Her Boss’s Baby: An Office Romance

by Chloe Lane

  I reach up and wrap my hands around his wrists, breathing him in, closing my eyes for a brief second to shut out the world. “But what does that mean for—”

  “Skye, look at me.”

  I do.

  “What I want more than anything is to give this—us—a chance. A real chance. Because you're too amazing to walk away from. And...” He drops his hand down to my belly, caressing it gently with the back of his knuckles. “You're going to be the mother of my child. We owe him—or her—at least that much.”

  Chapter 16

  Matthew

  Skye melts into my hands and moves in closer, pressing her cheek against my chest. I wrap my arms around her as she takes a big breath in and lets it back out.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Her voice is muffled against my shirt.

  I'm not sure. I'm not sure that any of this is going to work out. That's how the world is. I thought I'd get out of Afghanistan without a scar stretching across my stomach. “I want to show you something.”

  She pulls back a little, looking up into my eyes with a worried expression. “What is it?”

  I laugh out loud. “Why are you worried?”

  Skye shrugs, a little smile coming to her lips. “I don't know. All of this is just so...it's just so unexpected.”

  “Not entirely,” I say, and then I go for the hem of my shirt. I'm almost certain Skye hasn't seen my scar yet. I keep my shirt on unless we're going to fuck in a position where she's facing away from me, and every woman I've been with has made some comment about it. It's just not something people can ignore.

  “Mr. Hunter, are you stripping down in your office?” Skye clicks her tongue. “That must be against company policy.”

  “When you own the company, you can bend the rules.”

  Her eyes light up. “Bend the rules...” She repeats the phrase just as I lift my shirt. There's nothing I can say to prepare her for the sight of it, and this is probably the biggest test I'll put her through.

  Aside from carrying my baby, that is.

  Skye stops talking and looks down at the bare skin below my belly button. It's not smooth. In fact, it's red and rough and always will be.

  I hold my breath.

  I don't even realize I'm holding it until I have to let it out several seconds later.

  Skye assesses the scar, then looks back up into my eyes. “Is that painful?”

  She doesn't flinch. Doesn't recoil. Doesn't so much as bat an eyelash. Skye only wants to know if it hurts.

  “No,” I tell her. “It was pretty painful when it happened, but it doesn't hurt now. It just looks awful.”

  “It looks like a scar,” she says, glancing down at it again. I look for any sign that she's disgusted, that she can't handle this, but there's nothing. “I just wondered if it was painful because of the red color.”

  “Have you—” I don't know why I'm getting choked up, but I am. It takes me a few moments to get myself under control. “Have you seen other scars as bad as this?”

  “Not quite this bad,” she says simply, her tone casual. “My sister had a surgery once when we were kids that left her with a pretty bad scar. It healed up eventually—you can hardly notice it now—but when it first happened, I was worried it would hurt her forever.”

  I feel like I'm falling, or flying.

  “You love your sister a lot.”

  “I do.”

  Then Skye smiles up at me, and in her grin I see a challenge. “Is that...all you wanted to show me?”

  I drop my shirt. My cock is pressing hard against my pants, and the way Skye is looking at me right now is more than enough to tell me that this discussion is over. This discussion wasn't even a big deal. I don't know why I was so fucking nervous about showing her that stupid scar.

  She doesn't care.

  I don't have to hide from her.

  I do need to fuck her.

  Right now.

  I reach behind her and flip the deadbolt on my office door.

  Skye bends gracefully over my desk, her belly still flat. She's breathing a little fast, and I put my hand against the small of her back. “Stay calm,” I order her in the softest voice I can manage. I don't want her getting worked up...not now the baby is in the picture.

  “Calm?” She's practically breathless. “I want this so much.”

  I laugh, but she doesn't frown at the sound of it. “I never thought I'd hear those words coming from your mouth, Ms. Dawson.”

  “I never thought I'd be—” I apply more pressure to the small of her back, and she gasps.

  “Bent over my desk and spread wide for me?”

  “I'm not spread—”

  It takes one motion for me to drive her legs apart. It takes one more for me to yank her panties down to her knees. Fuck it. I do her one better and tear them off completely. She can go the rest of the afternoon without them.

  I run two fingers over her slit, drawing a moan from Skye's lips.

  “You like that?”

  “Yes,” she whispers. “I need—”

  “You don't tell me what you need,” I say, silencing her. “I'll give you exactly what you need.”

  She tenses in anticipation, and I kneel behind her, taking one long look at her pink, glistening folds.

  “Stay quiet.”

  It's the last thing I say before I draw my tongue over her opening and across every inch of her, licking every last fold.

  Holy fuck, does she taste sweet. Sweet, and wet, and mine.

  I wrap my hands around Skye's thighs and hold her in place as she quivers under the onslaught of my tongue, little noises escaping her despite my order.

  I don't care.

  I fucking love it.

  She's shuddering with the first wave of her orgasm when there's a knock at the door.

  Chapter 17

  Skye

  I've never been so wet in my life. Never been so turned on. I'm clutching the edge of Matthew's desk, my knuckles white, while he devours me from behind, his rough tongue hot against the most sensitive pieces of me.

  I can hardly stand it.

  It's white-hot pleasure, his tongue on my pussy, and I don't know if it's because I'm alive with his baby, or just because he is a master of my body, but it doesn't take long at all for him to drive me up and over the edge of an orgasm.

  His hands are firm on my thighs, holding me in place, and for once in my life I feel absolutely safe, absolutely secure.

  Secure enough to come in his mouth, my body shaking with it, rocking with it, juices gushing onto his lips.

  That's when I hear the knock on the door, and my entire body freezes. I couldn't move a muscle if I tried.

  A thousand thoughts flood my head, but the loudest one is that I don't want this to stop. I don't want this to stop.

  But hard on its heels is the warning, screamed out in the back of my mind: if that door opens, and I'm caught here, with Matthew, I'll never live it down.

  I'm already in this job in the first place because my ex, Peter, took it upon himself to spread rumors about me at the local papers. Most of them wouldn't even give me an interview when I started applying for work after graduation. At the one place that let me snag an in-person meeting, the guy interviewing me mostly ignored my answers to the questions or deliberately misunderstood me.

  I try to stand up, but Matthew is already standing behind me, pressing me down to the surface of the desk. “No.” It's a low, low growl, but I hear it, and I can't help but obey.

  I should get up right now and straighten my skirt, pull it back down over my ass, and find wherever he threw my panties so I can hide them somewhere, but his hand is firm on my back.

  More juices gush between my legs. I don't want to get caught and have my reputation ruined once and for all, but the thought of someone standing just outside that door while Matthew—while he—

  He slides two fingers into my opening and works them in and out, fucking me in a deliciously tantalizing rhythm. I shove a knuckle i
nto my mouth to muffle the sounds that I can't stop making and spread my legs an inch wider.

  The knock comes again. “Mr. Hunter?”

  I recognize the voice. So does Matthew. It's because the voice belongs to Bernadette, the woman who sits at the desk in the main lobby.

  Matthew works another finger inside me before he answers. “Yes?”

  “There's a visitor to see you, Mr. Hunter.”

  In response, Matthew reaches for his zipper and pulls his fingers out. I have to stifle a mewl of disappointment, but I'm glad I do, because in the next instant I can feel the thick head of his cock against my opening. He teases me with it, pushing it in just a fraction of an inch and drawing it back out.

  “I'm busy, Bernadette.” His voice is level and calm. There's no way she knows what's going on in here. Although it is rare for Matthew to lock his office door... She might make an assumption that could screw us both over.

  “Are you—” There's an uncertainty in her voice. I know just how she feels. She doesn't want to question him, but clearly whoever is visiting must have made her feel that it was of the utmost importance. “Would you happen to have five minutes open on your schedule?”

  It's hard to focus on what's happening outside the door because Matthew finally thrusts the head of his cock—just the head—inside of me. I could beat the desk with frustration, and I buck back against him, running into the pressure of his hands. I'm powerless bent over this desk, and I love it. I love it.

  Maybe I love him.

  I gasp at the thought, but it's a muted sound. I'm sure Bernadette and whoever else is out there won't have heard a thing. Matthew takes the opportunity then to rock his hips forward, taking me completely, all of him plunging deep inside me in one powerful thrust.

  Now he lets a note of frustration creep into his tone. “Bernadette, I'm reviewing important scheduling details for my trip next week.” He actually has a trip next week—to Baltimore—but I made the arrangements weeks ago. Bernadette wouldn't know that, though. Thank God.

  “It's a rather urgent request,” she says, and Matthew thrusts into me again.

  I stay silent, but the effort is so intense and so fucking hot that I'm about to come for the second time. On Matthew's next thrust, I do, my muscles tightening around his hardness penetrating my core. It’s even more intense than the first orgasm. A third might knock me out completely.

  “Who needs to see me?” Matthew asks, and I’m on the verge of exploding again just at the sound of his voice. My nipples are achingly hard against the fabric of my shirt. I want to beg him to make me come, but I’m not sure if my body can stand it.

  “Peter Cunningham.”

  At the name, my body goes cold, and I rear up. Matthew is instantly pressing me back down, driving himself into me again. At least in this moment, I’m not going to react. I’m going to let him fuck me, because this is all pleasure, and Peter is all pain. My heart rockets into my throat.

  I twist around in Matthew’s grip, scrambling backward onto his desk and spreading my legs wide again. The sight of his blue eyes calms me, steadies me…and makes me even hotter. He takes my ass in his hands, balancing me right on the edge of the desk, and drives himself into me one more time.

  One, two, three thrusts, and I'm coming hard, juices coating his cock, and Matthew looks right into my eyes as he follows suit, his heat filling me.

  “Get him on my schedule for next week,” he says when the orgasm has subsided, but he doesn’t move an inch. He just pulls me closer, and I lean against his chest, trying to catch my breath.

  I don't say another word.

  Chapter 18

  Matthew

  Sunday morning, Skye is sleeping peacefully in my bed. Another four weeks have gone by. Four weeks—not a month. When a woman is pregnant, everything is measured in weeks. Today, Skye is eight weeks pregnant. She doesn't have a baby bump yet. There's a softness to her belly, though, hinting that something has changed.

  And things have changed. She's tired most days, and naps after we get home from the office. Then she always, always goes to have dinner with her sister. Even if I plan to take her out for a date afterward, she goes to sit on the couch with Robin.

  At least some of the stress of their lives has been mitigated by moving into my building. I promised Skye that they'd be able to live here no matter how things shook out with our deal. Now I wonder if I'll even want to live here when the baby is born.

  With every day that passes, I feel more protective of her, more concerned with everything she does.

  Not that I'm worried about her ability to take care of herself. She was doing pretty well for herself, I understand, until she had some trouble with an ex. Until things got difficult with her sister. Those things aren't her fault.

  I lean down and kiss her on the cheek. “I have to go, sweetheart.”

  She turns sleepily toward me, her eyes still closed. “Where?”

  “A meeting.”

  A look of confusion crosses her face. “Is it a workday?”

  “No, it's still Sunday, but I didn't have room in my schedule any other time.” I kiss her again and my cock jumps to attention. “You can go back to sleep, if you want.”

  She opens one eye, hearing the invitation in my voice.

  “Or?”

  “Or you could let me...” I put my hand on her shoulder and run it down to her wrist, wrapping my hand around the delicate bones there before sliding it around to the front of her belly and down into her panties. “Give you a little something first.”

  I don't have time to fuck her—at least not the way I want to, which would consume the rest of the morning—but I'll be damned if I leave her without a parting gift.

  It only takes a few minutes, kissing on her neck, my fingers circling her clit, before Skye comes on my fingers, pink lips parted with a low moan that makes me want to cancel this meeting altogether.

  But Peter Cunningham says he has important information for me about Hunter Housing. It seems like a fucking joke, really, that he would even have information that I don't, but I don't want to take the chance.

  The stakes are a lot higher now.

  I pull up the blankets and tuck Skye in. She's already dozing back off.

  “I'll see you when I get home.”

  “I love you,” she murmurs, and then her entire body goes tense, her eyes flying open. “Matthew—oh my God, I—”

  “It's okay.” I'm flooded with a warmth I never thought I'd feel—not after Afghanistan, not after the way it destroyed my body and my mind, at least for a little while. “Don't apologize.” I take a deep breath. No matter what might happen later, I love her in this moment, this woman carrying my child, this woman who trusts me more than anyone else in the world. “I love you, too.”

  I ride the high of Skye’s words all the way to the dive bar across town, where I’ve agreed to meet Peter Cunningham. Something about his name makes my lip curl, but I’ve never met the man.

  Maybe I just resent him for trying to interrupt Skye and me in the office—has it actually been four weeks now? He’s been trying to get on my schedule, but he hasn’t come back to the Hunter Housing building and I have no idea why.

  Finally I agreed to meet him on a Sunday. It wasn’t until this week that he decided to let me know about the information he’s holding on to, which makes me suspicious. But it’s a good thing to know what people are saying, at least. If this asshole is trying to blackmail me, that’s another story. I’m just not sure what he’d have that he could use to blackmail me. I used to be in the Army. I’m out. I’ve never killed anyone, and I don’t have any dark secrets to hide.

  I just want to get back to Skye. The thought of her saying those words—I love you—is making my head spin. I didn’t plan to say it back to her. I didn’t plan to fall in love with her. But over the past few weeks, the feeling in my chest has grown with every passing minute.

  At the Headbanger—God, what a stupid name for a bar—I slide into the last booth on the left
. I haven’t been sitting there five seconds when a waitress comes by and drops off a basket of popcorn, fresh from the popper. “Something to drink?”

  “A beer. Whatever comes to hand first.”

  She gives me a flirtatious smile, but it makes no impact. I might have looked twice at her before Skye. Not anymore. “I’ll be right back with that, Mister.”

  The moment she’s gone, I get lost in thought. If this thing between Skye and me is real—and I think it might be—then we can’t live in my apartment forever. I don’t want to live in an apartment with a wife and child. I want a house with a backyard, and a tire swing hanging from the thick bough of a tree. My penthouse apartment might be the nicest one in the building, but a communal parking lot isn’t exactly the backyard of my dreams.

  A shadow passes by my elbow, and I think it must be the waitress, but instead a man slides into the booth across from me. He’s redheaded and lanky, with a shifty look in his eyes. “I’m Peter Cunningham,” he says, without preamble.

  “You’ve been trying to meet with me for weeks,” I say, leaning back in the booth, watching him. He’s not carrying an envelope. He must have been fucking with me. “What do you have to say that’s so important?”

  He takes a deep breath and lets it out, eyes darting around like someone might be listening in. “I have to warn you about someone in your organization.”

  I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. Who the hell could he possibly be talking about? I don't care. This is a waste of time. He's not the first person to “warn” me about someone in order to get something out of me. I start to get up. “This was a mistake. Goodbye.”

  “Skye Dawson,” he says quickly. “I have to warn you about her. She'll ruin your life, Mr. Hunter. Believe me. I know.”

  Chapter 19

  Skye

  I sleep so deeply for the rest of Sunday morning that I'm totally disoriented when I wake up around noon. What day is it? Am I supposed to be at work?