The Billionaire’s Kitten

But we’ve already shocked Rhonda once, and there’s no need to do it again. So instead, I grabbed my new wife’s hand, planting one more kiss on her lips before turning to face my mom.

“Rhonda, meet your new daughter-in-law,” I grunted. “The new Mrs. Channing.”

My mom laughed, leaning forward to kiss Kitty’s cheek.

“I’m so glad you’re Mrs. Channing now,” Rhonda said with a sparkle in her eye. “Because being called Mrs. Channing always made me feel so old,” she confided.

We all chuckled but then Kitty’s face grew serious.

“I’m honored to be the new Mrs. Channing,” she said in a soft voice. “I won’t let you down.”

My chest puffed out.

“Of course you won’t,” I ground out. “You couldn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.”

“Oh there goes Gray!” sang Rhonda, waving a hand in the air. “I’ve never seen him act like this, you’re the perfect match for him,” she added with a confidential air. “With his past girlfriends, he never even smiled. I don’t know why he dated them,” she said with a mock frown my way. “But are you ready for your wedding brunch now? Because we need to celebrate!”

I snorted under my breath. Of course my old girlfriends didn’t make me smile. That’s because they weren’t much more than fuckbuddies, warm bodies that had a mouth and two convenient holes down below. They made my dick spurt and that’s all I needed.

But with Kitty it’s different. Kitty’s a whole new ballgame, there’s so much more than that to this chickadee. There was the smile that made me hard, the sweet intelligence, and of course that round body. Those generous curves belong to me now and I was salivating, just thinking what I’d do to her later.

But every woman deserves a wedding celebration, so the three of us went upstairs to a private dining room, and dug into a five-course brunch, complete with endless champagne.

“Mmm,” murmured Kitty, savoring a tall stack of pancakes generously doused in syrup.

I looked on approvingly.

“Baby that’s all yours,” I growled under my breath. “And if you need more, we can always ask the staff for seconds. Or thirds.”

Kitty grew red, going still.

“I don’t want to seem like a pig, but this is just so delicious,” she murmured. “The pancakes are fluffy and buttery, yet light and crisp too. But no bride should eat this much,” she added ruefully, looking down at her stomach. “I’ll explode from this dress.”

I, too, looked down and the sight made me hard. Because Kitty’s tummy was exactly right. It pooched out beneath the white lace with a curve of its own and my thoughts immediately got dirty. What would it feel like to rub my dick against that swell, to fuck into her belly button before burying myself between her legs? What would it feel like to fill her up with jism until that stomach grew huge and round, bursting with my child? Oh hell yeah, I wanted it, this brunch couldn’t end sooner.

But unfortunately, my mom was here, and Rhonda had to have her say.

“It’s great that you eat,” she clucked, plucking daintily at a berry on her eggs. “Gray’s old girlfriends never ate.”

I groaned under my breath. Why was Rhonda bringing up my exes? It was so fucking annoying, the past was the past, couldn’t she keep her trap shut?

But Kitty gasped, looking at Rhonda with wide eyes.

“They didn’t eat?” she asked. “But how did they survive?”

“Who knows?” shrugged Rhonda, cutting up some ham. “Those girls all had eating disorders, it was so unfortunate. There was that one who always excused herself in the middle of a meal. What was her name again? Rose? Sunflower?”

“Violet,” I grunted. The sooner my mom stopped the better, because this was about to get gory. But Rhonda was on a roll, and it’s impossible to stop her when she wants to talk.

“Right, Violet,” she cooed. “That poor thing always got up in the middle of a meal to throw up. We’d hear her inside the bathroom hacking and coughing, vomiting up a storm, with the inevitable three flushes afterwards. So much comes up, you know,” she confided to Kitty. “It’s far more than you realize.”

Kitty gasped.

“I’ve never thrown up in my life,” she admitted. “Not since I was a kid at least.”

“Exactly,” said my mom triumphantly. “Why throw up unless you have stomach flu? It’s a waste of good food. But the story gets worse,” she said in a dramatic manner.

Kitty stared, the tension in the air palpable.

“What? How could this be worse? I’d imagine the vomiting sounds during each meal would be bad enough.”

“Oh it was terrible!” exclaimed Rhonda, waving a hand in the air. “Absolutely terrible. But you know, honey, sometimes these girls can’t get to a toilet in time, and yet they still throw up,” she said.

“But where?” asked Kitty. “Where do they go?”