Pregnant By My Boss: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance Compilation

by Cassandra Dee

  “Rosetta Stone,” she replied, referring to the tapes that any John, Dick or Harry could buy for a hundred bucks a pop. “I listened to the recordings over and over again until I was fluent.”

  Now I was definitely impressed, revising my initial impression of the brunette. She’d been able to learn not one, but two languages from listening to tapes? Holy shit, that put most college students to shame. And as if reading my mind, Laurie nodded.

  “Yeah, we didn’t have enough money for me to go to college, not even community college, so I went the next best route. I bought some tapes with my savings and just kept listening to them until I was fluent. I practiced here and there with my neighbors, the people who owned a bodega on the corner, and soon I was good enough so that when I applied for a job with HRA, I passed the translation test with flying colors.”

  I nodded, really impressed. Shit, Laurie was the real thing. I’d come in for a quick fuck because the woman was just my type with a curvy body and horny, slutty ways, but I’d stumbled upon a gold mine by accident. The brunette was smart, resourceful, sweet, and not at all stuck-up, helping new immigrants access public resources.

  And I growled again, barely able to believe my luck, but I had no time to process it just now.

  “Listen, what happened was amazing and I’d love to chat with you more, but I gotta fly,” I said, checking my watch. NYC Concierge tracked us with a fucking GPS service and they could always see where we were, how long we stayed at each stop. And right now, I was already way over my limit, if someone was watching there’d be some hard questions to answer once I got back. “I gotta jet, okay? It’s been great, but it’s my ass if I don’t.”

  And the girl nodded slowly, watching with wide eyes as I hauled my massive form off the bed, fumbling for my boxers, pulling on the grey jacket and baseball cap. Yep, I was just the delivery man, anonymous in nondescript clothes. But I didn’t want this to be fly-by-night, so I leaned down and kissed her, pressed my lips against her soft, plush ones, the pink pout opening slightly, inhaling the sweet scent of her breath.

  And fuck, but Laurie was so delicious, so curvy and nubile on that bed, still nude, still flashing her tits and cunt that I almost ripped off my clothes and jumped back in with her, ready to stroke, to take, to devour. But I couldn’t. Fucking Homer from Human Resources was going to be on me if I didn’t get my ass moving, so I forced myself to stride into the living room and pick up my bag by the door, the canvas grimy and careworn.

  The brunette followed me out, this time wrapping herself in a bedsheet, her curvy form only highlighted by the swaths of cloth.

  “Thanks for delivering my package,” she said softly, those caramel eyes warm, limpid, nodding to the brown box lying on its side on the floor.

  And I bent to kiss her again, breathing deeply of the essence of this woman.

  “No prob,” I rumbled, my eyes alive as I took in that sweet, sweet figure. “No prob at all.”

  And just like that I was gone, taking big steps down the stairwell as the door closed softly behind me. But what Laurie didn’t realize was that I had every intention of seeing her again. I’d made my delivery, sure, deposited loads of my semen onto her, spraying that curvy form with creamy, viscous white … but I hadn’t gotten into her body yet and couldn’t wait to begin.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Laurie

  I sat at my desk, my chin propped in my hands, staring at the gray acrylic fabric while seeing nothing.

  “Laurie, Laurie, Earth to Laurie,” chimed my friend Tanya.

  I sighed, spinning my chair around. Tanya stood in the doorway to my cube, her scrawny frame propped up against one of the cube walls.

  “Tan, you gotta be careful,” I sighed again. “I know you weigh like ninety pounds, but these are cubes, not real offices. If you lean against the wall like that, it’s gonna collapse and you’re gonna be in a pile on the floor.”

  Tanya snorted while twirling a piece of frizzy blonde hair. The tiny woman was one of my most beloved friends and had a funky style all her own. She mixed and matched her clothes, coming up with eclectic combinations that clashed but somehow worked. And she always, always wore a pair of statement glasses. Today’s frames were angular and purple, almost like goggles if you asked me but hey, that was Tanya.

  And you couldn’t keep my friend down, especially not when she was feeling sassy.

  “Good, if this thing collapses and I get injured, then I can file for workers’ comp and retire on the payments,” she snorted. But the blonde straightened, taking her weight off the gray fabric at least.

  “How was yesterday?” she asked, a concerned look sweeping over her face. “Your move go okay?”

  My friend was the only person at work who knew about the horrible betrayal by Gary, so she was asking with good intentions, inquiring into the fucked-up soap opera that was my life. But how to explain? That Gary had been blown out of my head, my heart, by one amazing experience with a stranger? That I’d let the delivery man come in and fuck me so hard, so thoroughly that I didn’t care about Gary anymore, my past be damned?

  But that was hardly a PC answer especially with a million people buzzing away in the cubes around us. So I just smiled and said lightly, “Yeah, I survived. It sucked moving things five stories up without an elevator because I probably strained my back, but I survived.”

  And Tanya just laughed then.

  “Tell you what, we both file for workers’ comp and then take a vacation together. How about it, hon? Whaddya say?” she asked, crossing her eyes at me.

  And I had to laugh then. We’d be such a cliché, government employees who milked the system for all it was worth, getting disability checks while sunning ourselves on a Caribbean cruise. But I knew my friend was joking so I giggled again.

  “Nah, I’m okay, I’ll survive,” I said. “But listen, what does Saunders want with us today? I thought our signs were really great, I mean people don’t need that much help with restroom directions.”

  I was talking about the icons we’d designed with the outline of a man and a woman on them, along with the words “washroom” in various languages. They’d be mounted in various government buildings like City Hall and the public library, but honestly, you don’t need translation for this stuff. People can already tell from the pictures which one is “Men’s” and which one is “Women’s.” But our boss was an idiot of Dilbert-like proportions and didn’t hesitate to create unnecessary work, making things up just to drive us crazy. And Tanya didn’t hesitate to mince words either, nailing it on the head.

  “That fucker has lost his mind,” she whispered, rolling her eyes. “Saunders is such a fucking douche, always wanting us to stay late yet yelling at us to ‘be more productive.’”

  I nodded. Because of course our manager was the proverbial government lifer who had nothing better to do than push papers around while lording it over us, his subordinates. But he was the boss, so what could we do? I sighed, resigned.

  “Listen,” continued Tanya in a hushed voice. “Let’s play hooky today. Let’s leave at four and tell stupid Saunders it’s because we’re checking out those new signs up in the Bronx. That way we’ll have an excuse to leave early, and you know what? I live up in the Bronx so we’ll head there afterwards and drink wine. Wine, baby, wine, everything’s good with wine.”

  And I giggled softly as Tanya boogied down in my cube, shaking her ass while doing a dance of joy. Normally I would have taken her up on the offer because checking up on our signs was part of the job, and it was only too easy to swing by my friend’s place afterwards for a sip of the good stuff. But I actually had plans tonight.

  “Um, thanks Tan, but it’s a no go, I have some business to get to,” I said, biting my lip and going slightly red.

  Tanya didn’t even hear me, she was still getting down, twerking against the gray cube wall, bouncing her butt against the soft fabric. I just rolled my eyes again. Seriously, my co-worker really wanted the cube to come crashing down with the way she was b
umping and grinding.

  “Tan,” I said louder, raising my voice. “I can’t tonight.”

  This time she heard.

  “Why not?” she asked, making a pouty face, her lips pulled in a frown, standing up straight. “Red, red wine not good enough? You want white?”

  And I laughed while shaking my head again.

  “No, I have plans already, you know, stuff that I committed to ahead of time,” I said pointedly.

  The blonde pouted again, but changed her tune on the turn of a dime.

  “Oh my god, you mean divorce stuff?” she whispered, her eyes suddenly wide. “Sorry, honey, didn’t realize. Sure no problem, tell Gary to fuck himself, he deserves it,” she added.

  And I tried to keep my expression neutral. In fact, it wasn’t divorce stuff I had on my plate, but it was easier to let my co-worker think it was, distract her from the real story. So I just nodded soberly.

  “Yeah, I have some papers to sign and all that,” I mumbled, dropping my head as if devastated. “It’s really tough.”

  And Tanya was immediately repentant.

  “Oh honey, I’m so sorry,” she cooed, putting an arm around me, her hand warm and reassuring. “Like I said, tell him to fuck himself. Tell Gary DeGroot that Tanya Smead says ‘fuck you.’”

  And I had to laugh again.

  “Okay, I will. How about the Bronx tomorrow?” I asked to appease her. “We should check out our handiwork at City College, who knows where they hung the signs this time?” And it was true, last time our stuff was posted in a utility closet where absolutely no one could see it. Literally, in a dark closet with the door shut where it’d be no good to anyone. God, sometimes I just didn’t know how the world continued to function, what City government was coming to.

  And Tanya nodded.

  “Absolutely hon, I’m saving that wine for you. Kay, gotta get this ass back to work before Saunders swings by and beats me. Toodle-oo!” she sang with a wave and a wink, and just like that, my co-worker disappeared into the maze of cubes, swallowed up by the labyrinth.

  I sighed before swinging back around to stare at my monitor again, my head rushing with my thoughts. Because there was no divorce stuff to take care of, no papers to sign, no loose threads to tie up. That shit was done, and for the better because Gary was an afterthought now, a nobody from my past. Instead, my thoughts were consumed with Tucker, his big body, his laugh, the way his blue eyes took me in, my every curve, my every eager, hungry breath. The delivery man was curious about me, had asked me a lot of questions about myself and shamefully, I’d asked almost none about him, it’d been a one-sided conversation.

  But it was easy enough to remedy. After all, I just had to place another order with NYC Concierge and my delivery man would show up like magic. My body heated up just thinking about it, my mouth going dry, my cunt beginning to moisten. Oh god, oh god. I was supposed to be working, supposed to be looking over papers, plotting strategy, doing business things, but all I could think about was touching, savoring, tasting my delivery man’s package … all over again.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Laurie

  I flipped open my laptop at home and clicked to NYC Concierge’s page. Hmmm, what to get today? Unconsciously, I licked my lips, my body heating up a thousand degrees, my mind already whirling with anticipation of the fun times ahead.

  Because I knew how concierge services worked. You put in an order and then a messenger gathers your purchases and makes the delivery. But NYC Concierge had gone one better and part of their white glove “elite” service was that you could request a particular messenger for your delivery. In this case, of course I was looking for Tucker.

  I clicked over to the “About Us” portion of the web page and I scrolled down the list of names. My eyes lit up upon the word “TUCKER” in all caps, and when I clicked on the link, sure enough, a photo of the big man popped up, his face half-turned away, partially hidden in shadow.

  But it was definitely my illicit lover. I could tell by the strong profile, the straight nose and mobile lips, the square jaw apparent even in the slightly blurry image. Oh yeah, that was my man and I clicked on his picture with relish.

  Bingo! The site said that Tucker was “currently available” and all I had to do was place an order. I pursed my lips, thinking. What did I need? Well, everything come to think of it. I was still sitting in an unpacked apartment, piles of stuff heaped around me, half the boxes still taped shut. I’d dug around to find some work clothes so that I could show up for my job, but pretty much everything else was still boxed up.

  So my fingers skimmed over the keys, impatiently strumming when suddenly inspiration struck. I needed laundry detergent. I hadn’t been able to locate any despite pawing through mounds of stuff and had given up finally, spending the evening on my soiled sheets. Or more accurately, the sheets that Tucker and I had covered with our love stains. The cotton was saturated with our sex smells and I’d rolled around in them naked, breathing in the scent of the big man, his woodsy, masculine musk, pretending that he was there with me still. Okay, you got me, I did more than that. I pressed my nose to his semen stain, the circle of dried cum and inhaled deeply while frigging my cunt, pretending it was Tucker’s fingers touching my plush lips. And I came all over again, my snatch creaming wetly as I shrieked, legs scissoring wildly on the bed, losing it as my pussy pulsed and spasmed, driving me to the wildest heights. Yeah, Tucker did that to me. I’d come all over again just from smelling his semen because I’m a dirty, nasty girl.

  But I only wanted more now. So I punched in the name of a laundry detergent, just a regular brand that you could pick up at the local bodega and pressed “Checkout.” My computer whirred and then the words “Delivery Accepted” popped up, with a countdown ticker. Oh my god! Tucker was going to be here in fifteen minutes, that was barely enough time to get ready.

  I hurried out of my work clothes, pulling off the shapeless blouse and struggling out of the tweed wool skirt. Yeah, I’ve put on some weight recently with the divorce and ballooned a little, all my clothes are a little tight now. Unfortunately, a new wardrobe wasn’t in the cards, that would cost hundreds, if not thousands of dollars, and I didn’t have any money to spare. Fuck. I was going to have to watch my diet to make sure I had stuff to wear. Hate that.

  But my cheeks flushed because Tucker had liked my curves, devoured them like candy yesterday. Oh yeah, he hadn’t minded that there were handfuls of flesh spilling everywhere, my thighs dimpled and sweet, my ass huge and bountiful. And you know what? There was still one item of clothing that still fit me perfectly. Shoes. Oh yeah, even with the added fifteen pounds or so, my sexy heels were still perfect, elongating my legs, the four inch stilettos making me feel powerful and desirable.

  So I slipped on a pair of red peep-toe pumps, real fuck-me shoes if you saw them, patent leather and sky high. Pursing my lips, I stared at the mountains of boxes before me again, half-heartedly sifting through a pile of boring work clothes, stained jeans and flannels, and an armful of raggedy lingerie. I didn’t want to wear it, truth be told. A lot of the clothes were uninspiring, all of it musty-smelling from being packed away, most of it worse for the wear, grimy and wrinkled.

  But oh wait, there was something that would be perfect. I peered into a monster sized box, plunging my arm into the darkness and managed to snag a hip-length faux fur jacket in black. Yep, no wrinkles on this and the fur was really soft, even a little oily, just like the real thing. There’s no way I’d ever buy real fur even if I could afford it, but I’d come upon this gem at a consignment shop and forked over the two hundred dollars because it was sassy and hugged my curves just so.

  I modeled it in the floor length mirror propped against the wall. Oh yeah, you could see my little cunt poking out just below the hem, my smooth shaved lips already glistening with desire, my meaty thighs thick and strong. And with the red peep-toes, all I needed now was a slick of red lipstick and I was ready to go. Pulling out a tube of Revlon’s Vampiress, I outlined my li
ps, pressing them together to saturate the color, then slowly licked them for a glossy, glistening effect. Perfect. I was a seductress waiting for my man, a vixen in heat.

  But as I turned this way and that in the mirror, waves of doubt began welling up inside. What was I doing? Was I, Laurie Holmes, a regular office worker, really doing this? Was I really sexing it up, wearing nothing but a fur coat and high heels to seduce my delivery man? Suddenly I felt unsure of myself, really insecure. Maybe my curves were too much, maybe I was coming on too strong, too eager, and it would drive Tucker away, turn him off in disgust

  But then I steadied myself. Down girl, I calmed myself, that’s not it. It’s the divorce that’s doing this to you, making your emotions rush around, making you play games in your head. Get a grip, you’ll be fine.

  Besides, it was too late for second thoughts because a knock rang out suddenly.

  “Ms. Holmes,” came the deep voice. “Delivery.”

  And taking a deep breath, steadying my nerves, I made my way to the door, pressing my eye against the peephole. Oh god, he was here and my heart began racing immediately. Tall, broad, imposing, Tucker had his cap pulled low but that did nothing to disguise his strong jaw and mobile mouth. And oh god, where that mouth had been yesterday made me shiver and tremble all over again, my cunt moistening immediately, gushing with sweet juices. Suddenly my doubts were forgotten, my body on high just from a glimpse of the man through the fisheye peephole.

  So I unlocked the door, peering out from behind the wooden frame and shot him a sweet smile.

  “Hi big guy,” I said shyly. “Thanks so much. Do you have my package?”

  His eyebrows raised at my contorted position, only my head and neck visible, craning like a goose.

  “Sure,” he growled, gesturing to the box on the floor. But he held an electronic tracker as well. “But you’ll have to sign for it.”