Pretend Daddy: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Amy Brent

  She collapsed down to the mattress with her pregnant belly pressed up against the side of me. The completion of our passion never felt more right as it did right then. We no longer had to hide it from anyone.

  “I can’t believe everything that happened today.” Amber panted against me, wrapping a leg around my thigh. She pressed her sated flesh up against mine. “I couldn’t believe you walked in there with a ring in your pocket.”

  I shrugged with a breathless laugh. “Well, I was waiting for the right time. I didn’t think it was going to be tonight in all fairness.”

  “And declaring your love in a room full of my dad’s constituents was the right time?”

  “Probably not,” I said, reaching over to place the palm of my hand on her belly. The gentle shift of our daughter brought tears to my eyes. “I couldn’t stand it anymore, Amber. I didn’t want to risk losing you, so I just went with it.”

  Amber reached down to place her hand over my own. “You weren’t going to lose me, Gage. I don’t know why you were thinking that.”

  We both laid there quietly while our bodies cooled down, feeling the baby move about in Amber’s stomach. Eventually, Amber sat up with an exhausted sigh as she turned to look back at me with a frown.

  “What do you think is going to happen now?” she asked quietly. “I mean, now that it’s all out. Do you think it’ll affect you and your business?”

  I reached up to trace circles on Amber’s lower back. Her eyes fluttered shut in bliss at the gentle and soothing touch. The thought hadn’t occurred to me. I doubted that anyone would put my business and name together since I mainly stuck behind a computer screen.

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “My company could weather it. I don’t deal with the general public, so I don’t think it would affect it too much. Maybe my contracts with your father at the moment.”

  “There’s going to be press chasing after the both of us and our kids.”

  “Maybe. We aren’t sure of that.”

  “Not at first,” Amber said, and she opened her eyes. “They wouldn’t come directly for us at first. All the cameras will be focused on my dad to see how he is going to handle it. Then, they’ll come looking for us.”

  “You sound like the media is on a witch hunt,” I remarked wryly. “Politicians survive drug and sex scandals all the time. This doesn’t even involve your father.”

  That didn’t ease the concern in Amber’s eyes. She slid off the bed to find a fluffy white bathrobe in one of the closets to cinch around the top of her belly. I got up from the bed reluctantly to follow Amber out into the living room where she checked her phone for any messages.

  “Nothing so far,” Amber said. “No messages from Raychelle, either. The kids must’ve gone down without any issues tonight.”

  “Hey,” I said, gently gathering her back up in my arms. “Don’t worry so much about everything. The truth is out there. The world is going to keep turning, no matter what people say to you, about you, or me, and our families. Your father gave us his blessing.”

  “I know that,” she murmured, resting her head against my chest with a sigh. “I’m just worried about him, you know?”

  “Your father is charismatic. He can get through any type of scandal that you throw at him. It’s a bit scary actually, when I think about it.”

  Amber let out a snort of laughter. “It really is scary when you think about it. We always tell him that he got involved on the wrong side of the government, but he wanted to run for Congress. He’s probably impressed that we both hid this from him.”

  “You are your father’s daughter, so it shouldn’t surprise him,” I said. “Try not to worry about it tonight, okay? We will deal with whatever is coming to us tomorrow.”

  “Sounds fair.” She tilted her head back to look up at me with a smile. “We need to set a date, too. What’s your ideal wedding day?”

  “Late Fall,” I replied, pecking her on the lips with a light kiss. “Something small. I don’t want hundreds of people there to make it awkward.”

  “A late Fall and small wedding. Sounds good to me.”

  Epilogue

  Amber

  A heavy snowfall came down early Christmas morning when Gage and I rose early to place presents from Santa under the tree for the kids to open up. While a fresh pot of coffee brewed, Gage and I snuck up to our bedroom for one more romp between the sheets. A Christmas present that had the both of us muffling our moans of pleasure. It was enough to have me thrashing against Gage in pleasure.

  We dressed in the pale morning light and headed downstairs to enjoy a cup of coffee before the chaos started of kids ripping into presents. I watched from the top of my coffee cup as Gage double-checked the presents with an excited smile. I believed he was more excited about this Christmas than the kids were, judging from the presents he had spent the past two weeks picking out for Ethan, Lily, and Mollie.

  My hand rested on the swell of my stomach with a smile. Any day now. I only had a week of pregnancy left before our little Mollie would join our family. We had already rehearsed several different scenarios over the past week. Lily and Ethan would go to Raychelle’s house, no matter what time of day or night it was. I’d let my parents know, too, so they could venture down to the hospital when they could from D.C.

  And we set a secret password for family members.

  True to Scott’s threat, he had released the photos to the press shortly after Gage’s proposal. A media firestorm followed shortly afterward, with cameras following my father’s every move. He handled it all with grace, though. There was nothing it seemed, that could rattle my father’s reputation despite the scandal the press twisted it out to be. I had also filed for divorce again, requesting the same settlement. My lawyer assured me that a settlement would be reached quickly before my marriage to Gage.

  Scott’s threats were now empty. He had nothing left to hold over my head. I never felt freer than I did going to the mall, hand in hand with Gage to get Christmas presents for the kids.

  A sharp pain shot through my lower back suddenly. I grimaced at the feeling as I set my coffee cup down on the kitchen counter. It lasted for thirty seconds before lifting up.

  “Is everything okay?”

  I looked up at Gage with a frown tugging at my lips. “I think so. I just didn’t feel well, all of a sudden.”

  “You feel ill?” Gage appeared instantly at my side, rubbing his hands along my shoulders. “Is it passing now?”

  “It is now.”

  “Good,” he said, and took my hand in his. “I have something to show you up in the nursery that I brought in when you were sleeping last night.”

  I rubbed at the soreness of my lower back while I followed Gage up the stairs to the nursey room. We had painted the walls a dusty pink color while Lily and Ethan both placed wall stickers throughout the room. He opened the bedroom door to click the light on.

  My eyes watered instantly at the sight of a brand-new crib sitting in the corner where I had wanted to place it. A bright pink bow was stuck to the front crib bumper.

  “Where did you get this crib?” I asked, voice trembling with emotion. “Is this why you canceled the one I ordered earlier?”

  “I made it,” Gage said proudly. He ran a hand over the smooth wood with a smile. “That’s exactly why I canceled the order. I wanted to surprise you with this.”

  “It’s wonderful, Gage. I love it.”

  That same sharp pain shot through my back again. I doubled over with a gasp, holding my stomach in pain. One. Two. Three. I counted the seconds that went by with clenched teeth, while Gage rubbed at my lower back in concern.

  “It’s time,” I gritted out. “I can feel it, Gage. Contractions.”

  Gage’s eyes widened as he helped me walk down to our bedroom. He set me down on the edge of the bed before grabbing the bag we had packed a few days ago.

  “Stay here,” he said hurriedly. “I’m going to call Raychelle to come watch the kids.”

  I nodd
ed distantly as another stab of pain went through my back. Sucking in a deep breath, I tried to focus on making sure that the bag was packed properly. I had never felt more relieved to see Raychelle when she entered the house, still dressed in her sweats and bathrobe.

  “I’ll watch the kids,” she said, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll bring them by the hospital later to see the baby.”

  The next few hours passed by in a surreal blur of pain and pushing from the encouragements of the nurses and Gage. It wasn’t until the sharp and shrill sound of a baby crying that I sank back against the hospital pillows in relief.

  Gage pressed a kiss against my sweaty forehead. Tears were visible in his eyes as he looked down at me with fierce pride.

  “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, pushing my hair back from my forehead. “You did wonderful.”

  “Beautiful baby girl,” a nurse told us. “Seven pounds even. She’s got the prettiest green eyes I have ever seen.”

  The nurse approached us with a smile. I sat up in the hospital bed to hold out my arms for my daughter. For our daughter. The beautiful weight of Mollie settled perfectly into the crook of my elbow. I adjusted the pink blanket around her tiny and squirming body with a smile before looking up at Gage who was wiping his eyes free of tears.

  “She’s beautiful,” I whispered, tracing her little, soft cheek. She had to be the most beautiful thing in our lives. “You are a beautiful Christmas present, baby girl.”

  “The best Christmas present yet,” Gage added with a smile. “I love you both. More than you will ever know.”

  He scooped up Mollie into his arms with a smile. I leaned back against the pillows, watching as the morning sunlight shimmered around the both of them. For as chaotic as the world was around us, I’d never felt more peaceful than with our newborn cradled securely in the crook of her father’s arm. Never felt more peaceful in my entire life.

  Teachers’ Pet

  An MFMM Romance

  PART 1

  I don’t want to be some guy’s wife. I don’t want to be some guy’s girlfriend. Hell, I don’t even want to be some guy’s friend.

  I want to be one thing and one thing only.

  I want to be Teacher’s Pet. And I know exactly how to do that because I have done it every year since high school.

  This year, Holden Moss is the teacher I’ve chosen to share my bed and my body with.

  He’s a professor actually, a grad school psyche professor that’s as much muscle as brains, just the way I like them.

  And if his reputation is any indication, the good Professor won’t think twice about taking me up on my offer.

  Who better than the faculty stud to teach this pet everything he knows about sex. It’s going to be a fantastic freakin’ year.

  CHAPTER ONE: Judith “Jude” Allen

  I was always super smart in school. I breezed through junior high and high school with straight A’s without ever cracking a book, and I had major universities across the country lining up to offer me academic scholarships.

  I opted to go to Midwestern, which I chose because it was clear across the country and thousands of miles away from anyone who had a clue who I was. I loved the idea of moving to a new town and starting over. It would be like being reborn, being washed of my sins, leaving all the heavy baggage of my old life behind.

  They say that when you go away to college, it’s a chance to reinvent yourself, start new with a clean slate, shuck off your past dirty deeds and start anew, and that’s exactly what I wanted to do. I had established a somewhat dicey reputation for myself in high school that I knew would weigh like a heavy chain around my neck if I chose to stay in Clarksford. The slut in high school becomes the slut in real life. That was not the life I would choose to lead. I was not ashamed of the things I’d done, but I didn’t want them following me around like a ball and chain the rest of my life, which would happen if I didn’t move away.

  Going to Midwestern would give me a fresh start without a reputation, even if that reputation was well-deserved. Plus, Midwestern had one of the country’s best psychology programs. I wanted to be a psychologist, which required a Bachelor’s degree with a psychology major, then a Master’s degree. Maybe I’d even go all the way and get my Ph.D. and become a psychiatrist or a doctor of some kind.

  Getting my Bachelor’s seemed like a million miles away when I first started, and even now, nearly four years later, there’s still so much more work to be done. So, for now, my sights were set on getting my Master’s degree within the next two years, which meant I would start the Master’s program in the fall, but could take classes over the summer if I chose to, and that would speed up the process. I hadn’t made the decision to take summer classes yet. I’d look at the curriculum when the time came to see if anything struck my fancy.

  If I didn’t go to school over the summer I could pick up more hours working nights as a waitress at the Pink Pony, the off-campus dive bar popular with students and the “cooler” faculty members (yes, professors and students do fuck, shocking huh). That would let me stock away a little cash and blow off some steam at the same time. Plus, I got to drink and eat for free at the Pony because Duke, the fifty-something owner/manager, wanted to fuck me.

  Hell, Duke wanted to fuck every girl who walked in the door, whether they worked for him or not. But he wanted me most of all because I made him want me. I knew how to manipulate a guy like Duke. I’d been doing it my entire life. I could make his pudgy dick hard with just one dreamy look or by running my tongue around my lips. A little shake of the ass, a little bending over in front of him, a little leaning down so he could see my tits down the collar of my Pony t-shirt. Duke was putty in my hands. Which was why he wanted my pussy on his cock.

  Duke figured the way into a girl’s pants was through her stomach, not her heart. Even though his hair was shaggy and gray, and he was kind of greasy-looking, he was also kind of sexy in a “Sons of Anarchy” sort of way. And he made a mean bacon cheeseburger, so we’d just have to see how things progressed.

  Anyway, within six years of leaving home I could acquire both my Bachelor’s and Master’s at the same school and graduate with honors. I could probably do it in five years if I really pushed myself. Then again, that would leave me little time for the fun things in life; those things that had driven me away from home in the first place, but all work and no play makes Judith a very sad girl.

  Like me, lots of people who choose to study psychology do so just to try and figure out what was wrong with themselves. Yes, supposedly broken people study psychology hoping to fix themselves. I wasn’t entirely convinced that I was broken, far from it, but I wanted to know why I thought the thoughts I thought. Why did I do the things I did? Why did I say the things I said?

  Broken people have broken thoughts and do broken things, some experts say, even when those things might be self-destructive to themselves or hurtful to others. It’s all about momentary pleasure, at least for me. I was not psychotic or psychopathic or sociopathic or misanthropic, but sometimes my brain commanded me to do things that I knew were not good for me, things that I knew would have negative effects on me and those around me, yet I did them anyway because they felt so fucking good. In modern terms, I was addicted to sex. In a single word, I was a nympho.

  It was in asking myself why I did the things I did and why I thought the thoughts I thought and why I got extreme pleasure in things that a “normal” person might consider abnormal that got me interested in psychology and how the human brain works, more specifically, my brain.

  I figured studying psychology would help me explain myself to me. To quote the therapist I had been seeing since I was fourteen-years-old, I had certain “personality quirks” that greatly affected my actions regardless of the consequences.

  Why did I do those things? What the heck was I thinking? And the biggest question in my mind: who the fuck was I hurting? I mean, if it felt good and everyone involved got off on it, where was the harm?

  Anyway, sorr
y, my mind tends to wonder when the subject of sex comes up, which, I my mind, happens often.

  So, the original plan was that I’d be in school at least six years, or until the scholarships, money, and interest ran out. I tended to get bored easily, which was a symptom not of any disease. It was a tendency of someone with a high IQ, at least according to the tests I had taken in high school. I had a near-genius IQ. I could be anything I wanted, according to my guidance counselor. A doctor, lawyer, dentist, economist, scientist, president, whatever.

  “You can be anything you want to be, Judith,” Mr. Curtis, the guidance counselor said as we met in his office after school toward the end of my senior year. Mr. Curtis was probably my dad’s age, though he was aging better than my dad. He had a thick head of black hair and more muscle than fat on his tall frame.