Bringing Home Mr. Wrong (Bringing Home Trouble)

Epilogue

Two years later

John

I watch Camila from across the room, my heart pounding with desire. Two years together and she still takes my breath away. Her chestnut hair cascades over her shoulders as she laughs, the sound musical and free. I imagine that laugh turning into moans of pleasure beneath me.

I cross to her, sliding an arm around her waist. "You're so beautiful," I murmur, nuzzling her neck. "I want you. Now."

She shivers and leans into me. "Oh John. I want you too. Always."

We tumble onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and heated skin. I explore the curves and valleys of her body, already so familiar yet always new and exciting. Camila arches under my touch, her hazel eyes burning into mine.

"I need you," she pants. "Please, John."

I position myself over her, nearly shaking with the intensity of my need. More than just physical, it's a bone-deep yearning, a primal urge. The desire to claim her, possess her. To plant my seed deep inside and watch it grow.

"I'm going to fill you up," I growl. "Put my baby in your belly."

Camila cries out as I surge forward, taking her in one hard thrust. Her nails rake my back as her legs wrap around me.

I piston my cock in and out of her for several strokes before she stops me with a hand to my chest.

I look down at her questioningly, hoping I haven’t hurt her, but she slips out from underneath me and falls to her knees at the edge of the bed, looking up at me coyly from underneath her thick lashes.

Hell yes .

My girl takes my cock in her hands and licks her lips before her hot mouth engulfs me.

I groan as Camila's lips wrap around my shaft, her tongue swirling and teasing. The wet heat of her mouth is exquisite torture. She takes me deep, sucking hard, her hazel eyes locked on mine. I tangle my fingers in her silky hair, fighting the urge to thrust into her throat.

She works me to the brink with long, slow pulls, then releases me with an obscene pop. "I want your cum inside me, John," she purrs. "I want to carry our child."

A primal growl rips from my chest. In one swift motion, I yank her up and toss her on the bed. She lands with a little yelp that turns into a moan as I cover her body with mine.

I rub the swollen head of my cock through her slick folds, coating myself in her arousal. She's dripping wet, ready for me. Camila whimpers and lifts her hips, desperate for more.

“Fuck, look at you, you perfect little thing,” I rasp. “You love sucking your man’s cock, don’t you, honey? It got you dripping wet, sweetheart.”

"Please, John," she begs. "Give me your baby."

That shreds any ounce of self-control I had left.

I slam into her, burying myself to the hilt in her tight heat. She cries out, back bowing off the bed. I set a hard, deep rhythm, each powerful thrust hitting that perfect spot that makes her keen.

"You want me to breed this fertile little cunt?" I rasp in her ear. "Pump you full of my seed until it takes?"

"Yes, yes!" she sobs, nails scoring my shoulders. "Knock me up, John. I'm yours, all yours."

Her dirty pleas make my balls tighten, pushing me closer to the edge. Knowing she craves my child in her belly as much as I crave putting it there sends me into a frenzy. I pound into her, the obscene slap of flesh filling the room.

Camila meets me thrust for thrust, grinding her hips to take me impossibly deeper. "I'm close," she pants. "Come with me, John. Fill me up!"

Her walls clench around my cock as she shatters, milking me. With a roar, I bury myself one last time and explode, painting her insides with jet after jet of hot cum.

I collapse over her, both of us gulping for air. I press tender kisses to her face as I stay pressed deep inside her, reluctant to pull out.

"I love you," I tell her, voice gravelly with emotion.

"I love you too, John. So much."

We drift off, still joined, dreaming of our future growing in her womb.

Welcome to Bringing Home Trouble!

You can't choose who you fall in love with.

However, you can stir the pot or bring it to a rolling boil. Especially when your Bringing Home Trouble for the holidays. You'll love the swoon worthy heroes and their sweet heroine's. As they navigate the delicate balance of true love and family drama. Come along for the fun, as fourteen of your favorite insta-love authors tame the holidays with lots of steamy moments and find love.

Check out the entire series here!

One Twisted Christmas ~ By Cassi Hart

My Ex’s Dad is Coming To Town ~ By Eve London

Unwrapping His Naughty Secret ~ By Chloe Maine

Holidays and Handcuffs ~ By Natasha Sterling

Holiday Flame ~ By Kate Tilney

Gone Away Home ~ By Ember Davis

Tangled With The Professor ~ By Lizzy West

Big Nick Energy ~ By Mayra Statham

Bringing Home Mr. Wrong ~ By Emma Bray

A Christmas Collin ~ By Lena Little

Bringing Home The Bad Boy ~ By Jailaa West

Riding Dirty For Christmas ~ By Fern Fraser

Bringing Home The Biker ~ By Winter Travers

Christmas With The Convict ~ By Raven Moon

Want a free book from Emma Bray? Go to www.authoremmabray.com .

Keep reading for an excerpt from Santa’s Obsession .

Jenny

“Oh my god, just go!” Eve scrunches up her pale, little nose as she tries to keep a straight face. I’ve been badgering my bestie with all sorts of questions about the hunk I dared her to kiss at the Halloween party a few months ago. He just so happened to be her new boss, but it took them a while to figure out who the other was because they’d both been masked at the masquerade. Theirs was like a super smexy fairytale story complete with the happy ending. They ended up getting married, and I’m truly happy for my best friend. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s my dark-haired little friend Eve who was born on Halloween.

But I won’t lie to myself and say that I’m not insanely jealous of her because I am. I’ve seen the way Eve’s husband showers her with attention. He has eyes for no one but her, and I’m not stupid. I know guys like to look at me. I get hit on all the time, and I’m a shameless flirt, but it’s all a front.

Despite all my talk, I’m still a virgin. I’ve just never found someone who makes me all gooey inside the way Lucian obviously does Eve.

I feel like a bit of a prude to be twenty-one and still a virgin. Maybe that’s why I put on such a show with all my flirting—to hide the fact that I’m about as inexperienced as they come. All I’ve ever done is kiss. None of my friends would ever believe me if I told them I’d never gone all the way.

I just never could bring myself to give it up to some loser who I didn’t feel anything for, though.

Maybe I’m too spoiled or too much of a romantic at heart, but I want fireworks. I want unbridled passion and to know that he’s the one before I commit my body to someone.

Is that too much to ask?

“Jenny,” Eve’s amused voice breaks me from my reverie as she points out, “you’re going to be late.”

I glance down at my phone and jump up with a curse, “Shit! I gotta go! Love ya, girl!”

I give Eve an air kiss before I jump in my hot pink car. It was an early birthday slash Christmas present from my parents.

Yes, I love pink, and yes, I’m a Christmas baby. In the autumn, I’m an unapologetically pumpkin-spice loving, scarf and boot-wearing white girl. So, shoot me. I’m a walking cliche, but I don’t care. I’m just me.

Whereas my bestie might have been born on All Hallows Eve, I was born on sweet baby Jesus’ birthday.

My parents like to call me their Christmas miracle. They’d been trying for years to get pregnant before they were blessed with me, and then I came on Christmas like the present they’d always wanted.

Suffice it to say I’m an only child, and my parents dote on me. I love my mom and dad, and I’ve never been starved for affection or anything, but my parents are older, which means that they have some old-school ways of thinking too.

I huff as I high-tail it down to the mall, cursing traffic along the way. I’m cursing myself for getting too caught up and being irresponsible yet again. I always do this. Mom swears I’ll be late to my own funeral, and I’m begrudgingly starting to think that she’s right. It doesn’t seem to matter how early I get dressed or how much I try to plan ahead. I’m always running late.

I try to reason with myself, though. It’s not like I’ll get fired or anything. This is charity work, something I volunteered for and that my parents think is a waste of time, but it’s something I really want to do.

If my parents had their way, I’d never work a day in my life or do anything but sit around the mansion and look pretty.

But I get bored with nothing to do, and I love children. I think that’s what I love the most about Christmas—all the happiness of children. Growing up without any brothers or sisters, I was often lonely and always wished I’d had another kid around to play with. Sure, Mom and Dad took me to their friends’ houses, but all their kids were usually several years older than me, so I was kind of too little to really make lasting friendships with any of them. I was always the little tag-along kid who got in the way of what the older kids wanted to do.

Plus, I hate staying cooped in the house, and it’s not like I need any more money or anything, so I volunteer down at the children’s hospital as much as I can—another activity that my parents don’t necessarily approve of, though they admit that it’s an “admirable pastime.”

They don’t realize it’s more than just a pastime for me, though. I want to make a difference, and I love seeing the kids’ faces light up when they get a visitor, especially the ones who are only children like me and incredibly lonely. I play silly games with them and do whatever I can to cheer them up.

And I love every minute of it, even if it is heartbreaking to see them so sick.

The hospital is where I learned about this Christmas gig down at the mall. I’m all dressed up as an elf to be Santa’s helper as kids sit on his lap and tell him all their Christmas wishes before getting their pictures taken with him. I’ll be directing the line and giving out toys to every kid who shows up.

Though it was supposed to be a paying gig, I wanted to do it so bad, I made sure I got picked by promptly telling the hiring manager that I’d do it for free and that I’d donate toys to be passed out to all the kids.

His eyes had about bugged out of his head at my offer, and I’d been hired on the spot. No doubt he thought I was some special kind of crazy, but who cares, right? I’ll be doing what I love and helping kids.

Of course, I didn’t tell my parents where this was all happening at. I didn’t exactly lie to them. I told them what I was doing. I just didn’t disclose the location. They’d lose their shit if they knew I was working down at the mall, which they thought was in a dangerous location.

They worry too much, though. I’ll be in a big building with tons of people about. It’s Christmastime, and families will be shopping and bringing their kids by to get their photos taken with Santa.

It’s going to be a blast.

Nick

I look down at the red suit lined with white fur in disgust. I can't believe I'm wearing this shit, but a job is a job, and they're scarce enough to come by for felons like me. I'm lucky as hell I was even hired to do this considering my felony status and how I'll be in close contact with kids.

Not that I was locked up for anything so heinous as harming children. My blood boils at just the thought of the type of scum that would do something like that.

No, I did time for protecting my dumb ass idiot of a brother. Him and all his hare-brained ideas of get-rich-quick-schemes. The ungrateful little brat hasn't even had the decency to show his face to me since I got locked up—much less since I've gotten out, and for good reason.

He knows I owe him an ass beating for the past two years I spent in prison for a crime he committed—not me. I swooped in to save the day and talk some sense into his fool head and got caught in the crossfire—as in I'm the one who took the fall for everything when the cops showed up and the shit hit the fan.

Sure, I could have saved my ass and ratted my brother out, but if there's one thing I learned from growing up in the Bronx, it's that you don't rat on anyone, especially family. Even if you get pegged for some shit you’re innocent of, you keep your goddamned mouth shut.

It’s a code I’ve been proud to live by all my life, and I still don't regret not breaking it. I might have lost two years of my life, but I still have my honor.

That doesn't mean I'm not holding one hell of a grudge, though.

And I suspect my little bro knows that if his continual absence and the fact that I haven't been able to locate him are any indication.

He's been living his life free and clear knowing damn well I've been sitting in a jail cell that had his name on it.

Now, I'm the one branded a felon, scraping by to make ends meet, ostracized from society.

It probably doesn't help that I'm a big motherfucker. I was big before I went into the pen, towering over most other men at six-foot-five, but now I'm bulky and rippling with muscles too. There really isn't shit else to do in the pen other than exercise, and I had to do something to keep myself from going crazy.

I put the itchy ass white, curly beard on and slap the damn Santa cap on my head, but that's as far as I'm going. I'm not stuffing this suit with stuffing to try to make myself look like some overweight, jolly fucker who eats too many cookies.

The man who hired me looks like he's about to protest when I fling the stuffing to the side, but one look at my glare and he wisely decides to keep his mouth shut.

"Your assistant should be here any minute," he says as he glances down at his watch with a frown.

I just nod, completely disinterested. I'd known there was going to have to be someone to play Santa's helper. I just wish she would show up so we can get this show on the road and I can get this day over with and cash my paycheck before I move on to the next gig.

I don't know why, but in my mind, I assumed it would be some middle-aged woman dressed up as an elf for this effort, some kindly woman who loved children and maybe was down on her luck and scraping by to make ends meet herself.

That's why when this bubbly, young bombshell comes rushing into the mall and over to where Dave, the hiring manager, and I are standing, I'm frozen still with shock.

Tall for a girl, her golden skin almost seems to glow with purity under the natural sunlight that's flooding in through the domed skylight of the mall. Her platinum blonde hair is long and stick straight, coming down to rest right down below her slender waist.

I swallow as my eyes sweep hungrily over the rest of her. She's wearing little red tights that leave nothing to the imagination and a short green elvish dress that shows off her subtle curves. A little elf hat is cocked prettily on the top of her head.

But what has my heart suddenly hammering too loudly in my head are the big green eyes that she turns up to me as she rushes over. They're green as emeralds and just as sparkling. She beams up at me, a full, perfect, white smile. "Hey, Santa! Sorry to keep you waiting. Ugh, I got stuck in traffic.” She's a flurry of activity, talking animatedly while she gestures with her hands and smiles enthusiastically at Dave.

I feel a rush of completely insane jealousy rise up within me when she turns those eyes and that smile onto the other man. I only want her looking at me that way. A growl bubbles up in my throat. I'm confused and irritated by my reaction to this girl who doesn't look a day over eighteen. Fuck, she looks like she should be in line to sit on my knee and tell me what she wants for Christmas. You can bet your ass I'd do anything within my power to give it to her too. She might be dressed up like an elf, but she looks more like an angel sent down from heaven.

I feel my cock stiffen within my pants at that thought and take a deep breath to try to calm myself. For fuck's sake.

My eyes zone in on her ruby red lips that are glistening with gloss. They remind me of ripe cherries, and I just know if I tasted them, that's exactly what the fuck she would taste like.

"How old are you?" I bark at her, my voice coming out much more roughly than I intend it to.

Her eyes flick back up to me as a little furrow forms in her brow. "Um, twenty-one, but why does that matter to you, Santa?" She answers me sassily with a little toss of her head before she counters back at me, "How old are you ?"

I'm only twenty-eight, but I don't tell her that. I can't believe I'm only seven years older than her. I swear to God, the girl doesn't even look legal, but for some reason, I'm immensely relieved that she is.

"My name's Nick," I tell her. "Not fucking Santa." I can't stop the scowl that takes over my face. I meet the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on and here I am wearing this ridiculous fucking Santa costume. I'm fuming with frustration and feel like an idiot.

A wide grin breaks across her face. "Really? Your name is really Nick, and you're playing Santa? Oh, this is priceless. Let me guess. Nick is short for Nicholas?"

I scowl at her. I realize she's making fun of me, but I'm so enamored by her smile, I don't even really give a shit. I'll let her laugh at me all day if it means I get to see that beautiful smile and that twinkle in her eyes.

I wipe the scowl off my face and feel my lips twitch. Her bright happiness and laugher are infectious. I could bask in her glow all day. "What's your name, doll?"

Do I imagine the blush that stains her pretty cheeks before she answers back with a cute little toss of her head? "Jenny."

"Jenny," I try her name out for size. "Short for Jennifer, I presume?" I ask her, raising an eyebrow of my own.

She frowns and fiddles with a piece of her hair as she answers, "Well, yes, but no one calls me Jennifer except my mom, and that's only when I'm in trouble or something."

"Oh, I bet you're trouble, Jennifer," I tell her as I take a step toward her. Her scent, something like cinnamon and apples, teases my nostrils, and I feel my blood surging within my veins.

Her face colors and her breath hitches, but she stands her ground and looks up at me as she firmly corrects me, "Jenny." Then she goes on with a shrug, "Well, I'm certainly no saint." She looks back up at me with mischievous eyes. "Not like you, Saint Nick."

I love the teasing glint sparkling in her green depths. I could engage in this playful banter with her all day.

"Make no mistake, Jennifer ," I stress every syllable of her name, loving the way it rolls off my tongue. "I am no saint. Far from it."

Before she has a chance to toss back what I'm sure would be another witty retort, Dave clears his throat beside us before announcing that we should get into position. The booth is set to open soon.

"After you," I gesture for her to walk ahead of me, now even more anxious for this day to be over with so we'll be off the clock and I can learn more about this little firecracker who's going to be my helper all day.