Knocked Up by the Dom: A BDSM Secret Baby Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  Emmaline

  I blow a loose lock of hair out of my face only to have it fall right back where it was in the first place. I sigh, feeling exhausted, but a little hopeful. The room is filled with boxes of baby onesies, headbands, little baby sized socks with decorative frills. My business started out with an Etsy account and a Cameo machine and grew to this in a few months. At first it felt like my dream was finally coming true. To keep up with the orders I had to bring my friend Scarlett on as an employee.

  My head feels like it is going to spin right off my neck when I start to think about taxes, health care, business insurance, and the tangle of other complications that come with this step for my company.

  I do what I always do when I start to get stressed about money though. I remember the trust fund my uncle Adam left for me. When I turn twenty-six tomorrow, it’s all mine. A hundred grand. It will be enough to cover the loans I had to take out to rent this office space, the debt I’ve already taken on from trying to finish my design classes, and all of my other bills. It will give me a fresh start, and the thought makes me giddy. It’s all going to work out, Emmaline.

  Scarlett is looking down at her phone as she crosses the room and accidentally trips over a box of onsies.

  She teeters to the side, stretches her arms out like a tightrope walker, and does a elegant little spin to catch her balance, all without even dropping her phone. She bows theatrically toward me with a big, cocky smirk. Scarlett has been a dancer her whole life, and she’s the clumsiest graceful person I’ve ever seen. Sometimes I think the only reason she’s so good at avoiding faceplanting all the time is she has so much practice at nearly doing it.

  “Smooth,” I say, grinning.

  “Woah,” she says, nudging a box with her toe. “When did you finish heat transfering the vinyl onto all these?”

  “Last night,” I say.

  She plants a fist on her hip, eyeing me. Scarlett has the red hair to match her name. I’m always jealous of how she can make something as simple as the grungy t-shirt and jeans she’s wearing look sexy. She’s not even wearing shoes and she still looks like she just walked off a fashion shoot. “Last night? As in after you told me you were headed home because you had already spent all day working?”

  “You could say that.”

  “We really need to find you a boyfriend. I think you could use a good, hard, fuck.”

  My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Scarlett has always been crude, but gosh. I’m still a little shocked by how sexually open she is. We’ve never really dived into the details, but I’ve gathered that she’s into some kind of kinky sexual stuff. My own experience with sex, outside the missionary position, is limited to when George Farmand’s finger brushed my asshole during sex one time. And I slapped his hand away like it was a snake.

  Yeah, I’m a real wild one.

  Another boyfriend though? I don’t think I could handle that right now. As much as I crave a relationship, I know it always leads to sex, and sex is… difficult for me. I’ve never been with a guy that could get me off. I don’t know why and it’s frustrating as hell, but it’s always the same. A few nice dates lead to unfulfilling sex. After the fruitless attempts, the disconnect between us grows and it just ends. Every time.

  Just thinking about it depresses me. It’s like there’s something in me that’s supposed to work and it’s broken. For the longest time I just thought I needed to find the right guy, but I’m starting to think there’s no such thing.

  “No thanks,” I say quietly.

  She tilts her head thoughtfully. “I know what we can do. My friend works for this super rich guy and they throw the most insane Valentine’s Day party every year for the employees. She said she could get me in, but I’m sure I could bring you too. Come on. It’ll be like a celebration for your trust fund money!”

  “I don’t know… It sounds a lot like we’d be crashing the party.”

  “And?” asks Scarlett, genuinely looking like she’s waiting for me to explain the problem with that.

  I bite my lip. It does sound nice. I have been consumed with my business and one look in the mirror at my frazzled hair and the circles under my eyes can attest to how little time I’ve spent taking care of myself. “Okay. I’ll go.”

  Scarlett claps her hands together and smiles wide. “You’re going to love it. I went last year. Just wait ‘til you see the host, Mr. Steel. He’s fucking gorgeous.”

  “Mr. Steel?” I ask, feeling a tingle run across my skin.

  Scarlett quirks an eyebrow at me. “You’ll see. Anyway, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to head out for the night.”

  “Sure,” I say. “Can you be in a little early tomorrow? I was hoping to get at least half of these orders delivered.”

  Her eyes scan the room littered with boxes and boxes of clothes. She looks at me skeptically, but nods. “Bright and early. You got it, boss.”

  I laugh. “Would you please stop calling me that?”

  “Nope,” she says, waving over her shoulder as she gracefully hops over a box only to jam her toe into a table leg nearly toppling onto her face. As usual, she manages to spin out of a near fall and get her balance. She gives me a thumbs up over her shoulder as she leaves.

  I find a chair that’s not already occupied by clothes and plop down, checking my phone. I know what I’ll see but I look anyway. A text from my mom.

  Mom (5:21 P.M.): me and ronnie were looking at cruises. bahamas would be nice. havnt heard from u. dont be selfish, emm. its a lot of money ur uncle would have wanted u to share.

  I start to tap a reply out.

  “Sorry, Mom. Right now isn’t good. I have debt and business expenses, but in a few weeks, maybe a month--”

  I press and hold the delete button, setting the phone down roughly on the table beside me. Tears threaten to come, but I push them down. I won’t cry over her. Not anymore. She makes me feel like such a shitty daughter, but Uncle Adam left her just as much money as he left me when he passed away. The only difference is that she didn’t have to wait for hers. She blew it before the year was even over. Expensive dinners, clothes, jewelry, travel, and infomercial purchases. And not a dime of it went toward helping me with my college debt or living expenses.

  Now that I’m finally about to have my trust money, she’s suddenly texting and calling me all the time. A month ago I could’ve counted on one hand the number of times she reached out to me in the last few years. It makes my stomach sick, partly because I still feel like I should be able to do something for her, and partly because I know she’s using me. My own mom is trying to use me.

  The only real surprise in all of this has been that my dad and brother haven’t reached out to me. After dad split with mom, he cut contact completely. My brother, Mark, followed him. The divorce was messy and my mom and dad were both pointing fingers at each other, forcing my brother and I to choose sides. I didn’t want to have to choose, but it was my dad who cheated, so I ultimately sided with my mom, while my brother blamed my mom for causing my dad to want to cheat. We weren’t exactly the Brady Bunch.

  Either way, I expected my dad to come out of hiding to try to get a piece of my trust fund, but maybe he’s focusing his effort on Mark, who will be getting his money in two years. Who knows. I would say I don’t care, but it would be a lie. As imperfect and vile as my parents can be, I still love them in a way. It doesn’t mean I’m going to let them take advantage of me, but I still hope someday they will come around and start acting like real parents, as unlikely as that is.

  19

  Logan

  I sit across from Dean in our usual place. It’s an expensive restaurant downtown and I recognize senators, CEOs, and a few celebrities around the room. Dean looks sharp in his suit as usual. He’s clean-cut and has a classic boy next door look that makes him look like he belongs in high society. He’s not rough around the edges like I am.

  “Nakasuki is talking about pulling out his investment,” says Dean gravely.

  I grimace, dra
gging my thumb and forefinger across the stubble on my jaw. “That’s what, ten percent?”

  “Eleven and a half.”

  “Fuck,” I say, leaning back.

  “Maintaining growth isn’t enough in this market,” Dean says, almost apologetically. “But you already know that.”

  I wave it off. If we lose Nakasuki, we lose him. “Fuck him,” I say.

  Dean smirks. “I figured you would say something like that.”

  I lean back, stripping off my jacket, despite the restaurant’s rule about proper attire. They know better than to question me here. Our waitress asks if I want more bourbon, and I eye her appraisingly. She’s sexy, in a quiet, reserved kind of way. The way her eyes flick from mine to the glass nervously make it clear she’s interested, but I’m not.

  “Do you still go to Club Crave?” I ask Dean after the waitress has left.

  “Straight from business to pleasure tonight, then?” He asks.

  I shrug. “Do you?” I don’t like repeating myself, but I’ve known Dean long enough to let him get away with more than most.

  “Yes. That’s where I met Stephanie.”

  I purse my lips thoughtfully.

  “Tomorrow is the Valentine’s party, Logan. If you’re thinking what it looks like you’re thinking. It’ll have to wait.”

  I had completely forgotten, but I don’t want to admit that. This shit with my ex has me more out of it than I like. I make a quick vow to sort that out as soon as fucking possible. I don’t like being sloppy. It’s not how I operate. It’s not how I got where I am, and it’s a real fast way to fall from the top. I’ll get her the check tomorrow morning and call it done, at least until she comes back for more money next year.

  “The night after, then.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you there,” says Dean. “Stephanie has been begging me to share her with a guy she has her eye on from Crave, and I think I may just give her what she wants soon.”

  Dean has always had tastes that are a little more eccentric than mine. He likes threesomes and he likes watching his subs give in to other men. It’s not my style at all, but to each his own. After all, that’s the whole idea of Club Crave. Members can come with clearly identified tastes and distastes and find people who share their interests. Like an addict getting ready to come off a long stint of being sober, even thinking about the club gets my dick hard. I’ve stayed away from the lifestyle for so long. I still don’t know if Lana’s bullshit is going to keep me from actually enjoying myself when I find the right submissive, but I’m going to try.

  I always needed to dominate women to get off, since well before I met my ex-wife. After everything that happened, I couldn’t think about domination and submission without thinking of her and what she did--how I trusted her and she made me look like a jackass for it. I still feel apprehension about stepping back into the club and the lifestyle that comes with it, but I’m finally ready to try. I just have to get the Valentine’s Day party out of the way.

  Before I was married, I started the tradition of the party to build company morale but mainly as a night of release. I would bring my favorite girls to my play room at my house. I got off knowing that I was dominating them just above the hundreds of employees, cluelessly enjoying themselves at the party. It was a special treat, one I looked forward to all year. Lately, it has just become an obligation. I make sure I’m seen and suffer through it, counting down the minutes until it’s over, not bothering to toy with the women.

  The waitress drops off our meals and refills our drinks. I take a sip of my bourbon and look down at the steak. It’s a cut of Kobe style beef, marbled perfectly with just enough fat to make every bite melt in my mouth. The chef only garnished the meat with a pad of butter and parsley. The meat itself looks like it was crusted in salt and pepper and then seared on the edges, but it’s still perfectly rare in the middle, just how I like.

  “Anything new from Lana?” Dean inquires as he dabs the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

  “Yeah,” I say simply. I don’t go into much detail about it with him, but he has known me long enough to piece it together.

  He sighs and shakes his head slightly. “Unbelievable.” Though he says nothing, I know he’s thinking I should cut her off. I should hire a lawyer and brace myself for whatever shit she slings my way. But he knows better than to bring it up again. Marrying Lana was a mistake, but it was my mistake. And I always pay for my mistakes, whatever the cost.

  I made that painfully apparent when I buried the career of my former business partners who crossed me. They thought my lifestyle was putting the company in danger. Maybe it was, but I started it from the ground up, and if they thought they were going to wrestle the reins from me, they were dumber than they looked. I learned a hard lesson in those years. I learned not to trust. I learned to close myself off to the world. I just wish I had applied what I learned to my ex-wife before she had a chance to fuck me over too.

  I can’t even trust my parents anymore. Once it was clear the company was taking off, my father turned in his notice at work and my mom followed close behind. They both just quit their jobs with the expectation that I would take care of them without question. I still send them money, and they never bother to contact me anymore unless it’s to ask for another check. One of the few people from my past I still trust is my sister. Olivia has never once asked me for anything, so I’ve always made sure she has everything she needs.

  I push my plate away, appetite suddenly gone at the thought of my parents. My shoulders are tight when I walk out of the restaurant. My ex, my family, and all the memories I would rather leave behind… It all feels like it’s pushing me back to where I used to find comfort. It’s pushing me toward the old me and I can barely fight back the anticipation of stepping inside Club Crave again for the first time in years.

  20

  Emmaline

  “I’m sorry, can you check again?” I say laughing nervously. “There must be a mistake.”

  I’m standing at the counter, across from a bank teller with a bored expression. He sighs and looks back to the computer, tapping a few keys and clicking the mouse. His eyes scan the screen and then slide back to me. “There’s no money in your trust fund. It was pulled out by a... Mr. Styles. The system says he’s your--”

  “Father,” I say through gritted teeth. My heart is pounding in my chest and I feel light-headed. I can feel the full weight of reality waiting to crash down and crush me, but I’m not there yet. It’s too much to take in at once. “Is there someone else I can talk to about this? It was supposed to be a trust for me. He shouldn’t have been able to…”

  The teller, Steve, according to his nametag, gives me an obnoxiously placating smile. He turns and taps a woman in a pantsuit with the back of his hand and speaks to her in low tones. The woman eyes me while they talk and then walks over to me, heels thumping on the cheap carpet. She flashes a toothy smile that says she’s ready to go through the motions to get rid of me and no more.

  “Let’s just look into this one more time to be sure,” she says.

  I force a smile back at her, clutching my hands together on the counter to keep them from shaking. All of it. He took all of it. The words echo in my head and I feel tendrils of hopelessness reaching up to grab me from somewhere dark. I think of all the loans and the debt I thought would be completely covered. If I don’t get this trust money, everything could fall apart. Every last thing. I could lose my business, my apartment, my chance at finishing school. Hell, I don’t even know how I’d find money to eat.

  Breathe, Emmaline. I force myself to breath more slowly, realizing I’m on the verge of hyperventilating.

  The manager purses her lips and clicks the mouse a few times and then nods her head. I can tell she’s trying to look sympathetic, but I can see right through it. She doesn’t really care. “I’m sorry, Miss Styles. Your Uncle left the right to access the money to your parents. Your father was within his legal rights to withdraw it early.”

  I feel nu
mb. My hands are shaking and tears threaten to fall, but I push them back. Not here. Not now. Hold it together. I’ll talk to him. Maybe there’s a way to resolve this and I’m just not seeing the whole picture.

  “Miss, could you please step aside so I can help the next customer?”

  I jump a little at the sound of her voice, sniffing in a startled breath and adjusting my purse on my shoulder. I step away from the window feeling worthless, walking out of the bank as quickly as I can to find a quiet place outside to sit down. I pull out my phone with a trembling hand and realize I’m going to have to call my mom to get my dad’s number.

  I call my mom quickly, before I can talk myself out of it. She answers on the first ring.

  “Emmaline,” my mom says. Her voice is stern with a note of warning. She’s probably planning to tell me off for not texting her back, but I don’t have the patience for that right now.

  “Mom, I need dad’s number. It’s important.”

  “You haven’t texted me back in days. Ronnie and I are trying to make plans and you are making it impossible for us.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to push down the anger rising up and threatening to explode. The fastest way through this whole mess is just to tell her. I doubt I’ll ever get dad’s number out of her unless she thinks it’s the only way she can get to the trust fund money. “Dad took the money in the trust. All of it. I just left the bank. There’s nothing left.”

  Silence follows and I can hear the distant crackle of the wind from her end of the phone. “He wouldn’t dare,” she says finally, voice cold and threatening.

  “Yeah, well apparently he would, mom. I need his number.”

  She gives me the number and swears she will straighten this out if I can’t. Of course she wants to help. I can count on my mom to step in and look after me if she thinks there’s money in it for her.