Baby Batter: A Baby For The Billionaire Single Dad Romance

by Alexis Angel

Clarissa walks over to the trash and recycling bins, leaving me alone to drink my wine. I pick up the burger, but I’m suddenly not as hungry.

  I’m taking a greedy gulp of red wine when Clarissa gets back. She points at the now almost empty glass while sitting down, giving me a look but not saying a word.

  “You can have the rest of my fries if you want,” I offer.

  “No. No more for me. If you want to see Emily…are you really planning to go to her?”

  “Of course. What’s weird about that?”

  “Just, none of this is like you. This is the most I’ve ever seen you look at your phone. You know there are no calls from her. And now you want to just show up like that? You need to wait until she’s ready to make that call, so to speak.”

  “What if she doesn’t?” The question just slips out. I think I’m more confused by it than Clarissa.

  “Think about your experiences, Kirk. How do things work for you? Guys like you, you just attract women. You don’t go to them, they come to you. It’s nature. Don’t go against nature.”

  I drain the last of the wine and push my tray away, thinking about what she’s saying. She’s right.

  “Yeah,” I say slowly. “I suppose I wouldn’t want to do that.”

  Right. I’ll wait for her to come to me. Let it be on her terms.

  That’s the best way to handle this…right?

  Emily

  Two days.

  It’s been two fucking days, and I still haven’t heard a word from WineBar. Like, what the fuck.

  I’ve wracked my brain the entire time, trying to figure out what could have happened at the barbecue that would account for this radio silence, but I’ve got nothing.

  Miranda is the only person I know that also knows Kirk enough to help me get in contact with him, but she’s his ex. And even though she was nice at the barbecue, at least from what I remember, and also nice enough to help me get home afterward, I still feel a little weirded out about the whole thing.

  Like, do I really want to call her and ask her why I haven’t heard from Kirk?

  Not really.

  There’s something at the back of my brain that I can’t quite put my finger on.

  Like someone else I may have met that could help me figure this shit out. His sister maybe? I think I met her at the barbecue. I think.

  But I don’t even remember her name, so how am I supposed to check in with her? And what if I’m not even remembering that correctly?

  I mean, from what Miranda said, what few things I do remember aren’t even accurate. Let’s see, I do remember arriving, and I most definitely remember the epic bathroom fuck. Like, who could forget that?

  Just the thought of it has me so fucking wet and horny.

  Ugh, and now I’m distracted thinking about that.

  I want to call him and ask him what happened. And I really fucking want to know why he hasn’t called in two days.

  Did something awful happen that I don’t remember? Like, did we break up?

  No. Surely if that were the case, then Miranda would have told me.

  “Aaahhh!” I scream out in frustration. Why is this happening to me?

  I mean, I know I did some pretty embarrassing shit at the party. At least from what details Miranda did give me. But I’m pretty fucking sure that she’d have told me if Kirk and I broke up.

  I flop down on my bed and try yet again to fill in all the hazy gaps of time from the barbecue.

  And…I’ve got nothing.

  My mind does keep drifting back to him fucking me in the bathroom, though. And holy fuck was that hot. I’m going to have to tell my newsletter readers all about that.

  The way he shoved my panties in my mouth to gag me? So hot.

  The way I watched us in the mirror, Kirk pounding into me from behind? So. Fucking. Hot.

  And now I’m so horny I can’t even think straight.

  Well, there’s really only one thing I can do at a time like this—take matters into my own hands.

  Amirite?

  Yes. Yes, I am.

  I close my eyes and let my mind drift back to that moment when WineBar dropped down to his knees and licked me like he was fucking starved or something, like I was the only thing that could satisfy his hunger.

  “Aahh,” I moan as my hands travel up under my shirt to toy with my nipples.

  I’m already writhing on the bed. That man is a fucking beast. He’s seriously like the most amazing fuck ever.

  The way he makes me cum over and over. How he can make me wet with just a look. I’m pretty fucking sure that he could make me cum without so much as a touch.

  Those dirty words spilling out of that mouth.

  Fuck.

  I shove one hand inside my panties, and I’m already drenched. Like, my pussy is practically gushing. These panties are definitely ruined for the day, and probably my clothes too.

  I close my eyes, teasing my clit with one hand and pinching and tugging on my nipples with the other, and I think about all the dirty things I want to do to him.

  But it’s not enough. I need more.

  More fucking. More WineBar. More fucking WineBar.

  Yes.

  The only thing that might do the trick right now is my little bullet vibe.

  I sit up and reach into my nightstand and pull out the tiny little bullet and small remote controller.

  There are three settings.

  Low, medium, and high. I have a feeling I’ll be cycling through them all as horny as I am right now.

  With a sigh of pleasure, I slip the bullet between my pussy lips, and I’m so fucking wet it just glides right in, my pussy practically devouring it like a greedy little fucker.

  I bite my lip and flip the switch on the little remote to low. The light turns green, and ladies and gentlemen, let the games begin!

  “Oh!” It’s like a jolt of electricity hits me, and my clit literally twitches as I break out into a sweat.

  There’s a warm, sensitive vibrating going on—very mild and very pleasant.

  Fuck yes. That’s exactly what I need. I don’t even have the words to describe it, but it feels so good.

  Warmth is radiating from my pussy throughout my body, and I close my eyes and imagine WineBar here with me, watching me get myself off. He’s looking at me with that cocky ear-to-ear grin.

  “Feeling good?” imaginary WineBar asks.

  “Mm-hmm,” I say with a nod. My panties are soaked. I’m dripping wet at this point.

  The warmth and vibration from the bullet has done a number on me. I can close my eyes and enjoy this—edging very slowly toward an orgasm, but still far enough away that I can control the twitchiness of my limbs.

  “It’s nice kind of lying there and letting this little thing work its magic, isn’t it, baby girl?” Kirk asks.

  I look over at Kirk and his huge, sexy-as-fuck frame as he sits there and watches me. He pulls his massive cock out and begins stroking it slowly, that lazy grin still on those lips that know just how to drive me wild.

  “Yes, Daddy,” I say with an evil grin. I can see his cock thickening at my words. He loves it just as dirty as I do.

  Kirk laughs at that.

  I flip the switch on the remote to medium.

  “Oh!” I cry out again, and this time it’s involuntary. My eyes are closed because it feels like the tip of a tongue—WineBar’s magic tongue—has just pressed down on my clit and put pressure on it. But each nerve is fired off on my sensitive nub, and I buck my hips.

  Electric currents pass up my spine, and I can feel my heart rate increase.

  I’m already so close to cumming.

  I switch the controller it back to low. No need to rush things, right?

  I’m panting. My pussy is drenched.

  All I can think about right now is Kirk, about taking off his shirt, about licking his nipple with my tongue. I wanna lick his chest, run my hands down his abs, and then grab on to that giant cock and make him feel just as good as I do.

  M
y legs are splayed out, and I fall deeper into my fantasy. The bed is already so sticky and wet from my juices.

  Now I need more, and I push the remote again. Back up to medium.

  Jolts of pleasure arc through my body.

  I close my head and arch my body backward.

  I take it back to low.

  “WineBar,” I sigh. “Fuck me.”

  I imagine Kirk fisting his cock even tighter, stroking it faster as he gets harder and harder just watching me.

  Back to medium.

  That’s when the first orgasm rips through me. My body can’t handle it. It’s getting overstimulated, and my pussy just gives up.

  I’m gushing into my panties and onto the bed, and I don’t fucking care. I just want to get off to these sexy thoughts of Kirk.

  I can smell the heady aroma of my pussy juices as I cum, and I’m twitching and writhing, sprawled out on the bed while Kirk watches me.

  Rays of pleasure are shooting through my body and searing the tips of my fingers and toes.

  Imaginary WineBar says something, but I have no fucking clue what it is. I’m too far gone, twitching and moaning.

  Eventually, I take it back to low as the waves of pleasure start to subside.

  But I’m nowhere near done.

  I’m sweating, my hair is strewn about, and I’ve just had an orgasm. Time for number two.

  I switch the controller to medium yet again, and Kirk’s lips curl into a grin.

  “Oh my fucking god,” I say and grab at the sheets. I can feel my nails digging in, and I pretend that instead of gripping the bed, I’m clutching and clawing at WineBar.

  Electricity is coursing through my veins. My legs are moving on their own accord, and I can’t control my body. I’m twitching and moving and gasping and breathing.

  “Time for high,” he says, and I respond immediately by pushing the button. I totally lose all sense of reality.

  All I know is that in my head, I’m watching Kirk jerk off while I cum over and over again. My clothes are bunched up, my one hand is trying to get at my nipples, and my other hand is working furiously on my clit.

  I’m not even in my room anymore. I’m floating above the clouds in a state of catatonic pleasure.

  “Like it, baby?” Kirk asks. “Tell me how much you like it.”

  “Yes, WineBar,” I moan. “I fucking love it.”

  “Then cum for me again,” he says. I flip the switch back to high.

  I can’t feel my toes. I mean, I can feel them as in I know they exist, but I’m feeling tingly all over.

  I know if I keep this up, I’m going to cum again. Really fucking hard. My clit is radiating absolute bliss.

  I feel like leaving my tongue hanging out and drooling, jJust letting the pleasure wash over me. I can’t believe this feels so good. Why didn’t I do this before?

  I’ve spent the last two days worrying about what’s going on when I could have just been in this blissed-out state with imaginary WineBar.

  Oh my god. I’m shuddering and alternating between this nice little buzz and an earthquake of ecstasy that’s gripping me. It’s getting really hard to use my hands and keep playing with both my nipples and my clit.

  I feel like just giving up. I should really stop thinking.

  “Kirk, this is…” I try to start.

  “It’s great, isn’t it?” he asks me with a wicked grin.

  The vibrator is buzzing away, and I can’t move. I can only live in this moment of utter pleasure.

  I push another button on the controller, and then my breathing starts becoming more labored. Faster. Shallower.

  The bullet starts to vibrate with a rhythmic intensity this time, stimulating different areas of my pussy.

  “Fuck!” I shout out loud.

  Thick beads of sweat are pooling on my forehead as the pulsing feeling against my clit gets stronger and stronger.

  I’m rubbing my thighs against each other. The intensity is strong, but it varies moment to moment and in different sensitive areas around my clit—the organ may seem tiny, but it’s almost stimulating different nerves in different locations.

  “Cum for me,” imaginary Kirk says.

  Pleasure rips through my body, and I arch my back and scream out. I don’t even know what I’m saying.

  I’ve forgotten everything. I can’t feel my body. I can’t feel my face.

  I’ve left my body. Waves of sweet ecstasy clear my head of everything. I can’t remember who I am, and all I can do is revel in the seizure that’s gripped my entire body.

  But it doesn’t stop there. There’s no way to come down.

  Tears are coming from my eyes at the agonizing pleasure that’s coursing from my pussy. My nipples feel like they’re on the most delicious fire possible. I can’t breathe. My back is arched.

  My clit is throbbing. I know it’s engorged. I grab the bullet and push it hard against my clit.

  FUCK! OH MY FUCKING GOD!

  My eyes are closed, but I see stars explode. It’s like my brain has shut down completely, and I don’t even know what I’m doing at this point.

  My entire body is on fire. My soul is on fire. My spine is tingling and shuddering and every single nerve in my legs, my throat, my hands, my face, my breasts, my thighs is tingling with electricity.

  I’m crackling. I’m lightning. I might as well be dead.

  I don’t know how, but I turn off the switch to the remote and brace myself as wave after wave of electricity rushes through my skin. I’m shaking and trembling and moaning, and I don’t know what I’m saying. All I know is that I might not come out of this river of sweet pleasure alive.

  I might be lost in it.

  Eventually, I’m able to grasp thoughts. I’m breathing heavily, I’m panting, I’m gasping, and I’m drenched in sweat.

  I’m exhausted.

  Slowly coming back to reality, I take out the bullet, but just barely.

  I look down at my sheets. They’re wet, very wet. I don’t care.

  I’m so tired. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. I think it takes me all of one second to pass out.

  When I come to, the bullet is on the other side of the room. I must’ve thrown it.

  My panties are somewhere over there too. My clothes are bunched up around me, my pussy still tingly.

  Everything is still wet—my thighs are sticky.

  It’s pooled underneath me on the bed. The whole room smells like sex.

  Oh my god.

  That was insane.

  Crazy.

  Wild.

  Perfect.

  But I’m also a little pissed. Because here I am, a top 100 romance author, and I’m fantasizing about a man that won’t even call me back. And not just that, but he didn’t even have the consideration to take care of me when I was drunk.

  It hits me hard. His fucking ex-girlfriend was the one to take care of me? While he did fuck knows what.

  You know what? Just no. I’m not going to sit around and pine for him.

  No fucking way.

  I grab my phone on a whim and text Lana.

  Some friends have been trying to get us to go to Cancun with them. Well, you know what? What better way to put WineBar and this whole fucking mess out of my mind than to get the hell out of Dodge.

  Right?

  Right.

  I tap out a message on my phone: I’m in.

  Kirk

  Yes, the wood logs look polished and fake. Plus, that wall-hanging bearskin that came with the cabin is ridiculous. But none of that matters, since I fucking love it here.

  I love the drive down, I love taking my rifles out for hunting, and I love sitting on the lake for hours with just a fishing line, some live bait, and a cooler full of beer. When I need to get away from the city, my place in the Sierra Nevada never disappoints.

  I’m just getting back from another marathon day of tranquility at the lake. The sky is turning lilac, and the crickets are starting up. It’s officially my third night here.

  I
know that it’s getting to that point: I need to start thinking about what drove me here.

  I’d love to stay for weeks, enjoying the quiet and supplying myself with all the food I need. I don’t have to check emails, respond to texts, or talk on the phone. With no internet or cell phone signals, I couldn’t even if I wanted to—it’s fucking paradise.

  As refreshing as it is, I know I can’t keep being a coward. Three or four days is what I gave myself to figure shit out.

  One day, when I have everything in my life figured out and taken care of, I’ll drive out here and just fucking stay as long as I want. Today, that’s not a luxury I have.

  I stride through the unlocked cabin door, all my supplies slung over my left shoulder. I caught my limit for the day, not that they ever enforce that shit. I take my time to put everything away properly—tacklebox, poles, bucket, oars, cooler, freezer packs, fish—it takes a good ten minutes, which I try to use to think, to deliberate.

  After everything is done right, I look in the fridge for a real beer. The cheap stuff is good for fishing, but it’s time to get serious. I have a couple decent stouts, but those are too heavy right now, a few IPAs, but fuck those, a four-pack of canned chardonnay…

  One reason I can’t stay up here for too long are my bars. They still need me. They are built on my acumen and my taste, but it’s not an empire yet.

  I pull a can of wine out of its plastic ring. Canned wine’s an obvious trend, but they still need me to point this shit out before it’s months or years too late.

  It’s barely starting to get dark. I formulate a plan: find a glass for the wine, bring the rest of the four-pack with me and maybe a decent bottle, go sit on the deck to drink, look at the sequoias, and think.

  Sounds like a sold plan to me.

  I put down the wine can and see a stray gray tabby sitting outside the window and staring at me. I don’t even know which fucking cabinet has the glasses. I open a random door and see a set of pint glasses.

  Why did this have to happen with Emily?

  Fuck.

  I close the cabinet and pop open the can to start drinking. Fuck going outside and getting contemplative. I need to figure this shit out.

  The problem is, it feels like it’s already figured out.