Secret Daddy - J.R. Gray Page 0,30

neck, pressing his broad chest into my shoulder blades, smothering me with his body as he thrust back into me.

And wrecked me over and over. Filling me and my heart.

Jensen collected me in his arms after we’d cleaned ourselves up. I laid on his chest as he stroked his fingers down my back, tracing patterns over my skin. This could be something. I wanted it to be something. I wanted to open up and trust him. And as scary as it was, he was worth those things. He deserved them from me. Didn’t mean I was going to make it easy for him.

“Can I stay the night?” Jensen asked after a little while.

“Did you think I was going to make you leave in all the snow?” I asked.

“Kinda yeah.”

“I’m not that mean.”

“No, just a lady.”

“Damn right I am,” I said through a yawn. “You can stay but tomorrow we have to get you out of here before my parents show up.”

“Fair enough.”

The scent of coffee lured me from my sleep. I opened one eye finding my bed empty. I blinked a few times trying to figure out what time it was from the angle of the sun. It was pretty high in the sky. I rarely slept this late. I pulled the blanket over my head, considering dozing until Jensen brought me coffee.

Voices roused me from my near slumber.

Voices… My brain was sluggish and attempts at coming up with rational reasons for the voices wasn’t going well. Could Adam be home already? Maybe he and Jensen had been texting.

A woman’s laugh reached my ears and my eyes snapped open.

I threw on clothes and sprinted from my room, skidding to a halt in front of my parents.

“This is not what it looks like,” I stammered, looking between my mother and father happily chatting with Jensen who was pulling something from the oven.

He straightened up and smiled. “Good morning.”

I blinked at him as he set a coffee cake on the counter and pulled off the oven mitts.

“What is this not?” my mother asked.

“I would love to know what this is not as well,” my father added, picking up his coffee and staring me down.

I held up a finger and my mouth hung open.

“Do enlighten us,” Jensen said when I didn’t speak.

“Shut up you.” I pointed at him. “Why are you guys here so early?” I tried to keep my voice even, leaning against the counter but missed the counter and cracked my face on the cabinet. Smooth, real smooth, Aiden.

My mother pursed her lips and my father raised his brows like only a disappointed adult could.

“Would you like some coffee, Aiden, before you hurt yourself even more?” Jensen was way too excited about all of this. “Maybe take a seat?”

I took the cup and sat, even more mad that he knew how to make my perfect cup. I grumbled into the cup.

“Cake?” Jensen asked, cutting into whatever he’d made.

“Yes, darling. This is lovely. Our kids never cook for us,” my mom said.

Aiden lifted his hand palms up.

“I had to learn to cook. Often left to fend for myself.” Jensen handed plates to both my parents before putting one in front of me.

He was entirely too smug.

“Can I ask again why you’re here so early?” I asked.

“How early do you think it is?” my dad shot back. Sarcastic bastard.

“Early,” I said, stabbing my cake.

“We saw they’d cleared the roads last night and wanted to get an early start to the holidays with you and your brother.” My mother took a tiny bite of the cake and exclaimed. “You need to give me the recipe for this. It’s delightful.”

“Of course, Mrs. Adler.” Jensen beamed.

I knew it was stupid but I hated all of them right now.

“Are you going to tell us what this doesn’t look like?” my father asked again, opening the paper.

“I never said that.” I slowly lifted my eyes from the cake to gauge Jensen’s reaction.

He hit the spatula he held into his hand and most anyone wouldn’t have thought twice about such a thing, but I knew what it meant.

“How have you been doing, dear? Are you still living alone? Seeing anyone?” My mom patted Jensen’s arm when he took a seat at the table with a piece of cake for himself.

“I just started seeing someone. It’s new but going well.” He smiled at me across the table.

I glared at him, stabbing my fork into my plate.

My mother turned to me. “You’re going to break that. Be more careful.” She turned