Surprise Baby for Christmas

by Harmony Knight

  She cuts off, apparently having noticed the increasingly urgent bug eyes from her colleague, and snaps her head around. Her eyes widen slightly when she sees me standing behind her.

  “Oh. Gotta go,” she says into her phone. “See you later.”

  Thumbing away the call, she places her phone down on her desk, stands up, and smiles, straightening her pencil skirt. “Hey,” she says, searching my face. “Everything alright?”

  “Yeah,” I nod. “All good. I wondered if you had time to come and look over the Mackenzie file with me. It’s due for litigation early in January and I want to get a jump on it.”

  “Oh, sure,” she says, grabbing her phone again. She unplugs her laptop and flips it shut, tucking it under her arm to follow me back to my office.

  We spend the rest of the afternoon going over the file, debating the merits of one approach after another, bouncing ideas back and forth until finally, when it’s been dark outside for a couple of hours already, we hit upon a strategy that we both think is airtight. My mind wanders now and then to Pippa, and there’s a constant hum of excitement running through me at the prospect of taking her to dinner tonight, but at least it seems that I’ve managed to impress Valerie today.

  “Oh, shit,” I say, looking at the clock as it ticks over to 7:34 pm. “I have to get going. Meeting someone for dinner.” I stand up and grab my jacket, shrugging it on and collecting my other belongings. I push the button on the intercom.

  “Dominic,” I say to my secretary. “Can you have a car ready ASAP, please?”

  “I’ll call down now, Sir,” he replies over the intercom, his voice tinny through the speaker. “It should be ready by the time you reach the lobby.”

  “Thanks,” I say, releasing the button. I pat down my pockets to be sure I have everything.

  “Can you get this rolling?” I ask Valerie. “Have Dominic send the final notice letter tomorrow and we’ll take it from there.”

  “Of course, Mr. Coleman,” she says, professionally, and she’s on her feet in seconds, laptop under her arm again, ready to set to work.

  “Aiden is fine.”

  “Of course, Aiden,” she says, with a little nod of her head. “Have a good evening.” She smiles and strides out of my office.

  I arrive outside the address written on the scrap of paper at exactly 7:58 pm and quickly send the driver away. Pippa knows nothing about me or my life, and in some ways I think that’s what made the week at the lodge so magical. She’ll inevitably find out at some point—I hope—but there’s no need to show off with chauffeur-driven cars and fancy restaurants. I have a sneaking suspicion she’d find it off-putting, which is part of what I like about her.

  The building in front of me is a little box of bricks with a single, metal door. There’s no signage or hint as to what’s inside, and the way the surrounding area is built up into commercial structures full of chain stores gives me the distinct impression that the little brick box is the property of a very stubborn owner indeed.

  Just to be sure, I pull up a map on my phone and cross-reference it with the note in my hand. Sure enough, this seems to be the place. Shoving my things back in my pockets, I step up to the door and bang on it with the side of my fist a few times.

  The excitement that’s been brewing all day is bubbling to the surface now. I can’t wait to see her, and I’m very curious to see what she does for a living. Based on what she was wearing the other day when she said she was just off work, I’d half expected to pull up to a building site to see her laying bricks.

  I can hear some clanging and clunking inside that sounds like bolts and locks being undone, and the heavy door swings open.

  I gape.

  Pippa is standing there in the doorway with her hair swept up into a half-messy top knot, wearing a long-sleeved black dress that hugs her waist and falls down to a mid-thigh strip of lace. She’s wearing makeup, but only just enough to accentuate her already-stunning features, and black, knee-high boots with a small heel that makes her a little taller. Her legs are dark with sheer black tights. Or maybe stockings. I don’t know which, but now that I’ve noticed them I have a sudden, desperate urge to find out. She looks a little nervous as I stand there appraising her.

  “Wow,” I say, finally finding my voice. “You look amazing.”

  Her face breaks into a smile and she stands aside to let me in.

  “Thanks,” she says. “You don’t look so bad yourself. Come in, I just have to get a couple of things and finish up, then we can go. Mind the doo—”

  She says it just as I walk forward and hit the top of my forehead on the inner door frame. “Shit!” I exclaim, rubbing at the spot.

  “Sorry!” she says, pointing up at it. She’s half giggling. “I should have warned you earlier. Are you alright?”

  I’m fine. The amused sparkle in her eyes and the laugh in her voice is tonic enough for the pain. Not to mention the sight of her swaying ass as she walks ahead of me.

  “I’m good,” I reply, as I gradually pull my eyes away from her to look at the room I’ve just stepped into.

  The space inside is entirely open plan. There are sculptures all around, some half-finished, some complete. There are complex metal compositions and simpler clay pieces, there are workbenches full of tools and materials, and in the middle of the room, sitting on a small, wooden platform, is what I assume to be the current work in progress. There’s not much detail yet, but the shape is unmistakably a mermaid.

  “You’re a sculptor,” I say, taking it all in.

  She nods, a smile on her face, watching my reaction.

  I had no clue what she did before I set foot in here, but now it makes total sense. I can almost feel her personality oozing from the finished pieces.

  “Wow, there’s some really stunning stuff here, Pip,” I say, running my fingers down the length of a metal bar beside me. It’s part of a mother and child piece. Metal balls sit as the heads of the characters, while thick wire and metal plates twist around each other and form the limbs. The pose of the mother, bent over her child with her arms swept protectively around him, is so evocative I feel my breath catch. I don’t know much about art, but I know it must take real skill to draw out that kind of emotional reaction just by twining pieces of metal together.

  I look up and she’s watching me, her head slightly tilted.

  “I couldn’t bring myself to sell that one,” she says, smiling.

  “I love it,” I tell her, straightening up again.

  A silence hangs in the air for a moment, before she claps her hands together.

  “Right! Won’t be a moment,” she says, and in her lovely little dress, she sashays across the room and bends over a workbench, careful not to get any dust or clay on herself. I hear the clinking of tools as she finishes packing up.

  The sight of her from behind almost undoes me. Her legs are shapely and long, and the curve of her hip is accentuated by the way she’s bent slightly forward. She reaches for something right at the back of the bench, and the dress rides up a little.

  Stockings. The lace at the top of them matches the lace at the bottom of her dress, and there’s a thin line of supple flesh in between. I feel my balls clench upward and a twitch in my pants. Without even thinking about it, I’m right behind her in three long strides, my hands on her hips and my lips on the side of her neck. She smells of a feminine perfume with a hint of cherry and a dash of white musk. It’s the same perfume she was wearing in the cabin, and my mind swirls with those same emotions.

  She has stopped tidying away her tools, but she doesn’t turn around.

  Greedy lust has overtaken me, and I pull her hips back and press myself against her rear, so she can feel me, fully hard, straining against my pants.

  “We’ll be late,” she whispers, but at the same time, she pushes her hips back against me, tilting her ass upward.

  My hands are on my belt, almost fumbling in the rush to undo it. I slide leather through metal and undo my button and fly.

&n
bsp; “I don’t care,” I tell her, placing my hand in the centre of her back and guiding her forward. She complies just as I let my pants and underwear fall halfway down my thighs and take my cock in my hand. I stroke it slowly as I peel the dress up over her ass and take a moment to admire the expanse of pale flesh against the dark stockings, dress and thong she’s wearing. “I have to have you now.”

  I hook my finger in behind the string of the thong and slide it down, pulling it to the side. The anticipation is killing me. My skin is tingling all over.

  “You’d rather be on time?” I ask her, hearing the breathless edge to my voice as I slide my thumb between her lips and feel her, wet and wanting.

  “No.” Her voice is slightly strangled with lust, and when I slide my thumb out and trail it down to her clitoris, she lets out a heavy moan.

  I am inside her in a second, as deep as I can get, feeling an urge to lose myself in her. In that split second, I remember. I remember the feeling of her body, the taste of her skin, the way she has a habit of giggling just after she comes. It all comes flooding back, and for a moment I fear I’ll blow my load instantly, without getting a chance to savor it.

  I feel her clenching around me, this beautiful, funny, talented nymph, and I feel like this, right here, is where I could die happy. I start to roll my hips, slowly, teasing quiet moans from her. I watch as her arms stretch out across the bench and her fingers hook over the edge of it, gripping gently to steady herself.

  I reach around her to find that sensitive little nub of nerve endings with my fingers and start to run circles around it while I fuck her.

  “Aiden,” she gasps, lifting her ass a little higher. The sight of her makes me groan with lust. I need her. I need to be with her, inside of her. I roll my hips faster and harder, until the sound of my balls slapping against her sex starts to echo from the walls. I reach forward with my free hand, running it down her arm until she releases the end of the bench and I can slot my fingers in between hers. She grips my hand hard, and starts to gasp. I can tell she’s pushing closer and closer to her precipice, and I step up my pace.

  “Come for me, little Pip,” I whisper in her ear, desperate to feel her core clench and twitch around my length.

  She sucks in a huge breath and holds it, and I know it’s coming. I lean to the side to watch her, to see the little changes in her face. The breath is released as a loud, sighing moan as I feel waves of pressure squeeze at me, driving me toward my own undoing. Her mouth is open, her brows drawn down. There’s a flush on her cheeks and her chest. She’s never been so beautiful. She shudders and bucks underneath me, and I can hold on no longer.

  With a loud grunt, I feel my balls tighten, and I hold deep inside her clenching sheath and empty into her. Finally, at last, all the many long months of missing her, of wanting her, are over.

  She’s still twitching when the adorable giggle bubbles from her mouth, and I chase it down, swallow it as I press my mouth to hers, pulling her up and around so I can kiss her.

  “I uh,” she says, between heavy breaths. “Guess I should go clean up.”

  She looks up at me and bites her lip, smiling, and at that moment I know that we’re going to be very, very late to dinner.

  Pippa

  By the time we reach the restaurant, our reservation is long gone and every table looks packed. No matter how many yarns Aiden spins about meetings and emergencies, the maitre d’ remains impassive. Despite the fact that I spent a full fifteen minutes straightening myself out after the… activities back at the studio, and that I’ve done nothing but sit in a warm taxi since, basking in the afterglow and enjoying the feeling of Aiden’s fingers dancing over the back of my hand, I’m still paranoid. I imagine for a moment that the maitre d’ is giving me side-eye and judging me, and it makes me reach up and double-check my hair. There’s a messy bun, and then there’s a plain mess. But it feels alright.

  Aiden eventually gives up and leads me out into the street. “Well, I gotta eat after all that exercise,” he grins, pulling me into him and leaning down to kiss the top of my head. I could swear he gives it a sniff, too. “Oh, there,” he says, nodding. He releases me so I can turn around, and sure enough, there’s a place all lit up with a couple of empty tables available just beyond the windows.

  “Fancy slumming it?” he asks. The place is nowhere near as fancy as the one he’d booked. It’s a BBQ joint that obviously prides itself on its down-to-earth atmosphere. I’m a little overdressed, but now that he’s suggested it, all I can smell are tender ribs and burnt ends. And he’s not wrong about having worked up an appetite.

  “Perfect,” I say, smiling up to him. He leans down and steals another kiss from my lips, and we head across the street. It’s so strange that he’s here, that we’re strolling hand in hand through the city that we now both live in. I can feel myself beginning to hope for a future, and I’m not quite sure how to put the brakes on—or if I really want to anymore.

  It’s warm inside the BBQ place, cozy and full of chatter. A girl around my age comes over with a huge grin and asks if she can take our coats. A few minutes later we’re sat in a small booth with a drink each, and we’ve ordered a sharing platter that the server has promised will be divine.

  “So your sister doesn’t live in the city?” I ask.

  He gives me a questioning look.

  “You said she’s staying with you to help you get set up.”

  “Oh,” he nods, and takes a swig of his beer. “Yeah. She lives here, but on the opposite side of town. She works in the city so it was easier for her to stay in my spare room instead of traveling over and back every day. And besides, she’s been here in New York for a few years while I’ve been working in Chicago. It’s nice to see my big sister for a while, you know?”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “What does she do?” I ask, recalling the stunning tailored suit she was wearing, the way she held herself.

  “Magazines,” he says. “She owns Wirl.”

  I stare at him for a moment, my brows raised. Wirl—presumably a mashup of woman and girl—is a huge online magazine aimed at women in their twenties. Valerie browses it all the time. “Really? Wow. That’s… some achievement. She can’t be a day over… what?”

  “Thirty,” he says, grinning. “She’s thirty.”

  “Isn’t that like, the biggest online magazine for young women now?”

  “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “They just overtook their biggest competitor last month. Lexi was over the moon. She deserves it, though. I’ve never seen anyone work harder.”

  I smile at him. He seems genuinely proud of her. “And you?” I ask. “What do you do?”

  “Me?” he asks, grinning again. He relaxes back in his chair, and holds his hands out at his sides, making a come hither motion with his fingers as though he’s issuing a challenge. “Go on,” he says. “Guess.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, tilting my head. “Hmmm,” I say, twisting my mouth and pursing my lips to look more thoughtful. “Well you’re wearing a suit, so some sort of office,” I say. “Unless you’re a plumber who’s more fashion-conscious than practical…”

  He grins and rolls his eyes at me.

  “Or a catalog model who’s having a particularly busy workwear season?”

  He grabs the napkin from the table in front of him and tosses it over at me. It hits me square in my face and I laugh, picking it up from my lap to throw it back. He catches it.

  “Alright, alright,” I say. “I don’t know. Software engineer?”

  He stares at me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Babe,” he says, and I feel a little ripple of pleasure up my spine at the pet name. “Software engineers are about as likely to wear suits as plumbers.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Oh, well. I don’t know. And it’s not fair that I don’t know, because you know what I do!” I remind him.

  “Alright, fine. But it’ll cost you,” he tells me, and I can see a twitch of a smir
k threatening on his lips.

  “Cost me what?” I ask, imagining all sorts of filthy things he might request. The memory of the early evening comes back to me and I can feel my cheeks grow a little hotter.

  “Your number,” he says. The smile has grown fully onto his mouth now, and he waggles his brows at me. I almost melt on the spot. I want to scrawl my number onto the middle of his bare chest, if I’m honest, but I also sort of like this little game we have going. And despite the absolute whirlwind of that week back in March, him not having my number or any other way of contacting me makes me feel a bit more like we’re taking things slowly. Not rushing into anything. If I could spend all day thumbing out messages to this Adonis-like man instead of finishing my mermaid by deadline, I almost certainly would. And that would be no good for anyone.

  “One digit,” I say, giving him a steely stare.

  His smile freezes for a minute, and then he laughs. “Five.”

  “Two,” I say.

  “Four,” he says, and I feel his foot gently press against my ankle. He sweeps it to the side, opening my legs under the table. A rush of cool air assaults the insides of my thighs, where they’re covered by neither stocking nor underwear, and I can feel myself flushing again, craving him. “And lunch on Friday.”

  “Three,” I say, hearing a husky edge to my own voice. “And lunch on Friday. Final offer.”

  He looks about ready to jump over the table and strip me down again, and were it not for the crowd of onlookers we might attract, I can’t say I’d object. I feel so at ease in his company, it’s hard to stop myself from letting the barriers I’ve built up fall away. Just as the sexual tension is getting unbearable, along comes our happy, chatty server to break it.

  “One Meat Feast, six way combo for two with the fries and salad bowl,” she says, swooping a huge tray down onto the table. “Enjoy!”