Knocked Up by the Bad Boy

By: Vanessa Waltz

The last thing I need is a wife and kid.

The only settling down I do is at night, when I take a girl home to f*ck. I get laid to unwind from the chaos in my life. I live to hear them scream my name, but one night is all they get.

One night was all I needed.

Until I knocked up Maya.

It was supposed to be one night. But one wild night made me want another, and another. I’m addicted to every inch of her body. Now that I have her, I can’t let her go. I thought I never wanted a family, but now I can’t imagine life without one.

Only, there’s a problem.

Her father wants me dead.

I didn’t know she was his daughter.

I don’t give a damn.

She’s mine. Our child is mine. I protect what’s mine.

Even if it means war.

Note: this 72,000-word standalone mafia romance novel contains mature themes and situations that might make some readers uncomfortable. This is the second book in the Cravotta Crime Family saga, but it is a standalone novel. Get the first book, Married to the Bad Boy!

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Smoke shifts in front of me in a gray haze, obscuring the bodies surrounding me. Desaturated shapes move behind the smoky background, and I search through them. It’s hard to tell what makes my veins burn with the need for more—more wine, more cigarettes, and more pussy.

Music pounds into my chest like a second heartbeat, mirroring the vicious desire thrumming through my veins. Cocktail waitresses whisk the smoke-filled room like apparitions. Their clothes cling to their bodies like Saran Wrap.

Scantily clad girls are magnets for my cock, and being the boss means I can have my pick of any of them. It’s a free-for-all. Hard to choose one. Their eyes follow me wherever I go, and I look back, gauging their interest. Do I want to fuck her? How far will she let me go?

A warm, female body slides against mine. Her torso shifts so that she stands right between my legs, the deep neckline of her shirt giving me a nice fucking view of her tits, pressed against her too-small t-shirt. No bra.

Blood seems to drain from my head, feeding the rush to my groin. She sets down drinks at the bar. They make sharp raps as the glasses hit the counter, one after the other.

I recognize her.

It’s the second time she’s rubbed against me like a cat in heat. My cock stirs when she leans into my shoulder, strands of her blonde hair just dragging my shoulder.

Fucking broads. If you want my cock, just ask for it.

Is she hot though? Those big tits distract me, just hanging there without a bra. She leans over the bar counter, chatting with the bartender. I look up her slender legs, all the way to the curve of her ass when her short skirt rides up slightly. Her arm presses against mine as if she’s oblivious, as if she isn’t aware that she’s touching me. One set of deep-blue eyes flash at me as she meets my gaze briefly, smiling through those pink lips.

There are two types of women in this world: those who want to fuck me because I’m the boss, and those who want to fuck me because they’ve heard of my reputation between the sheets.

Not to brag, but I’m a pretty great fuck. I never leave them disappointed. Even the ones who think they can get something out of fucking the boss always beg for seconds. I rarely indulge them. Why try the same thing when I can have any flavor of the week?

My attention turns back to the cocktail waitress, who is still hell-bent on teasing me, leaning over to shove her ass in my face. Maddon, I want to grab the backs of her thighs and pinch that perfectly round, bubble ass.

Her, my cock says. Fuck her.

I love getting it wet, hearing them scream my name, night after night. I fucking need it because it’s not easy being me.

The waitress finally pulls away from the bar, her warmth disappearing from my shoulder. A rush of energy makes me reach out and grab her wrist before she can take two steps away. Her pulse jumps into my fingers. She whirls around, her blonde hair clinging to her neck.

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