Her Baby Daddy Read online Emily Bishop

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Her Baby Daddy

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Emily Bishop

Book Information:

Walking in on Riley pole dancing in her private studio made me want to take her on the spot.
Owning things is second nature for me. But Riley isn’t so easy to own.
Her strong confidence is enough to make me go ape shit.
One sway of her hips had her owning me. Her studio is on the chopping block and I’m the butcher.
She needs to place to live and my house is perfect. Until I find out who her best friend is.
I didn’t become wealthy from quitting. No way I’m running away.
Money and power used to be the only thing that excited me.
Riley makes me want so much more.
Especially now that I’m her baby’s daddy.
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Emily Bishop Books

Chapter 1


It wasn’t a dream.

It wasn’t a fucking fantasy.

I stood frozen in the doorway to the studio, throbbing in two places, both heads.

“Fuck.” The word dripped from my lips, lost in the music that pumped from a stereo in the corner—“Money Make Her Smile” by Bruno Mars.

The woman, no, the temptress swayed to the beat, the flat plane of her stomach glistening beneath the sharp studio lights, her chocolate-colored hair a curtain in front of her face, hiding eyes I had to see.

Booty shorts tight against her ass, right beneath the seam that separated cheek from thigh, and a spandex bra squeezing two full breasts together.

That silver pole, one of many in the room, was the center of her universe, and, for now, mine too. Every revolution of her supple body thickened my cock against the inside of my pants.

She clung to the pole and did a side split, exposing the insides of her muscular legs. Her hair fell back and revealed a heart-shaped face, eyes closed, lips so full I couldn’t help but picture them parted around my dick.

Yo, dickwad. You’re here for business. Get pleasure on your own time.

Yet, this was the first time in years I’d stopped, done anything but dominated. This was the first time I’d actually appreciated from the gut, the mind, and the dick.

I didn’t feel for women. I didn’t feel shit, most days. And I’d spent time with models, but—this chick was different. She was fucking radiant.

Do you hear yourself?

“Trust me when I say I hate to interrupt.” My voice was a thunderous growl over the music, tight with desire, but she didn’t hear me. She was lost in her own paradise.

Christ, what I’d give to join her there.

Create a new Mecca and take her to it. I’ll give her a pole to spin on. All night, she’ll get the pole. Down, boy.

I strode across the dance studio, worn by years of use and dancing, my dress shoes clunking on the boards, and halted as close as I could without getting hit in the face by one of those wayward and surprisingly dainty feet.

My temptress closed her legs again, arched her back, and swiveled around that center pole, inches from me. So fucking within reach.

“Lady, if you get any more intimate with that pole, I’m gonna have to leave the room,” I said.

Her eyes snapped open, deep brown glittering with specks of hazel beneath the sharp lights, and she locked onto me. She let out a shrill scream, and her hands slipped on the pole. “Shit,” she yowled, in a voice that would’ve suited one of those phone sex lines—if the women on them were in a constant state of shock or terror.

I put up my palms. “Easy—”

She lost her grip and plummeted toward the floorboards.

I darted forward and caught her under the ass and shoulders, arms out and tense as iron rods. She was light as a damn feather.

“Hey!” Angel-pants yelped. “Hey, what the hell are you doing?”

“Saving you from cracking your head, princess.” I righted her and set her on her bare feet in front of me. “Unless you’d prefer a trip to the hospital instead.”

“This is a closed studio,” she said, biting out the words. “You’re not meant to be in here.”

“Then you should reconsider leaving the doors unlocked,” I replied, easily. “Listen, I came here for a reason, but that little dance you just did, and the screaming afterward, has blanked me out. Who the hell are you?”

She was close, too close, and it was obvious she couldn’t handle it. Her nipples poked at the fabric of that spandex bra.

Most women couldn’t handle being this close to me. They either launched themselves across the space or quit talking entirely.

My dick rolled again, and I forced images of grandma panties to front of mind. It hadn’t been my intention to ogle her, but goddamn, that picture would be ingrained into my brain for the rest of my life.

“Who the hell am I?” she whispered, brushing glossy hair behind her ear, then pointed her index finger at me, tipped in a baby pink nail. “Who the hell are you? Like I said, mister, you’re not supposed to be in here, doors unlocked or not.”

“I’m a nightmare and a dream in a suit, princess,” I replied, cocking my head to one side, drinking her in from head to toe. “Can’t you tell?”

“I’m not a princess,” she grunted over the ongoing music—“Gorilla” by Bruno Mars was on now, the beat thumping its chest between us.

“Tell me your name, and I’ll stop calling you one.”

“What are we, fifteen? I’m Riley,” she said, and she actually stuck out her hand for a shake. Admirable. She hadn’t keeled over yet, she hadn’t entirely bored me out of my skull, and she hadn’t clammed up like someone had tightened screws into her jaws and jammed them shut.