Their Secret: An MMF Secret Baby Romance

by Cassandra Dee

“I want to see and be seen. Dr. Channing, I’m a socialite, and as superficial as that is, I enjoy it. My identity is tied to my popularity, and I want it back.”

  I feel my eyes narrowing as she speaks, trying to make sense of her without having all the details. I’ve missed an important part of her story, so now I have to find a way to lead her to repeat her story.

  “Let’s start from the beginning, Kathy. Can I call you Kathy?”

  “That’s a whole new can of worms.” The blonde rolls her eyes, throwing a long tress over her shoulder.

  There’s so much about her that’s familiar somehow. Not in a way like I’ve fucked her before and forgotten, but more like I’ve seen her out or met her at a party. And, yes, I have had a session with a previous lover without knowing. How can a man keep track of every single person his cock penetrates?

  “What is it that’s hard for you to talk about?” I ask, a little confused by her.

  “Kathy is another life. It’s a person I was trying to be, but not who I truly am.” She shrugs like she doesn’t want to talk more about it, but that’s what this hour is all about, and if she paid my rate she must be quite serious about getting help.

  “And you don’t want to return to that part of your journey?” I ask, subtly reminding her that all versions of herself belong to the same person.

  Because it doesn’t matter how many cycles or transitions you go through, it’s all on the same journey, and trying to compartmentalize a personality can have negative effects on your psyche.

  “I just don’t want to live in the past. I know that’s behind me, and there’s nothing that can change it. I just want a fresh start and to become a new version of myself.

  The woman blossoms a little, as if the possibility of starting anew has revitalized her. It never ceases to amaze how many people think they can just wash their past away and become a new person. We’re not butterflies, and it takes a lot of hard work to make that transition.

  But step by step is my motto, and the patient is here for guidance.

  “What was so wrong with the past that you want to separate from it so severely?” I ask smoothly, making a few notes as she repositions her form on the couch, a clear sign of her growing discomfort. This topic must be difficult for her to discuss so I keep my eyes glued to my notes, hoping not to intimidate her further with eye contact.

  Sometimes, looking away can make my patients feel alone, and then they open up like no one is watching, or listening. This tactic seems to be working for Katherine, because she continues without any further prodding.

  “I fucked up. I know that. But I don’t need to be reminded of it every second, or forced to explain myself.”

  I continue jotting notes, listening intently. If I’m getting the right read on the woman, Katherine is hurt and ashamed. There’s more to the story that she hasn’t revealed yet, but my lips remained sealed, pushing her on without words.

  “I don’t want to face them, because I know they’ll want answers that don’t exist.

  Finally, my gaze turns towards hers, and to my surprise Katherine’s eyes are bloodshot with red as her lips press tightly together. She’s fighting the urge to cry. It strikes me that her issue must be more than just superficial if she’s this upset.

  “Maybe they’ll be more accepting than you imagine,” I suggest, but she begins shaking her head vigorously before I can complete the sentence.

  “No, absolutely not. There’s no way they would forgive me after all I’ve done.”

  “Katherine, I’m all for beating around the bush, but if you actually want my assistance, I’ll need to know the details.”

  Tired of playing this game with her, my voice is firm. It’s impossible for me to provide clinical help if we can’t even speak on topic. What’s been troubling this woman? Why is she talking in circles?

  “It’s too much,” she whispers, looking around aimlessly as her handles fiddle in her lap.

  “Sometimes obstacles seem bigger in our minds, due to the unrealistic expectations we’ve put on ourselves. If you work through it, you might learn it’s not as scary as you think.”

  Sitting silently, I watch her intently, curious to see if my encouragement has swayed her. As if sensing my attention, she uncrosses her legs, looking up at me only once her thighs are parted. Her gaze is both seductive and pathetic as the shame continues to cloud her eyes.

  “I don’t think this is one of those cases, Doc. This obstacle is as big as the world.” Her lips curl as she finishes the sentence, fighting a smile.

  “And you don’t think it would be best to face it head on?”

  Katherine stares back at me, lips parting just enough to let a sharp breath escape. She’s seconds from opening up, and strangely, I find myself a bit aroused.

  What is going on? Maybe it’s my heightened appetite, being in a relationship with two people. Or maybe it’s just the way she’s looking at me, helpless and needy, her legs apart and eyes filled with tears. Something about this is turning me on.

  “He’ll never forgive me,” I hear her mutter, unsure if she even meant for the words to make it to my ears.

  Burying her face in her hands, the woman shakes her head in dismay as a small sob fills the room. Whatever is bothering her is monumental. Initially, I thought she might be faking all this for a little attention, but this woman is genuinely struggling with something.

  “Who will never forgive you?” are my gentle words.

  “I told you about wanting to re-establish my presence on the social scene, and that’s really all I want. To be a socialite.” She completely ignores my question, returning to her previous train of thought.

  The woman’s all over the place, as most clients are, trying to work through the puzzles in their minds. It’s a lot of pressure knowing she looks to me for the answers, when I usually don’t have them. The truth is, the patient is really the only person who has the solutions deep inside.

  “What’s stopping you?” are my persuasive words.

  There’s a pause.

  “Him.”

  A man. Of course.

  “Who are you referring to? And how is he harming your social life?” I sit up, leaning forwards in my seat, ears on alert.

  “My husband.”

  “I see,” are my calm words. “And what has he done?”

  The woman takes a deep breath.

  “Well, he’s my ex-husband, technically. And honestly, I don’t know what he’s be up to since I’ve been gone. Maybe we’re married, maybe divorced. It’s all up to him, as usual,” Katherine says bitterly, but I can no longer hear a word she’s saying. My ears are buzzing as my vision grows fuzzy.

  Could this be?

  The blonde looked familiar when I first saw her, and something felt strange from the second we began the session. Something I couldn’t place before now. Everything is coming together in the worst way, because this woman sitting across from me is the end of my fairy tale.

  “When did you leave?” I ask, trying to keep my voice smooth.

  “Two years ago.” Katherine shoots me a look of shame mingled with pain. She bites her lip, looking deeply embarrassed.

  Oh shit, oh shit. Because it has to be. This has to be Gray’s ex-wife, the one who left him right after their wedding day. What are the chances that she’d end up here, in my office?

  And leaping to my feet, I stare at the woman fiercely.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t see you professionally,” is my low growl, eyes refusing to meet hers. “You’ll need to find another psychiatrist.”

  The woman gapes at me, puzzled.

  “Dr. Channing! What’s wrong? Have I said something that offends you? I didn’t mean to disrespect you in any way,” Katherine’s voice is trembling as she gets to her feet. I walk closer, intending to herd her out of my office before this goes any further.

  “I can’t see you professionally. I’m sorry. My receptionist has referrals at the front desk, please ask her for the list.”

  Katherine whi
rls around and her large tits bounce with the movement as she inches closer.

  “That’s it? You want to see me unprofessionally?” She switches from distraught to seductive so fast it makes me sick to my stomach.

  This woman is a psychopath for sure. But keeping my expression even, this time I look straight into those baby blues.

  “I’m sorry,” are my words for the third time. “We’re not a fit.”

  And finally, the woman cowers and slinks out of my office with a sly, sneaky backwards glance. I’m grateful. The last person I want to see is Gray’s estranged wife, back from her hiatus to Never-Never Land.

  Fuck.

  Because this could mean the end of us.

  Surely Kathy will go to Gray, it’s the natural thing to do. After all, she’s back in town. For what purpose? Her ex has to be on the list.

  And shit, this woman is Mona’s mom too! Shit shit shit.

  As I look helplessly around the office, panic rises in my chest. I take a deep breath, forcing the reaction down and try to think rationally. Should I call Gray to give him a heads up about Kathy’s return? Or just hope she doesn’t stop by Waverly Manor?

  Pacing the luxury carpet, my brain buzzes from thought to thought looking for answers, but this is one of the first times in my life where no answers are coming to mind. In fact, I need some professional assistance myself.

  Because how can things go from such a high to an unimaginable low in the blink of an eye? Everything was just perfect, but Kathy has ruined it … and there’s nothing I can do but wait for the shoe to drop.

  Chapter 11

  Mona

  “No, it’s fine. I want to walk,” I assure Elmer as he looks on from the side of the Lincoln town car.

  The chauffeur never likes it when I walk home, but on some days it’s necessary. The sun is still shining brightly into the late afternoon, and there’s a nice breeze, but not so much that you need a coat. After sitting cramped in the library for two hours, a little movement feels like a treat.

  But a block into my adventure, I turn to spot Elmer, as sweat begins to trickle down my sides. Maybe it’s hotter than I thought because I’m already out of breath. This is why exercise is necessary in the first place. It makes no sense for a teenager to be so out of shape.

  My lips curl, thinking of all the extracurricular exercise I’ve been getting. My thighs are still sore from when Mason held them apart, bending me over backwards. And then Gray leaned in, and … oh god! The memories make my frame shiver, going hot and then cold right there on the sidewalk.

  Shaking my head, I try to clear my mind but it’s impossible. My entire body goes crazy whenever I think of either of them, with their hard bodies and long cocks.

  But this is wrong. I can’t be dreaming of my therapist or my stepdad. This is wrong to the nth degree, every circle of Hell burning me up from the inside out.

  But it’s no use. I’ve tried everything to stop thinking of these men, but it’s hopeless. The thoughts flood my mind, and bury me in a sensual, slippery landslide of emotion, lust, and confusion.

  So what next? Nothing’s clear as my feet step slowly onto the grounds of Waverly, taking in the stately trees and manicured, emerald-green lawns.

  Watching the landscapers busy at work on the rosebushes, I glance around the extensive property. I’ve always known that Waverly and the accompanying luxuries could be taken from me in the blink of an eye. But now that things have changed and there’s a real relationship between me and Gray, I’m starting to feel that this is truly my home.

  Because it’s obvious that my stepdad is family-oriented. He cares about me. He cares about my well-being, and isn’t just some guy who wants to breeze in and out. I don’t think my mother’s disappearance could make him stray from those values. He’ll want to build a family, and I just hope he can see doing that with me.

  Oh, gosh. I’m being ridiculous again, playing out this Jerry Springer fairy tale as if I could ever live happily ever after with my stepdad. Because it’s impossible. Gray’s friends and family would be appalled, probably kick him out of clubs and maybe even his own business. It’s taboo, and to top it off, it’s not just a relationship with his step-daughter, but a threesome with our therapist.

  I wonder how the two of them feel about our situation. There’s only one way to find out, but I’m afraid to reveal my inner thoughts too soon. After all, the naïve one in our relationship is me, and I don’t want to be the annoying one, too. Begging for reassurance on a constant basis is a no-no, even if it’s sorely needed at the moment.

  My temperature rises the second I enter the mansion, as it has since my first steamy encounter with Gray and Mason. Being in the same vicinity as Gray is all my body needs to heat up, ready for more. My nipples grow hard as desire pulls between my legs, a longing leading me to Gray’s office.

  Usually, the billionaire’s not home, but ever since our sessions with Mason became more physical, he’s been working from Waverly more. Secretly, I think my stepfather wants to see more of me, but because he’s so damn alpha, he’d never say anything so sappy.

  With my shoulders pushed back, and chin held high, I tip toe down the hall, a bright smile spreading across my cheeks as my feet approach his dimly lit office.

  Oh, I can’t wait. My heart pumps hard, adrenaline surging through my limbs with happiness. I can’t wait to throw myself into his lap and bury my head against that strong chest, safe in his arms once again.

  But there’s a surprise.

  Red pointed stilettos rest on his oak wood desk, with thin, defined legs leading to a small waist and perky tits.

  “Ma… Mom?” It’s a shocked whisper, my mind trying to make sense of what’s happening. There’s no way this is really happening. It can’t be real.

  “Hi, Mone-Bone,” Kathy smiles, waving her hand as if she’s won a beauty contest. I’ve always hated that strange pet name she has for me, but now it’s the least of my worries.

  “What are you doing here?” are my horrified words.

  “I know you’ve got questions, but there’s no rush,” she speaks airily. “I’m back now, so let it go. Where’s your stepfather?”

  Her words hit me like bullets. The way she formally calls Gray my stepfather makes my stomach drop. Shame and insecurity swirl together in my stomach. It’s a nauseating blend of emotion that makes me want to run away.

  Could she know? There’s no possible way right? Yet the guilt eats me from inside as I watch Kathy carefully shift her stiletto-clad feet from his desk to the floor before pushing herself up.

  And as the woman sashays toward me, I feel about two feet tall. Her figure is still as trim and toned as it was the day she left, those teeth gleaming bright white behind her megawatt smile.

  “I see you’ve continued to ignore my advice about watching your figure.” My mother circles me like a hungry shark, looking me up and down as I suck in my belly and try to hide some of the rolls.

  There’s a long gap of silence, and I sit on edge, waiting for her to drop another insult or snarky comment, but instead the woman shocks me again.

  Surveying my form, the blonde takes a different tack.

  “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman, Mona. I always knew you would find your way,” she purrs, resting manicured fingertips on my shoulders while looking into my eyes.

  What in the world? Why is she saying these things? Because in all of my life, I can’t ever remember my mother complimenting me on anything – whether it be a dance recital or an outfit selection. Nothing ever was enough for her.

  “Thank you?” are my meek words, unsure of how to even respond.

  The woman smiles again, though it doesn’t go all the way to her eyes.

  “No, thank you for not being so upset with me. I was afraid to see you after all these years. I thought you might hate me.” She throws her hands in the air as her head falls back, laughing throatily. But it’s painful. The sound fills my ears like nails scraping a chalkboard.

  “Um, but
Mom,” are my slow words. “It’s been years since you left,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “Where have you been? Why are you back?”

  Of course, Kathy won’t give a straight reply.

  “That’s not important now. Just go on up to your room. I have a lot of explaining and making up to do with your stepfather.” She scrunches her nose deviously and playfully pushes me towards the door, but nothing about this situation is funny.

  The nausea grows stronger and I grip my belly, painfully aware of the difference between my mother’s figure and my own. She’s svelte and beautiful as always, whereas I’m basically a short, fat mushroom. But I can’t let her know that anything is wrong, and I’d rather melt into the luxurious carpet than let my mother find out about me and Gray.

  Because why is my mom back? Does she need money? Hopefully, Gray will just pay her off and she can go back to wherever, be it Siberia or Brooklyn.

  But what if she plans on sticking around? That would be catastrophic. For everyone, but especially for me.

  At least, I hope Gray won’t go for that, because the reality is my mother is gorgeous, skinny, and worst of all, persuasive. Kathy’s never been book smart, but she’s street smart in a devious way. Plus, my mom is the ultimate trophy wife, and if that is what Gray wants, then this is the right woman. With her on his arm, other men will drool, giving their eyeteeth to be seen with the blonde.

  But Gray doesn’t want that, right? He wants something real and profound, deep and moving.

  But I can’t count on it because once Kathy gets her claws into him, who knows how he’ll respond. Me and Mason might both be thrown by the wayside, discarded like trash. The thought makes me want to vomit because losing either of them is unthinkable, as wrong as it is. I love these men, and no matter how guilty or dirty I feel for wanting a happily ever after with Mason and Gray, the heart wants what it wants.

  My phone vibrates, bringing me back to reality.

  “Hey,” I answer, trying to sound calm.

  “Mona! What’s up?” Lydia chirps into the phone.

  What is there to say? Everything and nothing all at once. I go with the easy.