His Baby: A Babycrazy Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  So I looked deep into Susie’s eyes, imbuing the gaze with everything I felt for the woman.

  “I’m so sorry,” was my growl. “I never asked for this. I never wanted things to get screwed up in this manner. In fact, I’ve only been thinking of you, and trying to figure out a way to get back up to the Flamingo. It’s been a hellish couple months to say the least.”

  She gazed back at me, the caramel eyes still a little wary but at least the raging fear and anger were gone.

  “Okay,” Susie said while taking a deep breath. “I get it. Okay.”

  I levered myself off her body before pulling her close to my side.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” came my murmur again. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you or make you feel bad in any way. In fact, I love you. You’re the only one who means something to me in this cesspool of a city, and you don’t even live here,” I said wryly. “What I wouldn’t do to move back to Manhattan right now.”

  She looked at me, before turning to face my form with those soft curves undulating.

  “But you can move back,” she said in a gentle voice. “It’s not impossible.”

  I let out a sharp bark.

  “Are you kidding sweetheart? Not since Richard Nixon has a President of the United States resigned from office. I don’t exactly want to follow in the steps of Tricky Dick, if you get what I mean.”

  She shook her head.

  “Yes, I get it,” the female spoke. “But you’re so unhappy. Doesn’t that count for something? You can’t live life like this, stewing non-stop in your fancy suits. It’s not worth it Thomas. Life isn’t meant to be lived like this.”

  I took a deep breath because how could I make her understand? I’m the President, for crying out loud. How could I just turn my back on the people who had elected me?

  But on the other hand, Susie had a point. I hate my life. I hate getting up in the morning, my heart heavy with dread. I hate putting on these goddamn suits that all look the same, while making nice with diplomats who can’t wait until I’m gone. I hate the cameras, the endless news coverage, and the media barons, all who want to bring me down. I hate them all. So to my own surprise, I nodded.

  “I’ll think about it,” came my low voice. “Because shit, I really want to quit.”

  She nodded.

  “We all do sometimes,” she said. “And there’s no shame in quitting, so long as the circumstances are right. Because we’re not here on Earth to hate every minute of existence, Thomas. We’re humans. We’re meant to be happy, and it’s our right to pursue happiness in life. Isn’t that what the Declaration of Independence says? And you’ve suffered enough. You never asked for this, and it was only through sheer chance that the office landed on you. So maybe it’s time to throw in the towel. Be happy, Thomas. Start your life over because you deserve it.”

  And holy hell, but Susie’s words moved me. How did the girl do it? Somehow, her sentences stirred my soul deep within, tapping into what I really wanted. Because I was sick of this city. I was sick of this office and the in-fighting and squabbles, large and small, that happened each day. I was sick of the ceaseless demands, the non-stop traveling, and the rubber chicken dinners. I wanted peace and happiness once more, and becoming a private citizen was the first step on that path.

  So I took her hands in mine.

  “If I do it,” came my low growl. “Will you come with me? Because sweetheart, you mean the world to me. It doesn’t matter that you dance for a living. It doesn’t matter if you’re green, blue, or purple with polka dots. What matters is that we love each other, and want to be together.”

  Susie looked at me then with light and adoration in her eyes.

  “Yes, I’ll come with you, Mr. President.” She took a deep breath. “Because ultimately, it doesn’t matter to me if you’re the president or not. What matters is that I, Susie Hemphill, love you, Thomas Burke, and I want to be with you. So yes, Mr. President. Take that as my agreement.”

  And with that, I lowered my head to her sweet pout, taking the little girl’s lips. Because these were the words that I needed to hear, a balm over my sore heart. This woman would be with me through thick and thin, even if I rejected the highest office in the land. She didn’t care about keeping up with the Joneses, or about the trappings of success. She wanted to be with me because true love is the way to happiness, and we were destined to walk the path together.

  So yes, despite our unconventional beginnings, the starlet and the President found their way together. It was crazy, our first meeting taking place in a seedy joint called the Pink Flamingo. But you know what? It’s no crazier than on-line dating or using a matchmaker. And what’s important is that my true love is in my arms … for better or worse, richer or poorer, until death do us part.

  THE END

  His Princess

  ~The Billionaire’s Maid~

  © 2018

  By Gemma Wolf

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  CHAPTER 1

  HOWIE

  My cock is rock hard and throbbing against the zipper of my tailored pants. If I stare at her too long, I’m going to have to take these Italian slacks back to the dry cleaners. I’ve never seen the maid by the couch in my penthouse before. I would have noticed a girl like that. She’s on her hands and knees by the white leather sofa, right in front of my penthouse window. She wipes the marble floor like it needs cleaning, but actually, this whole place is pristine.

  I set my briefcase down on the kitchen counter while she work on the other side of the apartment. I keep her in my eye as I ask Edwin, my butler, about the new girl.

  “Edwin, who is that?”

  “Who, the maid?”

  “Yes, the maid.” Her head perks up like she’s heard us talking. But no, the girl’s noticed a stain on the couch and sits upright and starts to wipe again. Her blonde hair is bound in a tight ponytail that reaches down her back. I can see her breathing. Her chest moves up and down. She’s on her knees on my floor. Her sweet cunt hovers over my Persian rug.

  Edwin frowns while staring her way.

  “We hired her while you were vacationing in Florence. Is there a problem with her services?”

  “No problem at all, Edwin. Just asking.”

  My butler nods and bows before scuttling off. Suddenly, it’s just the two of us together in the living room. The blonde’s kneeling now, stroking at a stain that doesn’t really exist. My cock twitches under my belt. I have to adjust my pants to hide my erection, but at that moment, she raises her face and I catch a glimpse of a perfect profile. Wow. Since when did Miss America clean house for others?

  I know what you’re thinking. He’s just some rich asshole with no heart for others. He doesn’t care about the help, much less some poor girl who works for pennies. But you’re wrong. I’ve served my time, literally. I was in Afghanistan during 2007, where I almost lost my leg and my arm. I’ve known the grunts, and I’ve known the guys in charge too. But somehow, this girl changes the equation. All the memories of war rush away when I see her ponytail bobbing up and down on the other side of the white couch, intersecting with the tip of the Empire State Building looming in the penthouse window.

  I clear my throat. I’ve got to say something. If I don’t, my cock is going to scream something rude and crass. In fact, there’s a little bulb of moisture coming out of the tip. And all this from seeing her ponytail, for god’s sake. I clear my throat again. This time the maid’s face turns, and the breath whooshes out of my chest.

  Because she’s gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful. Blue eyes as clear as the sky and lips like rose petals, ripe and velvety. She’s looking straight at me.

  “Mr. Bates,” interrupts a voice to my left. It’s Albie, the elderly woman who is the head housekeeper of my New York property. “Mr. Bates, you’ve got a phone call.”

  I try to bring my
erection down. I try to think about Albie or someone else who’s old and decrepit. But it’s useless because I’ve seen that face now and my body’s on fire. Her chin hovers above lush, swaying breasts. Those tits scream out for me under the buttons.

  Oh shit. I need her. My very own Cinderella.

  But the phone call can’t be ignored, so I grunt something inarticulate and turn away, striding to my mahogany-paneled office. Seizing the receiver, I speak.

  “Yes, go ahead and transfer the six hundred million. The offshore accounts are going to be fine. Look, next time you need my permission, go through my accountants, okay? You’ve interrupted a perfectly lovely afternoon.”

  Because this business stuff is fucking boring. I’m thinking about how soft her lips are going to feel on my cock. I’m thinking about tonguing that pussy. Fuck, I’m thinking about tonguing that asshole even. I just want my mouth on that delectable maid.

  The voice on the line burbles something that sounds like the adults in a Charlie Brown cartoon.

  “No apology necessary,” is my grunt. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  And with that, the call’s done. I hang up and fall back into my chair. I don’t really need to have any say in what goes on with my business affairs anymore. It’s all behind me. I made my money and now I’m free from all thoughts and cares because at this point, the money makes money by itself. After twenty years of slogging away, my company now runs like clockwork. Sure, they need my okay sometimes for big transactions, but for the most part, it runs on its own.

  So that leaves me plenty of free time, and I use it. I’ve got my penthouse, my vacations, and my… service team.

  A knock comes on the door.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m coming to pick up the trash.”

  I know at once it’s her. I can just tell. No one else in this house has a voice like that. Musical, innocent, and sweet. She sounds younger than I thought. My cock stiffens again at the thought of everything I want to do to the sweet female.

  “Come,” is my commanding tone.

  She does as she’s told. Good. Just as expected, there’s Cinderella, dressed in a short black and white maid’s uniform. I can see her full frontal now, and it makes my mouth water. Long legs coated in beige nylon. Face like a princess. A tiny waist that flares into full, round ass. Boobs straining mightily against the tight button holes of the uniform.

  Perfect. Just perfect. Because everything about her look screams “my type.” But to my surprise, I’m at a loss for what to say and how to command her. It’s odd because usually these things come naturally to me. I know how to use women, and I definitely know how to make them feel good.

  So to find myself frozen, the words melting on my lips, is weird. But I guess it makes sense in some messed-up way because ever since getting back from Afghanistan, things have been off. Sure, I still go to the nude beaches and debauched parties in SoHo filled with celebrities. But I’m not into it anymore. Instead, I’ve been totally celibate, which isn’t my usual style. The therapist says its PTSD, but I call it Pretty Things Stopped Deploying. Shit is different now, and I don’t know how to get my mojo back.

  But the blonde girl has one hundred percent of my attention. Now she’s coming near the other side of my desk to grab the trash. I scoot my chair back and my cock rages under my pants. I hope she doesn’t see because she’ll run screaming in fear, my package is that huge. Her supple breasts bounce as she nears, and I desperately want her to sit on my lap. I want to push myself inside her. I want to fill those holes with my straining length.

  Fuck.

  She bends before me, and I catch a whiff of her scent for the first time. Lilac perfume, sweet and light.

  “Excuse me,” she smiles shyly, reaching under the desk. Her blonde ponytail grazes her cheek as she extracts the bag of trash.

  “Miss?” I ask. She looks up, blue eyes wide and trusting. I hope she doesn’t see the bulge in my pants, but it’s near her face. She’s between me and the desk and it’s taking all of my control not to mount her from behind and tear through those nylons.

  “Yes?” she murmurs.

  “How long have you been working here?”

  “I started a month ago.”

  I smile smoothly.

  “No wonder we haven’t met. I’m Howie. Howie Bates.” My dick twitches even as I extend a hand. She’s so near I can almost taste her. My body calls out for the lush female. The perfect proportions have my mouth salivating, my dick twitching involuntarily in my pants. I can envision my cum dripping down the inside of her thighs. Fuck.

  And the poor thing has no idea what I’m thinking because if she did, she’d sue for sexual harassment or some shit like that. Instead, the blonde smiles.

  “I know.” Her voice is so soft as she clasps my hand. “Welcome home, Mr. Bates.”

  The words move over her moist lips like poems, and my heart seizes. But I don’t want to hurt her. She’s so pretty. So young. So innocent.

  “What’s a girl like you doing working a job like this?” I growl.

  She blinks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you’re … well, if I may be frank, you’re drop-dead gorgeous.” I scoot my chair towards her a bit, and inch closer to her with my feet. She’s blushing. She turns to leave, cheeks flushed, but I can tell she’s holding back a smile. “You’re too pretty to work on the floor like that,” is my rumble.

  She turns to face me.

  “Like what?” she asks, lowering her hands to her thighs. “What do you mean, Sir?”

  The tight black maid’s dress is at the tips of her fingers. If she wanted to lift up her skirt and show me, she could. Oh shit. I’m dying for a glimpse of that tight little pussy, wet and puffy. My cock twitches in anticipation. Good thing my pants are black because cum is leaking onto the fabric front. She’s got to be able to see the bulge.

  But I keep going like nothing’s wrong.

  “In the living room. I saw you, on all fours on the floor.”

  She blushes again as I smile wolfishly.

  “Don’t be shy. Look, I know I’m being a little forward. It’s just that I’ve never seen anyone like you before,” I say simply. “Never.”

  And slowly, I raise my hand. The need is too strong, and I reach out to trace the bottom of her skirt with my fingertip.

  “Mr. Bates, I-”

  “Never in my whole life have I seen someone as pretty as you,” I trace my finger onto the nylon of her thigh now. My digit moves a little ways under her skirt now, gentle and unassuming. “May I?” is my courteous question.

  Of course, she doesn’t really have a choice. I’m a self-made billionaire who’s as handsome as fuck, while she’s the maid who literally works on her hands and knees in front of me, scrubbing the floor. Our positions are so imbalanced that there’s only one right answer.

  Imperceptibly, the girl nods.

  “Good,” I say with satisfaction. Slowly, I move my hand between her legs and slide it gently up her thigh. Oh shit. My hand’s approaching a furnace, she’s so hot. And as my fingers move slowly up that luscious flesh, I feel it then. This girl’s so wet that she’s leaked through the fabric of her panties.

  Oh yell yeah. Just my type.

  I slide my hand over that juice and squeeze lightly through the lace, savoring the puffy, full flesh. She lets out a moan.

  “Mr. Bates, I- …” The girl pants helplessly, eyes wide as she teeters before me. Just then Albie calls from the kitchen.

  “Lacy, we need you out here. The grocery delivery just showed up!”

  Fuck this! Fuck Albie! But in response, I pull my hand back from her cunt and take a deep sniff of those female juices on my fingertips.

  “Lacy is it?” I grind out.

  “Yes. That’s me.”

  “Lacy, I’m going to need to see you in my private bathroom when you’re finished helping Albie. There is a stain in the grout, and maybe you can help me get it out. We’ll use special tools.” />
  She smiles and it’s like the heavens singing, sunshine streaming through the clouds to bathe me in a warm light. I can’t help it. I have to know.

  “What’s a girl like you doing cleaning house anyway?” I ask again.

  But Lacy has me wrapped around her little finger already. With a mysterious smile, she leaves my office without bothering to answer. I watch her ass sway back and forth as she moves across the room. Now my cock is really raging. I need to dump my hot jism in her sweet holes, panting as she cums on my dick.

  And I guess this is a good thing because I haven’t felt like this in a long time. Not since I first enlisted. Not since the first days of basic training when I ran my body hard, hurtling over obstacles with a gun in hand and a fifty-pound pack on my back. I felt alive then. But the years of war took something from me, and I’m looking for that missing piece now.

  Maybe she’s it. Maybe this Cinderella will bring my body back to life and make me whole once more. I don’t know. I hope so.