His Amazing Baby_A Miracle Baby Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  “There’s nobody around for miles.”

  He grunts, shaking his head. “This isn’t a game, Amelia.”

  “I know that.” I pull away from him and turn my back to him. Anger pulses through me. “I’m not your prisoner anymore.”

  “I know,” he says, his tone softening. “But you agreed that you’d stay on my property.”

  “I did. I didn’t leave it.”

  He sighs, and steps up behind me. He grabs my hips and pulls me against him from behind. “Don’t make this harder for us.”

  “I’m not making anything hard.” I whirl around and face him. “You’re being controlling.”

  “I’m trying to look out for your best interest.”

  “Are you?” I push him, fists balled. “Or are you trying to lock me up again?”

  Suddenly, he grabs my wrists and pulls me against him. He kisses me hard, crushing my mouth with his. I struggle for a second then melt into his kiss, moaning into his mouth. He groans and tears my shirt off.

  It happens so fast. One second I’m so angry with him, so incredibly angry, and the next he’s teasing my nipples with his teeth and his tongue. He’s rough and firm with me, like he’s punishing me. But it feels good, so damn good, and I don’t want to fight him off.

  He licks my nipple and presses a hand down the front of my jeans. He roughly finds my clit and teases it for a second as he kisses my neck. I wrap my arms around him as he presses two fingers deep inside of me, sliding his fingers out and pumping them back inside.

  I moan as he stifles my mouth with another kiss. I reach down and fumble with his belt, desperate to feel his cock.

  But he pushes me away. “No,” he says. “You’re doing what I say.”

  “Noah,” I gasp.

  “You want to be free? You’re a fucking liar. You want me to tie you up, hold you down, and fuck you. You want me to bind you and fill your tight cunt with my fat cock. You’re a filthy fucking slut for me, Amelia, and I’m tired of you pretending like you want to get away.”

  I stare at him, shocked, but I don’t fight as he takes my hair and shoves his hand back down my jeans. He finds my pussy and shoves his finger deep inside of me, holding onto my hair. I gasp and moan as he fucks me with his fingers.

  I can’t believe he talked to me like that. He knows how I feel, but now he’s treating me like his little toy, free to do whatever he wants with me.

  And he’s right. He’s absolutely right. I like it, I love it, I want it. I need him to keep pushing me, pressing me further and further, making me wetter and wetter. I want him to hear my moans, to slap my ass, choke me, pull my hair, make me his dirty girl. I want him to use me, make me filthy. God, it’s so incredible when he touches my body, firm and rough.

  He practically drags me back toward the tree line then pins me up against a large oak. He grabs my wrists and pins them up above my head with one hand as he tugs my jeans down over my hips with the other.

  “That’s right, you filthy girl,” he whispers. “Don’t struggle. We both know what you want.”

  “Noah,” I groan. “You asshole. Fuck you.”

  He grins. “Good. Go ahead. Talk with that filthy fucking mouth. You’ll have it full of cock soon enough.”

  “Asshole,” I moan as he drops to his knees. He tugs my pants down then shoves his mouth between my legs and starts licking my pussy, lapping it up. I drop my hands down from the tree and grab hard onto his hair.

  He grunts but keeps going, his hands firm on my ass as his tongue works my clit and pussy. He shoves it inside of me, rolling and rolling and licking before going back to sucking my clit.

  Pleasure rocks through me, pleasure and need. He’s being rough and fast, not trying to take his time, not trying at all. He’s just taking me, making me his, and I like it. I love that there’s always a dark edge to him, always a dirty and rough undertone to everything he does with me.

  After a few minutes, pleasure mounting and building, he pulls back. I move to kiss him but he pins me back on the tree. He smirks as he slowly unbuckles his belt then drops his pants and underwear, showing off his thick, hard cock.

  “Go ahead,” he says. “Suck that cock, Amelia. I want to see you suck it. You think you deserve to be free? Get on your knees and prove it.”

  I can’t help myself. I do exactly as he commands.

  I take his thick cock in my mouth as far as I can before sliding up and down along his shaft. I take him in both hands as I suck his tip, working him fast. I’m like a starving woman possessed, not caring if I’m being sloppy. I let my spit slide down his shaft as I suck him fast and hard, working him, savoring his taste, loving his moans.

  He grunts deep as I let him slide into my throat. I gag and I can feel tears in my eyes, but that only makes my pussy wetter. I slide back and suck him faster, jerking with my hands, working that big fucking cock.

  He groans and pulls me back, tearing me to my feet. He grabs my wrists and turns my arms behind my back, spinning me around, pushing me against the tree. I can feel the rough bark against my chest and my face, scratching my sensitive nipples, but he doesn’t care.

  His thick cock thrusts deep inside of me with a single push and I gasp, arching my back as pleasure and pain overwhelm me.

  “That’s right,” he grunts. “You’re soaking fucking wet, Amelia. Have you been wondering when I’d fuck your tight pussy again?”

  He thrusts deep inside of me, holding onto my wrists, pinning me there. I can’t move even if I wanted to. The tree scratches against me as he fucks my tight pussy, stretching me out, taking me deep into my walls. I can’t help but moan his name, losing my mind as pleasure overwhelms the pain and I’m lost in his sex.

  He rocks in and out, sliding faster and faster, fucking me rough. I feel like he can break me if he wants, and part of me wants him to. I need him to destroy me, take me exactly the way he wants it.

  He releases one wrist and grabs my throat, pulling me back toward him. I moan as his lips find my ear. “I’m going to come in this tight pussy,” he whispers. “I’m going to fuck you and make you scream my name before filling your tight cunt up with my hot cum. Is that what you want, Amelia? My little fucking pet?”

  “Yes,” I gasp through his thrusts. I start to buck my ass back against him, working him harder, riding his hard cock. “Make me scream, Noah. Fuck my little pussy. Slap my ass. Make me your dirty slut. I know I’m your dirty slut.”

  He groans and releases my throat before slapping my ass hard, spanking my perfect skin. I groan and reach back to grab his hip but he pushes my hand away, slapping my ass hard and pressing me against the tree.

  I’m pinned and controlled as he reams into me, riding my ass, fucking me deep. I’ve never felt so completely dominated before in my entirely life, and that thought makes something stir deep inside of me.

  The orgasm starts slow up through my core. I’m dominated, destroyed, completely taken. I’m nothing compared to Noah and he can break me so fucking easily with his big, thick cock.

  I come hard, head tipped back, moaning his name. He grunts and keeps fucking me, rutting me, thrusting as hard as he can. He pushes me over the edge and forces me to keep going, further and further into my orgasm. My mind feels blank and new and light as pleasure rebuilds me completely.

  And as it slowly ends, he comes inside of me. I can feel his hot cum deep inside of my pussy as he shoots himself into me. He groans, grunting my name, and that pushes me to a level I never knew existed.

  Slowly, we come down together. Our orgasms end and I realize that I’m sweating, panting, half-dressed in the moonlight. We collapse onto the dirt together and he cradles me in his arms.

  “Fuck, girl,” he says softly, chuckling. “That was amazing.”

  “Noah,” I say, nuzzling his chest. “I’m sorry. I won’t worry you again.”

  “If you keep fucking like that, you can worry me all you want.”

  I grin and kiss his lips then let him wrap his arms around me, hugging me tig
ht.

  I’m stir crazy. I’m bored. Sometimes I’m alone for too long. But I’m never lonely, not with Noah around. He makes me feel things I never imagined I’d like. He knows what I want, even when I don’t know it.

  I need to trust him. In the end, he’s trying to do what’s best for us. I’m stir crazy and don’t know how long I’ll last, but I’ll try. At least I’ll try for him.

  23

  Noah

  The moon is full in the sky as I make myself more comfortable on the hard concrete roof. It’s cool but comfortable outside, and the full moonlight makes it easy to see as a man wearing a heavy black coat walks up to the warehouse door, knocks, and then is let inside.

  He’s one of maybe twenty or thirty men each night. Despite the police activity in the area, the whorehouse hasn’t slowed down. Not one tiny bit.

  In fact, since this all started, I noticed a slight uptick in customers.

  That’s strange for a niche thing like this place. Unless it’s not niche at all. Unless it’s actually a huge operation.

  But I would have heard of it before if that were the case. I had my ear to the ground in this city, and anything illegal going down eventually came to my attention. I couldn’t imagine a situation in which this whorehouse avoided my gaze, especially considering they had little girls in there.

  As I watch, though, it becomes clear to me, at least partially, why I haven’t heard about it yet.

  The clientele isn’t your usual whorehouse losers. They’re not poor working class boys from the south of the city. They’re not dockworkers, HVAC guys, landscapers, or fast food managers.

  They’re rich. Or at least some of them are rich. Most of them are at least office workers with solid jobs and solid salaries, at least based on what they’re wearing. Sheer was a divorce lawyer, of all things, and he did pretty well for himself in a little private practice he had set up. That was probably how he found out about the place, and probably how he could afford it.

  I bet he thought the whorehouse was a godsend for him. He probably had no way of getting his jollies except by actually raping little girls, so he figured raping one in a whorehouse would be better.

  Scumbag. I’m glad that fucker is dead.

  But there are a lot more fuckers where he came from. I write down the man’s description in the big coat as best I can before he disappears into the warehouse. I fall back and glance through the notebook of descriptions, trying to see if I’ve noticed him before.

  I haven’t been able to identify anyone, at least not yet. The richest men show up in chauffeured cars, and I’ll be able to track down their license plates eventually. Most men show up on foot, which suggests that they’re either taking public transit or they park far away and then walk over. I’m betting the whorehouse has some kind of rules about how they approach and what they wear, because most of them have on hats or scarves or something to obscure their identity.

  It’s a well-oiled machine, this place. They come, they fuck, they come again, and then they leave. Most guys only stay in there for an hour or two at most before getting hustled back onto the street. I never see who’s inside or what goes on in there, and I haven’t tried to yet. I know I will soon, but I want to gather as much information as possible.

  One big thing is keeping me away, or at least forcing me to be careful. The fact that the cops are staying away despite working barely down the street and the clientele seems to be rich suggests that this place is connected. Seriously connected. Maybe even bribing the cops to leave them alone, since the place hasn’t so much as missed a single day since the police started their investigation.

  All of that means I need to be very cautious. I can’t start killing a bunch of rich, powerful men without some kind of plan in place. That would draw far too much attention to myself. So far I’ve gotten by with murdering the scum of the earth, the poorest, dirtiest, most disgusting fucks out there. But I know that the rich can be just as bad, they just hide their crimes behind their big bank accounts and their fancy lives. They deserve death as much as any poor asshole does, and maybe even more, since they have the resources to be horrible on a large scale.

  In all my time watching, there is one thing that stands out to me. There is one person that keeps coming and going, every single day like clock work, early in the morning until late at night.

  At first, I thought it was just a regular customer. But he didn’t leave in an hour or two like the others did. It also took me a few days to realize that it wasn’t a man at all.

  It was a woman. A tall woman dressed in masculine clothes, but definitely a woman.

  I call her the Madame in my mind. I can’t be sure if she’s the one running the show, but I suspect she is. She’s dressed too well and keeps regular hours. She almost comes and goes like a normal salary person working in an office, although she works late hours. I haven’t been able to identify any other workers, but I’m sure they have plenty of muscle living inside of that place.

  I stay up late under the full moon, waiting. Tonight I’m going to make a move, do something to further this mission. I can’t keep waiting around, doing nothing. I can’t get into the building, but there is one easy thing I can do

  Tonight, I’m following the Madame.

  She comes out around one in the morning, just like I thought she would. The man in the big coat hasn’t surfaced yet, but he’s not important. The Madame comes out of a side door wearing a gray trench coat, running sneakers, and a wool hat pulled down low. Her hair is either cut short or bundled up on her head; I can never tell. Either way, I hurry over to a rope that I have set up on the side of the building and quickly slide down it.

  I have to hurry. The Madame always walks the same way every night, but I always lose her as she rounds the next block. I hit the ground and start jogging to catch up, which I know is dangerous this late at night, but I can’t risk losing her. I’ve wasted so much time already.

  Luckily I spot her up ahead just as she turns a corner. The streets are otherwise empty and I can’t risk catching up with her just yet. I quickly walk to the corner and round it. She’s up ahead, walking at a normal clip toward center city. I follow, staying far back, not taking any risks.

  She walks a well-rehearsed path, I can tell. There’s no attempt at throwing off anybody that’s following her, which surprises me. I figured someone like her would at least assume that people might want to come after her some day, but no, apparently not. Maybe her connections are just that damn good.

  I have a strange feeling in my gut as I follow. I can’t tell if it’s caution or what, but I’m worried about this. She’s simply walking into center city, not deviating from her straightforward path. I would have guessed that she’d grab a cab or get on a bus at some point, but apparently she’s just walking.

  Fifteen minutes go by like this. We walk and we walk, and I stay far back until we get deeper into the city. More people are around, so I can risk getting nearer. She never looks back or changes her brisk speed, she just keeps going.

  We get into the heart of center city and she finally pauses at an intersection, although the light is green. I hang back, curious. Suddenly she darts across the street and goes down a set of subway stairs.

  I have to almost run to catch up. She disappears into the subway and by the time I can follow, she’s nowhere in sight. I trot down the steps but I don’t risk going all the way in. If she spots me, I could really fuck myself.

  I force myself to back off. I stand up at the subway entrance for almost a half hour, waiting to see if she comes back out, but no. Apparently she went down there and got on a train. She could be anywhere in the city by now.

  I head back to my car, trying to wrap my head over what just happened.

  She didn’t make me. I’m sure of that. She never actually saw me. But at the end there, she suddenly acted like she was being followed after all. The whole walk she seemed perfectly normal and content, right up until she darted down into that subway. I couldn’t understand it at all, an
d that made me even more uneasy.

  Regardless of what happened at the end, I did learn something very, very important.

  That walk felt rehearsed. She wasn’t looking around or checking street signs. She knew where she was going because she’s done that walk a hundred times before.

  That’s her route. I’d bet anything on it. She walks that way every time she goes home from that whorehouse. I need to follow her a couple more times to confirm, but I’m fairly positive already.

  That’s her route. And it’s her weakness.

  I don’t need to get inside the building. Because she’s going to come to me.

  24

  Amelia

  Days passed since that moment in the field with Noah. He spends more time away from home lately, and comes back very late at night.

  I’m bored. I hate to admit it, but it’s the truth. Nothing has changed, not really, and I’m still stuck wandering around his property searching for something to do. I know that this is what’s best for me, that I’m still just as stuck as I was before all this happened.

  I’m trying to be patient. I really am. It would help a lot if he didn’t disappear all the time, leaving me all alone. I want more training, want him to teach me, but he keeps putting me off. He says he will, he promises up and down that he will, but days pass and nothing happens.

  I understand that he’s busy. I can see it on his face when he comes home late at night, stressed and trying to process what he saw out there. I don’t ask him questions, because I don’t want to stress him more, but I know I have to start pushing. Otherwise, he’s going to just leave me out.

  It’s a balancing act, this thing what we’re doing, but he’s not good at it. He’s single-minded and intense when it comes to his work, and I can tell that this hunt is consuming him. I don’t know how or why, but I can tell that something is bothering him and something might be wrong. It could have to do with me, but I have no clue.