AFRICAN AMERICAN URBAN FICTION: BWWM ROMANCE: Billionaire Baby Daddy (Billionaire Secret Baby Pregnancy Romance) (Multicultural & Interracial Romance Short Stories) (45 page)

She drew back from his kiss and continued to gaze into his eyes as she worked at stripping away the garments that had become an entanglement to her. At first, his eyes questioned why she had stopped kissing him, but very soon a hungry look began to rise up in them as he began to understand what she was doing. Watching his reaction as she exposed her ripe breasts before him only intensified her desire and she became even more intent on revealing all of herself to him.

His eyes caressed every inch of her nude body and he reached out with quivering hands to touch her. Colored by the highland sun, his dark fingers stood out in dark contrast against her pale skin and there roughness sent tingles racing up and down her spine and a fluttering ache between her thighs.

Responding to his reaction and his touch, she moved her fingers down to the waist of his kilt, working the buttons free and began to draw it lower. He raised his hips to assist her and she soon had the firmness that had grown between his legs free. Taking it with a firm grasp, she was rewarded by a soft moan as she began to stroke him.

The hunger between her own thighs had grown to a point that moisture was beginning to trickle out from the soft folds of her opening. All reason was lost as she continued to stroke him and leaned in once more to kiss him with a passion that had grown out of control.

With garments tossed aside, there was no longer any encumbrance between the joining of their flesh and her hunger had grown to a fevered pitch. Still clutching him, she moved her thighs to each side of his hips and guided his rigid shaft between her moist, tender lips. There was a sting that shot through her and a trickling of blood as she lowered herself onto him, giving her innocence to him in that moment of passion. She squealed softly, squeezed her eyes tight and grimaced as she felt the sensation of tearing go through her.

The burning was soon forgotten as the fullness of him inside of her began to full the deeper ache that drove away all thoughts of the initial pain. She began to move her hips forward and back upon him, slowly as first, allowing her body to become used to the feel of him inside of her. After a few moments, she dug her fingers into his chest for support and began to raise herself up and down upon his thick shaft, gasping at the intense pleasure that spread throughout her body.

His moans encouraged her even more and her pace quickened as the ache inside of her grew stronger with each thrust. She began to cry out again, not from pain, but from the growing ache that was overtaking her. Savagery overtook every part of her as she forced herself up and down upon him until the growing ache began to release itself in a radiating wave of tingling warmth throughout her entire body. The waves reached an enormous height before she felt the release of thick, hot moisture shooting into her as well. In one voice, they cried out, lost in some primeval call that echoed through the cave and out into the growing dusk of the highlands.

Their passion did not subside throughout the night. Their lips and their fingers found tender places on one another’s flesh that brought tingles and again built into passionate lovemaking. She discovered that his wound did not hold back his power to give her pleasure and he took her into the depths of savagery before the two of them collapsed beside the crackling fire in exhaustion.

The last thing she remembered before drifting into peaceful sleep were his crystal blue eyes gazing into hers. They were deep pools of tenderness mixed with savagery and they made her shudder as well as melt into comfortable warmth. If fate was to be her own, she would never leave his side.

Fate was not her own, however, and she awakened with a chill beside a fire that had long died out. There was no longer a lean, muscular body lying beside her, nor was there any sign that he had been there except for the discarded, bloody rags that had been used upon his wound.

“No,” she whispered into the silent cave, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes. Intense pain ripped through her chest, even as, with her mind, she tried to apply reason to the wound that was left inside of her. Like the wild creature that he was, he was gone.

THE END

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For Anne, going to bed was an extended affair. This was not because she wanted it to be, but rather because her husband demanded it. She had five servants who all had different jobs to perform, from rubbing her with fragrant oils, to cleaning her hands and cleaning and re-cleaning beneath her fingernails, to combing her hair and choosing her night garb.

Were it her wedding night, or some other very important night, perhaps it would have been a welcome surprise, but for Anne, this was every night. And it only made her feel trapped and alone.

Anne winced. A snag in her hair had caught the comb.

“I’m sorry, Duchess,” the handmaiden said.

“It’s all right, Sarah.”

And Anne meant it. Sarah was her only friend, and Anne knew she was only trying to do her job as quickly as possible because Anne had confided to her how much she hated these stringent requirements her husband, the duke, had imposed upon her.

Finally, the women finished their work, and Anne found herself alone in the massive bed she shared with her husband. Some women, she had heard, especially amongst the nobility, had beds to themselves. It was not unusual for women of Anne’s stature to have their own suites, and Anne wish often that this was a privilege she had been granted. Perhaps if she were from a more noble house, she thought, and she hadn’t been traded to the duke in marriage as a sign of respect and subservience, she would have the bargaining power to secure even this small freedom for herself.

But no, she wasn’t. She was trapped as she’d always been, waiting for her brute of a husband to haul himself into bed and lie on her for a few minutes before falling asleep next to her.

Anne yawned. The hour was late, and she would sleep if she could. But the knowledge her husband would eventually roughly disturb her slumber always made that impossible. It was only when he himself was snoring rudely next to her that she found herself able to get any rest.

So Anne waited. And waited. And eventually could wait no longer.

The Duke’s palace was large and cold, and Anne had to bundle up for the search. She was afraid of being found and turned in to her husband, but she kept these fears at bay with the knowledge that he’d never explicitly told her that she couldn’t come looking for him. Besides, if he did find her, what could be more loving than simply telling him that she could not wait for him to come to bed any longer and had come to find him? It would be a lie, she knew, but it would be a flattering lie. And she knew her husband well enough to know he was dumb enough to believe any ridiculous untruth so long as it was flattering. 

The halls seemed strange in the dark. During the day they were so alive, with servants always hurrying here or there, nearly running so that they would not be chastised for taking too long about their tasks. But now the only movement was the flickering of Anne’s candle as she walked – as quietly as she could – toward the rooms where she knew her husband often spent his time.

As she grew closer, Anne heard the voice of her husband’s chief advisor.

“But if the king
should
find out, Your Excellency, what then? Would we not be subject to his rage?”

Anne slowed her steps, and took greater care to make as little sound as she could. If there was something the king shouldn’t know, she felt certain that her husband believed that she shouldn’t know as well. The prudent side of her nature encouraged Anne to go back to her room, but her feet would not do it. Some mixture of curiosity and hope propelled her cautiously forward.

What if she discovered something that could help her position? What if there was something she could report to the king that would have her husband punished? Would she then be free?

Anne did her best not to answer these questions, but only to listen.

“He wouldn’t ever find out, though,” her husband was saying. “Not unless someone told him, and no one would know other than the two of us. I don’t think of you as such a dumb man that you would betray my trust over such a trivial matter. You know what the consequences would be.”

“Yes,” the advisor said more quietly, and after a long pause. “But there are those who know what tax increase he requested, and who would also be able to see the increase in taxes you levied. Any of these people would be able to tell that you were not doing as instructed, and pocketing the difference. Besides, the taxes you are proposing are considerably more extreme than the king has said. I do not think that the people you rule for him would even be able to pay them, not without severe—”

“ENOUGH!” her husband nearly shouted, causing Anne to jump in her skin. She did not hear the rest of what he was saying to his advisor. She was reminded by his voice, and the threats he’d already made to his advisor, how cruel the consequences of upsetting him could be, and it put an end to all her hopes. She crept, as quickly as she could, back to her bed, and did the best she could under the circumstances to try and sleep. If things were different, she thought, perhaps what she had learned tonight would be an opportunity. But if the three long years she had been married to the duke had taught her anything, it was that hope was an illusion, and illusions were best disposed of as quickly as possible.

-

The next morning, Anne pretended to be deeply asleep as the duke woke and hauled himself out of their bed. His beer-steeped breath still felt hot on her neck from when he had come in the night before, and she could not bear to look at him now in the morning. She was relieved when she heard the door shut and she could sit up, look out the window, and survey the day.

Anne’s morning ritual was considerably less intense than her nightly one. The duke didn’t much care to see her during the day, so he didn’t prescribe anything other than that she should be presentable as a woman of her position. So it was only Sarah who came to her, to help her tame her wild hair and encase herself in whatever viselike structure of dresses the day’s activities required.

Sarah always did this gently, and Anne was grateful. It took her some time to recover from the night spent next to the man she hated so deeply who commanded her complete respect. But this morning, Anne wanted to talk and Sarah obliged.

“Do the people pay much in taxes here?” she asked her, and was surprised by a robust laugh.

“Is that a question, milady? They pay more taxes than they are able to, truth be told.”

When Sarah had first come into Anne’s service, she had been cautious and very concerned with etiquette. But now that they had grown comfortable with one another, her manner had loosened considerably, to both women’s pleasure.  Now she often tacked on the proper titles of address, but only as an afterthought, and only for the benefit of anyone who might overhear.

“Then the taxes are high, I take it?” Anne said, her fears confirmed.

“Yes, milady.”

Anne had suspected as much. If even her husband’s advisor was saying the new taxes he intended to levy were excessive, then surely they were beyond even that.

“I wish I could see. I wish I could hear people saying these things for themselves,” Anne said. It was a thrown away comment, and the sadness in her voice perhaps betrayed this. Sarah wasn’t offended, and didn’t think that Anne was doubting her.

“You hate this palace,” she only said, knowingly.

Anne nodded. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, but she held them back. She had practice. Then an idea struck her.

“What if I did?” she asked, almost not daring to say the words out loud, for fear Sarah would crush the idea, as Anne suspected she rightfully should.

“Go out and see the people? But how would the duke react?”

A smile played on Anne’s lips.

“The duke wouldn’t need to know.”

Sarah was resistant. She kept saying that it was too great a risk, and that she understood Anne’s frustration, but she shouldn’t do anything that would endanger her so. But Anne was determined, and eventually Sarah agreed to help.

Sarah would stay at the palace and do all she could to avert suspicion. There had been days in the past, not long after she first married the duke, that she had been inconsolable, and spent days at a time shutting herself of from all who might want to see her. Those who had fought their way through found her so despondent that they no longer asked to. All Sarah would need to do would be to insist to any and all who asked where she was that the darkness she’d previously suffered had returned to her.

For Anne’s part, she looked like a commoner. It had taken a little bit of time, and Sarah still laughed a little at her attempt at a commoner’s manners, but she was eventually satisfied. And so Anne went, slipping out of a servants’ entrance that Sarah told her was only very infrequently used, and made her way to town.

She felt so free! She hadn’t realized the weight that being in the palace had placed on her shoulders until it was lifted from them. She found herself laughing like an idiot on the road, and attracted more than a few strange and suspicious looks. She told herself she should stop being so conspicuous, but though she could stop laughing, she could not stop the smile.

When she had spent some time in town, however, the smile faded of its own accord. Sarah’s earlier laughter made more sense. Anne had been worried she would not be able to really gain a good understanding of the situation, as she would not be able to get people to speak to her about the trouble they were in with the current taxes, but she needn’t have worried. The topic was never far from anyone’s mind, it seemed.

Anne’s enthusiasm for her day of research and freedom was failing. She’d wanted to know how bad the taxes her husband intended to levy would be for the common people of his duchy, but she realized now the information was useless. And now that she knew, now that she understood, what could she do about it? The possibility of reporting it somehow to the king was still a proposition with unbelievable risks, and even if he were to punish her husband, what would that do? The taxes here were already too high, and while the king did not want to raise them by as much as her husband did, he
did
still intend to raise them.

Perhaps it was the sour mood that came over her, but Anne quickly found herself lost. She’d never spent any time in the village nearest the palace, and though she’d tried to keep careful track of her twists and turns, she discovered that as the afternoon began to wane, she was unable to get herself back out to the main road.

She had thought she would be able to see the palace from all of town, and was surprised to find that was not the case as she went further from it. The land was lower here, and blocked by buildings, and to make matters worse, the streets seemed to be emptying.

Anne never needed to know much of holidays. She relied on Sarah or her other handmaidens to tell her where she needed to be when, and what she should feign excitement over. But she realized now that she had been told something about the next day. Sarah had told her she should get back to the palace well before dark, as people would be heading home in the afternoon to make their preparations for the next day.

So Anne found herself wandering empty streets, feeling far more conspicuous than she would like. She wanted to ask someone, but was afraid that her manner would give her away, and by the time her fear of being stuck in the village after dark and being discovered because of that overwhelmed her fear of arousing suspicion from the villagers, there was no one around to ask.

So Anne kept wandering, hoping desperately that someone would show her the way.

She turned down a street with signs that she identified as blacksmiths, and was amazed to hear the ring of one lone hammer, still at work, echoing down the street.

She made her way quickly toward it, not only because she needed the assistance of whoever wielded it, but also because she wished very much to know who was still working when everyone else in the entire village, it seemed, had left their work.

She found the shop, a small one at the end, and knocked on the door. There was no answer. So she knocked again, louder. Still, there was no response from inside the shop. She weighed for a moment the possibility of going back, but without anyone to ask directions from, the situation was still dire.

She pushed open the door and went inside. The shop was smoky from the furnace, and the man working the hammer had a look of intense concentration on his face that made her immediately understand why he had not heard her knocking. He had no shirt, and his body was sooty from his work, and wet from the sweat of working next to the furnace. The object in his hands was something finely turned, and she could tell even though it was red-hot that it was no horseshoe or simple sword.

The man himself had arms like she’d never seen. Perhaps it was simply because she had been so sheltered, even where she had been raised, that she had never been allowed much contact with men of the lower trades, and certainly had never been exposed to them without their shirts on. Now she understood why.

She stood for a little while, unnoticed and transfixed, watching the way his muscles tensed with each blow. Usually people around her were half afraid and half scattered, distracted from whatever they were doing by fear that she would tell her husband something bad about them and there would be dire consequences. But this man didn’t know, and didn’t care. He had one focus in the world, and it seemed impossible to separate him from it.

Finally, apparently satisfied, he placed his work in a trough of water, and his silhouette in from of the wave of steam that rose from it took Anne’s breath away. She must have made a noise, because he suddenly looked at her, seeing her for the first time.