His Baby
~A Babycrazy Romance~
© 2018
By Cassandra Dee and Kendall Blake
© 2018 Cassandra Dee and Kendall Blake
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters are represented as 18 or over.
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ALSO BY THE AUTHORS
The#BABYCRAZY Series
#BABYMACHINE
#BABYMAKER
#BABYFEVER
The Filthy Wrestling Club
Claiming His Virgin In the Ring
Claiming His Virgin In the Pool
Standalones
My Friend’s Dirty Uncle
Hate Love
The President, My Lover
Small Town Secrets
Client No. 6
His Captive
Buck Me Cowboy
Beg Me: Sold To My Dad’s Boss
Daddy’s Pretty Baby
Loving the Babysitter
Reverse Harem
Seven Brothers of Sin
Six Ways to Sin
The Billionaires Club
Sold at the Auction
Virgin for Sale
Serving Him
Buy Me
Anonymous Encounters
MFMM Ménage Romance
All the Best Men
My 3 Rockstar Bosses
MMF Bisexual Romance
Double Dare
Double Exposure
Their Secret
The Falling Series
Falling for My Dad’s Best Friend
Falling for My Boyfriend’s Dad
Falling for My Son’s Best Friend
The Virgin Series
Delivering the Virgin
The Princes Series
Double Princes
Triple Princes
Box Sets
Taking the CEO Home
Love Unbound
DEDICATION
To all the girls who’ve done the unthinkable.
This one’s for you!
NOTE FROM CASSIE AND KENDALL
Hi! Thanks so much for reading His Baby: A Babycrazy Romance. I hope you enjoy the steam between Melissa and her man!
Plus, be sure to join our Facebook group Alpha Males on Top to hear about new releases, discounts, and freebies.
Love,
Cassie and Kendall
ABOUT THIS BOOK
When a huge, handsome man shows up at Sunset Medical one day, my jaw drops.
I’m giving him a prostate exam?
Melissa
I’m a urologist. I give exams back there for a living.
But one day, Mace Jackson walks into my office, making my heart thud. He’s healthy as a horse, with broad shoulders and a powerful chest. There’s no way he’s sick.
But when we get personal, the fireworks start.
Because as a doctor, I know that not only is this man perfectly healthy but he’s also stunningly virile.
Plus, I’m baby crazy, did I mention?
Years of school have left me no time to date and meet men. Now the clock’s ticking, and the answer’s just walked through the door …
A baby with this man.
Or two babies.
Or even ten!
Hey Readers – This novella turns the doctor trope on its head because our sassy heroine’s the physician in this story. Suddenly, the key question is: gloves or no gloves? As always, it’s a totally crazy, taboo to the hilt romance that’ll leave a sugary sweet taste in your mouth. Bonus books included. Love, Cassie and Kendall
TABLE OF CONTENTS
His Baby
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Extra Epilogue
Chapter 1
Melissa
“Bye Mr. Thurman,” I call as the elderly man dodders out the door. “Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll see you again soon.”
The white-haired man staggers a bit, leaning heavily on his cane but he doesn’t even bother to turn around. He just waves a hand backwards at me, as if shooing away an annoying fly.
And I don’t blame Mr. Thurman because I just gave the seventy year-old a prostate exam. It’s not exactly anyone’s idea of a good time. I’m literally putting a finger into a guy’s behind and feeling around back there. Who would want that? But it’s a medical necessity, and the exam is recommended for men above age forty depending on risk factors. It’s my job to make sure that everything goes off without a hitch.
So I try to be sensitive about the test. I’m respectful and professional, and try not to snap the rubber gloves when I put them on. Instead, I’m discreet and wear a white lab coat to signal that I am a doctor and we are conducting a serious medical exam. Take a deep breath, relax, and it’ll be over soon.
And they go off without a hitch for the most part. After all, I’ve done thousands of prostate exams by now, even though I’ve only been in practice for a few years. It’s my business as a urologist after all. Guys come in, drop their pants, and bend over. And then I go about my business and poof! We’re done in thirty seconds, sometimes even less. No biggie.
But let’s be honest – it’s not exactly a fun time. You literally have someone else’s finger in your most sensitive spot, although I’m always careful to douse myself with lube. Thus, Mr. Thurman’s refusal to look at me once we were done. I was a bad memory, something to be revisited only every two years. My name and number would be forgotten until the alarm chirped on his phone once again.
I sighed, leaning back as Leonie popped her head in. She’s a fellow urologist, and we opened up this practice together after finishing our residencies.
“How’d it go with that one?” she asks sympathetically.
I shrug ruefully.
“Not bad. He didn’t like it, but then they usually don’t.”
Leonie laughs a little.
“Yeah tell me about it. I just had a big black guy come in for his first exam, and when he saw me putting on my gloves, the guy started hyperventilating. Like tears in his eyes panic, I thought he was going to pass out.”
I giggle a little too. Thank god the patients can’t see us now because it’s unprofessional to laugh at their nervousness. But at the same time, the thought of a huge black guy unnerved by tiny blonde Leonie? You have to admit, it’s hysterical in some ways.
My fellow doctor rolls her eyes again.
“Yeah, he was freaked out,” she recounts. “It was like there was a bee in the office. Suddenly he starts darting his head this way and that, although my finger wasn’t even in him yet.”
I choke back another giggle.
“Well, it’s better than the guy who vomited when I put on my gloves,” are my rueful words. “Remember? It smelled so bad for an entire day even though we used that industrial cleaner stuff.”
Leonie makes a funny face.
“Yeah,
because he forgot to aim for the trash can. God. Someone should tell him next time. That was a clusterfuck for sure.”
And I try to suppress another giggle. I shouldn’t laugh. After all, urology is our profession and we are real-life doctors who screen people for cancer. Both Leonie and I have multiple advanced degrees, not to mention years of training. But still, the ridiculousness about our situation sometimes just gets to me. Bumble bees? Big black guys freaking out at the prospect of our finger? Men walking with an exaggerated limp after leaving our office? It’s hysterical, you have to admit. Besides, it’s good to laugh now and then. Disease and illness aren’t exactly uplifting subjects, and it’s nice to see the lighter side of things occasionally.
So I turn back to my friend.
“Who’s next?” I ask wryly. “Another upchucker or another guy who can’t look me in the eye once it’s over?”
Leonie grabs the clipboard from its plastic rack by the side of the door.
“Hmm, very interesting. A new patient. Only forty,” she says, scanning the chart. “But it says here that he inquired about an exam because of risk factors in his family.”
Both of us grow quiet for a moment because despite the fact that we giggle and laugh like teenage girls sometimes, prostate cancer is real. It’s the second leading cause of death among men ages sixty and over, and many hospitals have developed advanced protocols to follow when addressing this incipient disease. Prostate cancer takes our husbands, fathers and sons all too often, and I can’t help but feel like I have an important role in its early detection and treatment.
“Well,” I say firmly. “It’s good he’s here then.”
Leonie nods sympathetically.
“Good luck,” she says. “You wanna grab lunch once it’s over?”
I nod, swiveling on my little stool.
“Sure, sounds good. Westville, over on Fourth?” I ask, referring to our local healthy eats joint.
She winks.
“Sure thing, girl. After all, we’re doctors so we gotta eat right by example.”
And I sigh although I shouldn’t. Because Leonie has a point. We are physicians, committed to human health and advancement. But despite knowing loads about nutrition, calories, and exercise, I’ve never been able to get my weight down. I admit it. I’m a big girl, despite my best efforts. And sometimes I wonder if it’s had an impact on me professionally because most people would like to see a doctor who looks like an Ironman competitor. Those folks are the pinnacle of health and endurance, right? So wouldn’t you rather be getting medical advice from someone who’s a role model, rather than a curvy BBW?
But I can’t help it. I’m a big girl and always will be. My hips are wide. My butt is big. And my breasts are ginormous Double Ds that thankfully, are shielded by the loose white lab coat. So yeah, no Ironman for me. In fact, despite swearing up and down that I’m gonna lose weight every New Year, I still haven’t lost my craving for chocolate cake, chocolate donuts, and frankly, anything chocolate. It’s in my blood and I live and breathe chocolate during my time off. What can a girl do? I’ve tried but it’s impossible to resist.
So yeah, Leonie’s offer to go to Westville was kind because she knows about my resolution to lose thirty pounds this year. But I know it’s going to be futile. I’ll eat my salad like a good girl, chewing the carrots and lettuce with a grimace. But afterwards, there’ll be dessert and I just can’t say no. They have the most awesome molten chocolate bombe at Westville and I never leave that place without at least a small taste.
At that moment, our receptionist Brenda interrupts.
“Dr. Parker,” she says, voice trembling with excitement. “Your next patient is here.”
Leonie and I share a puzzled look. Brenda’s sixty with four grown children. She’s seen everything and anything, and is usually as steady as a rock. So it’s unlike her to be nervous about anything. So hearing her voice at an unnaturally high pitch was strange. Leonie hands me the patient’s chart before disappearing into her office down the hall, and I return to the exam room.
“Ready,” I call, poking my head out. “Send Mr. Jackson in please.”
Busily, I bend over as if studying his chart once more. Hmm, there’s not much more than a name and an age, plus a note from the receptionist that there’s a history of prostate cancer in his family. That’s not good, but we’ll address it.
A knock interrupts me.
“Come,” I call in a business-like voice. I’m expecting to see a middle-aged man, maybe someone with a paunch and a receding hairline. A guy with a dad bod, comfortable and flabby after years of marriage and not enough time at the gym. But when the door swings open, a huge, massive male steps in and the breath flies out of my lungs. Because Mace Jackson is built like a giant tank with broad shoulders, a deep, wide chest, and long, powerful arms. But what takes my breath away are his eyes. That cobalt blue gaze seizes mine, and I melt into a puddle right there … although I’m supposed to be in charge.
Chapter 2
Mace
Shit, I don’t want to be here. Pulling up outside of Sunset Medical isn’t exactly any man’s dream because who really wants to go through this ritual? Who wants to go in for a digital exam of your most private part, especially when your family’s got a history of disease?
Fuck this shit. I let the radio blast a little longer, trying to summon my courage. Get with it, the voice in my head scolded. You’re here for medical necessity so quit acting like a pussy and man up.
Gritting my teeth, I open the door and get out, rising to my full height. Fuck. New York is a gritty place and Midtown Manhattan isn’t exactly known for its cleanliness. But whatever. I drove in here from suburban New Jersey because the doctors at Sunset Medical are allegedly the best, and I only use the best. Be it large or small, Mace Jackson gets top of the line treatment all the way from shoeshining to medicine.
Shaking my head with disgust, I stride into the office building, pushing open the heavy glass door. Man, this thing must be bulletproof because it’s so heavy. An elderly woman greets me, her hair in a cap of tight gray curls.
“Mr. Jackson,” she sings. “Welcome to Sunset Medical. I’m Brenda.”
I nod.
“Hey,” is my nonchalant greeting, looking around. The waiting room’s empty, which seems weird. “Am I the only one here?”
The old woman titters which seems out of place because her dress and hair indicate someone who’s a serious professional. She wears a matching twinset and I’d bet she has serviceable khakis and a pair of comfortable loafers on under the desk. But the elderly lady titters again.
“You’re our first post-lunch appointment,” she whispers, blushing pink. “Go right ahead, I believe Dr. Parker is ready.”
My eyebrows go up at the receptionist’s flirtatious attitude, but frankly, I’m not that surprised. Ever since I turned fifteen, women have gone ga-ga over me, losing their shit at my massive form. Maybe it’s my height. Maybe it’s my ripped bod and imposing aura. Maybe it’s the alluring charisma that I exude. Naw, scratch that, that’s my ego talking. But to my amusement, I think this sixty year-old woman with a gold wedding band on her finger thinks I’m dreamy, and I shoot her a smile.
“Sure,” I growl. “Thanks.”
And with that, I let myself into the hallway beside the receptionist’s desk.
“Right down there,” Brenda gestures. “Exam Room 2.”
I take a deep breath, ready to meet my fate. Because I selected Doctor Carter after careful research. Melissa Carter graduated from a ritzy medical school and then did a fancy residency and post-residency internship after that. The woman was chief resident way back when, and evidently also does a ton of charity work in her free time, providing urological services to impoverished areas in Africa. Shit. The woman travels to Ghana and the like during her vacations to provide medical services to men who otherwise have no options. I do no charity work at all, by comparison, but then again, her smarts and can-do attitude are exactly why I chose her.
What the hell is wrong with you? the voice in my head rasps. You’re thinking about fucking your new doctor? You’re here to get a prostate exam, not to do the dirty.
Shit, my subconscious is right. I manage to shake her hand like a normal person, without letting on that I’m attracted as all get-out.
“Nice to meet you,” comes my low growl. “I’m Mace Jackson.”
Dr. Carter blushes prettily but manages to speak in an even tone.
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