Baby Batter: A Baby For The Billionaire Single Dad Romance

by Alexis Angel

Lying down on the couch, I grin as I feel his mouth caressing my skin, but then Parker crushes that grin into submission by pressing his lips against mine. I tremble slightly as I feel the cum on his lips, proof of how insane the two of us have gotten, and then I just let my tongue dance around his over a blanket of thick cum.

  Lost in our kiss, I let all worry fade away into nothingness.

  At least for now, we’ve escaped the real world; our hiding place is both of our naked bodies.

  Parker

  It's been three days since Susan Duran left. Three days since she detonated that bomb in my lap and said she was quitting this campaign and left me scrambling.

  Luckily, I'm not one to take things sitting down. I'm fucking proactive.

  I'm standing at the podium, and I look over at my new campaign manager, Megan Wright. She's standing off to the side, giving me a secret thumbs up, as if that's supposed to make me feel any better about this press conference.

  Megan is Susan Duran's opposite in every way. She has a head full of big curls that sway like the ocean when she talks.

  Susan was a planner, the kind of person who ate checklists for breakfast. Bounced bullet lists instead of basketballs.

  Do you see where I'm fucking going with this?

  Megan is a planner too, I suppose, but on the opposite end of the spectrum. With her, we make a plan by throwing it up in the air, and then sort of wing it through the details falling all around us.

  This is one of those 'just winging it' moments, and she's smiling and sipping a Pepsi and I'm over here, in front of hundreds of eager reporters, hoping I can pull this off.

  But I think Megan's vision is good. It should work. I've just got to pull it off.

  She's advised me to remain focused on the issues. The fucking things that matter to the people of this city she says—jobs, taxes, infrastructure, family.

  I can practically hear Megan's words echoing in my brain as I straighten my tie. "Whatever you do, stay away from your private life," she repeated to me just minutes ago, as I watched her hair sway. "I mean it Parker; don't let the conversation go there."

  I take a deep breath, straighten my tie, put on my game face, and begin.

  "Thank you all for joining me here today," I say. "I think we can all agree that Congress should hear your concerns as it pertains to increasing jobs in this city we call home, fixing our IT infrastructure, and cutting taxes. I'm prepared to be your voice in the Senate."

  I give this opener and look around at the crowd. Normally, I hear a few cheers, and maybe a few claps, but right now, it's crickets. People are staring with blank faces. The silence is unnerving. It's a completely different vibe than the last press conference I gave.

  I continue, "Today, I'd like to talk about—" but a red-faced reporter wearing square, black-rimmed glasses immediately interrupts me.

  "Excuse me, Mr. Trask, what is your relationship to your advisor, Amy?"

  I look over at the report in question, immediately spotting him in the crowd. "I'd like to keep the discussion on the issues that matter," I reply.

  The reporter pushes back, "I think I speak for everyone when I say that's an issue that matters to all of the citizens of New York City."

  "I've said this before, but I want to make it clear that my private life does not concern the public. That's final. I don't give a fuck about what the media thinks about me. As you all know, at the end of the day, I'm a mayor who get results for this city."

  Another reporter chimes in, ignoring my stance on privacy, and says, "Mr. Trask, is it true that Amy is your daughter, and that she's been staying with you at Gracie Mansion?"

  "That's incorrect," I say. "She's my stepdaughter and—"

  The red-faced reporter cuts me off before I can get another word in. "Wouldn't you agree that having personal relations with your stepdaughter sends the wrong message to citizens?"

  "Well, that's not what—" I try to say, adjusting the microphone, but am cut off again.

  "Isn't it against state rules to be undergoing such an affair within the walls of Gracie Mansion? Not to mention, don't you agree it's morally corrupt?"

  "No comment," I say, trying to move on. This is going downhill fast. This definitely isn't where I wanted our discussion to go today.

  "Mr. Trask, just answer the question," the reporters continue to chime in.

  "I repeat, I won't be answering personal questions. We should remain focused on the real issues."

  "But Mr. Trask, what are you really hiding from the citizens of New York City? Why won't you simply answer our questions?"

  "This press conference is over," I say, raising a hand to the crowd. I realize there's no use trying to steer a sinking ship.

  I can hear boos from the crowd, and a jumble of questions still rumbling through the reporters. But I wave them off and walk backstage, joining Megan and Amy.

  I wipe a thin line of sweat that I didn't even realize had begun to gather on my forehead.

  "Well, that felt like being lowered into shark-infested waters inside of a chum bucket," I say, looking at Megan and Amy. "Fuck, that crowd was out for blood. I couldn't get a word in."

  Megan's pacing back and forth, and her confidence seems to have faded faster than a new pair of jeans.

  "What's wrong?" I ask her, concern growing on my face. "I know this press conference didn't go as planned, but I have a feeling there's something you aren't fucking telling me."

  With that, she looks up, holding my gaze and says, "I hate to say it, but we have bigger problems."

  "Bigger fucking problems?" I ask, eyes wide. I honestly can't think of anything worse than this press conference.

  "It's Susan Duran," she says. "She was seen going into the Governor's campaign office Downtown."

  I look over at Amy.

  She's standing next to Megan and nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the next. I've never seen her look so nervous.

  "Don't worry," I tell Amy, placing the palm of my hand gently against her cheek. When I do that, she walks over and rests her head on my chest.

  "Whatever comes … we'll face it together," I say.

  Amy

  “Her poll numbers have been climbing steadily,” I sigh, waving at the stack of papers in front of me with a frown. His staff provided us with the last analysis on the Senate race and, despite Parker's numbers being as solid as ever, my mom is just snapping at our heels.

  It’s been a week since Susan left.

  “Yeah, I can see that,” he frowns, peering over my shoulder at the graph in front of me. We’ve been pouring over these documents for the last half an hour and, even though we haven’t said it out loud, we both know that with the numbers my mom is pulling right now, all she needs to do is use the relationship Parker and I have to secure her position in the polls. Which means that we have a sword hanging over our necks, and no idea when it’s coming down to cut off both of our heads.

  “Still, unless something major changes, I’d say you’re well on your way to secure the Senate,” I smile, swiveling the chair around so that I’m facing him. I’m trying to be optimistic, but it isn’t easy. Especially now that Susan jumped ship.

  “Yeah, let’s focus on what we can do to --” Parker falls silent as someone knocks on the door to his office. “Yeah? Come in,” he says, and the door swings open to reveal a tall and slender woman wearing jeans and a loose blouse, her hair pulled into a messy bun, with a few strands of her curly hair framing her face. Megan Wright, the new campaign manager, doesn’t seem to really care about looking good; she just cares about getting the job done. Which, as far as I’m concerned, sounds perfect.

  “I think you should turn on the TV,” she says to Parker, an excited smile on her face. Behind her, I see all of Parker’s staff huddled together in the center of the room, staring at one of the flat TVs mounted on the wall.

  “Why? What happened?” I ask Megan as Parker reaches for the remote and, with one click, turns it on.

  “See for yourself,” Meg
an smiles, and then simply slides out of the room with a grin and closes the door behind her, leaving Parker and I to see what’s going on.

  “What the…?” Parker whispers to himself, turning the TV toward one of the news channels and sitting down on the chair by my side. On the screen, a middle-aged reporter with white hair is talking about my mother, and under him there’s a red stripe with bold white letters, a headline that reads Backlash for Meelios.

  “Turn it up,” I tell Parker, but I don’t give him the time to do it. I snag the remote off his hands and turn up the volume, my unblinking eyes focused on the screen.

  “Governor Katherine Meelios is having a rough night,” the newscaster says, an amused tone to his voice. “After a well-received speech in front of a crowd mostly composed of veterans, all was going well for the New York Governor when a microphone suddenly caught her off guard. Let’s see the footage,” he nods at the camera, and then the screen pans to a packed conference room.

  My mother’s on the stage, shaking a few hands from the veterans that have come up on the stage, and then she leans toward one of her assistants and whispers something. Except her whisper isn’t really a whisper; the microphone in front of her picks up what she’s saying and the words echo throughout the room.

  “How long is this going to take?” she asks the assistant, smiling to the veteran that’s shaking her hand. “I’m tired of these idiots. I can’t stand all this Army stupidity,” she continues, and then she snaps her head toward the microphone in front of her, realizing that it has amplified each and every one of her words. A loud and confused boo takes over the crowd, and then the image pans back to the newscaster.

  “Well, I guess we can put down Governor Meelios on the list of people having a worse day than us, right, Michelle?” he asks his co-presenter with an amused smile. “And now, let’s cut to the Puppy Fair taking place at the --” I turn the TV to mute and let the remote slip from my fingers and fall on the desk.

  “Oh my God…” I whisper, turning toward Parker. “Did you hear what I just heard?”

  “I did… And so did everyone else,” Parker chuckles, pointing with his head at the door to his office. His staff’s whistling and clapping, almost as if they’re celebrating a home run from their favorite baseball team. Which, really, is pretty much what this feels like.

  My mother really fucked up this time. A faux pas like this won’t be easily resolved, and it’ll probably be enough to sink her bid to the Senate. Of all people, she had to go and pick on the veterans. I can probably imagine her in her hotel room right now, tearing her hair out as she replays the images I’ve just seen over and over again. I figure the guy in charge of the microphones is going to be on the hunt for a new job soon enough.

  “I hope this does it for her,” I tell Parker, taking a deep breath and feeling as if someone has taken a heavy weight off my chest. If her faux pas ruins her bid, she’ll have to drop out, which means she won’t need to come after Parker and I anymore.

  “Well, we should probably keep our guard up all the same,” Parker replies with an easy smile, and I can tell that some of the stress caused by this election has been lifted off of his shoulders.

  “I guess the road toward the Senate is going to be an easy one now,” I say, getting up from my seat and closing the distance between Parker and I. I grab the hemline of my dress and, hiking it up just a few inches, I climb on top of him, straddling him. “Senator Trask… I like the sound of it.”

  “You do, huh?” he whispers, his hands trailing down the side of my body and going over the curve of my ass.

  “I do…” I purr. “I can be your intern, Senator. And this particular intern would love to do her country a service and fuck her Senator,” I continue, biting down on my lower lip teasingly.

  “I don’t think a Senator’s supposed to fuck his interns, Amy. Although I could make an exception for you,” he says, squeezing my ass cheeks.

  “It’s not like you have any choice, Senator Daddy,” I continue, placing one hand on his chest and letting my fingers trail down to his crotch. I grab his cock over his dress pants and, squeezing it, I lean in and nibble at Parker’s lower lip. “Let’s do something different tonight. Let’s celebrate.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Have you ever heard of Python?” I ask him, a wicked grin on my lips. I haven’t been to Python, a club where women’s dreams come true, in ages… And it seems like the perfect place for a celebration. Although it’s not like we can go there without drawing unwanted attention.

  “Heard of it? I used to work there, Amy,” Parker replies, sliding one hand up my leg and under the hemline of my tight-fitting dress. “Back in the day with my buddy Aidan Stone.”

  “Worked there…?” I ask him with one arched eyebrow, holding my breath as I feel him flattening the palm of his hand over my thong.

  “Yes, I used to moonlight there when Python was still in Queens.” He presses his hand hard against my pussy, and I let out a soft quivering moan.

  “Are you going to take me there?” I grin again, fully knowing that this is nothing more than a fantasy. It’s not like we can simply stroll inside Python’s in the middle of a Senate race. The media would crucify us, and that’d give my mother another shot at winning. Still, it’s fun to fantasize.

  “You know we can’t,” he whispers, looking straight into my eyes. “Which is a fucking shame.”

  “Well,” I start, going up to my feet and patting down the front of my dress, “at least we agree on that. But now,” I bend over, showing him cleavage while I give his cock another squeeze, “I must head home and read through all these documents for tomorrow.”

  “Stay,” he whispers, and I just know that if I stay one more minute inside his office that we’re going to end up fucking. Which would be perfect if I didn’t have a Mount Everest of legal briefings to read through tonight.

  “I can’t,” I tell him, turning my back to him and picking up the documents from the desk, stuffing them inside my messenger bag. “But you can rest assured that I’ll spend the night thinking of you.”

  “That makes two of us,” he whispers as I leave his office, throwing him one wicked smile. He replies with a smile of his own, and something in it tells me that the gears inside his head have already started to turn.

  You don’t get a man hard and then leave without suffering the consequences.

  And I can’t wait for that.

  Amy

  Ever since Mom’s dropping the ball, it seems Parker’s campaign has spiraled into a workaholic’s wet dream. We’re trying to capitalize on my mother’s mistake, and that means we leave no stone unturned. We aren't leaving any holes in our armor.

  Of course, I also know that the Achilles’ heel in Parker’s campaign is… well, me. And that’s exactly why I’ve been working harder than everyone else on the staff. I want Parker to succeed, and I’ll do my best to see that happen. My mother may have forced me into this, but I’ve given up on being her spy long ago.

  Still, even though everyone is ecstatic about her mistake at the veteran’s convention, I can’t help but worry. What if, instead of simply rolling over and accepting defeat, she decides to go on the offensive? When dealing with my mother, Governor Meelios, you can always expect the unexpected.

  “Alright, one more briefing and I’m done…” I whisper to myself, grabbing one of the folders in front of me and putting it on top of my laptop’s keyboard. I’m about to open it when I hear someone knocking at my door. One quick glance at my cellphone tells me it’s already 7 pm, which means it’s probably Parker at the door.

  We agreed to have dinner at my place today, and that explains the La Perla lingerie I’m wearing right now—a red lace bra and matching thong, both these pieces hiding underneath a tight fitting (and very revealing) dress.

  “Right on time…” I say as I open the door, but I trail off as I notice that Parker isn’t alone. Standing by his side are two men almost as tall as him, both of them wearing dark
suits and skinny ties. What really surprises me about them isn’t that they seem to be two perfect specimens, as well-built as Parker, but the fact that they’re wearing masks—one of them black, the other white.

  “Since we can’t go to Python, I brought Python to you,” Parker says, showing me his irresistible smile. I take one step back, allowing the three of them in without saying a word. I mean, what can you say when three perfect men show up at your apartment, all of them ready to give you the night of your life?

  “You’re one of a kind,” I simply whisper, my eyes darting from him to the masked men.

  “Anything for you,” he whispers back at me, placing his hands on my hips and pulling me into him. Leaning into me, he brushes his lips against mine, and I surrender to his kiss just like that. “Now let’s get you out of that dress,” he continues, pulling back from me and running both his hands up the side of my body. His fingers go up to my shoulders, and then he pushes the straps of my dress to the side, allowing them to droop over my arms. The two men come up to me then and, one of them by my right side and the other on the left one, they grab at my dress and yank on it, pushing it down until it becomes just a bundle of bunched up fabric around my ankles.

  “Fuck, you look amazing,” Parker breathes out, taking one step back as his eyes wander up and down my half-naked body.

  “Anything for you,” I repeat his words from before as I step out from my dress, my pussy growing wetter each time my heart beats. I’ve heard about the legendary Python nights, where masked men use and abuse you, soaking you with pleasure until all that’s left is pure exhaustion… But I’ve never had the courage to sign up for something as crazy as that. I mean, to go up on stage and allow a bunch of masked men to fuck me silly? I’m crazy, but not that crazy. Although now, with three handsome men in my apartment… Well, how can I say no to this?

  “What happens now?” I ask Parker, my heart beating faster and faster with each passing second.