were still at my ankles and her own ass was as bare as the day she was born. She squeezed me hard, and when she finally pulled away, her grin was big enough to make me sure she’d gone crazy.

  “Congratulations!” she crowed.

  “What?”

  “This is awesome.”

  I shook my head. “In what way? This isn’t a good thing.”

  “What’re you talking about? It’s fantastic!”

  “I don’t want a baby. I don’t need a baby.”

  Risa slapped my arm. “Well I know that, dummy! I was congratulating you on getting laid.”

  My mouth opened to protest, but nothing came out. I closed it again and stared at my roommate incredulously. Risa ignored my expression.

  “How long had it been, anyway? A whole year?” she asked.

  “Two,” I admitted.

  “So there you go. Dry spell broken.” Risa patted my hand. “C’mon. Pull your pants up. You can make me a coffee and yourself a decaf. Or an herbal tea. Whichever you prefer. Then we can talk about how to sell a baby on the Internet without getting caught.”

  I might’ve laughed. Except I wasn’t entirely sure my roommate was kidding.

  ***

  With my pants finally back in place, I set my mug of watery chamomile on the table beside Risa’s delicious-smelling Kona.

  I wasn’t sure what was worse – drinking the tea or the determined look on my roommate’s face. Both made me want to run and hide.

  She’d been babbling for five minutes straight, but had stopped abruptly and was staring at me like I was a bug under a microscope.

  I looked away because I had to.

  When Risa snapped her fingers right beside my ear, I jumped in my seat and the hot liquid in my cup sloshed over the side.

  “Hey! I’m soaked!”

  “It was the professor from your night class, wasn’t it?” she demanded, ignoring my consternation.

  “What was?”

  “Your baby-daddy.”

  “Okay, first,” I said. “Don’t every say baby-daddy again. And second…No! He’s seventy-five!”

  “Baby-daddy, baby-daddy, baby-daddy,” she retorted. “And I know. But he’s got that creepy-old-man-handsome thing going on.”

  “Ew.”

  “I bet he pulls in a sweet-ass paycheck though.” Risa’s face grew diabolically thoughtful. “He’d probably have to pay a mint in child support. Ooh. I bet he’d pay you even more if he was married and you blackmailed him. Is he married?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Except he’s not the father.”

  “Maybe he could be. Do you think he’s so old he doesn’t know about DNA testing?”

  “Risa! This is serious.”

  She grinned. “I know. That’s why I’m trying to hook you up.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Even if I was the blackmailing type – which I’m not – I’m sure the majority of that sweet paycheck goes toward his family. And the part that doesn’t probably goes to pay for his dentures and adult diapers.”

  “Gross.”

  I shrugged. “Not as gross as you thinking I’d sleep with him.”

  “The milkman then?”

  “We don’t even have a milkman! And before you ask, it wasn’t your skeezy brother, either,” I told her dryly.

  “He’s not that skeezy.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Besides that, I knew it wasn’t my brother. He’s still got eighteen months left on his sentence.”

  “Not skeezy at all,” I muttered and I put my head in my hands. “It’s actually much worse than that anyway.”

  “Okay, tell me,” Risa commanded.

  Without looking up, I waved my hand toward the kitchen window.

  After a pause, Risa gasped. “Oh my God, Bren! That guy across the street? He’s rocking his triplets to sleep! That’s low. Even for a girl who hasn’t got any in two whole years.”

  My eyes flew open and my roommate laughed.

  “Gotcha,” she teased.

  “You’re a terrible person,” I grumbled.

  “I know,” she replied. “Just tell me who the lucky guy is.”

  “Our new neighbor.”

  “Who?”

  “Our neighbor. You know. A person who lives within close proximity. And in this case, the person who lives right next door.”

  “Holy shit! You slept with Bookworm?”

  “What?”

  “The guy who never looks up from those oh-so-serious tomes of his.”

  “You mean Ridley?” I shook my head. “No, not Ridley. Although I did just about kill him accidentally as I ran out of there. But it wasn’t him. It was the one who lives with him. Ian.”

  “Too bad. I kinda hoped Bookworm had a bit of kink under those button-down shirts and that Clark Kent nerdiness. Who’s the other one?”

  “Ian,” I repeated, and sighed when Risa’s face remained blank. “You know. The one who’s always out there washing his car topless.”

  “You mean Balls-For-Brains?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sure.”

  “Shut. Up.”

  “I know.”

  “Was his penis tiny?”

  “Risa!”

  “It’s a serious question. Any guy with that many muscles has gotta be jacked up on steroids and they say it reduces the size of your dick.” She paused and gave me a thoughtful look. “Although…If he managed to impregnate you while juicing, maybe his junk ain’t so shrunk?”

  “You’re such a delicate flower,” I replied.

  “I know. So? Was it? A teeny tiny penis?”

  I coloured. “No.”

  Risa grinned. “Oh, I see. Tell me more.”

  As much as I didn’t want to, I knew my friend wouldn’t let up until I dropped at least a couple of details.

  “It was the housewarming.”

  “You told me you didn’t go.”

  “What was I going to do? Tell you I got drunk, had the best sex of my life, and ran out of there like an idiot?”

  “Yes! I can’t believe you lied to me. Were you tipsy? Or slammed?”

  “Slammed,” I confirmed. “I don’t even remember getting into bed with him in the first place. I just remember how amazing it was.”

  “His teeny tiny penis was amazing?”

  I gave her a dirty look. “The whole night was.”

  “Or maybe it’s just been so long since you had sex that it only seemed amazing,” Risa offered.

  “Trust me. It was amazing for real. The things he said…The things he did. I’ve never had sex like that. In fact, it felt like more than sex. I woke up thinking it was.”

  “Orgasms?”

  “Yes.”

  “You did hear the plural part of my question, right?”

  My cheeks got hot. “I did.”

  “Well. Shit. Now I want to have his baby.”

  “You think you do. Until I get to
the bad part.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “First, I was okay. Like I said, I woke up thinking it was something more than a one-night stand. I was wrapped up in his sheets and I had a hell of a hangover, but I had that feeling you get after…” I trailed off as I remembered the calm, content morning stretch and the eagerness to try it again.

  “After a night of mind blowing, awesome sex,” Risa filled in.

  “Yeah. But times a thousand.”

  “So what the hell happened?”

  “It all went to shit. First, I reached out to grab him and he wasn’t even there. When I rolled over, I was staring up at a poster of some topless chick. On his goddamned ceiling.”

  “Yuck.”

  “No kidding,” I agreed. “I decided to go looking for him, but I couldn’t find my clothes. When I grabbed a T-shirt of his from the floor, I found no less than two pairs of other women’s underwear in a pile beside a stack of porn. Then I found him…And the girl he was with. Who offered me a little group action.”

  “Double yuck. Brenna?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I no longer want to have his baby.”

  “Lucky for you,” I replied miserably. “I’m the one who’s pregnant.”

  The P-word, spoken aloud in the proper context, hit me hard.

  This is real. Really real.

  “You haven’t said anything to him since?” my friend asked.

  “No. Why would I? It was totally humiliating,” I said. “Plus, he’s barely looked at me since. Sleeping with strangers is probably a regular thing for him. Maybe he’s got, like, twenty other love children out there.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I want…” I trailed off again and swallowed the lump in my throat.

  I’d been about to say, I want to not be pregnant at all.

  But the truth was, even though I’d only known for a few minutes, I actually wanted this baby. I really did. I loved it – him or her – already and I was willing to do almost anything to bring the baby into the world.

  Even if it was a baby whose father wouldn’t know him or her at all. A baby whose father would never play Santa or sing deep-voiced lullabies.

  Visions of my childhood danced unhappily through my mind. I thought of my mother and some of the hurtful words she spoke to me before I cut her out of my life for good.