by Jamie Knight
“I know it has been a while, but I think I can still remember the basics of caring for a baby.”
I couldn't help but smile, My new mother-in-law was really awesome. Giving April a parting kiss on her tiny, pink forehead, Anne put on our jackets and left our nearest and dearest friends and family members to enjoy themselves at our mountain home.
Anne had asked before booking the hotel. Partly because she had to use my credit card to afford the room rate, but also to make sure I wouldn't have a panic attack or some such.
The place was a cozy little lakefront establishment in a nearby town so small it barely had a coffee-shop. I took one look at the picture on the website and knew that I would love it as much as she clearly did.
Night had fallen by the time we had pulled up in front, the headlights clicking off as though they had never been there. We hadn't changed before leaving, so Anne was still wearing her wedding dress and I was still in my tux, covered by her black leather jacket and my red and black lumberjack shirt, respectively. We must have made quite the picture.
A stickler for tradition in some ways, I carried Anne up the stairs and across the threshold and to our honeymoon bed. She immediately turned over, giving me access to the many tiny buttons running up the back.
Undoing two at a time, I had the dress undone in about ten seconds. It immediately became clear to me that she hadn't worn a bra.
Turning back over, she helped me get the dress off, leaving her completely naked except for her Chuck Taylors. I decided to leave them on her. For one thing, they looked really cute. Though mostly because I didn't want to lose another second before indulging in her succulent little pussy.
Anne moaned loudly, running her fingers through my hair as I ate her out, using my finger to stimulate her pussy as I lapped at her pussy lips and her clit, enjoying every second of it. She came against my mouth and I gave her several gentle licks on the outside of her pussy, as she shuddered with joy.
Kissing my way up her body, I gently mounted her, the head of my cock brushing up against her warm, wet pussy. It reminded me of when she was a virgin and I had taken her for the very first time.
I knew then that she would be mine forever, so I didn’t know why either of us had tried to fight our destiny so hard for a while. But all that was in the past and now she and I would be together forever – and that was all that mattered.
I had no regrets, only happiness. Kissing her softly, I eased inside her, Anne's entire body rising slightly with my long, slow, gentle thrusts.
Both of us came to a rest and then I kissed her on the lips, and I started lovingly fucking her beautiful pussy, deftly building her up to a trembling orgasm.
“Yes, Sawyer,” she called out. “This feels so good. I love when you fill me up and cram your cock inside me.”
“And I love fucking my virgin’s tight, wet little pussy, forever.”
We came together, my hand squeezing her ass cheek while her fingernails clawed at my back. I couldn’t believe that not only did I have such an amazing wife, we also had a cute little daughter. This was only my first night away from her and I already missed her.
We would hurry back to see her tomorrow, and we would go on a family honeymoon, to Venice and then to wherever else my lovely new wife wanted to fly, in the private jet that Pat and I had just bought to help our business, as well as use for personal vacations, of course.
We were already going back on our vow to only have one child. April needed a little brother or sister. And I just might have put one in Anne’s belly tonight, on our wedding night.
Speaking of tonight, on our wedding night, I truly felt that it made me the luckiest man in the world, no matter what else had happened to me in the past.
I held Anne close as her warm, curvy, soft body shuddered beneath me in the afterglow, her pussy filled with my cum that I hoped would knock her up again – what a happy change from how I had felt the first time around when I had foolishly been telling myself that I didn’t want to be a father – and gently nuzzled her neck, so happy and so in love I could cry.
The End
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This book is part of the Big Apple Love series of standalone but related secret baby billionaire and romance books set in New York City and following a group of friends who make re-occurring appearances as characters in each others’ stories.
Keep reading for a sneak peek into the first of the series, Little Pumpkin!
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Sneak Peek of Little Pumpkin
Chapter One
Gia
It wasn't cold enough to see my breath, not quite, the air taking on the crispness only autumn could bring, the trees bursting in vivid orange and red, mixing in with the remaining green. I pulled my knee-length parka tighter around the skimpy dress the manager required for my job.
It took some doing to convince him to let me wear my Doc Martens instead of the black spike heels sported by most of the female employees. I had to polish my boots until they glowed, but eventually he caved. Wearing a dress that left little to the imagination was one thing; risking a broken ankle was another.
It’s not that I was insecure or prudish. I was actually pretty proud of my body. I was curvy but in all the right ways, which still tended to turn heads, my breasts and ass being particular areas of attention. I won't lie; it felt nice to be complimented on them.
But there was a time and place for everything, and what I objected to was being forced to show off my body at work, when it wasn’t of my own choice. But I had bills to pay, so I continued to don the skimpy outfit, and at least I got a win in with the Docs.
The restaurant was mid-level nice, at least in New York City terms. Everything went kind of weird when you crossed through the vortex onto Manhattan island. Prices jumped, crowds closed in and standards shot through the roof, the height of luxury almost anywhere else in the world being simply middling by Manhattan standards. Which was honestly why it felt kind of good to attract male attention, the standards of beauty and attraction being no exception.
I got through the door quickly, a few minutes late due to taking a bit too long to bask in the autumn beauty that New York never fails to deliver. Heck, there are even whole movies made about it and titled after it, so how could I not stop and look?
I did a quick scan for my manager, who was nowhere to be seen, luckily, and then got behind my podium, quickly ditching the parka behind it before I started setting up for the day. This wasn't really my dream job, though I could hardly complain. Most people start out a busser or even a dishwasher, and hostess is a step up from that.
I wasn’t really sure how I’d gotten so lucky. I had just seen an ad looking for a hostess and basically bullshitted my way through the interview, fake it till you make it being my personal motto at the time. It was a risk, but I needed the job. I was unemployed and the recession wasn't helping much.
I had lost my last job because of an over-developed sense of morality and justice, which I partly blame on my parents. The working conditions weren't just bad but dangerous. Rumor had it that the managers had worker's compensation payouts accounted for in the yearly budget. Doing it that way was still cheaper than making the improvements that would have actually made things safe.
Driven by rage and justice, I tried to start a union. There was more of a response than I had expected. Other workers, including those who had been there for years, started organizing around me like they had just been waiting for someone to lead them.
It hadn't turned out well. The managers had found out about our plan and
fired me as the ring-leader. There would have been more firings. A lot more. But I had made it sound like the entire thing had been my idea and that I had basically duped the others.
Everyone else kept their jobs, though the head supervisor had really scared me, looking and talking as though he might actually take me out back and shoot me. There were other rumors that the owners had connections to the mob, and I wouldn’t doubt it. In the end, I honestly felt lucky to get of there alive, albeit without my paycheck and livelihood.
The manager at this restaurant was a lot nicer to work for. He was a bit of a picky timekeeper and a sexist pig but at least there was no sense of impending immediate execution for having the audacity to assert one’s rights. The worst he might do is fire you, or I guess grab your ass as he passed. It still made me mad, but I decided it was probably best not to tempt fate, no matter how much I might want to.
I was what my mother used to call "a little too honest," particularly with some of the rich assholes who would walk right in and be demanding like they owned the place. To my knowledge, none of them actually did, although I was a bit confused about the ownership structure of this place, so maybe some of them did.
And this was another reason I had to be careful. I had once lost a job by telling the owner what I really thought of them when they had come in for a surprise inspection and I hadn't known who they were.
When everything was ready, I went and unlocked the door, before hurrying back behind the podium to get ready for the onslaught. It could have been the weather, but it was nearly an hour before the first customers arrived. They were all bundled up in a similar way I had been, removing their coats to reveal mostly suits and other evening wear.
There were a few men who had clearly saved up to go out as a treat. The women were harder to tell. You could get some pretty nice dresses for pretty cheap if you knew where to look. Or else there was that old trick that involved wearing a dress with the tag still on it, tucked along the back seam all night long, and then returning it the next day.
The guys were a dead give away, though, usually wearing pressed and creased jeans rolled down at the ankle so they looked as much like dress pants as possible. The jeans were unusually worn with a polo short, or maybe a turtleneck. Sometimes with a blazer.
I had been around the rich and blithe long enough to tell the difference and not only be able to pick out the snakes in suits but also those trying to approximate their look, so that they wouldn't be judged too harshly. I usually gave those in this second category better tables than those they had booked.
I had such power and no one, at least so far, had reported me to the manager. In a place like this, you quickly learned to follow the rules and defer to authority. That was the theory, anyway, although I wasn’t always good at putting it into practice.
I checked in and seated the first few patrons, giving them the tables they had booked, acting as much as I could like a good girl. I really was tying to be good. To follow the rules. To keep my job.
It was annoying, to have to cater to the rich or wanna-be rich all day long. Sometimes I just wanted to scream at them and tell them that money isn’t everything. Having a soul is nice, too.
But I knew it wouldn't help anyone, least of all me, if I got fired again. It was important that I swallow my pride, quell the flame of justice that burned inside and do what must be done.
I should have smelled him coming. His cologne was so expensive and copiously applied that a half decent tracker dog would have had him in its jaws in ten minutes. His suit, bespoke and pin-striped and made to fit him exactly right, just screamed of new wealth.
His tie was silk and precisely tied, a dead giveaway that he was trying too hard. The gray of his temples was a testament to either premature aging due to job stress or to being a late bloomer in the corporate shark game. He looked a bit too old to be a young tech start up entrepreneur, but a bit too young to be the CEO or head up a board of directors.
It was his walk that gave him away, being too practiced and self-consciously cocky. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.
I didn’t even need “Stalin” to tell me that much. My high school friend Matt, who claimed to be a Communist, once got a puppy he named Stalin. He said he was going to train it to smell money and attack billionaires on sight.
Unfortunately, Stalin turned out to be a pug mix rather than a bulldog as Matt first thought and was no good at the job. Although I can't say I thought it was a bad idea overall.
"I have a reservation," Mr. New Money said, like a bored king ordering an execution.
"Name?" I asked.
"Really?" he asked, as though it should be obvious.
"Yes," I said, giving away nothing.
"John Handler," he said, very slowly, annunciating every syllabary.
I looked on the reservation list, under both Handler and John in case he tried to be clever. There was no trace of either name on the list.
"Sorry, sir. But I don't see your name here."
"Seriously?"
No, I just like pranking rich people who have the power to get me fired.
"Yes."
"Do you know who I am?"
"That’s a question for the philosophers," I quipped, the anger rising in me so strongly that I couldn’t help myself.
It was either make a joke or take a slug at him, and I went for the least violent route.
"Listen, you little -"
"I'm sorry, sir, but as you can see, there is a line. It wouldn't be fair to give you someone else's table. You are welcome to put your name on the wait list and I’ll call you when there’s an open table, if you’d like.”
That was the protocol, after all.
"I'll have your job, you cunt," John Handler said as he was storming off to the side and taking out his phone.
"You could never fit into this uniform, dear," I said.
He sat in the waiting area texting furiously as I put through people who were actually on the reservation list.
"What's the problem here?" the manager asked, appearing out of nowhere.
"I don't -"
"I'll tell you what the fucking problem is," Handler said, storming back over, "this little bitch is giving me attitude."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Handler! I know you always have a standing invitation and respected reservation here, and the hostess should know this too. Please go and find a seat. A server will be around shortly. The prettiest one we have, in the shortest skirt, I have seen to that. Feel free to have a grab if you like the look of her. She knows to behave herself."
"Thank you," Handler said, putting the phone back into his coat, "and thank you for responding to my text so quickly."
"Rest assured, Mr. Handler, this bitch with be dealt with."
“It’s fine,” I told him, as I gathered up my things. “There’s nothing to deal with. I’m glad I don’t have to work here anymore. I hate catering to rich assholes.”
I hadn’t planned to make such an outburst. I knew I was going to be fired as soon as I put it together than Handler had texted the manager.
I was prepared for that. Not happy about it but ready to take it on the chin. No one had told me this John Handler guy was always supposed to have a reservation— why didn’t they add him to the list every day, then, just in case, or at least leave me a sticky note at the podium?— but it only made sense that I would be blamed and made to take the fall. Shit trickles downhill and all that.
It was when the manager had said the bit about having a grab at the server, Erin was her name, that the switch flipped and I went into full warrior mode. That was so far outside what should be allowed that the wrong had to be righted.
I was pretty sure I was never going to be able to get a job in a restaurant in New York again. But I was even more sure that I didn’t want one, if this was what it involved.
The manager looked at me with his mouth hanging open, as if he hadn’t been expecting me to tell him off while his back was turned, his attention o
n Handler as he was telling the rich asshole who rules the world that I was going to be fired. I hurried home, wondering if I was even going to be mailed my final paycheck, but otherwise glad to be free of that awful place.
Click here to read Little Pumpkin!
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He wants my treats, but I won’t be tricked.
I’m down on my luck when it comes to jobs.
So I’ve been trying to start an event planning business.
I’m thrilled when a friend hires me to plan her Halloween party.
And even more thrilled when I meet her handsome cousin.
But then I realize he’s cocky and arrogant.
He also seems to have some kind of dark past.
I tell myself not to let down my guard.
But he wants to go up my witch’s dress.
And I want to let him.
Just for one night of festive fun.
It’s not like we’ll be joined together for life… right?
But a pregnancy scare means the Halloween spirit stays in the air.
And soon he’s not the only one with a secret he’s hiding.
He doesn’t want to let me out of his life.
But what if I’m carrying a new one belonging to both of us?
Little Pumpkin is a full length Halloween-themed secret baby romance novel. Jamie Knight promises to always bring you a happy ever after filled with plenty of heat. And never any cheating or cliffhangers!
Click here to read Little Pumpkin!
Click here to see all my books in my entire catalogue!
They include more books in the Big Apple Love series:
Little Pumpkin
Bun in the Oven
Bundle of Joy
In with the New Baby
Thanks again for reading and for your support. Love,
Jamie Knight –
Your Dirty Little Secret Romance Author
