by Vivien Vale
“Hey there, Mr. Masters.” I smile wider. “How’s Amelia?”
“Out like a light. But she’s had a long day.”
“She really has.”
“You know,” Boone says as he walks around the chair to perch on the table in front of me. “I’m really enjoying being a father.”
“Oh, yeah?” I stand up and walk over to him, standing between his legs. “How would you like to give Amelia a little sibling? It’ll be double the fun.”
Boone’s lazy smile widens into a wicked grin, and he stands. He takes me in his arms and kisses me hard, dipping slightly as his tongue brushes against my lip.
Without a word, he effortlessly scoops me into his arms and carries me to the crisp white linen bed. He climbs over me, lifting off the ivory beach cover-up that I’ve been wearing all day.
My fingers work on the buttons of his shorts and then quickly dispose of his boxers, where he’s already half-hard. I’m always eager to get Boone naked, while he likes to savor me.
It’s as though he thinks I’m a delicacy—as though he doesn’t realize that he can take me and taste me any time he wants to.
As I’m lying before him in my bikini, Boone kisses my shoulders and my collar bone, his deft fingers untying the knot behind my neck as his kisses dip lower.
He unties the strings behind my back and throws the bikini top onto the floor.
His kisses move over the mound of my breasts, and his lips capture my nipples. Licking at the sensitive buds, I writhe beneath him at the sudden contact. I’m already getting wet.
One hand cups my other breast, and the other gently traces over my stomach until it reaches the panties of my bikini. Boone rubs at me through the cloth, his fingers stroking my clit and causing my hips to buck slightly into his hand.
Still playing with my nipples, Boone pushes the fabric of my bikini bottoms to the side, his fingers stroking my pussy.
“Oh, Boone, please.”
In an instant, Boone lifts his fingers from my pussy and unties the strings that hold my bikini in place. He throws the flimsy white fabric away from the bed—not caring where it lands—and pulls me closer to him.
He lifts his mouth from my nipples, which are hard and begging for attention. He kisses down my stomach and kisses my clit gently before pausing to look up at me. Silently asking if this is what I want.
I nod and buck my hips towards him once more.
“Please fuck me, Boone.”
He needs no other encouragement; his mouth instantly begins to eat at my pussy, his tongue lapping at my folds as his thighs hold me still. Jolts of pleasure course through me as he uses his tongue to play with my clit.
I’m already trembling, on the brink of my first orgasm.
That’s when Boone moves his hands—one of them grabs at my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers, playing with the mound. Then two fingers stroke at my entrance, teasing me for a moment before slipping inside.
Even his fingers fill me up as I begin to come undone.
“Oh my god, Boone! Fuck!”
He brushes against my G-spot, and that’s all it takes before I come. I feel light-headed for a moment, but Boone isn’t finished there. He lifts his head from my pussy and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.
Then he reaches back up to my breasts and plays with them again, using both hands to tease and play with me.
He’s making me wetter and wetter. I’m desperate for him to fuck me, but Boone’s only interested in teasing me.
I can see that he’s rock hard, too, and throbbing, and I bet he wants to be inside me.
He rubs his erection against my wetness, spreading my juices along the shaft of his thick cock. The feeling of the tip of his dick brushing against my clit sends jolts through my whole body.
I just want him to fuck me.
I roll my hips against his cock, trying to grind myself down on it and trying to get him to plunge into me without using his hands. I feel it push at my entrance, the tip just pressing into me, but it’s not enough.
I’m panting, and I sit up slightly to kiss Boone, our lips connecting.
As he leans forward to kiss me back, his cock slips into me, and I moan loudly, unable to stop myself.
Boone starts off teasingly slow at first, thrusting into me gently. His cock fills me up, and each stroke brushes against my G-spot.
I know it won’t be long before I come again.
Boone makes me come undone in ways I could never have imagined.
Legs spread as wide as they can, Boone begins to thrust harder into me, laying over my body as he takes a nipple in his mouth again.
He licks at it, and the overwhelming sensations of his dick and his mouth have me writhing and moaning, calling out his name and begging for more.
“Oh, Boone, you feel so good. Oh, fuck me! Fuck me!”
I hold his arms, scratching at the skin slightly. I can’t help myself.
Boone lowers one hand to my clit, rubbing and playing with the bundle of nerves. I buck my hips uncontrollably, trying to meet his thrusts with desperation.
I’m not sure how much more pleasure my body can take, but I’m certain to try and test my limits.
He bottoms out in me quickly, filling me up and stretching out my pussy with his cock.
For a moment, I’m worried that my uncontrollable moaning will wake Amelia, but she sleeps heavily. I can be as loud as I want.
“Fuck…oh, yes! Yes!”
We roll on the mattress so that I’m on top now. Boone still thrusts up into me, but I also roll my hips and ride him.
I press my hands down on his chest and tilt my head back. My tits bounce with the constant movement, but Boone is quick to take them both in his hands and squeeze them.
“Boone! Oh, fuck, Boone I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”
He leans up and kisses me, and as our mouths and tongues collide, I feel my second release. I go slightly limp in his arms, and Boone holds me against his chest as I feel him begin to come, too.
He twitches and throbs as I feel him explode inside me. The feeling of his cock sends a last few shocks of pleasure through me as I roll off him, and we lay beside each other.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Margot,” Boone murmurs into my neck as he pulls out of me. He kisses my skin again until he reaches my stomach. Boone rests a hand over where my womb would be and smiles hazily.
After how little effort went into conceiving Amelia, I can tell that this will be the start of another little baby.
It’ll be a boy this time. Somehow, I just know it.
And I can’t wait for Boone to meet him.
Baby Bargain
A Billionaire Baby Contract Romance
By Vivien Vale
Copyright 2018 by Crimson Vixens
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.
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Chapter 1
Daniel
If I’m not mistaken—and I rarely fucking am—I think my secretary is wearing a ball gag as a necklace today.
“Sorry to bother you, sir,” she says, as that big red rubber ball jiggles against her throat.
She’s tightened the leather straps up enough that it could reasonably be mistaken for a choker, but I’m not some uninitiated fuck—I didn’t exactly get my first erection yesterday.
“Make it quick.” I don’t have time to question my secretary’s more-than-questionable fashion choices. If I don’t figure out why the columns on this report aren’t adding up by the end of the day, I won’t know which incompetent jackass in accounting to fire tomorrow morning.
“It’s just, uh, your mother is here,” she informs me.
And then, right on cue, my mother flounces in. Doesn’t even give me time to feel sorry for myself.
“Danny, darling!” my mother coos, trotting into my office on a pair of peep-toe heels the color of cotton candy vomit. “How’s my favorite businessman? Give mommy a little smooch, that’s a good dear.”
I roll my eyes—but I do as I’m bid. My mother is as vapid and air-headed as they come, but she’s still the woman who gave birth to me, and for that, she can have as many cheek-kisses as she wants. I just wish she’d stop fucking calling them smooches—and I wish she would have left Muffins the Purse Dog at home for once.
“Missed you too, Mom,” I relent, keeping an eye on Muffins. His fluffy, feral little head pops up out of my mother’s Chanel purse just as I’m enveloped by the scent of No. 5—her favorite perfume.
To his credit, Muffins doesn’t fucking growl at me on sight anymore—but he does look like he’s ready to take a jealousy shit in my mother’s handbag any minute now.
“Maybe you should let my secretary take Muffins on a walk, Mom,” I suggest. I’d hate for Mom’s latest husband—whoever he is—to have to replace a sold-out handbag—plus, if my secretary really is wearing a ball gag, I’m sure she knows her way around a leash.
“Nonsense, honey,” Mom says, sitting on my desk like she thinks she’s still a teenager or something.
That’s my mother for you. Mentally, she hasn’t aged a day since 18. Physically, her plastic surgeon does what he can.
“Muffins and I are here as a team, darling. We’re on a mission today, you see.”
I shake my head and take the bait. “And what might that be?”
“We have a date for you, honey.” She says it like I’m supposed to be excited—or surprised. I’m not. “Muffins picked her out special, just for you! Didn’t you, schnuckums?”
While my mother feeds her purse dog a doggie treat, I’m just trying to suppress a groan.
“Oh, dear, don’t look like that,” my mother reprimands. “This one, Danny—she’s a keeper. Nice, wide, childbearing hips—and, I only think she’s had three nose jobs, so you know she’s got good genes for Dr. Scalpel to work with.”
Dr. fucking Scalpel. My mother knows that I have no intentions of settling down any time soon, and she’s already planning my children’s first elective surgeries.
“That’s sweet of you, Mom,” I say cordially, “but I think I’ll pass.”
“You’re not getting any younger, Danny.”
“Not without Dr. Scalpel’s help, I’m not.”
“And you know how I’ve always wanted grandchildren…”
“You have grandchildren,” I remind her. “Fendi has four kids, Mom. Chanel has two. Prada just had twins last week, for fuck’s sake—and she’s barely even sixteen.”
“Ruff!” Muffins barks aggressively. Briefly, I consider tipping over the purse—but then he might shit on my carpet, so I think better of it.
“Yes,” my mother agrees. “And I’m sure that for as long as your half-sisters can find YouTube stars to have unprotected sex with, they’ll give me plenty more. But I haven’t done everything I’ve done for them, Danny honey. I did it for you. For us. You need to start thinking about your legacy, sweetheart.”
I have to hand it to my mother: she knows exactly where to twist the knife.
I never knew my father, but from my mother’s stories about him, I’m better off this way. She had me when she was the same age as Prada is now, and he left her without even bothering to stick around for my birth.
Ever since, Mom has been enterprising in the only way I think she’s ever known how. Her next relationships were calculated affairs with rich old geezers who took us in, fed us, clothed us, and taught me everything there was to know about their business empires.
Even once they knocked Mom up and the relationship soured, her ex-husbands always kept an interest in me. Put me through some of the top business schools in the country and—to my surprise—even named me heir to their fortunes over their own children.
Part of me feels like Mom screwed over my half-sisters for life in that regard. Can anyone really blame them for all their accidental pregnancies and the strip clubs they’ve inadvertently burned down?
They’re sweethearts, but she did name them after her favorite purses—one of which, from the smell of things, Muffin is shitting in literally as we speak.
“I’m not even thirty-five yet, Mom. I’ve got the entire fortunes of three of your ex-husbands to blow before I have to start worrying about who might inherit them.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “We both know that’s not true. You’ve always been a responsible boy, Danny. You’re smarter than that. If you don’t want to go on the date with the nose-job girl, that’s fine—but it’s high time you stopped fucking sluts on your desk and started thinking about finding one to give you a baby—one who’s worthy of being your wife.”
I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
She’s not exactly wrong. I care more about her ex-husbands’ resort chains than I do about what bimbo I’m currently bending over my desk—which is why I had six of them in here last night, all lined up and begging for my dick.
It’s why I keep a drawer full of condoms in my desk, too. I hardly need an army of bastards running around my city, considering that I’m a bastard myself.
“Just think about it, darling,” my mother implores me. “A wife and a baby—it could be good for you. I only want to see you happy, you know, and—awwwwww, did Muffins do a widdle poop? Did Muffins ruin Mommy’s expensive handbag?”
It happens that fast. Just as quickly as my mother blew into my day, she’s already gathering her things and meandering back out of it, cooing at her handbag and holding it at arm’s length as she goes.
“Have a good day, Mom,” I call after her.
“You too, dear,” she says. I can hear her stop at my secretary’s desk on the way out. “Oh, my! What a gorgeous necklace, sweetie! You absolutely must tell me where you got it!”
Then the door closes behind her, and I’m alone again.
I try working once she’s gone. It’s no fucking use. Maybe it’s the lingering scent of Muffin-shit in the air, or maybe she’s really planted the idea in my head the way she hoped.
I don’t want my mother worrying about me.
And I don’t want to see all my hard work go to waste.
A wife. An heir.
It sounds fucking preposterous is what it sounds like. I’m not husband material—and I’m certainly not worthy of being a fucking father.
I’m a loose cannon—a bad boy sowing my wild oats like my father before me, only I have the decency to be fucking responsible about it. My wild oats ultimately end up safely contained inside a condom—and then immediately dumped in the trash.
I look at the pictures on my desk of my half-sisters and myself. There’s one of Prada and me on her seventh birthday, just before she stabbed the party clown with the cake knife, and I had to talk him out of pressing charges.
There’s another of me with Fendi and Chanel at that underwater night club I helped them open, just before they hooked the oxygen intake tubes up to bottles of vodka and all the mermaid performers nearly drowned.
Admittedly, I don’t love the idea of those three taking over my empire if something were to happen to me.
Maybe I do need an heir.
But to have an heir, I need to find the right woman—and to find the right woman, I need to clear my fucking head.
“Cancel the rest of my appointments for the day,” I tell my secretary.
“Yes, master—I mean, uh, yes sir,” she calls after me.
“And no more bondage porn while you’re at work!” I shout over my shoulder—because, yeah, I fucking saw what was on her computer screen before she closed the window.
“Sorry, sir!”
I drive through the city until I see a place where I can clear my head. It looks like some shit out of a bad Lewis Carroll novel—but on the
bright side, at least no fucking women will be approaching me, trying to get me to bend them over the Mad Hatter’s tea table for a quickie.
Inside, there’s a woman sitting at a table with her three very pregnant friends. Exactly the kind of woman I’d want to put a baby in, really—not that I’m genuinely considering that right now.
I don’t know if it’s because I feel a sort of solidarity with her after the talk I just had with my mother—or if it’s because she’s just so fucking gorgeous that I can’t help myself—but I shoot her a sympathetic look as I walk past.
She doesn’t even fucking notice—and when I walk into a room, women always notice.
Incredible. Today’s just not my fucking day.
I order, grabbing a table near hers. From the sounds of things, her friends are planning a baby shower.
Fucking inescapable, this baby thing today.
But if she doesn’t want to be the odd one out…
Chapter 2
Rose
Alice’s Tea Cup is supposed to a fanciful, whimsical kind of place.
Actually, the place is called Alice’s Tea Cup Chapter Two, since the original location is downtown. All part of the charm, I suppose.
The tables are set low to the ground, surrounded by uncomfortable-looking stools—except for the coveted corner table.
Of course, my cousins somehow managed to score that spot, creating a boisterous little corner enclave surrounded by paintings of mushrooms, caterpillars, and a spiral-eyed Mad Hatter.
I hear my oldest cousin Katheryn’s brassy voice sailing through the air the moment I step inside.
“So, Lyle’s all like, ‘Uh, I don’t know...’”
“Wait, wait,” Sarah interrupts as I walk to their corner island. “Who the fuck is Lyle?”
“The party planner at the supply store.”
“Lyle? That’s his name?” Sarah laughs.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t be able to make this shit up. Anyway, he’s all like, ‘Duhhhh, I don’t know about that.’”
Jenna’s the first to notice me as I walk towards the table, waving me over with her hand while my other two cousins carry on.
