Pregnant by the Playboy

by Jackie Lau

  “I wore a dress today for easier access,” I tell him.

  “Excellent forethought.”

  “I’m annoyed you can still use words like ‘forethought’ right now.”

  “It’s just the way I am, I have a superior intel—ohhh.”

  I smile. Finally, I feel like I have the power. My hand is down his pants, wrapped around his cock. Although to be honest, it’s kind of difficult to think when I’m touching him so intimately and anticipating how it’ll feel to have that inside me.

  His fingers are good, don’t get me wrong. He slides one inside me, and I tip my head back. He takes advantage of that and presses kisses to the underside of my jaw.

  In return, I begin stroking my hand up and down.

  “Better than doing it yourself?” I ask.

  “A zillion times better.”

  “Great use of scientific terms.”

  “Thank you. I do my best.”

  He pushes aside the short sleeves of my dress and shoves down my bra to reveal my breasts. They pebble in the cool air and in expectation of his touch.

  He sets his mouth to one nipple as he pulls out a condom from his pocket, and I almost weep in relief. It’s a good thing he tears open the condom package—my hands are shaking so much, I’m not sure I’d be able to do it.

  He lifts me up and brings me down, impaling me on his cock.

  I groan.

  He groans.

  This is what we both wanted for so long. All through dinner...and for much longer than that. I need this, this sense of fullness that seems to complete me. I’m finally getting relief from something other than my toys.

  I cling to him as he walks toward my bedroom, continuing to move me up and down on his cock. He sets me down on my bed, on my back, never breaking his pace. When he swipes a lock of sweaty hair back from my forehead and smiles at me, I feel like I’m about to shatter.

  “Vince,” I murmur, burrowing my head against his shoulder.

  “I know,” he says. “I know.”

  He slams into me again. He’s so powerful. So perfect. I feel like I’m about to combust...and then he touches my clit, and I do. I sob and shake and cry out and hold onto him with everything I’ve got until he finds his own release.

  He pulls out of me and disposes of the condom, and I almost sob again at the loss.

  When he returns to the bedroom, I wrap my arms around him, not wanting him to go anywhere. “I hope that wasn’t enough for you.”

  “Nowhere near enough,” he assures me. “We’re just getting started. Do you regret insisting we go out for dinner first?”

  “A little, but it was probably for the best. I would have gotten hungry at some point.”

  “And sent me down to Cheese & Me for matcha double fromage cheesecake?”

  “Fortunately, I have some in the freezer.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. Didn’t want to bribe any teenagers again.”

  “How horrible that must have been for you.”

  “You know,” he says, “we do have a bit of a problem.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “You’re still wearing clothes.”

  “Oh. So I am.”

  They’re not on properly anymore, but I am indeed wearing clothes. I let Vince pull my dress over my head, followed by my bra. Next, he takes off my panties. When he was inside me, he merely pushed them to the side.

  I wore nice ones today. Even though I told myself I wouldn’t have sex with him...well, I couldn’t help thinking about it.

  Once my clothes are off, I get to work on his. It’s been a while since he’s been gloriously naked in bed with me, and damn, it’s nice.

  But what if...

  No. We’re just having sex because we’re both in desperate need of sex. Why should we deny ourselves? We’re good in bed together and he treats me well.

  He rests his hand on my stomach, and it feels possessive.

  “What should we call the baby before they’re born?” he asks. “Lime?”

  “Lime? Why?”

  “Because that’s how big they were at the first ultrasound.”

  “Would we call them something different each week as they grow? Like, they’re now about the size of an orange, so...”

  He chuckles.

  “I just call them Baby,” I say. “Nice and simple.”

  “Okay, I can do that.” Vince rests his cheek on my stomach. “Hi, Baby. I’m your father, and I’m so excited to meet you.”

  Oh, God. The stupid hormones are making me teary-eyed.

  I can almost see us living together. The fact that he proposed to me...it doesn’t seem quite as ridiculous now, and I believe that being an important part of the child’s life isn’t just a passing fancy for him.

  I’d convinced myself that going to bed with him didn’t have to involve feelings, didn’t have to change anything. But it’s so intimate, lying here next to him, talking about our baby.

  Still, we’ve only been on two real dates, and I’m only just getting accustomed to the idea that being with him, really being with him, is a possibility.

  “Don’t worry,” Vince continues, still speaking to my stomach, “We’ll change your name once you’re born. Baby is an odd name. Though there’s a movie about a girl who goes by ‘Baby.’ It’s called Dirty Dancing.”

  “Have you seen it?” I ask.

  “Of course. My mom was a little in love with Patrick Swayze, and when my dad was annoying her, she’d threaten to leave him for Patrick. Did you hear that, Baby? Your grandma likes Patrick Swayze. Unfortunately, you won’t get to meet him because he’s dead, but maybe she’ll make you watch his movies with her one day. I’ll do better things with you, though. I’ll give you a bloopisaurus, and you can name him whatever you want. Or if you prefer princesses and fairies, that’s okay, too. I can make you a little princess tower for your room. Not that I know anything about construction, but your mom’s an engineer. She’s really smart, did you know that?”

  I think Vince could talk to Baby forever, but he can do that later. I want him to pay attention to me.

  I pull him up and wrap my arms around him. My skin against his.

  When I kiss him, open-mouthed, he slides his hand between my legs again. Why does it feel so amazing when he touches me? Does every woman who sleeps with him feel like this?

  I push those thoughts out of my head. I’m the one he’s dating. I’m the one who’s carrying his child.

  He plays with me leisurely, his finger brushing my clit, parting my folds.

  “I got tested after I found out I was pregnant,” I say, “just to be sure. And you?”

  “I can show you my test results from March. I promise I haven’t been with anyone since then.”

  He starts to get up, but I lay a hand on his shoulder.

  “I trust you,” I say. “I trust that you had the tests and they came back clear, and I trust that you haven’t had sex since January. Since I’m already pregnant...” I roll on top of him and rub myself against the underside of his cock.

  “Fuck,” he says.

  “Don’t swear around Baby,” I say lightly. “So, do you want to do it without a condom? I want to feel you come inside me.” God, I do. I can’t help wanting when we’re naked together like this.

  I rub myself against him again.

  “Yes,” he rasps out. “Fuck, yes.”

  I don’t admonish him for swearing this time. Instead, I grin.

  He reaches between us and positions his cock at my entrance. I take him easily.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve ridden a man bare. I’ve certainly never done it with a man who wasn’t my boyfriend, but this is Vince, and he’s in a special category of his own.

  We move in unison, our movements slow and deep. I feel almost painfully close to him.

  I lean over and kiss his neck, then his mouth. He breaks the kiss so he can suckle on my nipples. He fills his hands with my ass and squeezes.

  As good as this is, I know it
won’t be enough for tonight. I’ll want him again and again, and he’ll take me.

  He picks up the pace, and I cry out just a moment before he does.

  He stays inside me until he starts to go soft, and I love lying here under his weight.

  “You were magnificent,” I tell him.

  “You were pretty good yourself.”

  “Just pretty good?”

  “Don’t want it to get to your head.”

  “I think you’re the one with the big ego, not me.”

  “Me?” he says. “Never.”

  He pulls out of me slowly, and I slide my fingers inside.

  “Can you grab that towel?” I ask, and Vince gets the towel on the rack beside the bed. I place it under me.

  Eventually, we make it to the washroom to clean up, and he fucks me again while I’m sitting on the bathroom counter, something he admits he’s fantasized about.

  By midnight, we’re back in bed together, cuddled up and sated...at least for a little while. He falls asleep first, and I lie quietly beside him, listening to his breathing, reveling in the soreness between my legs, wondering if having sex with Vince tonight was the best idea.

  I couldn’t help myself, though. I wanted him so badly.

  But I’m not ready for everything he’s prepared to give me. If I weren’t pregnant, this would be so much simpler. I wouldn’t feel like I had to figure out everything quickly.

  Except this baby will be coming in less than six months. I like Vince, but there are already so many changes in my life. And while he’s been sweet to me—when he’s not trying to push my buttons—I’m still having a bit of trouble reconciling that version of Vince with the one the rest of the world knows. I trust him, I enjoy his chats with our baby, but I feel like I don’t know him completely.

  For now, though, sex has left me tired, and my mind is emptying of thought.

  Chapter 20

  Vince

  “Maybe I should not say anything.” Marissa’s mother, Bev, helps herself to some noodles. “I usually wouldn’t, but this time, I will say it anyway.”

  Marissa and I exchange an oh-shit look.

  “See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Bev says. “You act like you are a couple, but you are not, right?”

  We’re at Marissa’s mother’s home for Sunday dinner. Up until an hour ago, the weekend had revolved around sex, and we didn’t talk about this dinner with Bev and Larry. Or about where our “relationship”—can I call it that?—is headed.

  I’m tempted to tell the truth. Not the truth about what we were doing all weekend, but something along the lines of, I love your daughter, and we’ve started seeing each other.

  However, I don’t know what Marissa told her mother in the past and what she wants to tell her mother now. I don’t wish to go against what she wants.

  Marissa remains quiet, though, so perhaps I ought to say something.

  “You’re not like my family,” I tell Bev. “They love to interfere, and they will always speak, even if it would be better for them to keep their mouths shut.”

  Admittedly, I’m like that, too. Especially with Julian. But there are some things I don’t talk about with my family.

  Bev chuckles, then does something I was dreading.

  She speaks to me in Cantonese and shoots me a smile afterward.

  Even though I was prepared for this moment, I find myself unable to form words.

  “He doesn’t speak Cantonese,” Marissa says.

  I never told her that, but it’s obvious I don’t.

  “Right, I remember now,” Bev says. “Your family is Toisanese, yes?”

  I nod. “But I don’t speak it. My parents were born here, and they’re most comfortable speaking English. They didn’t make a point of speaking Toisanese at home, and there are no classes for that. They put us in heritage language classes for Cantonese instead, but...” I shrug. “All the other kids spoke it at home, and the class was mainly for learning to read and write. So I was lost the whole time. My older brother picked it up, but I’m terrible at languages.”

  “It is just surprising because your family is...” She gestures vaguely.

  I know what she means. I come from a well-known family in the Chinese community, yet it’s hard for me to really feel like part of the community when I speak none of the languages. I don’t speak Mandarin, either.

  I sort of wish I could speak something. But I’m third generation on my mom’s side, fifth on my father’s. I wasn’t interested when I was younger, and I really am bad at languages. French was always my worst subject in school.

  I’m not ashamed of my Chinese background, though, and it’s not like I tried to reject everything Asian and hang out with only white people.

  “Will you teach your baby Cantonese?” Bev asks Marissa.

  “I haven’t thought about it yet.”

  “I would like to speak to them in Cantonese. We will see each other lots and they will learn to at least understand it. But you tell me what you would like. You are the mother.”

  Yeah, her mom is definitely different from mine.

  “Back to you two,” Bev says. “Marissa said you proposed?”

  Oh, she mentioned that to her mom?

  “Yes,” I say, “and that offer still stands.”

  Marissa glances at me but says nothing.

  “So, Vince,” Larry says, “I hear you ran a tech company. What do you do now?”

  I reach for the scallops. “A little of this, a little of that.”

  As in, I plan dates for Marissa and see my family and listen to my friends’ shock when I tell them I want to settle down.

  I was feeling particularly useless this morning. While Marissa was sleeping, I went to GoFundMe and donated a bunch of money to families struggling with medical bills and rent money, thinking of what Marissa had told me about her life growing up. How much difference money I might call “pocket change” could make to someone.

  “A man should have a purpose in life,” Larry says.

  “I agree.”

  I’m not sure whether Larry is the sort of old-fashioned guy who’d consider family a reasonable purpose in life for a woman, but not for a man.

  “If you do not get married,” Bev says, setting down her chopsticks, “please do not make problems for Marissa when it comes to child support. I don’t know how it all works, but you and your family could tie stuff up in courts with your money and connections, and we are nobody.”

  “There will be no issues. You have my word.”

  We eat in silence for a minute, and I’m feeling out of my depth. Meeting the mother of the woman who’s having my baby and has yet to accept my proposal is a situation I’ve never been in before. I’m usually good at keeping the conversation going, but I don’t have practice at getting people to see I could be a loving and responsible family man.

  I don’t seem to have done too bad of a job, however, because after we have almond cookies for dessert, Bev says she has something to show me and gestures for me to follow her to the basement.

  “These are baby toys,” she says, pulling out a box from one of the shelves. “From when Marissa was little. I don’t know if she will want to use them, but you can give this to her.”

  “Why don’t you do it?” I ask.

  “Ah, I want to encourage her to develop tender feelings for you.”

  Well, perhaps she likes to interfere as much as my mother after all.

  “I see the way she is looking at you,” Bev says. “She told me before that she does not love you, but maybe she is changing her mind.”

  I try not to grin at those words.

  “And I don’t know, but you seem okay.”

  “Thank you for the high praise.”

  She laughs. “I was a bit worried, I won’t lie. Marissa has good taste in men, though. If she wants you to be in her life and the baby’s life, I’m sure you deserve it. But I like the idea of you being married—better for everyone, I think.” She takes a mobile out of the box.
It appears to be Winnie-the-Pooh and his friends. “Her father made this for her. She told you about him?”

  “She did.”

  Bev nods but doesn’t say anything for a moment.

  “You will have to pick up the box later,” she says, “to keep it a secret from Marissa. Then you can give it to her when the time is right. Can you visit on Wednesday?”

  * * *

  That night, I stay at Marissa’s again. I’ll leave in the morning when she goes to work, but for now, we’re here together for the third night in a row, and I can’t help smiling.

  We had sex when we got home from visiting her mother, and now we’re lying in bed, our legs entwined.

  “I still don’t get why you proposed as soon as I told you about the baby,” she says. “You barely knew me then. Why did you do it?”

  “I wanted—still want—us all to be a family together.” I lace my fingers through hers.

  “I know. It just seems out of character for you. Less so now that I know you better, but you know what your reputation is, and to propose to me right away...”

  “The truth,” I tell her, “is that I’ve been pretty unfulfilled lately.”

  “The parties, the drinking, the women, the special gummies—that’s not a fulfilling life?”

  “After I burnt out and sold the company, that’s all I wanted to do. But with every passing year, my life started to feel more and more pointless. In some ways, I became less of a mess, but I still wasn’t doing anything of meaning. It felt like I had no value.”

  “Vince,” she says, “your life has value.”

  She strokes my face. I want to look her in the eyes, but it’s too much right now.

  “And then you told me you were pregnant,” I say, my voice a little hoarse, “and it was like everything just fell into my lap. I hadn’t known exactly what I wanted before, but suddenly I knew, and I can be a little impulsive.”

  “I’m glad you want to be a big part of our child’s life. I thought you’d be the fun dad who’d come around a few times a month, and I was okay with that, because it was more than I had. I would have loved to have that much. This is better, though. And you and me...”