Have My Baby: Baby and Pregnancy Romance Collection

by Jamie Knight

Properly equipping Amy with all she would need for Amy Rosa and Matt, including several bottles worth of pre-pumped milk, we left both children in her capable hands.

  “I’ll miss you, Mommy,” Matt said, as she bent down to kiss him. Then he looked up at me and added, “And Daddy.”

  As my lips touched his hair, I felt like the luckiest man in the world. We both told him that we loved him too and would see him again soon. And then we headed for my waiting car.

  “To the airstrip, Lyssa.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Airstrip?” Ada asked.

  “Private jet,” I grinned.

  Despite the powerful urge to get started early, Ada and I both resisted joining the mile-high club and kept our wits about us until we landed with a gentle bump on my vineyard on Nantucket.

  “I-It’s beautiful,” Ada marveled.

  “It can be our vacation home. We’ll bring the kids next time, of course.”

  “Oh, of course,” Ada agreed.

  Sweeping her up into my arms, I carried my new wife to the door and through the threshold. The little house, for the first time, felt like a home. It wasn’t far to the bedroom. The whole place was only one floor, so I decided to carry my bride the entire way. I laid her out on the bed.

  The dress wasn’t the simplest design ever devised, but we figured it out quick enough. Ada laid before me in all her glory, two beautiful caesarean scars along her perfect belly.

  Starting at her feet, I worked my way up along her legs, planting warm, wet kisses on every inch of skin I came across. Ada stayed perfectly still as I did so, knowing full well where I was headed.

  I made sure the first lick was gentle, drawing it out as long as possible. Ada let out an equally long moan as I did so.

  Unable to control myself, I dug in a lot faster than I usually did, though Ada didn’t seem to mind. She was writhing and stroking my hair with even more enthusiasm than usual. I somehow fit four fingers inside her and started to work her precious pussy as I took to licking her clit in hard spirals.

  Within minutes, she was coming hard, bucking and screaming wildly, no longer afraid of being overheard.

  Ordinarily, I would have let her suck me before going in, but I was so desperate to get inside I couldn’t wait a moment longer. Lifting Ada’s legs so her ankles were resting on my shoulders, I took down my pants and slid my cock deep inside her. My sweet bride moaned deep as I started to gently pump her.

  It was some of the longest sex we had ever had. Both of us held out, not wanting the moment to end. It was the first time we were going to fuck as a married couple and we really wanted it to count.

  I could feel her cum, the soft tremble in her body, her pussy getting even tighter around me. I held back, waiting for her to finish. I wanted her to go first. When she had come down, I carefully eased out of her, replacing my cock with my fingers and fed her my load, the thick white cum landing right in her eager, open mouth.

  When she had swallowed it all like a good girl, I put my cock back in her mouth and let her suck me clean. Sweet Ada went a bit above and beyond, continuing on until I had delivered a second load. Ada took it all.

  “Doggy?” I asked.

  “Please!”

  Turning her over so she was on all fours, I let her get into the position that she liked and slipped inside. I got a little more than halfway in before I started to pump, working my massive cock into her sweet pussy until we both came again and again, filling Ada with my cum every time.

  As the last explosion of cum entered her, before we both collapsed in exhausted elation, we could hear the first bursts of fireworks in the distance.

  “Happy 4th of July, wifey,” I told her. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, hubby,” she said, with a smile that lit up the room almost as much as the fireworks lit up the sky.

  THE END

  My Secret Santa’s Secret Baby

  This is Book 17 in the His Secret Baby series,

  which are based on a theme and can be read alone

  but are best when binge-read altogether!

  Copyright © 2020 Jamie Knight Romance

  Jamie Knight –

  Your Dirty Little Secret Romance Author

  All rights reserved.

  Prologue

  I knew I should leave Skye alone. She was younger than me and brand new to the company. I was her boss. Plus, I was pretty sure she was a virgin.

  But I couldn’t resist looking at her curves every day in the office. I wanted to take her home with me and take away her innocence.

  So, I had set the perfect plan in motion to make it happen.

  I’d assign myself to be her Secret Santa as part of our office Christmas tradition.

  How could she resist my expensive gifts?

  $10,000 sapphire Tiffany & Co. earrings?

  Rare, imported perfume?

  And, of course, the silk lingerie I’d ask her to wear to work so her Secret Santa could see.

  Once I’d warmed her up, I’d start the gifts I really wanted to give her.

  They were toys, but not the kind that little kids got for Christmas. No, these were of the type to be used in the bedroom. And I wanted to use them on her.

  All we had to do is keep our affair secret. No one in the office could know. But what we did in the bedroom would be no one’s business but our own.

  And if they found out after I’d impregnated her?

  Well, I guess I would have to do whatever it takes to claim what’s mine.

  It was going to be a very merry Christmas indeed, for Skye and me.

  And if I was lucky, perhaps it could last a lifetime.

  Chapter One - Skye

  Few things hold more terror than the first day of anything.

  First day of school, first day of a new job, first day of the rest of your life.

  The sheer open potential could be almost paralyzing. It was for me, anyway, the potential for making a fatal error weighing on me like bricks.

  My state of mind wasn’t helped by the fact that the job I was starting had been an accident. No, not an accident really, but more of a coincidence. The fates had smiled, the planets had aligned, and it had just so happened that at the exact moment in world history that I was looking for a job, a major New York publishing house was looking for a junior editor for their speculative fiction imprint.

  It wasn’t a secure position, or even a permanent one. The ad was crystal clear about that fact.

  Without putting it in so many words, potential applicants were warned that the job in question was basically an emergency stop gap over the holiday season. The annual buying glut, affecting everything from Black & Decker blenders to Black Metal albums also applied to the publishing industry.

  Most of the houses, from biggest to smallest, found themselves in various degrees of short-staffage compared to the demand, around the time the Halloween decorations started coming down and the Christmas lights started being stocked mere steps away from the turkey and stuffing.

  The first item on the potential glitch list, at least the one running through my head, was the outfit. I’d always been taught that you only got one chance to make a first impression and once it was there, it was unshakable. Because the job was basically probationary, I wanted to make sure I made as good an impression as possible and carried it on until the new year.

  Sophisticated and slightly sexy or studious and serious? That was the question.

  Pigeon Press was counted among the most important publishers in the English-speaking world. On the other hand, I was going to be working in the speculative fiction area, known for its casualness.

  Pigeon was different among the corporate entities, acting more like a nation of city states than a vast and all-powerful cohesive kingdom. The department heads were given a free hand as long as the profit margins lined up, despite the personal feelings of the higher-ups. This freedom came at a cost, however, the commanding editors the first t
o go should even the smallest thing go wrong on their watch.

  I couldn’t find much online about the speculative fiction department in general. The head editor, Simon Del Rey, was a bit of an enigma. He had no photo on the company website, or anywhere else online, and there was precious little biographical information to be found on him.

  All I was really able to glean was that he was thirty years old and was an almost obsessive fan of the 19th century British author William Morris, the mad genius who was generally credited with innovating the modern Fantasy genre with books like News From Nowhere and The Wood Beyond the World.

  According to GoodReads, Del Rey had written no less than ten books on Morris or his work, encompassing everything from biography to fanfiction, most of it self-published, though all of it with very respectable ratings.

  I got the strong sense that editorial wasn’t Del Rey’s first choice of career. Like so many writers before him, he had to take a writing adjacent job while climbing what Neil Gaiman once describe as the mountain of becoming a successful author.

  I could definitely relate, having upwards of twenty finished novels on my hard drive, dating back to grade-school, some of which might actually be publishable. Not that I was likely to find out.

  I was 18, fresh out of high school, and my parents were insisting I either secure a ‘proper’ job or a degree that would help me get one. They made it clear that they would be having none of that ‘Liberal Arts’ nonsense.

  Usually, the best I would have been able to get at a place like Pigeon was an unpaid, and probably technically illegal, internship. Happily, they were desperate right about now, and my powers of creativity made my resume look rather convincing.

  Which was a major part of my outfit dilemma. I needed something that made me look as old as possible without coming across as too severe.

  Settling on form fitting black jeans with a tucked-in t-shirt and tailored suit jacket, I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. That was something that was easier said than done, considering it hadn’t been cut since I was 14 and it had grown down to my hips.

  I looked at myself in the full-length mirror and decided to go for a bun instead. It looked more like a dessert plate, but it would do. I glanced at myself again, liking what I saw. I had curves in all the right places, but my outfit didn’t accentuate them so much that I felt too exposed.

  That hurtle crossed, I was ready to give it a whirl and hope for the best.

  No one warned me about the cold. Portland wasn’t exactly tropical, but it was nothing like the winter wonderland that I was finding out New York could become after November. I’d dressed in a way that I thought of as warm, not counting on the windchill, a term I had honestly never heard before until I got into my little rental house in Williamsburg.

  I hopped onto the B62 bus route over to the island. I knew the subway was faster, but my claustrophobia kept it from being a viable option. There was something about being underground in particular that freaked me out.

  I was the kind of girl who needed to be able to see the sky. According to family legend, ‘sky’ had been my first word, which was how I got my name. Traditional types, my folks refused to name either myself or my older sister until we were at least a year old, just in case they changed their mind along thew ay.

  They also fancied things up by throwing an ‘e’ on the end to make the spelling of my name look like the island in the Hebrides. My dad, William Stewart, claimed lineage to the legendary Stewart clan of kings. Though with no actual documentation to back up such a claim, it was largely hearsay.

  No matter how many letters he wrote to the governments of both England and Scotland, and in one infamous example Queen Elizabeth her royal self, demanding his land and title, we never received any solid proof.

  There were certain advantages to living in New York that I’d never considered before moving here. For one, not driving was not seen as odd. The fact that I’d been strictly forbidden from learning to drive for reasons far too sexist to even contemplate didn’t need to come up in conversation as it so often had back home.

  I was soon no longer even tempted to learn just to spite my folks, like my sister had a couple of years before. Almost as soon as she was off to college she was on the road. But I didn’t really want to drive if I didn’t have to— it seemed scary to me, with the threat of an accident always looming over my head, especially with all the different streets and alleys of a city as large as New York.

  I’d seen pictures and oh so many examples, of course. Even so, there was nothing like actually going over one of the bridges in person to really appreciate its structural beauty.

  I guessed the people who were born and raised here stopped noticing after a while, like how astronauts probably got used to seeing space up close on their umpteenth launch. But I still had a sense of novelty about the whole thing, despite my best attempts to try and not look like a tourist.

  I lived here now and might as well do my best to fit in. I just hoped I could get this job, as my money was running out and I needed to replenish my bank account if I hoped to be able to stay here instead of having to return home to Portland with my tail between my legs.

  Chapter Two - Simon

  The thump of my feet matched the pounding of my heart. I was running aimlessly with no particular goal in the mind other than fighting the middle-aged spread before it could start.

  Both my dad and grandad had been spry and sprightly until they finally keeled over, the sand in their hourglass just running out. And how big that hourglasses must have been. Grandad was almost 100 when he joined the choir invisible and my dad lasted until age 95 but his fact-paced lifestyle eventually took a toll on his heart, strong as it was.

  I wasn’t there at the time, Dad always flying off somewhere beautiful to do something crazy. But according to eye-witness reports, backed up by that of the coroner, the old fella had been hit with a massive heart-attack while mid-glide, minutes after B.AS.E. jumping from the highest cliff he could find, Mt. Everest being off season and not able to get a permit for Kilimanjaro.

  The blast beats thundered, the melodic guitars driving me on like a hyperactive sled dog as I ran as quickly as I could, despite not actually going anywhere at all. Then the alarm I had set to notify me of the end of my work out went up like an air raid siren, heralding the coming of the cool down period.

  The treadmill eased down from a panicked bolt to a Sunday stroll, my heart rate following suit. It might well quicken up again when I got into the shower.

  Icy water like a melted glacier cascaded down onto my prone skin, easing the ache my muscles felt from the hard work out and putting all my nerves on high alert as they started rebounding from the beating I’d just given them. Some in my position used cocaine to perk up. But I preferred endorphins, which in addition to being free, were also a lot less dangerous. Rarely had I heard of anyone over-dosing on exercise.

  Wrapped in one of the Egyptian cotton towels I’d gotten as a housewarming gift, I noticed that the inventory of berries available in the fridge were duly plundered, along with no small portion of banana and orange juice. Once whatever was left was joined in happy harmony in the efficiently German stainless steel blender, I pushed the button and unleashed the high vitamin twister.

  After stowing what was left in the uncannily modern Freon-free fridge in order to save some time later, I took a drink. The concoction flowed down my throat in the sweetest waterfall, pleasing my tongue at the same time that it nurtured my stomach.

  Fighting the inevitable brain freeze, I counted backwards from a thousand, paying careful attention to each number as it passed in smooth succession, once again reassuring me that my mental faculties were indeed intact. You could never be too careful with all the additives being put into nearly everything these days.

  I wasn’t paranoid, per se. More like possessed of a reasonable caution based on a scientific fact.

  The towel furled away like a loose flag as I traversed the
bedroom, glorying in the feeling of full nature. It was what my hippie, pagan parents called being starkers. Or ‘naked,’ to put it bluntly.

  Standing in the full glory of the creators' gifts, I opened my wardrobe. Antique and distinctly Narnian in design, it always put me in mind of my boyhood adventures at my grandparent’s place upstate. It had been a world so separate from the forced civility of the city that it felt as though there had been an air of magic about it.

  There were even tales, mostly online in the same forums that went on and on about SlederMan, of a town tucked away in the wilds made up almost entirely of paranormal creatures, with regular mortal humans like me making up only 10% of the population.

  It didn’t seem likely, but anything was possible. In my experience, people like my folks could do ten allegedly ‘impossible’ things before breakfast.

  The choice of possible clothes to wear was dizzying but no less surmountable. Neatly divided by clearly marked signs, the pre-set suits stood in line like loyal sentinels awaiting inspection by their emperor. After I opted for traditional black, it was then a simple matter of wrestling my newly revived body into the tailored silk lining.

  Most of what I had, including the condo, were perks of birth. While my mom was a hippie and managed to coax my dad in that direction as well, they were both from families that could best be described as filthy rich. Some would argue that ‘idle rich’ would be kinder, but it was in no way accurate.

  The alarm tweeted its happy tune as I approached the beloved beast. It had taken some doing to get an alarm system put into a 1945 BMW, but persistence won out in the end.

  While there were millions of non-drivers in the Big Apple, the subway being a viable option for most, there was still no shortage of vehicles on the busy streets. I wouldn’t have driven myself were it not for the fact that trying to take the subway always made me late. As though granted a wish by my fairy godfather, the switch from subway to driving took me from getting in five minutes late every morning to arriving just after the receptionists had unlocked the doors.