His Baby to Keep: A Forbidden Romance

by Katie Ford

  “So Teresa,” I said, deceptively calm. “You feeling better? Wanna tell me about it?”

  “Oh no, Mr. Sterling, I’ll get started on your house,” she rushed, going over to the closet and pulling out some cleaning supplies.

  But I demurred. “For now, why don’t we just relax a bit. Here, I’ve got some whiskey … you do drink, don’t you?” I asked.

  She gulped, looking at the amber liquid in front of her.

  “I- I don’t drink on the job,” she stammered, her face flushing. I could see a sweet, hot tide rising on her cleavage, and man, was I tempted to rip of her shirt right then and there and fondle and squeeze those boobs.

  But I was a model of decorum. “How about water then?” I drawled. “Surely that’s not off limits.”

  She took the glass gratefully, her slim throat lovely as she swallowed.

  “Now tell me more,” I rumbled, settling back onto a couch and gesturing for her to do the same. “Tell me how you got that accent … and please don’t call me Mr. Sterling anymore, it reminds me of my dad.”

  She looked ill at ease but did as I asked, perching on the edge of the loveseat and demurely crossing her legs.

  “Well,” she said hesitantly. “I work for Krystal Kleaners, my aunt’s business, and take classes part-time at City College,” she said slowly. “My mom and I, we came from the Honduras ten years ago when I was thirteen. We didn’t have many options because neither of us spoke English. My mom still doesn’t,” she said in a rush. “I mean, my mom can understand better now, but we speak Spanish exclusively at home.”

  Hmm, very interesting. A real Cinderella.

  “And why did you leave the Honduras?” I asked gently.

  Her face grew clouded. “It’s dangerous there,” she said slowly. “The bandas, the gangs controlled our city and it wasn’t safe anymore. We had to go,” she said, looking away.

  “But you were just a little girl,” I asked. “Wasn’t the move traumatic?”

  She nodded. “I didn’t want to come, but we had to,” she said uncomfortably. “There was danger everywhere,” she murmured, her eyes still on the ground.

  Hmm, there were obviously things she wasn’t telling me but I didn’t want to push it during our first real conversation.

  “And what about your father? Where is he now?” I asked gently.

  Now her face grew clouded. “My father and brothers Herberto and Gonzalo are still in the Honduras,” she said, “as well as other relatives. They’ll come when they can,” she said quietly, looking at her folded hands.

  Okay, again something rang untrue. Usually a family sends its male members first to eke out a living, remitting money to their female relatives back home until they can afford to bring everyone to the U.S. So something about Teresa’s story was a off, but again, there was no point in pushing.

  Instead, I could feel my curiosity growing. Teresa was so different from the other women I knew, a girl with a difficult background, a mother who didn’t speak English, and who worked to put herself through school. The women I knew had everything handed to them on a silver spoon, spoiled and whiny if they didn’t get exactly what they wanted.

  But being the bastard that I am, my mind was already a million miles ahead. I decided to stop with the preliminaries. Interesting yes, but my body had hit its limits.

  “Teresa,” I said slowly. “You’ve been working for me for three years now, right? Somewhere around there?” I asked.

  “Yes, Mister Ster- I mean, yes,” she finished lamely.

  “It seems that you could use some help,” I said slowly.

  “No, I don’t need anything,” she said quickly. “I’m fine,” she reiterated, a new wariness creeping into her eyes.

  I respected her for that. She was clearly a smart girl, one whom men had offered to “help” before. But my help would be a little different.

  “Teresa,” I said slowly. “I’ve been considering a run for mayor. You didn’t know I was in politics, did you?” I asked.

  “Mis- Mister Sterling, I mean,” she stopped, pausing to gather her thoughts. “We’ve never had a conversation before. I don’t know anything about you,” she said emphatically.

  “Well, it’s time you did,” I said. “I’m running for mayor and single guys generally don’t do well in the polls. I could use someone … appropriate,” I continued. “You would be the perfect partner, at least until the election is over,” I stated.

  A look of confusion crept over that beautiful face. “What do you mean, a partner? Like your vice president?”

  That made me laugh. “No, like my girlfriend,” I said emphatically.

  And Teresa’s look of shock was all the answer I needed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Teresa

  I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Maybe my English wasn’t as good as I thought.

  “Wh-what?” I gasped, as I stared at him. Mr. Sterling, I mean Matt, had never so much as even looked my way, I was an invisible housekeeper. And now he was asking me on a date?

  The big man looked amused by my stunned reaction. His blue eyes were searing as they scanned my body, running up and down my curvaceous form. I felt a hot heat rise from my pussy to cover my breasts and chest, unable to stop my reaction, embarrassed at how I looked and yet clearly physically aroused by the bold rake of his gaze. What was wrong with me? Even more, what was wrong with him?

  It was like he read my mind. “Teresa,” he said slowly. “I need someone whom I get along with, with a captivating back story, a real rags to riches type background. I can tell you’ve got it. You don’t have any pretenses, you’ll sell well to the media and be perfect on my arm.”

  But I still didn’t buy it. “Seor,” I said. “I mean …” I shook my head in confusion. “There must be a million women out there who want to date you, there are plenty of people with disadvantaged backgrounds in San Francisco. Why me?” I asked again plaintively, still mystified.

  “Because I need someone to fill a gap,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “Think of it as a job. A job as my girlfriend,” he clarified. That shut me down a bit. It’s hard for any woman to hear the word “girlfriend” and “job” in the same sentence, but at the same time, he was the boss.

  Matt went on. “Most women want a commitment from me, and that’s just not something I’m into,” he shrugged. “But with us, it’d be different, a business transaction if you will. You’d be my girlfriend in public, helping me stump during the election season and after it’s over, whether I win or lose, you’re free to go your way. Like a short-term contract position,” he said easily. “Of course,” he added, “I plan on making this financially lucrative for you.”

  I was stunned. I was literally a Cinderella, a woman who came in to sweep the hearth of this gorgeous man, and Prince Charming had somehow noticed me. He was going to “make this financially lucrative,” whatever that meant. It sounded distasteful, but my mind automatically went to all the things that I could use … a little more food, a little more rent for my aunt, tuition for next semester, maybe even take Mami out for a nice dinner at that new taqueria.

  But I was careful. Growing up in the Honduras makes you wary, and there are no free rides from gringos. “What do I need to do exactly?” I asked slowly. “Do I need to move in here? Do you need me to keep house still? To …” Suddenly I flushed, realizing the import of his words. “Do you mean to have a physical relationship?” I choked, my cheeks flaming.

  The big man merely looked amused as he took me in. I loved the way his broad shoulders were so dominating, hugged tight in a blue denim button-down. He was an alpha male in every sense of the word, from that rakish black hair to the aura of power that surrounded him at all times.

  “Teresa,” he said. “Yeah, I’d like to have a physical relationship. Would you be into that?” he drawled.

  I bit my lip, my head spinning. Today had really been the day of days. Starting off with the unwanted come-on from Orlando, which had set off a host of bad memories, and n
ow ending with a proposition from a man who was probably the most eligible bachelor in San Francisco … and who wanted to sleep with me.

  I was floored, but I admit, tempted. Matt was just so gorgeous. He’d never noticed me, but I’d seen him behind his computer as he worked. The dark hair, the muscled build, these weren’t the traits of a paper pusher, he clearly worked out and it showed. Even today, casually dressed in expensive jeans, he exuded an aura of confidence. I shrank a bit inside, dying again at what I must have looked like in my shabby work clothes. What could Matt Sterling possibly see in Teresa Ramos of Krystal Kleaners?

  But before I could give it more thought, Matt was pulling me close, into the heavenly circle of his arms, a feeling of safety permeating my bones even as he towered over me, his masculine form dominant and possessive.

  “Let’s do a dry run, shall we?” he drawled before lowering his head.

  And I was drawn in for a kiss. Not a kiss like you see in a romantic comedy, but a true telenovela, crazy swoon-in-love type kiss, where the hero pulls the beautiful heroine close and ravishes her. Matt was no exception. His lips descending over mine were gentle at first, probing my mouth, his mobile mouth expressive and soft as they moved softly over mine.

  But the flames were immediate, my breasts growing hot as they pressed against his chest, the nipples hardening like bullets. Matt savagely took more, parting my lips insistently, running his tongue into my wet cavern, tasting me, sampling me, making me shiver with desire. I’m ashamed to say but my cunny started to run almost immediately, the moistness in my panties practically a gush as I mewled into his mouth, disturbed that this man, my employer, was able to elicit such a response in seconds.

  And Matt seemed to sense my weakness, pulling me closer, grabbing me by the back of the head, thrusting his hands deep in my hair, overwhelming in his masculinity. “That’s it chica,” he growled roughly against my neck as one thick thigh angled mine apart. “I knew we’d be perfect,” he said, his mouth tracing closer and closer to the vee at my sweater.

  But it was the rock-hard pole pressed against my thigh that caused the shutdown. Suddenly, my vision blackened and I could hear his voice again. That wheezing, guttural laugh, the dry rasping cough, the parched, dessicated skin that scraped like sandpaper. I screamed into Matt’s mouth, my pupils dilated and began to fight like a woman possessed, flailing against him with my fists, kicking his shins with my sneakered feet.

  “Aii! Aii!” I screamed, the terror overwhelming, losing any grasp of reality and instead returning to the terrors of my childhood. “Alejarse de mí! Alejarse de mí!” I cried, sobbing, a mass of writhing limbs as I tried to fight him off.

  Matt was stunned and at first tried to pull me in close. “Shhh, shhh,” he hushed, smoothing my hair, stroking my body to and even touching my breasts, skimming a finger over a hard nipple. But my flailing limbs and desperate struggling were uncontrollable, even violent, and he finally pulled away with a confused, “What the fuck?”

  It was then I knew that this would never work. I couldn’t take a job as Matt’s girlfriend. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I was broken and damaged.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Matt

  It was the damndest thing. One second, Teresa was pliant and willing in my arms, her enormous boobs pressed sweetly against my chest, her mouth soft and willing even as her thighs parted under my insistent thrusts. But the next it was like she was a deranged woman. Total hellcat, crying, sobbing, hair flying as she flailed, screaming in another language.

  My rudimentary high school Spanish made her words to be along the lines of “Get away from me Daddy?” Something like that? What, did she have a Daddy fetish or something? It would have been sick and twisted if she did, but sure, I’d be her daddy – I’d done that and more in bed.

  But it was her genuine horror that surprised. I mean, I’ve fucked some women who are wildcats in bed, but it’s just a ruse. All women ultimately want to be ravished, to lay back while the guy does all the work, licking their cunny, fucking it, making her come again and again with pleasure. But Teresa’s wild-eyed terror, the uncontrolled shaking, that couldn’t be faked. What the hell was going on?

  Teresa had grabbed her bag and run out the front door as soon as I let go, leaving me with a fucking erection that almost crippled me, my dong literally punched up against my fly so hard that it hurt. What the fuck had possessed her? I decided to let her go for the moment, unable to chase her down given that my dick needed a beating of the very best sort. But I figured I’d get to the bottom of this sooner or later. After all … she was my employee still.

  I limped up to my bedroom and made a few calls. “Platt? Yeah, check out the visa status of a Teresa Ramos of Krystal Kleaners in SF,” I growled. “Student at City College. Plus, see what you can find out about her past in the Honduras. She moved here maybe ten years ago, says she came with her mother.”

  That’s the benefit of being a billionaire. I keep people on retainer for any shit that might come up, crazy as it may seem. Shit, Platt has seen worse. He’s a fucking retired cop turned PI, I’m sure that dude has been asked to investigate a lot more than the immigrant status of a house cleaner.

  But I wasn’t done yet. The next person I called was Rosa at Krystal Kleaners.

  “This is Matt Sterling at 223 Seacrest Avenue,” I growled into the phone. “Teresa Ramos was here today but hasn’t finished the job yet. I’d like to book her again. Tomorrow. Yes, the house hasn’t been touched. Yes, tell her to come at 8 a.m. Thanks.”

  And it was done. Billionaires always get their way, and I wasn’t done with this girl just yet.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Teresa

  I’d been humiliated. First, during the scene with Orlando, which my employer had unfortunately witnessed. I never should have gotten a ride, I should have just taken the bus or walked, lateness be damned. What the fuck was wrong with me? I sobbed. It was like I’d forgotten everything Mami had ever taught me, including not getting into cars with strange men.

  Then there was the meltdown I’d had at Matt’s house. I admit, I’d been seriously considering taking him up on his offer. It sounded almost too good to be true, a dream opportunity. Sashay around town on the arm of the most eligible man in SF, attend a couple dinners, a couple functions, shake some hands and then after the election, I’d be free. It was only a commitment of a few months, and I’d probably have a pretty penny to add to my savings account, which was frankly, desperately needed.

  But it’d all come crashing down. The moment he kissed me, the moment we got even the slightest bit physical, I panicked, my past overtaking the present. Because, you see, I was molested during that time I stayed with Aunt Blanca in the countryside. Uncle Gordo turned out to be much more than a mere “uncle.” He was a goddamn perv, and my life from ages ten to thirteen had been confusing as hell.

  It had started innocently at first. Uncle Gordo would ask me to sit in his lap as we watched TV after a dinner of rice and plantains. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t feel like I could say no either. I knew my mom would be angry if I was sent back to the City, so I did as Gordo asked and perched my bony ass on his knee, uncomfortable and trying to lose myself in the latest show.

  But inevitably, Uncle Gordo would pull me back against his fleshy chest, literally push my head back against his shoulder so that my entire backside was plastered against his front. It was disgusting but at least he was fat and jiggly, kind of like an extra pillow.

  This went on for a while. Aunt Blanca would be in the same room, watching TV, and never commented, merely continuing to shell peas or whatever fruit or vegetable was in season. And so every night at 7 p.m., the three of us settled into our routine, me on my uncle’s lap, too close for comfort as we watched Spanish news or the latest telenovela.

  Until one day I’d felt something growing under my ass. I’d thought it was my imagination at first. Something hard and stiff was poking my butt cheek and I’d squirmed uncomfortably, trying to worm a
way.

  “Sit back!” came the harsh command from my uncle, my aunt looking up momentarily before turning back to the TV. She was like an automaton, her gaze blank, her body stiff as she shelled in silence, not even a hitch to her movements. This went on for a couple weeks, a hard, rigid member pressed against my butt for an hour each night, and I was always so happy to dash off to my room afterwards, to cloak myself in darkness and privacy. I’m not even sure I knew what was happening then, it was just so confusing and I was too young.

  But one night, Uncle Gordo appeared in my doorway right after I’d gotten into bed.

  “Teresita,” he said quietly. “I know you can hear me.”

  I was perfectly still under the blankets, willing him to go away as I feigned sleep.

  “Teresita,” he said again. “I know you’re awake.”

  I practically wasn’t breathing, I wanted him to go away so badly. But after a few moments, I knew it was futile and so I sat up in the darkness.

  “What is it Uncle Gordo?” I asked innocently. We’d had the usual dick pressed against my butt session earlier, what did he want now?

  Gordo came into my room, his body heavy and pendulous. He sat down on the edge of my bed and I swear, the whole thing kind of tilted to the side, my mattress cheap and my uncle heavy.

  “I can’t sleep Teresita, can I stay here with you?” he queried, covering my hand with his.