Page 6 of Pregnant By the Playboy

He presses the redhead against his groin, and I almost gasp, imagining it’s me instead of her. She rocks her hips against him, and fuck, I can hear the growl in the back of his throat.

“Marissa Chan,” Carrie murmurs. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

I haven’t seen myself like this before, either.

“Alright,” she says. “Let’s get you what you want.”

Chapter 3

Vince

When Alexis goes to get another drink, the woman in the incredibly sexy black dress struts over to me, one hand on her hip, and it’s clear she’s a woman on a mission.

I fucking love it.

She’s petite, maybe five-two, and rather slight, but she has a huge presence. I’ve never seen her before—and I’m familiar with most of the people Brian invites to his parties.

She grabs my lapels and tugs me up. Her raised eyebrows indicate a question, and I nod. She can do what she wants to me.

She drags me into the corner, grabs my hand, and puts it on her ass. Oh, wow. And then she stands on her toes and kisses me.

Who is this woman?

I had my lips on another woman not a minute ago, but I’m not complaining. I live for shit like this.

Her kiss is a scorcher, and I can’t say I’m surprised. Her strokes are quick, then deep and long. She’s mixing it up, keeping my head spinning. When I squeeze her ass and press her against my erection, she tears her lips from mine, breathing heavily.

“You want that, baby?” I murmur.

She nods.

I still haven’t heard her voice, but fuck, she feels good. I inch up the hem of her dress.

“Yeah?” I say.

She nods again.

I slide my finger over her panties. They’re soaked. I push them aside and shove a finger inside her.

Yes. Wet and perfect.

“Vince,” she gasps. Her voice is low and throaty and wonderful.

“You know my name.” I smile.

“Yeah. I know who you are, Vince Fong.”

“Well, that puts me at a disadvantage. I have no idea who you are, even though I have my finger in your pussy.”

Her pupils dilate. She loves this.

I’m good at sex because I’m good at reading people. Also, I’ve had lots of practice.

She starts grinding against my hand, but I don’t move, and she moans in frustration.

“Tell me how to get you off,” I whisper, my mouth a hair’s breadth from her ear. “You want to ride my hand? You want my mouth? What’s it take?”

“Your mouth. I want you on your knees.”