The Wrong Man (Alpha Men 3)

“Sunshine, I love the sounds you make when you come,” he whispered against her lips. “Soft and breathless and desperate.”

“Make me come again,” she begged, her hands drifting down to his straining crotch. “Make me come with this.”

He groaned, the sound low and frantic. He fumbled with his fly, his right hand still clumsy, and she reached out to help him with the task. His hot, hard length spilled into her hands, and she latched onto it, stroking it eagerly. He arched out of her touch.

“Sunshine, you’re killing me. No touching for now, okay?”

She lifted her hands to his head instead and tugged him down for another kiss. And while their lips and tongues entangled, he entered her with one swift, deep stroke. Lia cried out against his mouth and raised her knees to cradle him closer.

“Oh, Brand,” she moaned, and he stopped thrusting, holding himself still inside her. She sobbed and pushed herself up against him, wanting more.

“Sam,” he muttered. “I want to hear it. Call me Sam.” She was too desperate to give the command much thought, her entire being focused on his delicious heat inside her. She needed him to move, to give her what she was so frantic for, and she would do or say anything in this moment for the culmination she craved.

“Sam,” she whispered, and he buried his face in her neck and thrust into her. “Sam.” Another thrust.

“Oh my God, Sam.”

He sobbed and thrust even deeper than before.

“Sam, please . . .” She bit into his shoulder, planted her feet on the floor, and lifted her hips to meet his thrusts. When she finally came, she screamed his name. A long, drawn-out cry. One syllable stretched out into nine.

Not Brand.

But Sam.

Sam couldn’t catch his breath. He held Lia close, cradling her in his arms like she was the most precious thing in his life, and he felt like he was slowly asphyxiating, because he just couldn’t fucking breathe.

He finally moved, leaving her wet warmth and automatically reaching down to discard the condom when he comprehended that there wasn’t one. Which a) explained why the entire encounter had been so fucking amazing and intense and b) was completely unprecedented for him.

“Fuck,” he swore vehemently. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck!”

“What’s wrong?” she asked groggily, sitting up and pushing her messy hair out of her face.

“I forgot the condom.” She gasped softly at his revelation.

“I thought things felt a bit . . . damper than usual,” she said tactfully. “Um. I don’t have anything to worry about, do I?”

“What?” He was still a bit dazed, and it took him a moment to register her question. “Jesus. No. Of course not. I’m sorry. I was tested for everything when I was in the hospital. All clear. And you’ve been my only partner since last November.”

“Oh. Well, I’ve never had a partner other than Clayton,” she confessed. “And he always used a condom. I did have tests after our breakup, because I wasn’t sure how much I could trust him.”

“So that only leaves, uh . . . the other thing.” God, this was awkward, especially when she stared at him with those innocent gray eyes.

“Other thing?”

“You know? Pregnancy?” She inhaled sharply, and her hands automatically flew to her tummy in a protective gesture. Oddly, the instinctive movement elicited an unmistakable wrench of possessiveness in Sam.

“Pregnancy?” she mused, her eyes bright. “A baby? Imagine that, a little blond boy or girl. Probably stubborn and charming in equal measure.”

Sam swallowed, trying to ease the dryness in his throat and mouth as he envisioned said child. A little brown-haired girl with gray eyes and a beautiful smile. She would be a sweet little thing, always laughing and . . .

He shook his head violently. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why the hell was he picturing babies?

“Of course, I won’t expect you to be involved or anything. Don’t worry. I can raise him or her myself.”

Over my dead body! He felt himself glowering in response to her claim, pissed off that she would automatically exclude him from his kid’s life. He was about to vehemently tell her that she would do no such thing when she lifted a hand to her mouth and giggled.

“Oh my gosh, the look on your face!” He stared at her, confused. Maybe she was hysterical at the prospect of an unplanned pregnancy. He couldn’t believe he’d been so careless. He never forgot the condom—well, aside from that time in the barn with her, but that had been a fraught encounter and he’d remembered the condom after only a few strokes. This time . . . okay, this time had been fraught as well. But still, this was fucking inexcusable. He found himself considering all possibilities. He would take care of her. Despite her claims that he didn’t have to. If she was pregnant, she and the baby were his responsibility, he would—