Make Me a Mommy: A Mother's Day Secret Baby Romance

by Liz K. Lorde

  I moan louder than ever.

  Is this what I’ve been missing?

  I’ll have to kick myself for holding out later though. Right now, I can barely think straight.

  He finds his way to my clit, licking me as if he can’t get enough of my taste.

  The world could stop turning, and I sure as hell wouldn’t notice. The only thing I know about, the only thing I care about, is his fucking tongue. His tongue and all the many things that it could do to a body like mine.

  He increases his speed, continuing to rub against my clit as his fingers find their way inside of me.

  It’s literally all I can take.

  As soon as he begins to move his fingers in time with his tongue, I lose it.

  The intensity of it is almost too much.

  I scream. Loud.

  For what feels like a very long time, I’m completely consumed by my orgasm.

  I scream, I shake, I claw at the table and thrust myself back against him.

  I never knew that anything could feel so good. I come so hard I swear I see stars.

  When I’m finished, I slowly push myself to a standing position, turning to face him. He stands as well, smile stretching across his face.

  All I can think is that I want him. All of him.

  Right. Fucking. Now.

  Before I can reach for his belt, his hands are already there, unfastening the buckle in what seems like slow motion. Next, they find the zipper. My heart is beating uncontrollably.

  I don’t think I can wait so much as another second.

  When, finally, he frees his cock, I gasp.

  He is un-fucking-believable. Bigger than I thought was possible.

  His cock may seriously be the most amazing thing I have ever seen.

  And I’ve been to fashion week.

  At some point, my jaw has apparently come unhinged because my mouth is hanging wide open. When I manage to draw my eyes away from his dick, I see him looking at me with what appears to be concern in his eyes. I realize that it’s an unspoken question.

  Can you?

  I smile widely in response.

  FUCK YES, I can.

  Michael

  The smile on her face is dazzling. Doubly so because she’s smiling like this while eyeing my cock, which is standing proudly in all its rock-hard glory. It throbs in response as I step out of my jeans toward her.

  I’ve tasted her sweet pussy, and now it’s time for her to taste me—if she can fit it, that is.

  She certainly seems up to the task, if the look on her face is any indication.

  “Come on, Doctor. Can’t leave you hanging, can we now?”

  She smirks at me.

  Normally, I’d find it infuriating, but right now I’ve got a one-track mind.

  My cock, your mouth.

  She runs one hand down my abs, while the other one skirts up my left thigh. Her nails drag ever so lightly. I can tell she’s doing her best to turn me on and fuck if it ain’t working.

  The anticipation is driving me fucking insane.

  Standing on her tippy toes, she grabs the back of my head and pulls my mouth to hers. Our tongues tangle with an unbridled passion and a sense of urgency.

  I swear it’s the best kiss I’ve ever fucking had in my life.

  Her full lips capture mine, and she nibbles my lower lip before giving me her best ‘Come hither’ look.

  “Mmm…” I groan in desire as her hand dips south.

  I’m keeping my eyes on her mouth. All I know is I want those lips around my cock.

  And I want to watch her take it all in.

  She takes my dick in her hand, slowly stroking the base.

  The movements are a little unsure at first, but they grow steady. I wrap my hand around hers to show her just how I like it. She catches on quick.

  Smart little thing, you are.

  The sensation of her soft hands is maddening. I buck my hips to urge her on and grab a tit for good measure, pinching the already hard nipple between my thumb and forefinger.

  “Ahh!”

  The sound that comes out of her mouth is fucking music to my ears and to my cock. It pulses as she cries out. She may be prissy as fuck when she’s talking, but her moans are sensuality personified.

  She cups my balls, rolling them in her other hand.

  My eyes drift shut with pleasure, but I force them open. I don’t want to miss a moment of this. Combined with the sensation of her stroking me, I’m about to lose all sense of fucking reason.

  Far from being deterred, she slowly lowers herself to her knees. My eyes follow her down. Her eyes are glimmering, a hint of mischief and wonder in them as she comes face-to-face with the monster.

  “Hello big boy,” she purrs.

  And then, she fucking licks it.

  Fuck. So good.

  Most women size it up and strategically plan how to get it in their mouth, miserably failing ninety-nine percent of the time. Stella takes a completely different approach.

  Her hot tongue swirls around the head slowly as if she’s measuring the width. Then, she slowly stretches her lips around the tip.

  “That’s it, sweetheart,” I moan, my voice husky with need. “Keep going.”

  “Mmm,” she hums.

  God, I want this so fucking bad.

  I resist the ever-increasing temptation to shove it in, letting her move at her own pace.

  It’s agonizing but in a good way.

  Her tongue keeps working, lubing my dick so she can take it in easier.

  And take it in she does. Her mouth moves slowly down my shaft, taking each inch in.

  Color me fucking impressed. Looks like I finally found a good use for her big mouth after all.

  She’s slowly bobbing her head back and forth, picking up the pace as she goes.

  Before I know it, she’s got my entire fucking cock in her mouth.

  Then, she’s going to town like I’m a Tootsie Roll pop, and she wants the surprise in the middle.

  I can’t take it anymore. I’m at my fucking limit. It’s been so long since I’ve had a decent blowjob that I’m ready to burst—like a fucking dam.

  I thread both hands through her silky hair and start fucking her face, taking care not go overboard. She looks up at me, and I swear I can see the hint of a smile. Her eyes are filled with tears—the good kind—and longing.

  She’s ready, daring me to cum in her mouth.

  Ask and ye shall receive.

  I increase the pace and grab a fistful of hair. My dick is hitting the back of her throat, but she never gags. Not even once.

  With one final thrust, I cum and my entire body shudders with the pleasure.

  Holy fuck.

  “Fuck yes, Stella!” I throw my head back and groan.

  Sweet fucking release.

  I hold her head in place, and her eyes widen with the sudden impact of my hot semen pouring into her mouth. The shock only lasts a moment.

  Then, she’s sucking it all down, eyes closed as if she’s savoring the taste while swallowing each strand as it steadily pumps out.

  I’m fucking enthralled.

  When I’m finally done, I pull out of her mouth slowly.

  I’m panting, and my cock is still twitching from the burst of pleasure.

  She grabs my coat off the floor and tosses it over her shoulder before sauntering over to the table and grabbing a spear of broccoli. She tosses it in her mouth and uses the napkin to wipe the edges of her lips.

  Just like that, she brushes past me with nothing more than a look and a smirk over her shoulder.

  “Thanks for the meal, Doctor.”

  After a performance like that…she’s fucking welcome.

  Stella

  I can’t sleep.

  I lay in the guest room, tossing and turning, my mind racing. I replay my last encounter with Michael over and over, reveling in every memory.

  I’m naked still, which is apparently my new thing. The brush of the sheets on my bare skin reminds me of his
hands. The way they roamed across me, explored me…the way his tongue felt inside of me.

  I growl in frustration.

  Why does such an amazing body have to come attached to such an asshat? Or vice versa? Whatever—the point being, he’s a dick.

  A dick with a huge, amazing dick. Try sorting that one out.

  I can’t stop thinking about his cock. The way it felt in my hand and, better yet, the way it felt sliding between my lips.

  How it throbbed, how badly I wanted it inside of me. It’s like a twisted version of counting sheep.

  One, two, three throbbing dicks…

  Only, it definitely isn’t helping me sleep.

  I roll to my side for what seems like the hundredth time, visions of cocks still dancing around my head. I lick my lips, trying to see if I can still taste him there.

  Finally, I give up, throwing the comforter aside to stand.

  I pace the length of the room, plush carpet muffling my steps.

  What on earth am I going to do about this man?

  He’s a bossy, controlling ass. I can barely stand talking to him—he’s that infuriating.

  Earlier though, I didn’t mind being controlled. It’s a fact that’s still surprising to me. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the feeling of being shoved onto that table, of being spanked?

  Pure ecstasy. I feel myself getting wet again at the memory.

  I guess you learn something new every day.

  It’s cold outside of the bed. My nipples stand completely erect. Goosebumps begin to spring up across my bare skin.

  I fantasize about the day that I can finally go home. I fantasize about finding his room and crawling into bed with him. I have absolutely no idea which holds more appeal.

  I decide to get back into bed instead, pulling the blankets up to my chin.

  Four, five, six throbbing dicks…

  Nope. Still not helping.

  I don’t know how long I lay there, awake, thinking of cocks. Fantasizing that my door will open, and he’ll be there, ready for more.

  Eventually, I suppose I fall asleep because the next time I open my eyes, light is shining through the curtains, and someone’s knocking on my door.

  “Yes?” I ask, hesitant and excited.

  I can no longer feel just one emotion at a time apparently.

  “Can I come in?” he asks.

  “It’s open.”

  I don’t get up to greet him.

  He comes in wearing nothing but boxers.

  I swear the guy’s trying to kill me. The rays of light coming through the window seem to gravitate toward him, highlighting every muscle, accentuating his already golden complexion.

  Great. Now I’m back to picturing him as a god.

  I need help.

  “So,” he says, “I was thinking, if you’re gonna be here for a while, we need to get you some clothes.”

  “Clothes?”

  I nearly jump out of the bed, instantly feeling bad for some of the things I thought last night. Maybe he really is a nice guy—the best in fact.

  “Yeah. I’m getting pretty fucking sick of sharing mine.”

  Or not.

  Still, though.

  CLOTHES!

  I practically skip over to him, tits bouncing, hair flying. I haven’t been so excited since…well, yesterday, but still. I’m really excited.

  “Okay, okay,” he says, like he’s talking to a child. “Calm down.”

  Normally, I’d never let a man tell me to calm down, but I did just skip.

  “Sorry.”

  I’m not.

  “Well, you’ll probably wanna take a shower first,” he says with a grin, “and then we’ll figure out something for you to wear while shopping.”

  “Absolutely. Shower, then shopping. Got it.”

  “Then, I’ll leave you to it.”

  He looks me up and down once more before leaving, a twinkle in his eyes and mischief on his lips.

  After he leaves, I run to the bathroom. No more men’s shirts, no more tie belts.

  I’m going shopping!

  I step under the hot water, mentally making a list of everything I want to buy—well, trying to anyway. To be honest, the image of him in his boxers has kind of distracted me. I’m fighting a losing battle, trying to think clothes when really, I’m back to picturing his cock.

  Enough is enough.

  I’m standing there, lathered hair, soapy skin, and frankly, I’m wet in more ways than one, when it finally dawns on me.

  I can’t fight this.

  I really don’t want to fight this.

  It doesn’t even matter anymore that he’s an asshole. I don’t care how he talks to me or how arrogant he is.

  I absolutely need to fuck this man.

  I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to think straight again if I don’t. Obviously, I can’t spend the rest of my life dreaming about his cock.

  I set out that night in Russia fully intending to lose my v-card.

  Well, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

  I rinse off, completely certain what my next move is.

  I’m going to fuck Michael.

  Michael

  I’ve taken her to Sunset, a high-end fashion outlet about an hour from my house. Here, you can find all the top haute couture brands.

  It’s the right choice, if the excitement on her face is any indication. She’s glowing like a kid on Christmas Eve, waiting for Santa to squeeze his fat, jolly ass down the chimney. Instead of presents though, she’s got her eyes on my fucking credit card.

  Doesn’t matter. No matter how much she spends, it won’t even put a fucking crease in my bank account. I’ll just make more.

  That’s what I do.

  She’s bouncing around, and my eyes keep drifting to her perky tits. She couldn’t very well wear my doctor’s coat to the mall, without drawing some curious stares. Especially not here in snob central.

  She’d end up getting blacklisted for her poor fashion sense.

  Instead, she’s donning one of my blue Battistoni dress shirts. It’s tied together like a dress with a brown leather belt looped around her tiny waist, twice. The poor fucking shirt.

  Not that I mind lending women my shirts after a night of passion, but let’s be real. This is the first time one has ever become a fucking dress.

  It’s kind of hot. No, strike that. It’s very hot.

  She’s got the top three buttons undone, giving me a clear view. Couple that with its short length that stops mid-fucking-thigh, and it’s stirring desire deep within me. Almost makes me want to drag her into a changing room and make her mine.

  After last night, and the way she sucked my cock dry, it’s only a matter of time. I ain’t looking a gift horse in the mouth. It fits, so she stays.

  “Givenchy, Versace, Chanel! Helloooo my babies!”

  Her voice is shrill as she grabs the racks and spins them. So much for not drawing curious stares. I look in her direction, and she’s got the fabric of a sexy black dress in her hands, rubbing it on her face.

  “Hey, cut it out,” I snarl in a whisper. “Be normal, for fuck’s sake. They’re only clothes.”

  “Normal? I am being normal! What’s wrong with admiring a one-of-a-kind dress?”

  Her stare is challenging. I can tell she’s just itching for a fight.

  “Right, that’s why everyone’s staring at you right now.”

  “So tell them to get out!”

  “Get out? It’s a fucking public shop!”

  “And? They’re throwing off the damn vibe.”

  The vibe? What the fuck is this chick on about?

  I’m temporarily stunned into silence.

  That doesn’t happen often. But it’s not often that I encounter Cinde-fucking-rella either. Instead of her glass slipper, she’s lost her fucking mind.

  “I can’t possibly shop with all these people around. I need concentration. I need to be one with the clothes.”

  “You need a fucking psychi
atrist is what you need.”

  At this point I’m done. I’m ready to walk out the fucking store and leave her there.

  “Aren’t you a doctor?”

  She smirks and jabs me in the chest.

  “I’m a fucking surgeon.”

  Christ, this is becoming a mega fucking headache. This is what I get for being nice.

  I stalk over the register and ask for a manager.

  Fuck this. She wants the store shut down? I’ll get it shut down.

  “How much would it cost to have the store shut down for a few hours so we can have it to ourselves?”

  “Well, it’s not impossible, but we typically require advance notice,” the manager states matter-of-factly.

  “Do you know who I am?” Stella comes walking over with that sashaying walk and entitled tone of voice.

  “Take the silver spoon out of your goddamned mouth for once, Stella. I got this.”

  The manager’s mouth drops open. “Stella Hensley?”

  Apparently she really is something of a popular model. Who knew?

  Just like that, we work out the details, and I pay out the ass to get the store closed down for her.

  “You have two hours, Miss Hensley. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to let us know.”

  Like she fucking would. She’s already trying to lead me around by the nose. I’m not fucking having it.

  “Great, shop. I’ll be back later.”

  I head to the entrance.

  “Wait, you’re leaving?!”

  “You wanted everyone else out, right? That includes me. Wouldn’t want to interfere with the vibe.”

  “Wait!”

  She grabs my arm.

  “You can’t leave. Who’s going to tell me how fucking amazing the clothes look on me?”

  “Apparently, you’ve forgotten what a mirror is. Look into one and repeat after me: I look fucking amazing. See? Done.”

  “No. No way. You’re sticking here with me. It’s your fault that I’m in this fucking situation to begin with. Or, have you already forgotten about that, Dr. Pervert?”

  Fine, I relent. I’ll stay, but I won’t enjoy it.

  She takes a few dresses into the dressing room and parades them one by one in front of me. In any other situation, I’d be more than happy to give my lady heaps of compliments. Shower them in affection.

  Today, though? Fuck that. She’s not getting one fucking compliment out of me.