The Billionaire's Seed_A Secret Baby Romance

by Natasha Spencer

  And yet, this man appeared. She mistook his interest in the office building for mere kindness, as rogue as it was. Vanessa could tell through his energy—through the way his voice reverberated into her ears, through the tenderness that bounced between them—that he wanted something more. But why would he? What did he see in her? To admit that there was something there was to deal in cards of fantasy, and Vanessa didn’t operate on wishful thinking anymore. She needed something concrete, something undeniable, and here it was. She was riding in this man’s Porsche, pulling up at his hotel, riding in the elevator, and walking through the door to his room.

  “What’s your name?” She asked him once they got inside.

  “Aaron,” he said softly, easily.

  Vanessa sat on the bed, not quite knowing what to do next. She wanted him. She wanted to see how he looked under the three-piece suit he was wearing. She wanted to see how she could contort his face in ecstasy. But she only just now learned his name. He didn’t exist on the plane of her imagination until this morning. Vanessa couldn’t allow herself to go through with it. And yet, here she was, biting her lip. Not leaving, being compliant, complicit.

  “Do you have any wine, Aaron?” She said authoritatively with a glint of seduction in her voice.

  Smoothly, saying nothing, Aaron retrieved a bottle of unopened Pinot Grigio from the mini fridge and two glasses from the cabinet. His jacket was off and his sleeves were rolled up. Vanessa glared with intention as he jammed the corkscrew into the cork and popped the bottle with a satisfying click through the air, the muscles in his forearm rippling with each movement.

  Vanessa lay on the bed as he poured, keeping silent. In a world where noise was constant and pleasure was nonexistent, Aaron’s hotel room acted as a haven for her, a reprieve from reality. He took a long drag directly from the bottle before pouring both glasses, keeping his eyes on her the entire time.

  Aaron leaned across Vanessa strategically, placing his wine glass on the table next to her side of the bed. With his face turned toward her and a smirk streaking across his mouth, he kissed her, his lips still dripping with a sip of white wine. Her hands felt unsteady as she gripped the stem of her wine glass with one hand and felt around for the table with the other. Sensing her awkwardness, her scrambling, the way her body tensed as soon as his lips met hers, he pulled away.

  “Do you not want to?” He asked sincerely.

  “Oh, no, I do,” Vanessa said with a downward glance, her sweeping lashes taking her emerald eyes hostage. Setting her wine glass on the table next to Aaron’s, she sighed, sitting up against the pillows lining the headboard. “I do, Aaron. I want to. I just…”

  “What is it?” Aaron replied, concerned. He sat up to match her posture, facing her. “Talk to me, Vanessa,” he said, turning her face toward his.

  Vanessa wanted to talk. She wanted to gush about how she was overwhelmed simply by waking up in the morning, how the eviction notices kept piling up on her kitchen counter beside prescriptions for Emma that she couldn’t afford to fill. Vanessa wanted to bleed the words out of her: that she was lost in the world, that she couldn’t focus on how much she wanted him, that she was too twisted in the swirl of adulthood crashing down on her before she was ready. And yet even more than all of this, there was one piece of the puzzle that haunted her even more. One more detail, as adolescent and sophomoric as it may seem to someone as established, as powerful, as utterly impressive as Aaron: she hadn’t had sex in two years. In a strange way, she felt like she’d forgotten how, as if they’d begin and she’d find herself utterly clueless on how to move, how to moan, how to slip away into the ecstasy of it all.

  “I’m…” she said finally, inhaling sharply, “I’m… nervous,” she admitted, deflating. With eyes steeped by anxiety, she glanced up at Aaron, her stare bathing him in emerald-hued longing.

  “Vanessa,” he said, curling one of her hands into his. “There’s no reason to be nervous. This is a place where you can feel comfortable. You can be yourself. I want you,” he said, shining his own neon-blue gaze at her.

  Neither said anything for a moment, too lost in the juxtaposition between the emotions they’d already experienced together, and all the ways they had yet to explore one another. Finally—with a slide of his hand along the backside of her neck in a way so perfect it seemed almost rehearsed—Aaron drew her closer to him, pulling her face to his, kissing her with a torrent of lust that rendered her almost immobile with desire. Her mind was thinking of nothing now except him: how his muscles buckled across his abdomen, the way his biceps felt as she gripped them in euphoria, the way she craved his dizzying, gravelly voice whispering in her ear.

  Their lips were magnets: the force between them too tenacious to be pulled away. Vanessa took her time unbuttoning his shirt, going one by one from the top to the bottom, intoxicating Aaron with the sensuality of restraint. He was rock hard by the time she reached the middle of his shirt, but her tantalizing meticulousness—her poised moderation—made him feel as if he were going to explode before she ever laid a hand on him.

  Aaron flung his shirt across the bed and concentrated on Vanessa, who had already taken off her shirt and unzipped her jeans. With a hand wrapped around his cock, Aaron watched with intensified observation as she wriggled herself into nudity, bunching the denim in a pile at the foot of the bed, out of sight beneath the covers. He wanted to feel her immediately; he wanted the contours of everything she kept hidden away to wrap around him like a warm, wet hug. He wanted to feel her in secret, unshared places. He wanted to thrust into her, joining their bodies in the delirium of elation.

  And yet, it wasn't quite time for that. He could tell that she was apprehensive, even before she confessed it to him. She was skittish and inexperienced, a newly minted adult trapped in the web of teenage know-how. Their age difference meant that Aaron would need to go slower, cater to her, create an atmosphere where Vanessa could grow into her sexuality. As much as he wanted her, Aaron understood that finding the specific combination to the lock of her orgasm was the top priority.

  Vanessa lay down on the bed and Aaron moved to straddle her, his boxer briefs jutting out in a pyramid from his body. She felt him graze along her leg, concrete and gargantuan, immense in his excitement. Looking down at her, Aaron traced along the perfect, youthful lines of her cleavage with his index finger. With a maddeningly slow sensuality, Aaron laid a line of light kisses across the mountains of her breasts, stuffed into lacy red lingerie, jutting up at him just as he jutted out at her. He kissed along the milky softness of her skin as goose bumps began to form in the trail of where his mouth had journeyed. He nibbled around her lacy thong—black, not matching her bra but mind-numbingly sexy nonetheless and soaked through—and slowly pulled it with his teeth, exposing her to him now, gleaming and dripping with desire.

  Aaron changed positions, wiggling between her legs and wrapping his arms around her thighs, pulling her onto his mouth. Vanessa tensed as each warm breath hit her, buckling and stiffening with every short inhale of her own. Looking up at her from his vantage point, her face painted the picture that she was utterly terrified, ashamed somehow, awash in her own anxiety. But from what Aaron could see directly in front of him, this wasn’t the case. Vanessa was constricting her pussy involuntarily to control how wet she was, how he’d saturated her already.

  “I can stop, if you want,” Aaron whispered into her, the sound waves rippling through her body like electricity. Vanessa bucked her hips, letting out a guttural moan that filled the room and Aaron smiled, running his tongue along the gates of her ecstasy.

  “Is that a yes or a no?” He teased, whispering into her once again as she jerked in euphoria. “I can stop, Vanessa. Do you want me to stop?”

  “Don’t stop,” she gasped, and fluttered in her exhilaration as Aaron took her into his mouth—voracious and hungry—as if he hadn’t eaten in days. She wrapped her hands around his head, holding him in place, and looked down at him. He was wearing her legs like a scarf, drinkin
g her in. He was dehydrated and she was a fountain, bubbling and squirting into his mouth. Vanessa could feel her orgasm mounting, building on itself, stacking up from the pit of her stomach, beginning to sizzle and radiate into her arms and legs. No, not yet, she thought. Not so soon. Vanessa wanted more, she wanted this feeling to last all night. She never wanted to leave this aura of warmth and dizziness. It was all too much, swirling in a tornado of fervent tension. Her legs were vibrating, she was losing the grip on Aaron’s head. Her hips were jolting and bouncing, alive with the sensation bubbling up within her. In what felt like a snap of rapture through her body, Vanessa’s eyes rolled backwards and she gasped, caught in a riptide of ferocious energy electrocuting every synapse before short-circuiting into a wave of bliss all over her body.

  Aaron pulled away from her, taking off his boxer briefs with one hand and wiping his mouth with the other before smearing her essence all over his cock. He was ready to burst. Just the sight of her hips bucking and pulsating, the sound of her moaning, the way her hands forced him to keep drinking from her turned him on more than he could’ve imagined. Aaron took his middle finger and swabbed it over her pussy—glazed with liquid euphoria—and Vanessa’s whole body pulsed with pleasure. Aaron gripped his cock and felt Vanessa, felt what he’d done to her, looked at her voluptuous curves as he stroked himself, kneeling over her.

  She was content, worn out from the fury of her own orgasm. He could see it in her eyes, dreamy and faraway, her smile crooked on her face. She was lightly panting in blissful gratification. Aaron could barely control himself now, and he didn’t want to disturb her post-orgasm satisfaction. His arm motioned wildly as he leaned his head back, succumbing to euphoria, clenching his teeth as he fell into the tidal wave of his own orgasm crashing through his body.

  Silence clung to the air between them and Aaron looked down at Vanessa. Her face was a fantasy, an almost romantic abstraction of pleasure and gratitude, and her hands drifted to the puddle he’d made on her stomach. She glanced at him playfully, not knowing what to say or how to act, as she’d never been in this position before. The only boy she’d ever had sex with had always used a condom. Vanessa had never even seen what semen really looked like before. It was so gelatinous, so slimy. Somehow, this discovery energized her. It was as if she were checking some sort of box on her to-do list toward real adulthood, turning a page in a book she was required to read before being able to wear the label.

  Aaron grinned at her and inhaled, crashing beside her in bed, worn out. With his last drops of energy, he grabbed his shirt from where he’d tossed it moments before and rubbed her stomach clean, sending the soiled shirt flying toward the hamper once all that was left were streaks on her skin. Exhaustion gripped Aaron, who nestled an arm across Vanessa’s body and fell asleep with her by his side nearly instantly.

  Chapter 12

  Aaron roused himself as the sunlight streamed in across the emptiness of his bed. She was gone. Was it all an illusion? Was Vanessa an intricate stitching of all the other odd events that had befallen him in the last twenty-four hours? He could barely remember what happened last night before she’d taken over his night, that inexplicable stretch of time when the clock sped up, when reality faded away, when he lost himself in a whirl of confusion.

  Work began hours ago. Aaron’s absence would absolutely be noted by Mr. Lee, who seemed more like an old-world spy than Aaron’s Vice President. Dreading the lecture he’d get from this man who held the mystifyingly strange position of subordinate even though he’d been working at Kümertech since before Aaron was alive, Aaron sighed and padded off to the shower, racking his brain for some excuse he could give. Not unlike a teenager caught skipping school, he decided to use the age-old alibi that sickness had gripped him while he slept.

  * * *

  The first bus departed at dawn from the stop down the street from Aaron’s hotel. The sky was purple fading to pink, which blazed into a robust orange as Vanessa stepped off at the stop closest to the Burger King where she left her bike. She raced home to shower, to get away, to look at who she was and what she’d done. Shame crawled across her like ivy on a brick façade. How could she have done this? What was she thinking when she merely took a glass of wine from a stranger, let alone crawling into bed with him?

  Disgusted with herself, with her behavior, with everything she’d allowed her life to become, Vanessa wailed through her empty house. Her sobs ricocheted off the walls where family portraits used to hang, where her mother used to mark her height as she sprung up through the years. She acted rashly, jumping the gun and muddling herself in the process. Girls who behaved that way—jumping into cars with strange men, blacking out in ecstasy in hotel rooms—had no self-respect. Vanessa didn’t have much anymore, but at least she had that.

  * * *

  Aaron didn’t know what time her shift began, or whether she was even working that night, but he knew he had to see her again. He craved her. He wanted to discover every bit of her body with his mouth. She was flitting through his mind, zipping through his stream of consciousness, rendering him useless and swimming in a sea of his own lust. Aaron waited at the strip club from 7 p.m. onward, scanning everyone who walked through its doors.

  After a few hours of examining a stream of middle-aged, thoroughly bland men with cowboy boots and pickup trucks, Aaron saw her ride up to the front of the club around 11 p.m. Quickly bolting out of his Porsche, he strode toward her with a sense of urgency. She winced and cowered, not realizing who it was. Or perhaps, maybe she had realized it was him, he thought with a sinking sentiment as she skidded out of his path, away from him. She didn’t seem to want to have anything to do with him, locking her bike furiously, maniacally, and scuttling off toward the doors to the club.

  “Vanessa,” he hissed after her.

  “What do you want?” She said, turning around. Her face was twisted in grief. What had he done? Aaron scrolled through his mental Rolodex of memories to ponder whether he’d lost more time, if something in him took over, if he hurt her. Nothing came to mind, which haunted him even more.

  “I want… you…” he faltered, not knowing what to say. For all his money in the bank, for all his swagger in business, for all the ways he could make a woman melt with just a stare in her direction, he never did learn the art of communication.

  Vanessa stood there, willing him to say more. He didn’t know what she needed to hear, what she was trying to cull from the depths of his mind. After an unbearable minute of silence, of staring into the abyss of each other, she sighed. “I have to go to work now.”

  “No,” he lunged after her. “No, no you don’t. Come with me instead.”

  Vanessa smirked incredulously. “Come with you where?”

  “Back to my hotel room. Out to dinner. Hawaii. Anywhere. You haven’t left my mind since I met you,” he gushed.

  “I have bills to pay,” she said, turning away from Aaron again.

  “Let me pay them,” Aaron replied, a little too quickly. “Just… come back with me. You don’t need to work here. You don’t need to do this.”

  Vanessa, awash in confusion, paused. She was being pulled in all directions. Emma needed medications. The both of them needed a secure roof over their heads and food on their table. Her shift began three minutes ago. And most grievously, this man who pulled back the curtain on arguably the most sensual night of her life—a night where she actually felt desired, sexy, like a woman—wanted to take her away from all of this.

  He is just exaggerating, Vanessa thought to herself. There’s not a chance that he’d go out of his way for me. It’s just a ploy, just a way to use me for a night. And yet, looking at him from head to toe, one would assume that he had a full repertoire of women on reserve. The way his suits fit, the way his Porsche revs, the way he can cut steel beams with his eyes: bright and cerulean against a rich, earthy skin tone. He could have any woman he wanted, and yet… he was here.

  And it was true that as the day wore on, as Vanessa’s mind drifted ever
backwards to the events of the night before, she began to soften. She remembered the tenderness he’d used to touch her, the warmth of his breath along the insides of her thighs, the way he made her entire body vibrate with euphoria. She wanted to feel shame, because logically, that’s how she was supposed to feel. But what she couldn’t quite expunge from her mind was the fact that the world of sexual pleasure was seldom logical.

  “Let me take you to my apartment,” Aaron said slowly, softly, “in the city.”

  “I…” Vanessa sighed, walking toward him. “I… can’t do that.”

  “Why?” Aaron asked, genuinely.

  “Look, this isn’t the time or the place to talk about this,” Vanessa could feel the truth bubbling up beneath her skin, right there in the parking lot. She felt as though she were about to burst, to break open in front of him, spewing the reality of her life across the perfect image of her that he’d concocted in his head. He didn’t want to hear about Emma. About epilepsy. About poverty. About dead parents. He wanted nothing to do with any of that, she could feel it. All he wanted was to experience her, to taste her, to feel her.

  “Tell me,” he whispered, taking her hand. “Why can’t you join me tonight?”

  “I can’t go to the city tonight,” Vanessa sighed. “But I can go with you to a hotel.”

  Chapter 13

  A different bedroom. Another set of sheets. A contrasting view of the ordinary, lackluster suburban landscape. Aaron and Vanessa were shadows dancing in the recycled illumination of streetlights flowing in from outside, moving in a choreography that they each somehow knew yet never actually learned. He laid her on the bed, ripping his shirt off, too lost in the moment to practice patience. She had poisoned his mind with her hips, with her moans, with the way her supple breasts were stuffed into her bra and shoved in his face. She was all he could imagine—lingering through his mind like cigarette smoke dispersing through the air, haunting his every moment with the way she smelled, the way she tasted. Tonight, he had to have her.