Pretty Broken Baby
A Pretty Broken Short Story
Jeana E. Mann
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
This is a short story from the Pretty Broken Series. It is intended to be read in conjunction with the other Pretty Broken books.
TROUBLES
DAKOTA
When I walked into Sam’s office on a crisp fall Tuesday morning, I knew something was wrong. The tilt of his head, the clenching of his square jaw, the gleam in his green eyes—they spelled trouble. Behind him, sunlight streamed through the wall of windows, picking up the highlights in his blond hair. The skyscrapers and streets of Laurel Falls stretched out to the horizon. I shut the door behind me and locked it. He didn’t look up. My heels clicked across the hardwood floor. No response. Not even a twitch in my direction. I stopped in front of his desk and cleared my throat. He flinched.
“Sorry. I thought you heard me,” I said. “Do you have a minute?”
“No.” He closed his eyes, clearing his throat before opening them again. Turbulence darkened his irises. “But I’ll make one for you.”
He was a busy man. Building an empire didn’t happen by accident. No one knew that better than me. He worked endless hours, but he always found time for me. I did my best to respect his drive, his need to conquer and possess. Sam had an innate talent for business and a fire in his belly, unlike any man I’d ever met—except for his father. I understood and accepted this part of him, loved him even more because of it.
“What’s that?” I asked, nodding to the document clenched in his hand. “Another summons?”
Since Maxwell's indictment on numerous charges of fraud and tax evasion, our lives had been a flurry of subpoenas, court hearings, and media frenzy. Maxwell's ill health had delayed the inevitable. Now that he was recovering, all bets were off, and the investigation had begun to accelerate.
“They’re asking for any personal correspondence relating to the last six years as well as the financial records for Seaforth Industries.” The paper crumpled in his hand. He dropped it to the desk like his fingers were on fire.
“Shouldn’t that go to Vanessa? I mean, she is the CEO now.” I took a step closer to him and unfastened the top button of my blouse.
“It should, but I’m the top shareholder, and we’re all in this together." He raked long fingers through his hair, tousling the ends. The fretful mess contrasted nicely with the clean lines of his navy suit, crisp white dress shirt, and platinum cuff links. The throat of the shirt was open, revealing a sliver of tanned skin and golden chest hair. The length of his tie hung over a nearby chair like he'd flung it there in a fit of anger.
“So, give them what they want. You’ve got nothing to hide, right?” The next step brought me to his side. I flicked another button from its buttonhole.
“I don’t, but I’m not so sure about Maxwell. He’s still refusing to cooperate.” Lines of exhaustion bracketed his eyes. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
"Maybe I can take your mind off things for a few minutes." I popped open the next button, revealing the sheer top of my bra. It was blue silk with tiny beads sewn into the lace.
“I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.” His gaze flicked over my cleavage. The severity of his expression never eased, but one corner of his full mouth twitched upward. He swiveled his chair to face me, shifting back in his chair, spreading his knees wide.
“I’m ovulating. Right now.” To punctuate my intent, I placed a foot on the chair in the space below his crotch and hitched the hem of my skirt to reveal sheer nude stockings and garters attached to the top. He swallowed, his throat moving visibly. “I need you to man up and get me pregnant.”
Warm, strong fingers wrapped around my ankle. They glided over the straps of my sandals before smoothing up my calf. When he reached my knee, he squeezed. My internal muscles clenched. He was so male, so alpha. Watching him look at me took my breath away.
“That might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.” His eyelids lowered, heavy with desire, his voice rough with lust.
“Can you handle that, Mr. Seaforth?” I asked, in my best vixen voice.
“I’ll see what I can do. Now strip.” The fire in his eyes matched the burn in my chest.
I let my skirt puddle to the floor. I stepped out of it, wearing only my push-up bra, garter belt, stockings, and ridiculously high heels. Sam took in every inch of me, starting at the top of my head and finishing at my feet. One of his hands dragged over the outline of his cock behind the fly of his trousers. Knowing I could turn him on this way flooded me with a sense of pride. He might be the most powerful man in the city, but right now, I controlled him.
“Tell me you want me,” I whispered.
“God, yes.” He stood, towering over me. “I want you now. Today. Forever.”
The growl of his zipper filled the silence. My heart skipped a beat then two. We’d been married, divorced then remarried, but he still gave me butterflies every time he touched me. He stared down at me, his jaw tightening. “Turn around, hands on the window.”
The smooth glass chilled my palms as I placed them at chest level on the glass. On the sidewalk below us, tiny people scuttled along the street. Cars dodged through traffic. None of those things mattered. It was only him and me in the cocoon of his office. Sam smoothed a fingertip down the groove of my spine. My skin heated and pebbled in its wake. His lips followed his tender touch. When he reached the waistband of my panties, he drew in a deep breath.
“What the fuck are you trying to do to me, Kota?” It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer. “Look at these panties.” I smiled, fighting against the flutter of excitement in my belly. His finger traced the giant silk bow over my ass. “You know how I love bows.”
“That was the general idea,” I said, my voice quivering almost as much as my knees.
The fabric of his pants whispered against my thighs as he stepped between my feet, broadening my stance, opening me to him. One of his arms stole around my waist, pulling my back to his hard front. He swept my hair back from my face, wrapping the long ends around his wrist, and lowered his lips to my ear. The scruff of his stubble abraded my earlobe, and his hot breath burned my skin.
“Are you ready for me to fuck you?” The deep bass of his voice vibrated through my body, lighting my nerves on fire.
“Yes.” I bucked against him. “Now. I’m ready now.”
“Let’s see.” His hand cupped my bottom, squeezing the flesh, before sliding around between my legs. His fingers slipped through my folds, testing the wetness, teasing me. I whimpered and bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out, aware of the employees outside his door. “Jesus, you’re wet. Have you been like this long?”
“Since this morning,” I admitted, straining to catch a glimpse of his green eyes over my shoulder. “Watching you boss people around makes me hot.”
“Noted.” The head of his cock nudged my backside. I shifted, enjoying the tingles of electricity sparking along my sex as he dipped a finger inside me. “If I’d known you were wearing these naughty panties, I’d have been hard all day. I would have canceled that meeting.”
“Less talk, more fucking.” My voice came out breathy and high-pitched. “We’ve got six minutes.” The space between my legs ached. Need blossomed in my sex and radiated through my limbs. If he didn’t take me soon, I’d incinerate into a pile of ashes. To emphasize my point, I pushed into him. The head of his cock slipped inside me. Sam’s breath hissed through his teeth.
“My little sex maniac.” He pushed forward, easing into me, filling me with his impressive length.
“Sam!”
He laughed and gripped my hips with both hands. “Damn, woman. Alright. You’d better grab onto something.”
His pelvis slammed into me, stealing my words and my breath. The laughter fell away from his lips. I forgot to worry about the people outside the office and cried out. He hammered into me, his skin slapping against mine. I grabbed one of my breasts, pinching the nipple, enjoying the sting of blood racing through my veins.
Stolen moments like these meant more to me than money or success. The sound of his grunts and moans filled my heart to the brim with contentment. I loved this man beyond all reason. We’d been through hell together and found our way to heaven. I reached a hand behind me and clutched his leg. I gripped the fabric of his pants, biting my lip as a pre-orgasmic tremor jolted through my center.
“You make me crazy,” he muttered between gasps. “You tie me up in knots. You’re everything to me, Kota. Do you hear me?”
“Yes. Yes, I hear you. I—I—ahhh.” One roll of his hips stole my thoughts. I sank into the vortex of his clutching fingers and the wet friction between my legs. Sam released my hip to grab the back of my head, tilting my face to the side. Our mouths snapped together. His tongue danced with mine, tasting and teasing. I'd never been happier or so needy.
This was bliss. Even if we never became pregnant, we’d always have this connection. We fell into a choppy rhythm of deep, stabbing thrusts. I took his lower lip between my teeth and tugged. His brow furrowed. The tendons in his neck strained as orgasm overtook him. His gaze darkened to one of primal need. A low growl ripped from his throat, sending me into uncontrollable spasms of release. He pushed into me one more time.
“Yes,” Sam hissed.
Our bodies jerked in unison. Sam clutched me to him, his arms possessive around my middle, his chin resting on my shoulder. The stubble of his cheeks rasped over the tender flesh of my neck. We were both blowing and puffing as if we'd just run a marathon uphill against the wind. The tip of his nose nuzzled my earlobe. He was still inside me. A sudden rush of tenderness extinguished the last threads of my self-control. I swallowed against the thickness of my throat.
“Mr. Seaforth?” The buzz of the intercom caused us both to jump. “Mr. Seaforth, your appointment is here.” His assistant’s voice floated into the quiet. “Mr. Seaforth?”
He pulled out with a quiet moan of exasperation. I sagged into the window, feeling the loss of his body heat, craving more. His jaw tensed as he stabbed the intercom button. “Tell them I’ll be five minutes. I’m just finishing up something.” Our eyes met, and he flashed a rare smile.
“I don’t think I can walk,” I said. The strength seemed to have ebbed out of my knees. My body trembled all over.
“Sure you can.” He smacked my bottom. The sting warmed my backside and spread pleasantly down my legs. I groaned as an aftershock spasmed through my core. “Better get dressed.” He picked up my blouse and skirt from the floor and tossed them to me. His gaze swept down my body one last time. He shook his head, still smiling.
“What?” I felt dreamy, euphoric, high from my orgasm.
His nostrils flared. He leaned in to button my blouse, brushing away my shaking fingers. In a husky voice, he said, "When I get home tonight, I'm going to ride you until you scream my name. Not because you’re ovulating. Just for the hell of it.”
“Is that a threat?” I asked, beaming like a fool, and ran my fingers through his hair.
“That, my lovely wife, is a promise.” His grin lit up my world. I caressed his cheek. He stole my hand and dropped a kiss into the palm. “We may never get pregnant, but I’m having a helluva a good time trying.”
His words reminded me of the reason behind this afternoon tryst. We'd been trying for months to get pregnant without success. I'd been through dozens of expensive tests and fertility treatments. More than anything, I wanted Sam's baby, a piece of him to call my own. I didn't want to get my hopes up again, too afraid of another failure. I blinked back the sting of emotional tears. If I didn’t get pregnant soon…
“Hey, stop it.” He traced a finger along my jaw, stopping at my chin to tilt my face up to his. “If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.”
“I know.” I smiled up at him, hoping he couldn’t read the desperation in my eyes.
DISAPPOINTMENT
DAKOTA
“Are you sure you’re doing it right?” Sam stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror while I peed on an early pregnancy test. He was shirtless, bent over the sink, splashing water on his face. Our eyes met in the mirror. He quirked an eyebrow.
“I’ve done it a dozen times. It’s pretty simple,” I said, my tone snappy and irritated. “Even an idiot can pee on a stick.”
“Just asking.” He lifted both palms into the air and shrugged broad shoulders. “My bad.”
“I’m sorry. It’s the hormones. They’re making me crazy.” I finished my business and set the white plastic stick on the shelf next to the toilet. Sam said nothing, folding his arms across his chest, and leaned a hip against the sink. I washed my hands and set the timer on my phone.
“Come here.” He took my hand and led me into the bedroom, settling on the edge of the bed, pulling me into his lap.
I couldn’t look at him, remembering our last—and only—pregnancy, the way it almost broke us. I didn’t want to go there again. We’d both suffered terribly. As bad as I wanted a child, it wasn’t worth losing him over.
“Kota.” When he said my name that way, softly and gently, like a prayer, I couldn’t deny him anything. “Baby, look at me.” Our eyes locked. I melted into his green irises with their flecks of gold and emerald. “If this is becoming too much, we need to back up a step.”
I bit my lower lip. After the miscarriage, I’d become obsessed with diet and exercise, sexual positions and ovulation charts. Thank goodness, Sam had a high sex drive and could accommodate my never-ending demands for sex. Over the past few weeks, however, the tone of our lovemaking had grown tedious, and the number of arguments between us had escalated.
“I think we should stop trying for a while.” His words stabbed me in the chest.
“What? No.” I pushed on his shoulders, struggling to get out of his embrace. He held me in place.
“Yes.” I tried to look away, but he brought my chin back around, pinning my gaze with his. “We talked about this. If things got too intense or if either one of us got tired of trying, we’d take a break. Right?”
“Yeah.” I swallowed against the thickness in my throat. Defeat had never been an easy concept for either of us.
“I’m worried about you. I haven’t seen you laugh in weeks.” The sincerity in his expression made my chest constrict. I smoothed a fingertip over the crease between his brows, the crease I’d put there.
“I want a baby, Sam. Your baby. Are you changing your mind?” I searched his face, looking for answers, bracing for disappointment.
"I love kids. You know that. And I will try forever if that's what you want. I just need you to be okay with whatever happens in there." He jerked his chin toward the bathroom. "Because you're the most important thing in my life. I can’t bear to see you broken again.”
He had every right to be concerned. I’d fallen apart after the miscarriage, turned off my emotions, and pushed him away. Our marriage had suffered. "I'll be okay. I promise." My words were hopeful, but inside I wasn't certain.
The timer beeped. We both stood. Sam extended a hand, wrapping his fingers around mine, and led me to the bathroom. We peered down at the stick. One line.
“Maybe it’s defective,” I said, bracing against the threat of tears. “Maybe I should try another one.” I reached for the box.
"No." Sam nudged the additional test out of my reach and put his lean body between me and the sink. We stared at each other for a long time. I saw the boy from my childhood in his face, mingling with the man he'd become. Flashes of the first time he held my hand, our first kiss, our first time making love, flickered through my head. My heart swelled
with love for this amazing person. “Let it go, Dakota. Let it go.”
"Okay," I whispered. Unable to hold back the tears, I let them roll down my face. He cupped my cheeks in his hands and wiped away the moisture with his thumbs.
“I’m calling in today,” he said. “And so are you.”
“No. We can’t. There’s too much--” He stopped my words with a kiss on the lips.
“I insist.” He swept a lock of hair away from my forehead. “First, we’re going to take a long, hot bath together, and then, we’ll go for a drive in the country. No security. Just you and me. Sound good?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. He pulled me into a hug. The strength in his arms buoyed me up and lifted me over the bump in our road to parenthood. I drew in a deep draught of his scent, his shower gel, his shampoo, the muskiness of his aftershave.
“Or maybe, we need to go buy something really, really extravagant. Like ridiculously expensive.”
"What? No." This uncharacteristic offer caught my attention. Since our marriage, we'd splurged on a beautiful house but tried to live as simply as we could. Some expenses couldn't be avoided like bodyguards and wardrobes for public events, but most of the time we ate hamburgers and drank beer, rented movies, and lived like ordinary people.
“Yes.” A ribbon of morning sunlight streamed through the window and glinted off his blond hair. I felt small in his arms, protected and loved. I squeezed his hard bicep, and he smirked.
“You’re serious?” A dozen ideas rolled through my thoughts. My mother needed a vacation. Crockett could use a new car.
He nodded. “Yes, but it has to be something for you. Not someone else.”
“Oh.” I scrunched my forehead in disappointment. “Anything I want? Anything at all?”
“Yes.” At times like these, his masculinity overwhelmed me. The line of his jaw, the stubble on his cheeks, the sheer size of him—he was all male and all mine. “And make it something crazy.”
Pretty Broken Baby: A Pretty Broken Short Story Page 1
