by Eva Luxe
We gasped.
“You felt that? Even our daughter agrees!” I said, tears running down my cheeks. I loved this. The view of a new life with all my family was before me. Talk about a happy ending.
Damien
Our story wasn’t over yet. Because when we got home, that’s when the real magic happened. I carried Willow to our bedroom, despite her protests that she was pregnant.
“I’m not going to drop you,” I told her, holding her close in my arms. “But I am going to make love to my amazing fiancée.”
I spun her around while taking off her clothes. Then I grabbed a hold of her perfect ass cheeks and spread her pussy and ass wide open.
“This is exactly how I wanted to see you the first time I saw you,” I told her.
“Really?” she asked. “At the strip club?”
“Really. I went home and thought about you giving me a lap dance.”
“We never even got to do that,” she said.
“Oh, we will. There’s a whole lot of things we still need to do yet together, you and I.”
I stuck my finger into her pussy, which was dripping wet for me, like always.
“Let me put my cock in here,” I told her.
“Yes, Sir.”
She leaned over, with her hands on the bed. I quickly undressed and then put the tip of my cock at the entrance to her quivering pussy.
“Do you remember when I took your virginity?” I asked her.
“Of course,” she answered.
I slid my dick slowly into her, reliving that day all over again.
“I love you,” I told her, as I reached around to play with her clit while I pushed myself further into her. “I’m so glad I met you.”
“I love you too.”
She let out a soft moan and I grabbed her hips with my free hand while continuing to massage her clit with the other one. Our relationship thus far had been centered around everyone else’s drama. I was so glad it could be just us now, enjoying each other.
My cock began to throb as I thrust it in and out of her. She leaned back onto my tattooed chest.
“I’m going to come,” she said, gasping.
I grabbed ahold of her nipples— still as pink and perfect as the day I met her, although more pronounced now with pregnancy, highlighting her larger breasts very nicely— and pinched them in my fingers.
She gyrated and bounced around on my cock while coming all over it. The sensation was amazing and again sparked memories of that first time she sat on my lap, and all the things I wanted to do to her while giving me a lap dance.
I gently grabbed ahold of her hair and bit her neck while I felt the base of my balls tighten.
“I’ve claimed you as mine, Willow,” I told her, pushing in and out of her a few more times while she moaned, coming over and over again. “And I’m never going to let you go.”
She managed to say, “Good,” in between orgasms, while I shot my cum into her wet, naked pussy.
Finally, I held onto her as we collapsed on the bed, my arm encircling her belly. This was exactly the way things were meant to be: Willow and I together for good, sleeping soundly with our baby in her womb and our daughter waiting to see her Mommy and Daddy— and soon to be little sister— every day.
Thank you for reading!
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Baby Wanted: A Virgin & Billionaire Romance
Copyright © 2017 by Eva Luxe and Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved.
Cover by Cosmic Letterz.
Chapter 1 – Stacy
Today was supposed to be a normal start to a normal day at work— at least, as “normal” as anything could be when one’s job is stripping, which, mine happens to be. But nothing was turning out to be normal at all.
The music wasn’t on, and the doors to the club were closed. My friend Lindsey and I both tried calling the owner. A few of the other dancers and bartenders showed up, scratching their heads as well.
“He isn’t answering my calls. Any luck, Lindsey?” I asked, smoothing my hand down the rusted door to the bar.
The alley way began to darken with the sky. The only thing that usually kept this area lit were the lights from the bar when it was open, which it was supposed to be now, but clearly wasn’t.
“No. I’ve been trying to call his ass for the last ten minutes!” Lindsey hissed, staring at her phone as if it could give her a magical answer.
I rubbed my chin and glanced up at the sign that would originally be lit up, letting everyone know Bar Seven was open for business.
Frowning, I sighed and looked at my phone. “Yeah, we were supposed to be open twenty minutes ago.”
Now there were customers beginning to wobble down the alley, expecting a fun time. They looked just as puzzled as we were to find out the bar wasn’t open.
“Yo, what’s happening? Ya’ll not open?” A guy asked, his girl for the night hanging off of him.
Just then, Lindsey’s phone rang. “Shit, it’s him!” she took the call and jutted out her hips to the side. “Hey. What’s going on?! Are you alright? As you probably know, we’re due to start our shifts now, and customers are waiting for the bar to open,” she huffed. “What do you mean closed? It’s a weekday. What? For good? Jim, that can’t— oh shit,” Lindsey took her phone off her ear and stared at it in the palm of her hand.
More people gathered by the door.
“Lindsey, what’s going on?” I asked her, to break her from that listless gaze.
“We’re all out of a job…” she whispered.
I grabbed her shoulders and gently shook her, so she could look me in the eye and say that again. I needed confirmation.
“What? Lindsey!”
As if finally snapping out of it, Lindsey turned back to the spunky, take charge girl I knew and loved. She walked away from me and over to the small crowd of dancers and bartenders as well as the loyal, early bird customers, all of whom had gathered to wait for some news.
“I’m sorry everyone, but Bar Seven is closed… permanently. I just got the news. I’m sure there are some other spots to go to, but, right now, I’m sorry to say I’m quite shocked to have learned of this information and I have no suggestions.”
Holy shit, she was telling the truth. I had bills that needed to be paid— the most important one being rent— and they were all due within a week. And my one way to pay them was over. I’d worked my way up to dancing at Bar Seven— that sounds like a fake brag but it was the best club in town and only accepted girls with both the looks and the experience to qualify as entertaining enough for the customers— and, quite frankly, I’d burned my bridges with clubs I’d left for greener pastures. There’s a strange loyalty system where club owners essentially say, “Don’t let the door hit you on your way out” if you leave.
I had wanted to get out of the business for a while now, before the decision was made for me— the girls who danced at Bar seven were also usually quite young— but there was the little problem of money. Stripping wasn’t really my scene but in this economy it was the one surefire way to win money.
Still, although people always laughed at me when they found out— causing me to stop telling anyone— I was a virgin. I had some traditional notions of wanting marriage and kids one day down the line. And I wasn’t fooling myself that being an exotic dancer was the best way to go about accomplishing those life goals.
I was working my way through school, albeit slowly, since stripping at night didn’t give me much time for studying. At least I had some end goal eventually in mind, though. Exotic dancing was supposed to be just a temporary stepping stone on my path to bigger and better things in life. But the money was secure and I didn’t seem to have any better prospects so I’d gotten stuck on that same damn stone for probably far too long.
>
My good friend Willow had come and gone from a previous club I’d worked for, and she always told me there really were other opportunities out there that I should explore. But that was easy enough for her to say, when her next great opportunity had literally run right into her life in the form of a rich, handsome customer who needed a nanny. Then he’d needed some sex from the nanny. Then he’d been unable to keep his hands off the nanny, and now they’re married, so, that was that.
Meanwhile, no billionaire knight in shining armor had shown up to rescue me or pay my bills, so off to work at Bar Seven I’d continued to go nearly every night. Until tonight, which turned out to be my last night ever working here, like it or not. I guess it was time to make some decisions about my future, whether I felt ready to make them or not.
Chapter 2 – Stacy
My gut felt like it was sinking down to the bottom of the ocean as I let Lindsey’s news settle in, and my feet grew heavy like lead weights. What the hell? He couldn’t find the decency to call us and say he was closing up shop?
Instincts told me that it was more than a one and done sort of thing. But that was none of my business. My landlord wasn’t going to care if the FBI or even God himself shut the place down; he wanted his money.
That thought only reminded me that so many people were counting on this money, including me. I had a family, and they weren’t doing too hot on money either. Good thing I had student loans for my schooling, or else I’d be screwed to the hundredth power.
Everyone wandered back into the streets, where they began to head off into different directions. Lindsey leaned on a wall and rubbed her forehead.
“Shit,” she mumbled under her breath.
“What happened? Did the building get foreclosed on?” I was prying, and damn it, I had every right to do so. This was my money too.
“That old ass fart. He wouldn’t tell me. But I bet it’s gotta be pretty bad to get him to close the doors.”
It was over. For real. Just like that.
Lindsey and I were the only stragglers still left at the now defunct club, and a blackness began to creep up the alley, threatening to swallow us. We linked arms and went back onto the main road where the street lamps gave us a bit more safety.
“Well, I guess we could always try to go back to another club with our tail between our legs, like everyone else is probably already trying to do just about now…”
As soon as I suggested it, I realized how dumb of an idea it was, although I had a little hope because Lindsey was always everyone’s favorite, and Lindsey was also one of my best friends. But I also heard Willow’s voice in my ear, scolding me about other opportunities out there besides stripping.
“Not a fat chance,” Lindsey quickly said. “I had a friend looking to start dancing. I knew that Bar Seven wouldn’t hire her without experience, so I called every other club in town, trying to cash in favors from back in the day before I started working at Bar Seven, to help her out, you know? And they were all like, ‘Sorry, babe, we remember your fine tits but we can’t do anything to help you out even if you show ’em to us again for old times’ sake.’”
She made her voice sound like an old perverted strip club manager as she said it, and I cracked up. It was good to laugh even though I otherwise felt despondent.
“They said, ‘You should be glad you moved up and on while you had the chance because we’re really suffering around here and there’s already such a glut of dancers trying to get enough shifts and hours in between there being so many of them,’” she continues, “‘that we can’t possibly take another one— not even for you, Sugartits.’”
Even though I was upset and disappointed, I couldn’t help but laugh even more heartily at good old Lindsey. Her fake, exaggerated accent was hilarious. As was the reminder of her nickname, “Sugartits,” and how she’d earned it.
Lindsey always performed an act to Pour Some Sugar on Me in which she would literally do just that— or have someone else come up on stage and do it to her. Then she would lick the sugar crystals off her large breasts while she was up stage, sometimes right in front of the face of the lucky customer who had the honors of pouring the sugar on her.
Finally, she’d pour some sugar on her pussy and let all the guys inspect the sparkling white crystals up close as they glistened on stage under the lights. They weren’t allowed to really eat it, of course, or even touch it, but she made a big production out of acting like they could, and pretending she was literally serving up her sugar-laced pussy to them.
She made a lot of money from that act, which was entirely her invention. Guys who were regulars or who had heard about her act— some came for miles to see it— would offer up large tips to all her night long in a bid to be the one called up stage. She’d always do it as her final act so she could string along the mystery of who would be chosen along late into the night, with guy after guy buying lap dances with her and tipping better and better. The more the night wore on, the more they’d drink, and the more they’d drink, the better they’d tip, and the more excited they’d get over hoping they’d be the one she’d choose for her act, which only helped fuel the entire process over and over and over.
It was an ingenious plan and it worked so well that other girls at the club started trying to copy it. She’d go up to them and tell them they’d better knock that off. At first, they’d taunt her by saying, “Or what? Did you file a trademark? Are you gonna sue us over it?”
But then she started saying “No, actually, I’m gonna kill you over it,” while making air movements that pretended to slit their throats. I knew that Lindsey was a peaceful soul who would never harm anyone, but the other girls were scared enough by her crazy portrayal of a crazy person that they actually started to wonder if she was, indeed, crazy.
“Where’d you learn to sound so scary and convincing in your death threats?” I’d asked her once.
“From binge-watching Orange is the New Black,” she’d replied.
I’d laughed, but she’d been serious. Whatever worked, I supposed. I’d always admired Lindsey’s business acumen, as well as her confidence on stage and in every other facet of her life.
Lindsey wasn’t like me or most dancers, who claimed— but I really mean it, of course— to just be doing the whole stripping thing temporarily because we really needed money, and who also claimed to not really like it. Sure, I needed money to live and I was willing to do whatever it took to get it. But that didn’t mean I loved doing it. In fact, the opposite was true. I didn’t really like anything about it, other than the fact that it made decent money.
But Lindsey had always been the one to say, “Fuck this, I own what I do and I’m proud of it,” and she’d always meant it, too. She liked to go off on speeches about how stripping is true feminist entrepreneurship— women using their assets to profit. She would ask why she’s supposed to feel bad about taking her clothes off for money when the guys aren’t supposed to feel bad for paying her money to take off her clothes.
Now, Lindsey stopped sighing and her pretty, dark brown eyes popped back open at me. “Come on, let me drive you home. I know you need the ride.”
“Thanks.”
I supposed there was nowhere to go but home. And at least I had a friend to take me there.
Chapter 3 – Stacy
Once I was back inside my small studio, I made a bubble bath and soaked in it like there was no tomorrow. But even the soothing mango scent of my favorite bath soap couldn’t stop my mind from racing around like a cat running after a ball of yarn.
Bills here.
Bills there.
Bills everywhere.
Hell, I could look in the damn sink and find a bill there.
My income was cut clean off, and the other jobs out here as a cashier or a waitress weren’t gonna cut it. Before I’d started dancing I’d tried quite a few other jobs and none of them made anything compared to that. There was only one card I had left.
Since my mind sped up faster with worry and panic, I
slopped out of the bathtub and walked over to my phone. It was like I was a zombie who had forgotten about the need for a towel until I went to use an electronic device. Drying my hands on a stray throwaway shirt, I picked up the phone and dialed Willow.
I didn’t like having to ask favors, but this was life and death in all honesty. If I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t live.
It rang a few times, and then she picked up. I gripped the phone tighter, nervousness welling in the pit of my stomach.
“Hey, Stace, what’s going on?” Willow asked, in her usual cheery voice.
“Hell. Jim just closed down the club, and didn’t even bother to tell us before we took the time out of our day to get down there.”
The soap bubbles on my body were popping and sliding down my legs as I stood in the doorway, talking to Willow.
“Oh my god?! Really? That’s insane. Do you need help finding something?”
There was my cue, like an invitation handed out to me.
“Willow, can you hook me up with something?” I pulled at a stray strand of hair that was clinging to my face.
“Sure! You’ve called at the right time.”
The worry and anxiousness that had been gnawing at me instantly subsided. Phew.
“Good. What is it?” I asked, walking back to my tub.
I was taking a risk since this phone wasn’t water proof. But what the hell, I needed to calm back down. If talking to Willow on my phone while in the bath was going to do it, then I’d do it.
“Grant Carter.”
Those two words made me freeze in my steps. “Wait, the Grant Carter? Of Carter Enterprises?”
I majored in business and dabbled in IT, so his name was constantly thrown around in my classes. When I saw his face plastered in the magazines for being the world’s newest billionaire a few years ago, my panties nearly melted.