Surprise Baby for my Billionaire Boss
“It’ll work out.” I twisted my fingers against her clit, playing with it like I was unlocking the secrets of the universe just by touching it. Inch by tantalizing inch I slid into her, inch by inch I felt her hot pussy squeeze me in ways I’d never imagined. “Are you still with me?”
Iris moaned the whole time I entered her, mewling like a kitten. A few times we paused if she said she needed more time, but a few more moments of playing with her clit, of loosening her up, and we could keep going. Finally, after what felt like the most exquisite hours of torture on earth, I was as far in as I could go.
Pushing my balls against her ass cheeks, I let her feel the solid wall of man and muscle behind her. “Now, my vixen, are you ready for me to thrust into you? You want my cock as deep inside you as possible, don’t you?”
“Yes, Cal.”
“Say it, Iris. Say the words: I want your cock.”
She nodded and moaned before answering. “I want your cock, all of it. Give it to me.”
I did as I was fucking well told. My hips started pistoning, and I grabbed her ass. My fingers were working furiously over her clit, and all the while she moaned and took it like a champ. Honestly, if she hadn’t admitted to me she was a virgin, and if the fit of her pussy around my cock weren’t the snuggest damn thing I’d felt in my life, I wouldn’t have believed her. Iris was a natural. Her supple body moved with every shift of my hips, every hitch in my rhythm. Her inner muscles massaged and teased my cock like a pro.
It was so much.
Maybe too much.
But I’d promised to make this good for her, so I pulled out all the stops. I changed up the rhythm to keep us both on the edge. I recalled a million dumb football stats in my head, and kept pounding into her the whole time. Her curvy ass jiggled in my hand just as her breasts bobbed in front of both of us. Her hair flew all around her face in a riot
of tangled curls, and the air was filled with the mixed musk of us.
Finally, I came first, pumping into her for all I was worth. A wave of heat and electricity sizzled through me, and I wanted to stop, to enjoy the moment for myself, but I pushed through that selfish instinct. Nothing would be worth it until my vixen came screaming my name. I thrust into her again and again.
Then she came, spasming around me and shouting my name like I’d wanted, but also a string of curses and things so profane I was shocked that my shy, virginal intern even knew those phrases.
When she was done, I pulled out of her and helped ease her down to the mattress below. Standing up, I stroked her hair and gestured with my chin to the bathroom beside me. “I need to get cleaned up a bit, love. I’ll be right back and bring you a towel too.”
She looked at me through sleepy, half-lidded eyes. Well, mission accomplished on fucking her into next week at least. Girl would be out like a light soon. “That’d be great. I don’t think I’m going to move for like a month.”
“I hear you.”
Sliding into the bathroom, I shut the door and turned on the shower. The stream of hot water was beckoning me, and I reached for my cock to pull off the rubber. Then my heart stopped.
“Fuck.”
The condom had torn. Taking a deep breath, I threw the fucking thing away—useless piece of crap—and cleaned off first with a towel. Heading back into the room, I handed a cloth to Iris as well.
“You okay? You didn’t even get into the shower yet,” she mumbled.
“The condom broke.”
Her eyes widened, but then she shrugged. “I’m on the pill too. It’s okay. I like to be double safe, but it shouldn’t be a big deal, okay? Get cleaned up, Cal, and come to bed.”
I let out a sigh of relief once I remembered how to breathe again. “Will do, luv. Just try and keep me away.”
Chapter Ten
Callum
It was my own fucking fault. I admit it. When I eased into my own kitchen about a week later, whistling to myself, I should have known better. I simply hadn’t been expecting a self-invited guest.
“You’re humming bad eighties tunes, Dad.”
I arched an eyebrow back at Symone, who’d invited herself into the kitchen. I wasn’t surprised. She was a busy graduate student of history and tended to let her own apartment’s kitchen run barren. I bet her fiancé hated that, but then again, he wasn’t exactly a gourmet cook himself. My staff kept me well stocked with anything I could want. Right now, Symone was helping herself to a generous portion of lox, fresh fruit, and a roll just baked this morning.
“There is no such thing as a bad song from the 1980s.”
“Hair bands. Only two words you need to know about them.” She smirked and shoved a piece of pineapple into her mouth. I hoped she appreciated how much it cost to import that. Then again, kids never did get it. “You’re very happy.”