Even at work, things were amazing. At first, I was almost as equally freaked out by the fact that I was pregnant as I was about my employment status. Porter put an end to that within a few days, assuring me that my job with his company was stable and I was valued as an employee. We might work together or, more accurately, he might be my boss, but at work he treated me the same as everyone else…with the exception of a few extended lunches. I appreciated that because I wanted to succeed because of me and not whom I was sleeping with.
And the sex. I still couldn’t get over the way we connected in that arena. I loved how we volleyed for power when things got good and dirty. Sometimes he would take control. And yeah, that was beyond hot. And other times, I would take control. and that was just as hot, but in a very different way. The thing that shocked me was that each and every time it got better, and my need to be with him grew. No getting bored. No going through the motions. True, we’d not been together long, but this wasn’t my first rodeo. By the time I’d reached this point in previous relationships, I’d always felt more like, I guess I should say yes, where now, with Porter, it was always I need him now.
Not that I was going to be sleeping with him for much longer. I got a call from the OB telling me that they wanted me to come in for some labs now that I had passed my first trimester. City doctors were so different from the ones my brother had. He’d heard the heartbeat at eight weeks and had an appointment at twelve. Here, they had me wait until twelve to even schedule the appointment, assuring me that it was protocol, and then sent me a packet of four thousand papers to fill out.
If I weren’t still in denial, I might have been more forceful about getting in. But going to the OB made it real. It meant a baby was coming and that Porter needed to know. And I would tell him. I would. How, I still didn’t know. But it would be soon. I couldn’t continue with him under the weight of this secret. A secret that would probably be the demise of what we were building, because what I was doing was made of evil. I knew it and let fear encourage me to continue, and that needed to end. I was going to tell him and not let anything get in the way because he had a right to know, a right to be part of it, a right to not be lied to.
My fear of losing him almost guaranteed that was exactly what was going to happen. Porter didn’t trust easily. I saw it in the workplace, in his stories, and from the way he so slowly opened up to me about his past. He trusted me, though. A stupid liar face. Once he saw me for what I was, that trust was going to be stripped away, leaving him with what? A father of his future child whom he couldn’t trust enough to take out his trash, much less raise his child.
Maybe I could beg him, let him see that I regretted not telling him from the first moment. Maybe that would be enough to have him give me a second chance. Even if he didn’t, I had to try. He deserved that. No, he deserved so much more. He deserved my complete honesty from the very beginning, not when I could no longer hide it. I glanced up, catching my reflection in the window. I didn’t even recognize myself anymore, much less like myself. And if I couldn’t stand myself, how could I ever expect him to love me? For that was what I wanted more than anything. For Porter to love and forgive me and want to be a part of his child’s life. A dream I’d shattered by my own actions.
Chapter Twenty
Porter
If I had built up any idea of what life with Michael would be like, I would have been wrong. I never could have imagined the steadiness, the comfort, the sheer joy he brought me, just by his presence. My ideas of what sex would be like with him? That, I had nearly nailed, but even my fantasies paled in comparison with reality. I nearly wanted to ask if someone had slipped me some drugs, and if they had, could I have some more? Because I never wanted to know what life without Michael was like again.
As a kid, I’d had really shit role models of what a romantic relationship could and should look like. Betsy was my model for unconditional love, but romantic love? I had nothing. At least, nothing positive. I was terrified that I was going to fuck this up with Michael, but I had long ago learned that the only way to get what you want is to plow right through those fears. I had let complacency lose him once when I didn’t really dig to find out where he was. That wouldn’t happen again.
I had cancelled a few small trips to meet with clients since reconnecting with Michael. Nothing had been as important as spending time with him. But the Andersons were one of our biggest clients, and Lucas Anderson was insisting on a personal meeting. Two weeks ago, it wouldn’t have been a question. Two weeks ago, I didn’t have Michael.
The trip would take a week. Besides meeting with the Andersons, there were a few other clients and potential clients I needed to connect with, and I wanted to get them all out of the way at once. Anything that wasn’t Michael felt like a nuisance right now, but these nuisances were my bread and butter; they were how I had built my company. I had learned to tend to them even when I didn’t feel like it, but I had never been challenged so strongly before.
But, I had a plan. And I knew how Michael loved plans. He’d said before he’d never been to New York City. I would whisk him away, and we’d go to a Broadway show, to the top of the Statue of Liberty, Central Park—all of the tourist stuff I’d never taken time for before because, without someone to share it with, what was the point? He’d be by my side as I discussed business, and afterward we’d recap, and he’d give me that completely different perspective he had of situations. Okay, that may not sound like the sexiest thing ever, but the fact that I knew I could trust Michael as my equal in all parts of my life? Nothing was a bigger turn-on.
“Mr. Dahl?” Cheryl’s voice came through the intercom. “Mr. Martin is here for your ten o’clock.”
I didn’t even try to stop the grin that crossed my face. “Send him in, please, Cheryl.”
I stood, buttoning one button of my suit coat, and walked to the front of my desk, leaned against it and crossed my legs. Michael looked slightly intimidated as he walked in. I’d never called him directly to my office before, I realized. Which was a shame. I remembered a stray thought I’d conjured when I’d taken him to lunch the day I discovered he worked in my company, that I should just refashion my office into Porter’s Pleasure Den. The idea still had merit. But instead of a sad, lonely room for one, it would be a sensual, inviting room for two.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Michael said.
“Like what?” I asked, breaking from my fantasy.
“Like you’re going to eat me.” He came to a stop just in front of me, setting some paperwork he’d been carrying on my desk before crossing his arms.
I tugged him forward, and he loosened his arms and wrapped them around my waist. “That’s a good idea. What do you think? I can lock the door, tell Cheryl to hold my calls...”
“Absolutely not!” Michael laughed. “You know I have to return to work, and I can’t even begin to think of what kind of comments Francine would make if I showed up looking like I was ridden hard and put away wet.”
“Stop putting ideas into my head if you don’t want me to follow through on them, Michael,” I warned him.
He pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “Okay, I guess I really shouldn’t mention my recent fantasy about being bent over your desk, arms splayed, while you fuck me like it’s the last sex of our lives then, right?” At my pained look, he nodded. “That’s what I thought.” He tried to take a step back, but I held him to me. “Mr. Dahl,” he admonished, “I’m trying to preserve your dignity and my reputation.”
“Fuck my dignity,” I growled. “You can’t just say things like that and expect to get away with no consequences, Michael.”
“Oh, can’t I?” His look was an innocent charade. “What are you going to do to me?”
I spun him around and lifted him to the edge of my desk. Popping open the button of his dress pants, I slid my hands down to free his cock, hard as a rock. As always.
“My, my, already so hard.” Hard was an understatement. “Have you been thinking about this fantasy duri
ng work, Mr. Martin?” Because I sure as fuck had been.
“There’s nothing illegal about thinking, no matter where or when,” he said, breathless as I gave his cock a pump.
“But surely there’s some kind of moral quandary about such actions?”
He wiggled, spreading his legs wider, wrapping them around me. “My boss seems to be okay with it.”
I slid my hand down and give his balls a squeeze, and he threw his head back with a gasp.
“I can’t decide whether I want you to scream so Cheryl out there knows exactly what I’m doing to you, or if I want you to hold it all in. Which do you think is hotter? Exhibitionism or restriction?”
His hips bucked, thrusting his cock into my hand at the last word.
“Restriction. I thought it might. You are so focused on being in control, on following the plan. It’s liberating, isn’t it, to submit to someone else’s will? Now, hush.”
I brought him all the way with just my hand and the invisible control of my words, with my mouth added at the end, not wanting a drop of his offerings to go to waste. Then I helped him tuck his shirt back into his pants before buttoning and zipping them closed and held him in a sweet embrace. We giggled together as I looked to the door more than once, knowing it wasn’t locked.
“Was that all you called me up here for?” he finally asked.
I huffed a laugh. “Actually, that wasn’t on my mind at all. Well, no more than usual, that is. It’s hard not to think about pleasuring you, Michael. But I wanted to know, how do you feel about going to New York City with me next week? I have some meetings, but I can’t stand the thought of being away from you for that long. I have to attend a few dinners, a few lunches, but other than that, I’ll be all yours.”
I was shocked when Michael shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, “that sounds amazing, but I can’t do it next week.”
In no universe had I expected a refusal. “Why not?”
Michael stiffened in my arms and stepped away. “I have some personal issues to see to.”
“Like what?”
“None of your business,” he snapped, and I blinked in astonishment.
“Michael, what is it you’re not telling me? Are you afraid of planes? We can take a train.”
“It’s not that. I have some appointments next week.”
I was getting frustrated. “Reschedule them.”
Michael’s spine was steel now, and he leveled me with the angriest look I’d ever received from him. “You are not my boss, Porter Dahl.”
“Well, technically I am,” I spat, my blood pressure rising.
“Well, technically ,you’re being an ass.” He grabbed at his stuff and yanked it off my desk, but he’d missed part of the stack and spilled papers on the floor. I stooped to help him pick them up as he said, “I don’t deny there’s something going on between us, but that doesn’t give you any right to order me about.”
His tirade went on, but I had frozen. The paper I held was a receipt for a doctor. For an obstetrician. With a note about an ultrasound scheduled the next week. My brain logged all the details I was too stunned to process at the moment. Suddenly, his voice went silent, and I looked into his wide eyes.
“Michael, are you pregnant?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Michael
“I...I was going to tell you,” I stammered, tears already forming in my eyes. I was, too. I had even picked up a stupid invitation at the drugstore when getting the iron supplement I was told I needed. I filled it out as if it were a party, only it was to the ultrasound. It wasn’t the big ultrasound, and it was unlikely they’d be able to tell the gender, but they had offered an early peek and I jumped. Who wouldn’t want a chance to see their baby growing inside them?
Not that my intentions, or even my actions, meant two shits now. He was already livid, his eyes holding contempt I’d not thought him capable of.
“When?” He took three steps forward, stopping when his eyes met mine. “When were you going to tell me?” His anger was just as palpable, but his voice lowered slightly. He must have seen the fear in my eyes and misinterpreted it as fear of him. He’d said I would always be safe with him and I knew it to be true, physically. My fear was that I’d messed up so royally that there was nothing that could fix this. I was officially Humpty Dumpty.
“As soon as I got the courage.” Tears were flowing. I wanted to be strong. To take the consequences for my actions with dignity. But I couldn’t hold it together long enough to do so.
“The courage. The fucking courage.” And his anger was front and center again. “This says you’re at fourteen weeks gestation.” He waved the paper in front of me. “That means…” He raked his hands through his hair, taking a step back until he was leaning against his desk. “Fuck…you were pregnant when you moved here.”
“Yes,” I squeaked out. How I was still standing was beyond me. I wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. My knees were all for this plan, wobbling like they’d collapse any minute.
“And yet you are just telling me now.” He closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling heavily. I did this to him. I took the strong, confident, sexy man and turned him into one so upset he needed to follow school-boy strategies for cooling down. I was an asshat.
“I was scared.” It was an accurate, yet unacceptable, excuse by anyone’s measure.
“Scared of what?” He opened his eyes, watching my reaction to his question. “The truth?”
“Scared of losing you.” That I had anyway went unspoken.
“Turns out that was a good thing to be scared of since that is exactly what you got.” He strode around his desk, taking a seat behind it. His posture telling me we were done. The conversation and the relationship both over.
“You don’t mean that.” My voice quavered. I knew very well that he meant it with all that he was.
“I don’t mean that?” He shook his head at the insanity of my words. “Michael, you of all people should know I say exactly what I mean. That may be hard for you to grasp considering the way you tuck away key information from the people it matters most to.”
“I deserve that.” And so much more.
“Yes, Michael. Yes, you do.” He was no longer looking at me and instead began to work on whatever he was doing before I walked in. I stood still, refusing to leave even though his intent that I go couldn’t be clearer. I could wait him out, though. I had to. This was important. He was important. Even if I didn’t treat him as such.
Finally, he caved and began to speak again. “How long did you think you could hide this from me? Did you think I wouldn’t notice your belly swelling with your child? My child?”
The hurt in his eyes crushed me. He had never once treated me as anything less than important, and I had treated him like garbage. His hurt was thrown at him, by me. This wasn’t a fight where we were both kind of wrong. This was 100 percent my fault. And yet, when he said “my child,” my heart allowed in a bit of hope.
“You want the baby?”
“It doesn’t look like I have a choice. Last I checked, you took that away from me by waiting until you were out of the first trimester before so kindly dropping a paper so I could discover you were pregnant.”
No. No. No. No. No. He couldn’t be saying what I thought he was saying. Not Porter. Not the one I know.
“You don’t mean… You wouldn’t...” I couldn’t even bring myself to say the words.
“You have no idea what I would or wouldn’t, and you never will because you hid this from me.” I could no longer see his face through my tears. Tears I’d earned in the worst way possible. “Hid my child from me. A child I had no decision about bringing into this world.”
“You were there when I got pregnant.” Because lashing out was going to make things better. I wanted to kick myself the moment the words left my mouth.
“And I used a condom. How do I know you didn’t plan this?”
“Get real, jackass.” I allowed hostility to take over my sorrow. Not
because it was legit, but because we both knew he didn’t think for a second I planned a baby with a one-night stand. I held onto the anger because if I didn’t, I was going to collapse on the floor, incapable of doing normal things like standing and walking. “It was your condom, and you were the one who put it on.”
Something crossed his eyes as I mentioned him putting it on, but I couldn’t stop to decipher it, for if I stopped, I was going to break down. Instead, I acted like any rational man would—I stormed out. I was halfway down the hall when I remembered the invitation and went to fish it out from my jacket pocket. I could leave it with his secretary and let Porter decide what he wanted to do. He wouldn’t come, but I needed to offer.
It wasn’t there. If that wasn’t a sign, I didn’t know what was.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Porter
I knew I was being a jackass, but when I realized what those papers meant, how long Michael had been keeping this from me, well, saying I lost my cool was a bit of an understatement. My brain had whited out. I never thought I would have kids. I didn’t want to replicate my biological parents’ mistakes, and I knew I wasn’t good enough to emulate Ms. Betsy. I could barely figure out how to manage a healthy relationship with Michael, and suddenly I had to consider a child?
But Michael, Michael was everything right in the world.
Now that the thought was planted in my brain, I could picture a future with Michael and our child. Michael swinging a little man around in the air on a warm summer day, both of them in matching T-shirts. Michael kissing a little boy’s boo-boo before sending him off to keep playing. I tried to picture myself in more of an active role, but every image I saw was of Michael, with me hovering in the background. But if I was to be a father, I wanted more than that. I didn’t have an example of what a dad should look like, but I had many examples of what one shouldn’t. That was a starting point, right?
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