The Billionaire's Surrogate: A BWWM Pregnancy Love Story (11 page)

Max smiled, “Whatever
works for you.”

“
Cool.”

They could hear the
movers bumping about, trying to get things up the narrow stairs.
There was a service lift but it stopped on the floor below. Luckily
there wasn’t much that was very bulky. Just a shelf of books
that had been with Christine for as long as she could remember, her
grandfather’s phonograph that her grandmother had passed on to
her since she loved music, and her collection of African masks. She
didn’t think Max had seen those yet so she still had something
to surprise him with. She thought she could hang them all over the
house like she had at home with her grandmother. If Max really meant
it about this also being her home, he wouldn’t object.

He turned to smile at
her, “Welcome home Chris.”

“
Thank
you,” she replied with a smile. “Don’t call me
that.”

“
Ladies
and gentlemen, we’re gathered here today to celebrate the
joining of these two people in holy matrimony. If anyone has any
objection to this union let them speak now or forever old their
peace,” the celebrant said.

Christine tensed,
waiting for that inevitable objection. She felt her heart speed up
and her breath come short. Anxiety was building in her chest and the
preacher seemed to be taking a really long time to move on even if
no-one was coming forward…this time. A hand covered hers and
she looked down. It was a nice hand, the nails professionally cut
short. Long lean fingers; but strong. A single blood vessel ran
visibly from wrist to fingers. Christine liked that hand. She looked
up from the hand to the face. It was Max. He was smiling at her.

“
Are
you alright?” he asked.

“
I’m
fine,” she whispered. Her throat felt raspy.

His hand squeezed hers,
“I’ll take care of you.”

Christine nodded. She
realized she wasn’t the one at the altar; this wasn’t her
aborted wedding. She looked forward to see whose wedding it was but
the altar was empty. No priest, no bride, no groom. Christine’s
brow furrowed with puzzlement.

“
What’s
happening?” she asked Max.

“
This
is
your
dream. You tell me,” he said.

“
Maybe
I don’t need it anymore,” she said. “Maybe it's
changing.”

“
Maybe
you want it to change,” he said.

Christine woke up with
a cry, breath coming fast, to an unfamiliar room. She looked around
her, wondering where she was for a moment before she remembered. She
was in Max’ house, in her new suite of rooms. She looked at the
opposite wall to see her wood African mask looking back at her. A
knock on the door startled her.

“
Chris?
You okay?” Max called from the other side.

“
I’m
fine thanks,” she called back.

“
Can
I come in?” he said.

Christine leaned back
on her headboard. She really did not want to be alone right now.
“Sure, come in.”

Max opened the door
tentatively. He was dressed in a black track suit bottom and nothing
else. Christine stared at him unable to take her eyes off his chest.
His muscles rippled in toned ruggedness. One wouldn’t know it
from his appearance while clothed…and it had been a while
since Christine had seen him without a shirt.

“
Whoa,”
she murmured.

Max smiled. “You
likey?” he asked without even a smidgeon of smugness; the only
thing that saved him from permanent banishment from her presence.

Christine shrugged.
“You have a mirror,” she said matter of factly.

Max came to sit on the
side of her bed still smiling, “So, what’s up?”

“
Nothing,”
Christine replied.

“
I
heard you cry out,” Max protested.

“
I
had a bad dream. It happens.”

Max
stood up. “I’ll get you a glass of hot milk then. I hear
it's good for what ails you.”

“
You
don’t have t-“

“
I
want to. It's what your grandmother would do, no?”

Seeing as it was indeed
what her grandmother would do, Christine couldn’t exactly
protest. She lay back and waited for her hot milk, rubbing her
stomach gently.

“
Hey
there,” she whispered to it. “How you doing? You okay?
Sorry about your stupid mama’s stupid nightmares. I promise
I’ll try not to have them again.”

The baby said nothing
but Christine felt soothed anyway.

Max came back not long
after with a mug of hot chocolate and a piece of chocolate fudge
cake. Christine’s eyebrow went up.

“
Seriously?”
she asked.

Max
shrugged. “We’re pregnant which means we’re
allowed,” he peered at her. “You
do
want some don’t you?”

“
Only
if you’ll share with me,” she said suppressing a smile.

Max sighed
theatrically. “Only because you’re carrying my baby.”

Christine smirked,
“You’re too kind.”

They sat in silence,
eating and drinking in contentment. Max wriggled onto the bed so he
was next to Christine leaning on the head board.

“
Mmm,”
he said biting into the chocolate confection.

“
Good?”
Christine asked.

“
Orgasmic,”
Max replied. Christine found that her cheeks were hot even as she
laughed. She reached out with a finger to scrape some chocolate cream
off the top of the cake and sucked her finger into her mouth. Max
watched the progress of her finger, staring as she sucked the
succulent cream off her hand. His eye caught hers and held it and
then swooped down to look at her finger. His mouth opened slightly
and his tongue peeked out as his eyes followed the movement of her
hand. He leaned forward slightly seemingly without meaning to and
Christine plopped the finger out of her mouth.

“
What?”
she asked in a tiny voice.

Max said nothing, just
continued to stare at her mouth as she watched him. His tongue came
out and ran itself along his lips.

“
Dry
lips? You want some hot chocolate?” she asked in that small
voice.

“
Sure,”
he said and his voice was just as low. He reached out to take it from
her hand and took a sip, his eyes not leaving hers.

“
Mmmm,”
he said.

“
Good?”
she asked, her mouth unconsciously pouting.

“
Very,”
he said and then suddenly he was kissing her. It happened so fast
Christine didn’t have any time to have thoughts about it. His
mouth was surprising soft and gentle, his lips touched hers. But
underneath the softness there was demand for entry, and urgency.
Christine couldn’t help but respond to it, softening her own
lips, leaning forward and parting her lips to allow his entry. That
seemed to be the signal he was waiting for because his arms closed
around her like an iron vice and he held her close against his
chiseled chest. Christine’s arms went about his neck and she
arched into him inserting her tongue as deep into his mouth as his
was in hers. Max' hands began to wander, pulling up her spaghetti
top. He detached his lips from hers for a moment so he could sling
the shirt off her head and fling it to the far corner of the room
with a flick of his finger. Then his mouth was back, biting gently
into her bottom lip as he made the same sounds he’d been making
when he was eating the cake. His mouth left her lips, tongue trailing
along her skin before he sucked gently on her chin.

“
Are
you eating me?” she croaked.

“
You’re
delicious,” he said pulling her closer and tipping her over on
the bed. Christine straightened out her legs under him and his hands
immediately landed on either side of her hips and began worrying at
her silken shorts. She helped out by wriggling so he could pull them
out from under her and toss them in a different corner from the
shirt. His pelvis ground against her naked belly and she could feel
just how ‘happy’ he was to see her. She reached between
them and dug into his track suit, grasping firmly at his dick and
pulled. He let out a surprised gasp and then jerked forward as if
encouraging her to do it again. She pulled again harder and he
uttered a small protest.

“
Careful;
it's no good to you if you pull it off,” he murmured licking
against her neck.

Christine giggled,
changing her grip from a pull to a massage. Not that he needed any
more stimulation; it was like holding a bar of iron encased in a silk
glove. Max' hands traveled downward clutching at the waist of his
track suit and pulling it down to his thighs. He grasped her hips and
widened them, thrusting forward so she could feel him along the
length of her entrance.

“
May
I?” he groaned as he continued to grind against her inner
thigh, his powerful body held in check, but only just.

Christine’s hands
trailed downward and settled on his ass, pulling him forward, saying
better than words that he may. He breached her with one unbridled
thrust as he gasped aloud and she cried out. His thrusting thereafter
was demanding and uninhibited in its urgency and he threw his head
back and let it rip as she wrapped her legs around him and held on.

“
Oh
God, so good,” she murmured as he pounded into her.

“
Am
I hurting you?” he ground out, breath harsh and loud in the
still midnight air.

“
Harder,”
she replied into his ear.

He made a sound like he
hurt a lot and redoubled his efforts.

Christine could feel
the tension building inside her and she knew that release was near.
Her eyes closed of their own volition and her back arched in
readiness for ecstasy. Suddenly, Max pulled out of her but before she
could utter a cry of protest he’d flipped her over so her ass
was in the air. She was so startled she hardly noticed when he
slammed into her again almost making her face plant into the side of
the bed. She held grimly onto the sheet as he proceeded to pound her
into the mattress. Christine widened the angle of her thighs so he
could have better access, hoping in a vague sort of way that this was
not hurting the baby. Then she remembered the amniotic fluid and
calmed down, or as much as she could with Max creating all sorts of
sensations inside her body. Hot sensations, cool sensations,
electrical pulse sort of sensations…ballooning feelings of
impeding nuclear explosion centered at her center. It really was not
fair that he could do this to her. The only thing that consoled her
was that judging from the tomato hue of his skin, the bulging veins
around his eyes, his wide eyed staring and deep ass loud breathing…he
was feeling it too.

“
Max?”
she whispered in moaning desperation.

“
Yes,”
he replied going faster and deeper as he did so and making her
completely lose her train of thought. She leaned forward, placing her
weight on her elbows and widening access to her inner self. Max
wasn’t slow to respond, burrowing even deeper into her so that
she felt like she might be feeling him in her throat pretty soon.

“
So
good…love this…
God,
”
he was murmuring behind her, or he could just be saying random words.
Christine put her head down and let go, her whole body loosening and
softening. Then Max arched his back and let out a pained groan and
before she knew what was coming she felt his wetness spreading inside
of her as his body jerked uncontrollably. She suppressed a sigh of
disappointment; so close yet so far.

The strong salt-musky
taste of Christine made Max’ head swim and his heart flutter
frantically in his chest. Christine not only looked irresistible
lying there so needy and desperate; she was fucking gorgeous.
Christine felt like she was drowning, held down by the weight of her
own desire. She was helpless to do anything other than keep Max
caught inside her, straining like a butterfly half-smothered by
honey. He withdrew himself slowly, much to her disappointment but his
penis was replaced soon after by finger and tongue and soon Christine
was, honest to God, sobbing as her body broke apart and fell like
rain on to the pristine cream covers they were lying on. For a while,
everything went white.

“
Chris?
Baby? Are you okay?” she heard Max ask after an interminable
time went by.

“
Don’t
call me that,” she mumbled into the pillows.

“
Okay,”
he said, his voice torn between uncertainty and amusement. “I’ll
get you some water, shall I?”

Christine made an
incoherent sound that could be consent and she felt the bed dip as
Max got off. She closed her eyes, completely unable to keep them open
or her brain active for another second. All her circuits were fried.
She felt like she was in deep trouble here.

*****

Max
staggered to the kitchen; he felt kind of dizzy, kind of drunk, kind
of high. At the back of his head though, a voice kept chanting,
‘
whatdidyoudowhatdidyoudowhatdidyoudo?’
like some sort of hoodoo mantra that would somehow make everything
clear. He was through the looking glass here with no road map on how
to proceed. He got the water from the dispenser and took the glass
carefully back to Christine. She was passed out on the bed and didn’t
respond to his calls so he put the glass down gently on the bedside
table and pulled the duvet out from under her, and covered her with
it. She didn’t so much as stir. He watched her sleep for a
moment, unable to move away or move forward. Should he stay with her?
What would she think if she woke in the morning beside him? What
would she think if she woke up and he wasn’t beside her? What
to do for the best?