Have My Baby: Baby and Pregnancy Romance Collection

by Jamie Knight

  Deke shook his meaty, bald head. “He wants to talk to you at the bar.”

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “That’s not like him. He usually wants to talk in the back. You sure he said the bar?”

  “I’m sure.”

  I shrugged, more curious than worried. “Who are those men with him?”

  “Some kind of VIPs. He said they’re to get whatever they want.”

  The bouncer guided me through the club, pushing everyone out of our way. When we reached the bar, Johnny kissed both of my cheeks. “Wonderful as always, Alyssa.”

  I nodded and looked at the four men by his side, then looked at him, curious about what he wanted to talk about.

  “I was going to wait until we had a staff meeting, but,”—He wouldn’t meet my eyes when he spoke, “—I wanted you to be the first to know. I’m selling, and these guys are buying.”

  My jaw opened, but no words came out. I simply stared at Johnny and then at the new owners.

  The blonde guy who’d glared at me while I danced dragged his eyes over my body. It was definitely disgust I’d seen in his face.

  When I found my voice, I said, “What the fuck, Johnny? You knew I wanted to buy this place. If you planned to sell, why didn’t you ask me?”

  He placed his hands on my shoulders, but I shrugged him off. “Alyssa, sweetheart, there’s no way you could ever afford it. I’m sorry. I did what I had to.”

  My heart broke, and my dreams drifted away. “You said you weren’t retiring for a few years.” My voice cracked with every word. “I—”

  “I’m Liam,” the second well-built blonde said, interrupting me. “We’ll take good care of you and the other, um, talent. We won’t screw anyone over. We’re all businessmen and only want the best for The Bachelor.” I stared up at his large nose, frozen in disbelief.

  I wanted to quit. I wanted to tell Johnny and the other cocksuckers standing beside him to stick the club up their asses.

  I focused my eyes on Johnny. “I can’t believe you sold the club behind my back. Phyllis wouldn’t want this.”

  Johnny’s lips turned down. “Phyllis wouldn’t want me to work myself into the grave either. From next week, Noah, Jack, Liam, and Shane are your new bosses. I need you to show them the ropes. You know more about this place than anyone else. Please don’t let me down. Help me like I helped you.”

  My shoulders slumped. I could walk out and get a job at another club, but none would earn me anything close to what I made at The Bachelor. And, besides, Johnny had been good to me, and I owed him. For now, I would stick around, but I would also look for a way to get my own club. “I won’t let you down,” I promised.

  One of the new owners spoke up. With his shaggy dark hair and glowing tan, he wouldn’t have looked out of place on a beach with a surfboard beneath his arm, but the look he gave me was had none of that relaxed vibe. “I’m looking forward to learning the ropes and hopefully getting tied up with some.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Noah,” Liam spat.

  My nostrils flared, and I placed my hands on my hips. “Noah, sweetie, let’s get one thing clear. The women here might take their clothes off for men like you to leer at, but that’s as far as it goes. If you so much as lay a finger on anyone or make any more stupid innuendos, I’ll stab your balls with my icepick heels. We’re all professionals. Understand?”

  His cheeks reddened, and he lowered his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I looked at each of them in turn. “That goes for all of you. Now,” I said, smiling as sweetly as I could and trying to make the best out of a bad situation, “Do I answer to all four of you?”

  “Just me.” The one who’d stared me down stepped forward. The way his chocolate brown eyes ate me up sent shivers up and down my spine, and I hated how my body reacted to him.

  “And you are?” I asked, my lips aching from trying to keep my smile in place.

  “I’m Shane O’Brien. I’m in charge of the day to day running. The others will come and go but will focus on our other bars and nightclubs.”

  I snorted. “Guess you drew the short straw?”

  “No,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m the only one who can be trusted in a place like this.”

  “And why’s that?”

  He flicked his eyes around the club. “Because I hate strippers.”

  A wisp of wind could have knocked me over.

  Of all the answers I’d expected, that hadn’t been one of them.

  Chapter Three - Shane

  The day after we reached a deal with Johnny, we shut the doors of The Bachelor for a full refurbishment. We had a staff meeting to let everyone know they’d get paid a basic hourly rate while we were closed. However, none of the talent was happy.

  Alyssa asked if we would cover the $6,000 she usually made. All of our eyes bugged out at that figure. We’d never imagined taking your clothes off could bring in that kind of cash.

  We reiterated she’d get an hourly rate like everyone else. Plus, we guaranteed she’d make double her usual weekly haul when we reopened. She seemed skeptical. The girl was smart.

  The night we’d come to the club to check the place out, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her and imagined her long red hair wrapped around my hand. The curve of her hips and the upward swell of her perfect tits left me struggling to keep my cock soft.

  When we’d first met, I’d acted like a fucking dick. The way Alyssa had stared at me when I told her I hated strippers shamed me to my soul. That was a shitty thing to say. I should have apologized and explained, but I didn’t. Instead, I turned around and knocked back a shot of bourbon. When I turned back, she was gone.

  What I’d really wanted to do was find her, then find a dark corner and get to know her better, but that was something that wouldn’t happen. I wasn’t my father. I was her employer, and I had to remember she shook her ass for a living.

  She used her body and her face to manipulate men into giving her their money. Not every stripper was like Missy and on the lookout for a baby daddy, and yet I couldn’t allow myself to trust Alyssa.

  But most of all, I couldn’t trust myself.

  Tonight, we would open our doors for the first time. Our contractors had worked 24-hours a day for the past week, ripping out and replacing the fixtures and fittings. The old interior, while clean and well maintained, was dated and stank like stale cigars.

  I might not like the idea of managing a strip club, but now that we owned one, I would do everything I could to make it a success.

  We’d invited the club’s most loyal customers and had handpicked some of the high rollers from our other clubs. We wanted to open The Bachelor with a bang. The most popular girls would perform, including the headliner, Red Velvet.

  I strolled through the parking lot, telling myself I wouldn’t fall for her charms. I was a businessman and all about making money—nothing else. As I stood at the threshold, I rolled my shoulders back. I would leave my personal feelings at the door.

  Despite my inner turmoil, I would act professionally and treat everyone as my equal—the same way I treated the employees who kept their clothes on.

  Once inside, I eyed the new interior critically, looking for a fault, but I couldn’t find any. The contractors had done an impressive job, and the money we’d spent for the refurbishment had been worth every penny.

  Noah stood behind the bar, walking the bartenders through the cocktail menu. He acted like a stoner and looked like a beach bum, but he knew his way around a bar and was a master mixologist. In college, Noah’s legendary concoctions got the party started.

  When we’d graduated, he took a job with Diageo, the alcohol company. He had worked his way around the world, learning all he could about the liquor business.

  When he saw me, he grinned. The bartenders and waitstaff all wore skimpy uniforms that showed off their cleavage. We’d hired all shapes and sizes from thick to curvy to athletic to androgynous. Everyone had different tastes,
and we wanted to tap into that.

  Jack sat at a high-top table with Deke, Blade, and the other security team members.

  Being a martial arts expert and a tech genius, Jack took care of all our security needs. He could kill with one punch, and the guy’s IQ would make Einstein jealous.

  Then there was Liam, who was currently doing a walkthrough of the club with a clipboard in his hand. My cousin could sniff out a business deal like a vampire could sniff out blood. He was savvy, slick, and shrewd, and I trusted him with my life. Liam was always thinking, always planning, always scheming. If you got on the wrong side of him, watch out.

  Then there was me. What did I bring to the table? I had a head for numbers and made sure we dotted every I and crossed every T. I researched, planned, and kept our accounts up to date.

  Growing up, I’d been a jock and a nerd. Mixing both worlds wasn’t always easy. The football team would bust my balls about my perfect A grades, and the nerds eyed me warily, wondering if and when I would give them a wedgie.

  Running nightclubs hadn’t been on my radar. After graduation, I’d taken a job with Blackrock and had planned to work my way up the ladder, but life gave me—gave us—an opportunity we couldn’t pass up.

  We’d all worked at Squires throughout college, a squalid nightclub with broken bathroom stalls and sixty-year-old decor. The clientele wasn’t much younger. The place was a dump and needed to be demolished, but we always went back to meet up for old time’s sake when we were all in town. One night, Adam, the owner, said he was up and moving to Miami and offered to sell us Squires for a reasonable price.

  We were drunk and joked about owning the club and what we would do. Over the weeks that followed, the more we thought about it, the better the idea seemed.

  We borrowed from our families and secured business loans. That was ten years ago, and we now owned twenty successful bars and nightclubs in Atlanta.

  I went into the office, turned on the security screens, and watched as The Bachelor came to life.

  The girls meandered around. One by one, they got on the stage to practice their routines for later. While they did that, I got on with studying the profit and loss sheets.

  When I looked up from my spreadsheets, a flash of red caught my attention. Alyssa sashayed onto the stage.

  I leaned back in my chair and watched. Mesmerized by her erotic movements. There was a reason why she was the main draw. Every move she made was sultry and sexy. My dick hardened, and a groan fell from my lips.

  Now wasn’t the time to get a hard-on, but I was helpless where she was concerned.

  I wasn’t the kind of man who stroked one out at work, but if I didn’t take care of my cock, I wouldn’t be able to focus for the rest of the day. After ensuring the office door was locked, I sat in front of the monitors, unzipped my pants, and took my throbbing shaft out.

  Reaching down, I cupped my balls and squeezed. I stroked up and down. The faster she moved, the faster my hand jerked. All I could see and want was her.

  Her hips writhed and gyrated as she danced, and I imagined her straddling me, using me as her pole. My breaths became raspy, and my heart pounded. I wanted to close my eyes and lose myself in the fantasy, but I also wanted to keep them open and watch her until the end.

  She unhooked her lacey, red bra. The straps slid down her arms, and the bra dropped onto the stage. Her tits were magnificent and full, and her plump nipples perfect for sucking. My hips lifted off the chair, and my back bowed.

  I needed her.

  I needed to be inside of her.

  Alyssa ripped off her thong. I stroked harder, faster. And then it was as if her blue eyes locked on mine through the camera. It was as if she knew what I was doing while watching her.

  Looking directly at me, she slid into the splits and ran her hands up and down the front of her body.

  I lost it.

  My hot cum exploded all over my hand, and I bit out her name like a curse.

  So much for hating strippers.

  Red Velvet had me in the palm of her hand.

  Chapter Four - Alyssa

  The first week hadn’t been a bust like I’d feared. My earnings were up like the new owners had promised. I didn’t have to worry about finding a new job or going to a new club—for now.

  Opening night had been a massive success for everyone. While the old clientele hadn’t been the dregs of society, they weren’t high rollers either—the men who now walked through the doors thew money like confetti.

  I went into the locker room. The evening shift girls were applying their makeup and were having a good time gossiping and laughing. My two besties, Candy and Rachel, squeed when they saw me.

  “How amazing has this week been?” Candy said, grinning from ear to ear.

  “I’ve made more money this week than I did all last month. Hello, new boobs.” Rachel playfully grabbed her tits and jiggled them up and down. “This time next month, these puppies will be twice this size.”

  I laughed. “You’re going to topple over if you go any bigger.”

  “How has your week been?” Candy asked, dabbing perfume on her pulse points.

  “Better than I expected,” I admitted. “Once the honeymoon period is over, let’s hope it stays that way.”

  Rachel let go of her boobs. “Uh, oh. Is Debbie Downer making an appearance tonight?”

  I plopped down in front of my mirror. “Sorry. I’ll try to limit the doom and gloom.”

  I hadn’t meant to sound downbeat or depressing, but sometimes I couldn’t stop voicing my worries. Life had thrown so many lemons my way—not the type of lemons you could make lemonade with. Part of me was always afraid that disaster lurked around every corner.

  “What do you think of the new owners now that you’ve gotten to know them a little?” Candy asked, turning her eyes my way.

  I shrugged. “They seem okay, I guess. They’re not Johnny. Time will tell.”

  “I’m going to change your name to Debbie,” Rachel said, sounding exasperated.

  “I think Shane is kind of cute,” Candy announced.

  “The dark and brooding thing he has going on is super-hot,” Rachel added. “He looks like he knows how to fuck.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. Both these girls needed to keep their red claws to themselves, but I bit my tongue before saying something I’d regret. Despite him being rude and saying he hated strippers, they didn’t need to know that from the night I’d met Shane, he’d starred in my fantasies. When I danced, I imagined I was dancing for him and no one else.

  Candy fluffed her hair. “What do you think of Shane, Alyssa?”

  “Truthfully? I think he’s an asshole. He thinks he’s too good for us. I mean, he was the one who said he hated strippers. He’s not dark and brooding. He’s rude and narcissistic.”

  “I think you like him.” She looked over at Rachel. “I think she likes him.”

  “Whatever.” I grabbed my mascara and concentrated on coating my lashes.

  “Yours is the only performance he watches.” Candy started gluing diamantes to her bikini line. She said the extra sparkle meant more money. “When you get on stage, his eyes are always on you.”

  I made a pppfffttt sound.

  “It’s true,” she continued. “When you take the stage, he comes out of the office. You might not be able to see him, but I can.” She pressed her fingertips against the diamantes to help the glue set. “If I didn’t love you so much, I would be jealous.”

  Rachel hooked her arm through Candy’s. “Come on, Candy Cane. Let’s see if any of those rich guys want our tits in their faces.”

  The other girls left too, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Were they right? Did he feel the same way about me as I did about him? Did I turn Shane on? I rolled my eyes at myself. I was being stupid. I didn’t care if he watched me dance because nothing would ever happen between us.

  ***

  For the rest of the night
, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Rachel and Candy had said. And, sure enough, when I’d danced, I’d glimpsed Shane in the shadows watching every move I’d made.

  I’d ended my routine in the splits like I always had, and I was sure I left a mark on the stage floor because I had been so turned on picturing his eyes on my body.

  Saturdays had always been a profitable one for me. But tonight, I’d cleaned up and made five grand—the most I’d ever made in a single night. Wads of money lay on my kitchen table in bundles of ones, fives, tens, and twenties. Admittedly, I’d been pissed when Johnny said he was selling the club to Shane and his partners, but it wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened.

  There was no way I could have afforded the renovations they’d carried out. If I’d taken over, The Bachelor would still resemble a seedy strip joint instead of a high-class, members-only establishment.

  The other girls were ecstatic, and everyone’s profits were up. The bar staff and waitresses were rolling in tips.

  After putting my earnings in the safe beneath my bed, I removed my makeup and stepped into the shower. Once again, my thoughts drifted back to Shane. I didn’t want to think about him. I didn’t want to fantasize about him. But the jerk was in my thoughts twenty-four seven. When I wasn’t thinking about him, I dreamed about him.

  Beating water hit off my breasts, and bolts of electricity zeroed in on my clit. I groaned, the deep sound ricocheting off the tiled walls.

  I brushed my fingers over my soaped-up nipples. Closing my eyes, I allowed my mind to wander. If he were here with me, what would he do? What kind of lover would he be? Was he soft and gentle? Kind and caring? Or was he controlling and demanding, selfishly taking what he wanted? I hoped he was a mixture of both.

  My hands drifted lower. I opened my legs, exposing my clit to the shower spray. My channel clenched, aching for Shane’s cock.

  Reaching up, I set the spray pattern to jet and removed the showerhead from its holder. Sitting down on the tiled floor, I spread my legs and aimed the pulsing water at my clit.

  My hips lifted, and my back arched. I imagined Shane between my thighs. His head buried between my legs. His tongue stabbing my pussy.