#BABYFEVER: A Quintuplet Secret Baby Medical Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  The big man looked amused by my stunned reaction. His blue eyes were searing as they scanned my body, running up and down my curvaceous form. I felt a hot heat rise from my pussy to cover my breasts and chest, unable to stop my reaction, embarrassed at how I looked and yet clearly physically aroused by the bold rake of his gaze. What was wrong with me? Even more, what was wrong with him?

  It was like he read my mind. “Teresa,” he said slowly. “I need someone whom I get along with, with a captivating back story, a real rags to riches type background. I can tell you’ve got it. You don’t have any pretenses, you’ll sell well to the media and be perfect on my arm.”

  But I still didn’t buy it. “Seor,” I said. “I mean …” I shook my head in confusion. “There must be a million women out there who want to date you, there are plenty of people with disadvantaged backgrounds in San Francisco. Why me?” I asked again plaintively, still mystified.

  “Because I need someone to fill a gap,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “Think of it as a job. A job as my girlfriend,” he clarified. That shut me down a bit. It’s hard for any woman to hear the word “girlfriend” and “job” in the same sentence, but at the same time, he was the boss.

  Matt went on. “Most women want a commitment from me, and that’s just not something I’m into,” he shrugged. “But with us, it’d be different, a business transaction if you will. You’d be my girlfriend in public, helping me stump during the election season and after it’s over, whether I win or lose, you’re free to go your way. Like a short-term contract position,” he said easily. “Of course,” he added, “I plan on making this financially lucrative for you.”

  I was stunned. I was literally a Cinderella, a woman who came in to sweep the hearth of this gorgeous man, and Prince Charming had somehow noticed me. He was going to “make this financially lucrative,” whatever that meant. It sounded distasteful, but my mind automatically went to all the things that I could use … a little more food, a little more rent for my aunt, tuition for next semester, maybe even take Mami out for a nice dinner at that new taqueria.

  But I was careful. Growing up in the Honduras makes you wary, and there are no free rides from gringos. “What do I need to do exactly?” I asked slowly. “Do I need to move in here? Do you need me to keep house still? To …” Suddenly I flushed, realizing the import of his words. “Do you mean to have a physical relationship?” I choked, my cheeks flaming.

  The big man merely looked amused as he took me in. I loved the way his broad shoulders were so dominating, hugged tight in a blue denim button-down. He was an alpha male in every sense of the word, from that rakish black hair to the aura of power that surrounded him at all times.

  “Teresa,” he said. “Yeah, I’d like to have a physical relationship. Would you be into that?” he drawled.

  I bit my lip, my head spinning. Today had really been the day of days. Starting off with the unwanted come-on from Orlando, which had set off a host of bad memories, and now ending with a proposition from a man who was probably the most eligible bachelor in San Francisco … and who wanted to sleep with me.

  I was floored, but I admit, tempted. Matt was just so gorgeous. He’d never noticed me, but I’d seen him behind his computer as he worked. The dark hair, the muscled build, these weren’t the traits of a paper pusher, he clearly worked out and it showed. Even today, casually dressed in expensive jeans, he exuded an aura of confidence. I shrank a bit inside, dying again at what I must have looked like in my shabby work clothes. What could Matt Sterling possibly see in Teresa Ramos of Krystal Kleaners?

  But before I could give it more thought, Matt was pulling me close, into the heavenly circle of his arms, a feeling of safety permeating my bones even as he towered over me, his masculine form dominant and possessive.

  “Let’s do a dry run, shall we?” he drawled before lowering his head.

  And I was drawn in for a kiss. Not a kiss like you see in a romantic comedy, but a true telenovela, crazy swoon-in-love type kiss, where the hero pulls the beautiful heroine close and ravishes her. Matt was no exception. His lips descending over mine were gentle at first, probing my mouth, his mobile mouth expressive and soft as they moved softly over mine.

  But the flames were immediate, my breasts growing hot as they pressed against his chest, the nipples hardening like bullets. Matt savagely took more, parting my lips insistently, running his tongue into my wet cavern, tasting me, sampling me, making me shiver with desire. I’m ashamed to say but my cunny started to run almost immediately, the moistness in my panties practically a gush as I mewled into his mouth, disturbed that this man, my employer, was able to elicit such a response in seconds.

  And Matt seemed to sense my weakness, pulling me closer, grabbing me by the back of the head, thrusting his hands deep in my hair, overwhelming in his masculinity. “That’s it chica,” he growled roughly against my neck as one thick thigh angled mine apart. “I knew we’d be perfect,” he said, his mouth tracing closer and closer to the vee at my sweater.

  But it was the rock-hard pole pressed against my thigh that caused the shutdown. Suddenly, my vision blackened and I could hear his voice again. That wheezing, guttural laugh, the dry rasping cough, the parched, dessicated skin that scraped like sandpaper. I screamed into Matt’s mouth, my pupils dilated and began to fight like a woman possessed, flailing against him with my fists, kicking his shins with my sneakered feet.

  “Aii! Aii!” I screamed, the terror overwhelming, losing any grasp of reality and instead returning to the terrors of my childhood. “Alejarse de mí! Alejarse de mí!” I cried, sobbing, a mass of writhing limbs as I tried to fight him off.

  Matt was stunned and at first tried to pull me in close. “Shhh, shhh,” he hushed, smoothing my hair, stroking my body to and even touching my breasts, skimming a finger over a hard nipple. But my flailing limbs and desperate struggling were uncontrollable, even violent, and he finally pulled away with a confused, “What the fuck?”

  It was then I knew that this would never work. I couldn’t take a job as Matt’s girlfriend. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I was broken and damaged.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Matt

  It was the damndest thing. One second, Teresa was pliant and willing in my arms, her enormous boobs pressed sweetly against my chest, her mouth soft and willing even as her thighs parted under my insistent thrusts. But the next it was like she was a deranged woman. Total hellcat, crying, sobbing, hair flying as she flailed, screaming in another language.

  My rudimentary high school Spanish made her words to be along the lines of “Get away from me Daddy?” Something like that? What, did she have a Daddy fetish or something? It would have been sick and twisted if she did, but sure, I’d be her daddy – I’d done that and more in bed.

  But it was her genuine horror that surprised. I mean, I’ve fucked some women who are wildcats in bed, but it’s just a ruse. All women ultimately want to be ravished, to lay back while the guy does all the work, licking their cunny, fucking it, making her come again and again with pleasure. But Teresa’s wild-eyed terror, the uncontrolled shaking, that couldn’t be faked. What the hell was going on?

  Teresa had grabbed her bag and run out the front door as soon as I let go, leaving me with a fucking erection that almost crippled me, my dong literally punched up against my fly so hard that it hurt. What the fuck had possessed her? I decided to let her go for the moment, unable to chase her down given that my dick needed a beating of the very best sort. But I figured I’d get to the bottom of this sooner or later. After all … she was my employee still.

  I limped up to my bedroom and made a few calls. “Platt? Yeah, check out the visa status of a Teresa Ramos of Krystal Kleaners in SF,” I growled. “Student at City College. Plus, see what you can find out about her past in the Honduras. She moved here maybe ten years ago, says she came with her mother.”

  That’s the benefit of being a billionaire. I keep people on retainer for any shit that might come up, crazy as it may s
eem. Shit, Platt has seen worse. He’s a fucking retired cop turned PI, I’m sure that dude has been asked to investigate a lot more than the immigrant status of a house cleaner.

  But I wasn’t done yet. The next person I called was Rosa at Krystal Kleaners.

  “This is Matt Sterling at 223 Seacrest Avenue,” I growled into the phone. “Teresa Ramos was here today but hasn’t finished the job yet. I’d like to book her again. Tomorrow. Yes, the house hasn’t been touched. Yes, tell her to come at 8 a.m. Thanks.”

  And it was done. Billionaires always get their way, and I wasn’t done with this girl just yet.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Teresa

  I’d been humiliated. First, during the scene with Orlando, which my employer had unfortunately witnessed. I never should have gotten a ride, I should have just taken the bus or walked, lateness be damned. What the fuck was wrong with me? I sobbed. It was like I’d forgotten everything Mami had ever taught me, including not getting into cars with strange men.

  Then there was the meltdown I’d had at Matt’s house. I admit, I’d been seriously considering taking him up on his offer. It sounded almost too good to be true, a dream opportunity. Sashay around town on the arm of the most eligible man in SF, attend a couple dinners, a couple functions, shake some hands and then after the election, I’d be free. It was only a commitment of a few months, and I’d probably have a pretty penny to add to my savings account, which was frankly, desperately needed.

  But it’d all come crashing down. The moment he kissed me, the moment we got even the slightest bit physical, I panicked, my past overtaking the present. Because, you see, I was molested during that time I stayed with Aunt Blanca in the countryside. Uncle Gordo turned out to be much more than a mere “uncle.” He was a goddamn perv, and my life from ages ten to thirteen had been confusing as hell.

  It had started innocently at first. Uncle Gordo would ask me to sit in his lap as we watched TV after a dinner of rice and plantains. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t feel like I could say no either. I knew my mom would be angry if I was sent back to the City, so I did as Gordo asked and perched my bony ass on his knee, uncomfortable and trying to lose myself in the latest show.

  But inevitably, Uncle Gordo would pull me back against his fleshy chest, literally push my head back against his shoulder so that my entire backside was plastered against his front. It was disgusting but at least he was fat and jiggly, kind of like an extra pillow.

  This went on for a while. Aunt Blanca would be in the same room, watching TV, and never commented, merely continuing to shell peas or whatever fruit or vegetable was in season. And so every night at 7 p.m., the three of us settled into our routine, me on my uncle’s lap, too close for comfort as we watched Spanish news or the latest telenovela.

  Until one day I’d felt something growing under my ass. I’d thought it was my imagination at first. Something hard and stiff was poking my butt cheek and I’d squirmed uncomfortably, trying to worm away.

  “Sit back!” came the harsh command from my uncle, my aunt looking up momentarily before turning back to the TV. She was like an automaton, her gaze blank, her body stiff as she shelled in silence, not even a hitch to her movements. This went on for a couple weeks, a hard, rigid member pressed against my butt for an hour each night, and I was always so happy to dash off to my room afterwards, to cloak myself in darkness and privacy. I’m not even sure I knew what was happening then, it was just so confusing and I was too young.

  But one night, Uncle Gordo appeared in my doorway right after I’d gotten into bed.

  “Teresita,” he said quietly. “I know you can hear me.”

  I was perfectly still under the blankets, willing him to go away as I feigned sleep.

  “Teresita,” he said again. “I know you’re awake.”

  I practically wasn’t breathing, I wanted him to go away so badly. But after a few moments, I knew it was futile and so I sat up in the darkness.

  “What is it Uncle Gordo?” I asked innocently. We’d had the usual dick pressed against my butt session earlier, what did he want now?

  Gordo came into my room, his body heavy and pendulous. He sat down on the edge of my bed and I swear, the whole thing kind of tilted to the side, my mattress cheap and my uncle heavy.

  “I can’t sleep Teresita, can I stay here with you?” he queried, covering my hand with his.

  I wanted to say no, I knew I should have said no, but I was just so confused. I murmured something, I’m not even sure what, but he took that as consent.

  “Okay, I’ll just sit here as you sleep,” he said, settling into a rickety desk chair in my room.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Not that it would be pleasant having him there, his breathing was congested and he wheezed quite a bit, but fine. I was willing to compromise some privacy. I went back to sleep, pulling the covers over my head and tried to get as comfortable as I could.

  It was only in the middle of the night that I was startled awake. I felt something … something wet on my pussy and I wasn’t sure what it was. Was it the moon phase? My mom had told me that this was the natural cycle of women, that I would bleed between my legs come time, but it hadn’t happened yet. Was it blood down there?

  I bent my head to look, pulling the covers up, and that’s when I realized Uncle Gordo was in bed with me. He’d pressed his mouth to my vagina and was sucking it, playing with the little nub that I sometimes stroked for fun, running his fingers along my vaginal lips, stroking their baldness with a sigh of satisfaction.

  I screamed and bolted upright. “Aiieee!” was the only word I could manage in my shock and horror.

  Uncle Gordo lifted his head, his eyes drowsy with pleasure, his lips still wet from my vagina. “Shh,” he hushed. “You’ll wake your aunt,” he cautioned, even as he bent his head for another taste.

  “Aieee!” I screamed again, twisting my lower body away. This time Gordo slapped me, one fleshy hand slamming my face, a red welt immediately rising against my cheek.

  “You want to go to school with my fingerprints on your skin tomorrow?” he hissed. “Then fucking shut up and keep your legs spread.”

  I began crying, but Gordo’s threats kept ringing in my mind. I didn’t want to miss school otherwise I’d be at home all day with my aunt and uncle, and yet … I couldn’t go home to my parents either. Mami had made it clear that the City was dangerous, that she’d brought me here specifically so that I could be safe. So I made myself stop crying, to lie stiffly in my bed as Gordo continued to assault me with his mouth.

  It was over soon and Gordo got up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, his penis punching out against his soft cotton shorts.

  “You taste good, Teresita,” he said. “Remember, your Uncle Gordo loves you,” he hissed, before leaving my room. I felt so dirty, so disgusting that I immediately changed my underwear, wiping myself between my legs as best I could, crying softly as I got back in bed. But what could I do? I was only ten years old.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Matt

  I waited grimly in my office, expecting to hear the door open at any moment. Teresa had a key to the house, she’d let herself in and then I’d approach her. Question her as to what was going on, between the mini freak-out she’d had with that dipshit Orlando and the massive freak-out she’d had with me. It was fucking unreal.

  I’d tossed and turned all last night, unable to get to sleep, wondering what the fuck was wrong. I’ve been with a lot of women, and yeah, it’s inflated my ego but at the same time, I know I’m a handsome motherfucker and skilled in bed. My touch had never made a woman cry before and Teresa should have been no exception.

  I heard the creak of the front door and was down the stairs in a flash. There she was … beautiful, unassuming in her jeans and a work shirt, her raven hair scraped back from her face. I hated that severe hairstyle, I wanted to see those locks streaming over my chest, wrapped around my fingers, and preferably around my dick too.

  She glanced up at me quick
ly and then looked away, her deep, dark brown eyes unfathomable, a quick nod of acknowledgment before padding to the hall closet, pulling out cleaning supplies while avoiding my gaze.

  But I wasn’t about to be deterred.

  “Teresa,” I ground out, grabbing her by the shoulders. “I guess you know why you’re here again?”

  She stilled, not answering at first. But slowly, she tipped her head and looked me straight in the eye.

  “You want to know if I’ll take you up on your offer,” she said quietly. “But we haven’t ironed out the exact terms of what exactly you’re offering, and what I need to provide.”

  Well, this was better than expected. I thought she was going to make some bullshit excuse, try to dodge the question by saying she was here to finish cleaning my house but instead, we were already off to a running start. There was no way this could be about housecleaning, after all. I’d commanded her aunt to direct Teresa, and Teresa only, to my home this morning, and had threatened to call immigration if I had to. Fuck my ass, I was desperate.

  And so this beautiful woman was here, braving my presence again even though I probably came off as a demanding, mean-spirited bully.

  “What the fuck was that about yesterday?” I rumbled with no intro.

  She colored, the heat rising beautifully onto her cheeks. God, I wanted to grab her and throw her in my bed right this moment.

  Her chin lifted a little as she answered. “It was nothing,” she said quietly. “Now if you’d like to lay out your offer … otherwise, I’ve got work to do,” she said pointedly.

  Okay, so that was how it was going to be.

  “Fifty-thousand dollars for your services,” I ground out. “Twenty-five now, twenty-five after the ballots are counted. You live here, you attend social functions and political events four to five times a week, stay on my arm and look pretty. Don’t talk unless my campaign manager has briefed you on exactly what you’re supposed to say. Plus,” I added, “you sleep in my bed.”