His Baby to Keep: A Forbidden Romance

by Katie Ford

  I groaned. Shit.

  “Honey, Jim and Trish didn’t really invite me, they invited you, you’re their daughter. I’m just someone they felt they had to invite because you work for me, so it’s no big deal if I don’t go.”

  But Mandy shook her head stubbornly.

  “No, it’s not a pity invitation, Peter,” she said firmly. “Jim and Trish aren’t like that, my parents are really nice people and genuinely want you to come. You’ve known each other how many years now? Ten? Fifteen?”

  And my shoulders slumped. That was true, her folks were open-hearted, kind and caring, and I had known them a long time. I’d look like a hermit if I didn’t go, the neighborhood weirdo if I hung out at home by myself on Christmas Eve instead of spreading the cheer. So letting out a huge exhale, I gave in.

  “Okay,” I growled, “but we’re not staying longer than two hours max. No way can we leave Violet that long.”

  And the brunette blew a kiss my way.

  “I knew you’d do the right thing,” she purred, “and trust me, I’ll have a special present for you when we get back.”

  My dick jerked at that, even the thought of seeing and feeling her body again making my pulse jump. Shit, I was in Mandy all the time already, over and over again, touching, taking, tasting, the girl was a drug that I couldn’t get enough of, one that made me growl, jerk, and spurt like a helpless man. What the fuck had happened to me? I was the alpha who was always in control, the dude in the driver’s seat. What the fuck had happened?

  But the thing is it felt oddly right. It felt right to be with Mandy, to make an appearance at her parents’ house for Christmas brunch like a real date, to show that I honored and loved their daughter. Shit, it was almost like the Smiths were my in-laws, people I had to make nice with. But it made Mandy happy, and that was that. It made her smile that special smile, glowing with a light within, so yeah, I was going to do it because I loved seeing her happy, I’d do anything for the beautiful brunette.

  So I groaned once more into the silent office. Because yeah, Pete Parker was whipped, completely whipped, like a puppy begging for food from its master and in this case my master was Mandy. Sitting up straight once more, I prepped myself, giving myself a mental talking-to. The food at the brunch would be good, yeah, but how the fuck was I going to look into Jim and Trish’s beaming, middle-aged faces? How was I gonna survive, acting nice when actually I was boning their sweet little daughter, giving her my dick to taste every couple hours, never letting up? How would they feel if they knew the truth, which was that I never wanted to let Mandy go, college be damned? Holy fuck, but this was gonna be the most awkward, the most painful brunch I’d ever been to.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Mandy

  When the door opened at my parents’ place, I was surprised to see Uncle Tom standing there.

  “Hiya big girl,” he said leaning forward to kiss me on my cheek. Oh gross, I hated when random male relatives did that. It wasn’t so bad with the women, but some of my older male relatives were really decrepit and aged, an indescribable odor coming off them. What was it? The medicine they took? What they had for breakfast? All I knew was that it smelled bad, like rotting garbage.

  And unfortunately, Uncle Tom was one of the worst. Not only was he gross all around, but he had creeper tendencies too, and right here on my parents’ porch, he touched me

  “Hey hey hey, big girl,” he chuckled again, grabbing my ass. “Getting bigger every year, huh?”

  I was about to snap at him but at that very moment, Pete materialized next to me, his huge form ominous, menacing, strong arms filled with glittery presents.

  “What the fuck,” he grunted. “Did this old dude just touch you?” he asked with disbelief, that masculine body hard, tense with repressed energy.

  So I tried to make nice. I didn’t want to cause a scene on Christmas Eve before we’d even gone in, so I pasted a smile at my face, looking brightly at both men.

  “Oh Mr. Parker, this is my Uncle Tom, Uncle Tom, Mr. Parker,” I rushed quickly. “And it was nothing,” I apologized. “Uncle Tom says hi like that to everyone.”

  Pete wasn’t convinced at all, he looked like he was ready to toss the gifts on the ground and snap Uncle Tom in two over his knee, but my relative is probably sixty or so and no match for an alpha male in his prime. So the elderly guy literally shrunk in on himself, losing about two inches in height so that he was a cowering, frail old man once more.

  “Oh no no!” he babbled. “Mandy’s so pretty, I’m just saying hi because she’s pretty,” he rushed. “Gotta go in now, check on the turkey!” and he slipped off, scurrying away.

  I let out a big breath, relieved, but Pete turned on me, brows lowered.

  “I thought you said it was just your parents and us,” he muttered. “Who the fuck was that?”

  I shrugged helplessly.

  “That’s what I thought too, but guess not. Guess the whole Smith clan is in attendance,” I sighed. “You’re in for a treat,” I added wryly, because as we stepped into the house, a blast of noise hit us, voices loud, a chorus of carolers, the clanking of dishes, a couple kids squabbling in the living room. My parents’ house isn’t big and if they’d invited my entire family, then it was going to be jam-packed.

  And oh shit, but yeah, there were people everywhere, standing in corners chatting, blocking the doorway, all sorts of ugly Christmas sweaters on display, even a dog or two snuffling about, looking for cookie scraps.

  “Um, excuse me,” I said, ducking around a group of teens. I didn’t even know who these kids were, some distant relatives of mine? But finally, Pete and I made our way to the kitchen, where my Dad was leading a round of caroling. But instead of seeing Christmas songs, they were singing Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer. Why why why? Why were the Smiths doing this, today of all days? And judging from the empty bottles on the tabletops, my family was getting started early.

  “Pete! Pete!” boomed my dad, coming over and clapping a hand on Mr. Parker’s back. “So great of you to make it, especially after you stole our little girl from us for Christmas.”

  Mr. Parker made to say something, but I interrupted.

  “Daddy, he didn’t steal me, I went of my own will. I’m helping take care of Violet, Mr. Parker’s daughter, remember? She’s just a baby, they needed some help as they look for a permanent nanny.”

  “Oh right!” chortled my dad. “Mandy’s really good with kids,” he winked at Pete. “She’s got five younger siblings, helped raise every one.”

  I colored then. Because it was true, my own mother had been so busy getting pregnant and giving birth that I kind of had become a surrogate mom to my younger brothers and sisters. It was natural, I was twelve years old when the youngest was born, old enough to give little Elsie bottles, change her diapers, take her to the park, so my maternal instincts were honed through practice and experience, not books and reading. But Mr. Parker was suave.

  “That’s it exactly,” he said in a deep voice. “That’s why Mandy’s invaluable, why I’m paying her top dollar to sit for Violet.”

  My dad chortled again then.

  “Top dollar for a babysitter?” he said excitedly. “What is that? Twelve bucks an hour? Fifteen? Mandy’s raking it in!” he hooted.

  And Pete’s brows drew into a frown, his mouth opening to correct my dad. But I stepped in immediately because I didn’t want to cause a commotion, the amount I was getting paid was beyond my family’s wildest dreams, beyond what they could ever hope to earn. And this wasn’t the right place because how could I possibly explain the exorbitant sum? Fifty thousand dollars every two weeks, until I went back to school? That was like setting off a fire alarm, drawing attention to something that I wanted to keep hidden for the moment.

  So I spoke quickly.

  “Mr. Parker’s been very kind,” I said with a smile, “He’s providing me room and board so I don’t have to spend anything. When you add a salary on top of that, yeah, I’m doing very well.”

&nb
sp; There, that was a diplomatic way of saying it, of soothing the flames. But it didn’t matter because my dad had already turned back to the singing and was belting out “Oh Holy Night” now, really screeching out the high notes. I sighed. Family was family, and mine was one of the best, with all the highs and lows. I threw a look at Pete, apologizing with my eyes.

  But the big man was holding up well. He gazed around the crowded space, arms still laden with presents, the corners of his mouth twitching, like he recognized the absurdity in all this, my creeper relatives, my oddly condescending dad, the way my family drank like fish on every occasion, even Christmas Eve.

  “Sorry,” I mouthed, raising my eyebrows.

  But the big man just gave a shrug of his shoulders before depositing the presents with a group of others on the counter, pouring himself a cup of eggnog, wrinkling his brow when he tasted it. Oh yeah, the Smiths don’t go light on that stuff, it probably had a gallon of rum in it, not the touch that most recipes ask for.

  But the thing is, I was proud of him. I was proud to be seen with Mr. Parker, how handsome he was, the dark hair and blue eyes flashing, a head taller than anyone else, even though he was allegedly just my employer.

  And I appreciated how nice he was to everyone, polite, friendly, even though my elderly Aunt Mildred was currently monopolizing his company, chatting non-stop about who knows what. So when we finally sat down to brunch, I rewarded him with a sweet smile.

  “Thanks for being so game,” I murmured, pointedly looking at the third glass of eggnog in his big palm. “The Smiths driving you crazy?”

  The big man shot me a glance.

  “The Smiths always drive me crazy,” he rumbled, “but honey, I’m here for you.”

  And I flushed then, taking a chair next to his at the big table. It was an amazing feeling, I loved how he made me feel special, wanted, going that extra mile for me, subjecting himself to the raucous noise, the eccentricities of the Smith clan. And my parents didn’t let me down at brunch either. Instead of eating a meal like a normal group, the lights went low and suddenly a projector flickered to life.

  “We’re gonna look at some vacation slides!” crowed my dad. “Trish and I went to Aruba last year, thought you folks might like to see what we did.”

  Quite a few of my relatives grumbled, bored. Why the hell were we doing this now, of all times? People were hungry, they wanted to eat, there was a Christmas ham steaming on the table as well as turkey, yams, creamed spinach, all the trimmings. But at least my dad wasn’t completely tone deaf, he made one concession.

  “No need to wait before starting,” he said airily. “We’ve got three hundred slides to get through, so bon appetit! Go ahead and load up your plates while I cue this baby up.”

  And sure enough, my relatives were like locusts descending upon the food. There were all sorts of smacking sounds as people heaped their plates full, almost fighting over some of the food, the candied sweet potatoes, the special blueberry pie that my mom baked each year.

  And as we settled down to eat in the darkness, my dad’s voice started up, droning on and on.

  “And this is a black grouper,” his disembodied voice called out. “Trish and I saw this one while snorkeling not too far from shore one day, she almost drowned but then this looker swam along …”

  And I sighed. God, three hundred slides of countless underwater pics, photo after photo of coral reefs, fish that all looked the same, my parents’ white, flabby bodies in their comical swimsuits. But just as I was about to go back to eating, a brush came on my knee. At first I figured it was nothing, merely the tablecloth moving.

  But then it came again, this time more insistent and I turned my head quickly to look at Pete. I couldn’t see anything but his profile in the darkened room, but his nostrils were definitely flaring, a slight smile playing at his lips. And I melted inside, going hot immediately. Oh god, oh god, were we really doing this? Naughty games, right here, right now? But you know what? Two can play at this game and I wanted in on the fun.

  So putting my plate down quietly, I slid a hand into his lap under the table and slowly traced a nail up and down the bulge in his pants. Oh yeah, hard and huge, just like I knew it’d be. In fact, the curve was unmistakable, Mr. Parker was more than a little turned on, he was ready to go, ready to party. His breath started coming fast, audible only to me because I was so close, so near to that masculine frame. But this man was a champion and he wasn’t giving up so easily. Reaching down with stealthy fingers, the big man unzipped himself in one swift movement, and holy shit, but his cock popped out, visible only to me in the dim light. Oh god, that shaft was pulsing, I could see just the thick root before it disappeared under the table cloth, veins coursing hotly, fully erect and ready for me, in whichever way, shape or form.

  And the big man smirked then.

  “Your turn baby girl,” he whispered in my ear, leaning close on the pretense of serving himself some spinach.

  I looked around. Was this really happening? Right here in my parents’ house? In public, as we sat at the big table eating brunch with a bunch of my relatives? I don’t mean to sound like a prude, but there was literally a person five inches to my left and another person five inches to Pete’s right, and yet he’d just unzipped and let out his cock, daring me to play with it.

  And oh god, I wanted to fuck him. I couldn’t resist. I couldn’t back down in this game of chicken, wasn’t ready to veer and avoid collision just yet. So squirming slightly in my chair, I reached under my skirt and managed to hook the elastic of my panties in my fingers. Slowly, so slowly, I drew them over my hips, knowing that Pete was aware of my every move even though he didn’t look my way, breathing growing harsh as I upped the ante. Oh yeah, I wasn’t gonna let him win our dirty little game, I wasn’t giving up so soon. With another tiny twist of my hips, I lifted my butt for a moment and pulled the panties over my ass, slowly worming them down my thick thighs before they dropped down to my ankles. And on the pretense of picking my napkin up from the floor, I got those panties off, reappearing with the scrap of pink in my hand, passing them to him under the table.

  “My pussy’s bare now,” I said coyly. “You’re up next.”

  And Pete groaned then, an audible noise in the darkened dining room. But thank god, at that moment my dad’s voice boomed extra loud as he showed off the marlin he’d managed to net.

  “See that?” he crowed. “This here sucker’s a full twelve feet, and it’s the same baby we’ve got mounted on our living room wall now.”

  The crowd oohed and ahed with appreciation, because yeah, there was a huge preserved marlin on my parents’ wall now, the eyes glazed and fake, spray-painted after death, but I guess that’s how taxidermy works. Personally it was gross, but I was just happy that my dad was unexpectedly providing cover for our dirty little game.

  And Pete wasn’t letting up either. Subtly, his fingers crept into my lap, and I whimpered under my breath, parting my thighs as his digit traced along my labia. Oh god, it felt so good, so wrong, this man touching me right in my parents’ dining room with people all around. What the fuck was wrong with me? I’d turned into a slut for this alpha, everything open to him, wet and slippery, doing whatever he wanted.

  Because as his fingers probed, my thighs parted obligingly, granting him entrance. And oh god, oh god, it felt so good. With a soft push, one digit was in, worming into my sweet depths and I moaned involuntarily, trying to choke it back, but it was impossible. I was too turned on.

  “Did someone say something?” Jim called out. “Questions anyone?”

  And I sat rock still, absolutely terrified. Oh my god, we were about to be outed, the big man’s hand buried deep in my pussy, his cock out as we touched each other.

  But Pete has nerves of steel and called out in a manly voice.

  “Just wondering which outfit you used?” he rumbled smoothly. “In case I want to go deep-sea fishing next time I’m there.”

  And my dad flushed, so happy to get a question, p
roof that people were listening.

  “I used Caribbean Guides, I’ll give you their card,” Jim chortled. “Just tell Bobby that I sent you, and you’ll get a discount,” he preened like a VIP. My heart curdled a little out of embarrassment. I didn’t think Pete would need a discount, probably wouldn’t even use the same tour operator as Jim, he could afford so much more. But all that flew out of my mind as Mr. Parker’s big fingers began moving inside, caressing my inner channel, rubbing up and down my pussy.

  “Thanks,” his low voice rang out. “Appreciate it.”

  And I almost screamed then, it felt so good, he felt so good in me. How in the world did he do this? My pussy was wetly creaming now, the squelch of his fingers as he moved in and out almost audible, my thighs quivering, clit on fire. Oh god, oh god, I was gonna come at the table, Mr. Parker was going to drive me over the edge right here, right now, and I was going to scream like a woman in the throes of orgasm, throw my head back and let out a piercing wail, giving away our pleasure, our naughty deeds.

  But Mr. Parker wanted in on the goods too. Without missing a beat, he removed his fingers from my cunt slowly, making me gasp, look at him with wide eyes. Why? Why stop now, when I was so close?

  But he glanced at me slyly and brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them slowly. If anyone looked they probably just thought he was savoring chicken juices, or maybe a particularly delectable berry tart that had spilled on his hand. But no, he was tasting my cream, my pussy nectar right here at the table.