Best Friend's Baby

by Mia Carson

  Ali mumbled in her sleep and nuzzled further into my chest. I hadn't planned on staying the night, but she looked too cute and peaceful for me to disturb her. I set a quick alarm on my phone to make sure I woke up at the right time and let myself drift off with Ali happily snoozing half on top of me.

  We took things slow, and I let Ali decide when she wanted to hang. With both her and Tyler knowing I was in town, there was no reason for me to remain isolated, so I took full advantage of being so close to my friends. I didn't bug him about Ali and her condition, but I felt like he was hiding something from me. Ali was, too. I knew that without needing to think about it. She still hadn't told me who the father was, which wasn't doing anything to ease my own worries. It was clear to me that Tyler knew who it was, but he was being tight-lipped on the subject.

  I thought I was doing a pretty good job showing Ali that I cared about her, not just about the baby growing inside her, but after a few weeks, I noticed the same differences in her that I had seen over the summer. This time, though, I was prepared and didn't waste time confronting her about it. I took her to a movie and to dinner, wanting to get her out and about and see if it would help cheer her up. She was smiling, but something was not right. At first, I wanted to see if she would come out and tell me on her own, but when it became clear she had no intention of doing so, I broached the subject myself when we were in the parking lot outside her and Jesse's place.

  “What's wrong, Ali? And don't say nothing because I know that's not true.”

  Ali sighed and slumped back in her seat, lacing her fingers over her stomach. The swelling wasn't too noticeable, but it would start to be sooner rather than later. “You're not just...staying because you feel, like, obligated, are you?” she asked. “Because I'm pregnant.”

  “What?” I asked through a dry laugh. “You—do you really think that? Of course not, Ali!” I twisted in my seat so I could face her properly and reached across to grab one of her hands, giving it a firm squeeze. “I don't care if you're pregnant or not, I…I—”

  “It's yours,” she said abruptly, cutting me off. I froze and stared at her, my mind going numb with shock. She glanced at me briefly. “It's your baby.”

  “It's... It's mine?” I asked. Ali nodded. “I'm a… I'm gonna be a— Why didn't you tell me?”

  “I was scared,” Ali whispered. “That's really why I broke it off. It had nothing to do with how I felt—how I feel about you. I mean, this is a big thing, Mase. It's not something I could just throw into a casual conversation.”

  I sighed heavily, still registering what I had a heard, but I didn't let go of her. My shock slowly began to bloom into a happiness unlike anything I had ever felt in my life. A grin spread across my face.

  “Ali, look at me,” I said. She turned her head slowly to face me, her eyes shining with tears. I brushed my thumb against her eyes. “This child will never want for anything, I promise. I don't care what it takes. You and him or her—whichever it is—will have the best life I can possibly give you.”

  “You're... you're not angry?” Ali asked.

  “No!” I said, shaking my head. “No! How could I ever be angry about something this wonderful?”

  She started to cry, but she was laughing through it as well, gripping my hand tightly in hers. “I was so scared you'd hate me,” she said.

  It was a bit awkward to pull her head against my chest, but I did it anyway. “I love you, Ali,” I said. “There's not a chance in hell this would have ever changed that.”

  “I love you, too,” Ali said. “So much.” She sniffled and pressed her nose into my shirt, one hand wrapped around my collar. “I do have some other good news,” she said, her voice muffled.

  “What's that?” I asked.

  “My parents already know,” she said. “But I think maybe we should wait a bit longer to tell my parents about us renewing our relationship? I mean, they kind of got hit with huge news recently, and I think they're still processing it.”

  “I'm still processing it,” I said, laughing. “But whatever you want, babe. Whatever you want.” I wrapped my arm tightly around her and kissed the top of her head, and in that moment, I swore I was the happiest man alive.

  *** BONUS BOOK ***

  STEEL

  (A BAD BOY BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE)

  By

  Mia Carson

  COPYRIGHT © 2016

  All Rights Reserved

  Summer

  He raised his voice again. Damn it, if he threw something, I was out of there.

  “How can you be so unreasonable, Summer?” His voice sounded ugly and high-pitched, almost screeching, and I could see the tension building in his shoulders.

  “Oh, really?” I couldn’t believe him. “I’m being unreasonable?”

  “I only suggested we consider seeing other people.” He was close to shouting now. “I didn’t say I wanted to cheat on you.”

  “But you’d like to.” I made it a statement. Honestly, I was more confused than upset. If he’d only clarify what he meant, that would be helpful.

  “No. I just feel like we’re going nowhere. It’s been six months and you won’t make any sort of commitment to me,” he whined.

  “I fuck you, don’t I?”

  “That’s hardly a commitment,” he pointed out. “How about moving in together? You won’t talk about that. You won’t even say ‘I love you.’”

  I looked around his little apartment. On the shelf next to the TV was the china doll he’d bought me. Over by the couch, on a little side table, was the crystal vase he gave me when he came back from his trip to Ireland. Come to think of it, all his gifts to me were still at his place.

  “I told you in the beginning that I wasn’t looking to settle down,” I said in an even tone, trying to hang on to my patience. “If you want to live together, to get married or whatever, you’re looking at the wrong girl.”

  “But it’s been six months—” he began.

  “And you thought I’d come around?” I interrupted. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Derek, but you walked into this with your eyes open.”

  “So now what?” he asked, a touch of resignation in his voice. I guess he’d remembered how strongly I felt about not committing.

  “Go out,” I said. “Have some fun, go sleep with other people. You clearly want more than I’m prepared to give, so you’ll have to find someone else to get it from.”

  A new wave of anger flushed red in his face. He clenched and unclenched his fists. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he yelled.

  “It means I’m saving you from any more trouble,” I spat, turning to go. “I’m going back to my place. Delete my number.”

  “Are you serious?” he bellowed. I had no time for his immature theatrics. “You’re just going to fucking throw it all away?”

  I heard him stride angrily towards me as I opened the door and felt his hand descend on my shoulder. I spun around fast, putting all of that gathered momentum into my arm, and swung my fist to strike him squarely on the chin. He staggered back, still on his feet but holding his face in pain. He looked up at me in surprise.

  “You also knew that you were never to put your hands on me in anger,” I told him. “Sorry, Derek, but I think you’ll agree this is for the best.” I slipped out of his apartment, down the stairs, and into my car. Starting the engine, I looked up to his window, and I could see him watching me leave, outlined against the warm light behind him.

  For a second, happy memories flashed through my mind. I saw us laughing and taking selfies at a downtown parade. I remembered him bringing me a rose as I relaxed in a candlelit bubble bath he’d run for me. I lingered on the feel of him above me, under me, or behind me as we orgasmed together, time after time.

  I almost shut off the car and went back inside…but no. I didn’t really want that, and I knew it was hurting him, too. He wanted commitment, and I needed to be free to leave if I wanted. He’d put his hands on me, raised his voice at me, just like my da
d did with my mom. So I’d hit him. I shifted into reverse, spun the car around, and drove home.

  ***

  I couldn’t let myself get caught up in any of that. As soon as there was commitment, there was the chance for betrayal. Take my parents, for instance. They were so in love when they were younger. I could remember the way they used to smile at each other, smile at me, and the love that filled our little home. But I also remembered what happened as my father began to gain success in his job. He was a NASCAR driver, and when he started winning, he began staying away from home longer. We used to travel around to the racetracks with him, but after a few years, we stayed home so I could go to school. And my folks had started to fight.

  I know my dad used to fool around with other women at the races, and I know they used to fight about it. I loved my dad, but I knew he didn’t want us with him when he traveled the circuit. He would say he didn’t want me to be there because he didn’t want me to see anything bad happen to him; even though that may have been part of the truth, he mainly didn’t want my mom around so he could have some fun while he was away from home. That was why neither of us had been there when he hit the wall. Neither of us knew when his car exploded, trapping him inside as it burned. Neither of us knew he was dead until we got a call from the team owner that evening. I’ve hated motorsports of every kind ever since.

  With these hurtful thoughts running through my head, I reached my little home quickly. The flowerbeds were starting to bloom and would look lovely in a week or two, no thanks to me. My gardener/caretaker/neighbor could take all the credit for them; I paid him to keep my yard nice and for the fresh coat of white paint on my humble three-bedroom, single-story house. At least that, thanks to my dad’s success before he died, was paid for and all mine. As was my Mustang. I looked back at the red, late-model convertible as I opened my front door. I loved it, and when I cruised in the sunshine with the top down, I looked and felt sexy. I hated racing and racetracks, but I could never hate cars.

  I let myself in and hung up my keys, but barely had my jacket off before my phone rang. My boss, Geoffrey, was calling. I worked in PR, handling clients on an account-by-account basis. If our firm took on any new business, I went to meet them, hang out with them, and be their PR rep for a while until we figured out what strategies to put in place and how best to promote them.

  It could take a week or it could take six months. It could keep me here in Austin or it could take me all over the world. And it could involve me doing anything from organizing a red carpet dinner to sending a selection of call girls to a competitor’s room and causing some very bad press. My job was never dull, and Geoffrey was calling this time because we had a new client, a potentially lucrative client. Tomorrow I was to attend a black tie dinner at the Four Seasons.

  ***

  I spent Saturday going over the brief our office had prepared for me and surfing the web for research. The glossy brochures and leaflets showed me a major tire manufacturer that wanted to launch a new product while at the same time totally revamp its US brand image. It was a tall order, but far from impossible. They were attending a banquet at the Four Seasons that night because the Moto GP, which was like the Formula One of motorcycles, was being held at the Circuit of the Americas, just outside of Austin, all weekend. In fact, the race teams had been there Friday and Saturday, practicing and qualifying, and they were having a big dinner tonight because the main race was the next day at 2:00 p.m. Not awesome for me, but I couldn’t let my resentment towards motorsports get in the way of my job.

  I thought about the new client in the macho motor industry. Hi, New Client, meet your dainty new PR rep. That was not the ideal recipe for success on my end unless, unfortunately, I could knock him dead. Sure, a male PR professional would get on the client’s good side, become his BFF over the course of the evening, and be smoking cigars in a hot tub with a couple of hookers by the time they had the deal sown up.

  I had a different mountain to climb, however. I had to make him want me, make him feel like I just might fuck him at the end of the evening, without him realizing I was doing it. It didn’t matter if he was in a committed relationship or if I never actually delivered on my promise. There simply needed to be a subtle undertone to our relationship, and I’d have him right where I wanted him.

  The first step in this process was to blow their minds as I walked in. Easy.

  I showered, curled my long dark hair into the beautifully thick mane it was, and let it cascade more than halfway down my smooth, slender back. I shaved so my long shapely legs, as well as other parts of me, had that ‘just waxed’ look and feel. I’d always managed to keep my figure trim. I blamed good genes. My mother was a former Miss South Carolina, after all, and my dad would never have been so popular with the ladies if he wasn’t in such great shape. I went to the gym regularly, just to be on the safe side.

  Two major components can transport a girl from looking good to looking oh-my-god-amazing. First order of business was a stunning bra. My boobs, which I’m happy to say were a little on the big side without being outrageous, meant it could be hard to get this right and totally disastrous to get it wrong, so I had mine custom made. A good bra needed to look perfect when you were wearing it by itself, lifting and enhancing brilliantly, and it needed to look invisible when covered. Luckily for me, at only twenty-five, my girls were still perky and always ready for action.

  The second rule of looking oh-my-god-amazing was going commando. That’s right. Looking that little bit better than anyone else eventually came down to attitude, looking effortlessly sexy simply by carrying yourself correctly. And walking around without underwear, being the only one who knew there was only the slightest piece of delicate material between your naked pussy and the rest of the world, always felt incredibly sexy and extremely empowering. I had an undefinable air of confidence. I could always tell when I saw a woman in a club, at a party, in the theater, wherever, who wasn’t wearing panties; it was easy to tell by how they effortlessly affected everyone around them.

  My tight red cocktail dress plunged enough to accentuate my ample cleavage—an excellent negotiation tool—hugged my flat stomach, and curved out beautifully over my firm butt, then slashed across my legs just above the knee. Black Manolos and a Dior clutch purse, just big enough for my cell phone, a credit card, a lipstick, and my emergency twenty-dollar bill, was everything else I would need before it was into the Mustang and downtown, looking so hot that steam, not smoke, came out the tailpipes.

  James

  I was a happy man. I could quite comfortably have died in this moment and place. Even with my eyes closed, I could visualize Suzi’s deliciously full lips slipping softly up and down my stiffening shaft as her hot mouth and velvet tongue enveloped my cock. I could feel her long, sharp-nailed fingers gently tickling and fondling my balls.

  I opened my eyes to find the reality better than I’d imagined. Her big eyes were closed, her soft curls of long brown hair tossed over to one side of her head, and yes, it was a real treat to see my hard dick disappearing into those soft, sensual lips. When she opened her eyes and saw me smiling at her, she slid her mouth off me slowly, sucking me all the way to the tip.

  “Good morning.” She smiled as soon as her mouth was empty.

  She continued to stimulate me gently with her hand until I circled my finger in the air, signaling her to turn around. She hopped up, and I got a glimpse of those impressive, beautifully tanned breasts as she turned away and tossed a leg over me. She put her hand between her legs, grabbed my cock again, and lined us up. As she lowered her pussy down slowly onto me, that fabulous, heart-shaped ass of hers pushed down towards my stomach. She touched down on my hips and looked over her shoulder at me. Smiling as she ground her butt against me, she forced my dick deeper inside her with an accompanying moan of pleasure.

  I pushed my hips up gently, and we started to move in time, pulling away from each other and thrusting back together, groaning at the amazing sensations of our slick parts sliding i
nto and over one another. I could feel her wet against me, and as I started to fuck her faster, a little deeper each time, her moans became louder and more desperate. I swear my cock grew bigger with each thrust as her cries got higher and longer, until her body stopped moving, and I felt her pussy clamp and twitch around me as she threw her head back.

  “Oh, my god! Oh, my god!” she cried as she came over my cock, grasping her breasts with both hands as I bounced her on me. Her stunning body writhing in pleasure on top of me meant my own climax approaching.

  “I’m going to come,” I whispered hoarsely to her. She leaped straight off me and scooted down to take me quickly in her mouth again. She enclosed the throbbing tip within those beautiful lips and jerked my shaft a couple of times until I shot against her soft tongue, unloading blasts of thick, white cum in her mouth. She squealed in mock surprise and swallowed everything, holding me until my last spasm died, then sucked the end of my dick clean and lay back on the bed.

  “Good morning to you,” I said. She giggled.

  “I think I’m going to shower,” she said. “I did do all the work. Again.”

  I detected a note of resentment in her voice. Whatever. If she didn’t like it, she could suck it. Ha-ha. Too late! As her naked form disappeared into the bathroom, I reached over the big white bed for the phone. I ordered bacon, ham, scrambled eggs with salmon, croissants, coffee, and orange juice to be brought up. Suzi eventually came out of the shower in a hotel robe, rubbing bits of her hair with a towel, just in time to answer the door. Perfect. I tossed her my wallet, which she deftly caught, and she tipped the room service guy.