Pregnant and Sinful (Forbidden Fantasies #63) Read Online S.E. Law

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Forbidden Tags Authors: Series: Forbidden Fantasies Series by S.E. Law
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Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26677 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
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Chelsea: It turns out that my mom was sleeping with our landlord in exchange for free rent. The discovery turned my stomach, but now, Elsa’s offered ME to Mr. Richards in her place! But I’m pregnant! How can Mr. Richards want me when I’m expecting? Even more, how can this be happening at all?

Mason: I was letting the older woman stay in my garden apartment out of charity, more than anything else. But then her sweet daughter comes to stay. Sure, Chelsea’s expecting but what she doesn’t realize is that I’m attracted to women who are ripe and fertile, with wide hips and big bottoms. So what’s wrong with asking Chelsea to pay the rent with that sassy form? I’ll make it pleasurable … so pleasurable in fact, that she won’t want to leave even after the baby’s born!

This is a follow-up to Pregnant and Needy. In this story, Chelsea’s used as a replacement for her mother, but then things go off the rails when she and Mason develop feelings for one another. Sinful? Check. Exciting? Check? Utterly taboo? Check check. You’ll love this story of unexpected romance with a devilishly dirty twist. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and always a HEA for my readers.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

CHELSEA

I inhale blissfully, letting the magnolia bloom’s fragrance fill my nostrils. To be honest, the scent is a little bit sickly-sweet, and I wonder if I’m going to feel nauseous from the cloying smell. But what the hell? I’m lucky to be here and let out a contented sigh, resting my hands on my burgeoning belly.

After all, I’m pregnant and staying in a beautiful little cottage that shares a garden with the mansion out front. Floral notes fill my nostrils, and small birds flit in a nearby tree, twittering mirthfully as a light breeze grazes my shoulders. I smile before snipping off one last magnolia and placing it in my basket. These blooms are going to make for a beautiful table display, and I can’t wait.

After all, my mom’s opened her doors to me for the duration of my pregnancy. My mom’s a godsend because my babydaddy’s not in the picture, and Elsa basically took me in as a charity case. But I’m not angry with the father of the baby because the pregnancy was an accident, and we weren’t really dating per se. We were hooking up and always used protection, but no contraception is fool-proof, and wha-la! Now I’m a couple months along.

Of course, Jerome freaked out when he found out because he understood the consequences. But as a twenty-two year-old boy, he wasn’t exactly interested in becoming a father, and tried to talk me out of the whole thing. I wasn’t having any of that because unbeknownst to Jerome, this isn’t my first pregnancy. My first one was about two years ago, and nearly broke my heart when it ended in a miscarriage. There were days when I couldn’t get out of bed, and wanted nothing more than for the Earth to swallow me whole.

So when a plus appeared on the pregnancy indicator this time around, I stared and my breathing became shallow. My fingers were trembling, but not because of fear or apprehension, but because I was overjoyed. I was getting a second chance at motherhood, and no way was I going to throw this away.

As a result, Jerome and I went our separate ways. I don’t blame him. Most guys seem to want to delay fatherhood until they’re in the forties (or even fifties or sixties) these days, so he was just part of a societal shift in mentality. Besides, what was I going to do? You can’t make someone stay who doesn’t want to stay.

But now, I’ve moved in with my mom in a cute little cottage in New Jersey, and life is quiet and blissful. I rest on my heels, lifting my face up toward the sky and closing my eyes. The sun warms my cheeks and the breeze flows through my curly hair, as if caressing my form. After a few deep breaths, my eyes open, and to my surprise, a butterfly has landed on my arm. This must be a good sign, right? As I watch, its orange wings begin to move and slowly, it floats off with the breeze.

I sigh with contentment because this is a far cry from how I was living just a few months prior. The contrast is crazy, to be honest, because I used to be an escort in New York City. Yes, that’s right. I worked on my back to support myself, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. It funded my lifestyle, and it was a lot of fun because I wasn’t a streetwalker or anything dangerous like that. Instead, I was with a high-end agency called City Girls that only caters to the best of the best. As a result, billionaires and CEOs were regular clients, and the tips were beyond amazing.

But after my pregnancy hit, I knew I didn’t want to do it anymore. Not because being an escort was unseemly, but because I don’t want to take any chances with my health. As a result, I hit up Elsa for housing, and my mom allowed me to move in with her.

The cottage is a nice place, too. Our home is a cute, shingled A-frame painted white with green trim and matching shutters. There’s a small porch decorated with a swing and a few hardy plants in front. It shares a garden with the aforementioned mansion, although the two structures couldn’t be more different. The manor must be five times the size of the cottage, and it was built to impress. Although you can’t see it from here, there’s a fountain near the circular driveway, as well as a humongous red door, and of course, there must be at least thirty rooms inside.

I don’t know for sure though, because I’ve never been inside. The mansion belongs to Mason Richards, my mom’s on-again, off-again boyfriend. What their relationship status is now, I have no idea, and to be honest, I don’t really want to know. For example, why doesn’t my mom live in the manor, if she’s Mr. Richards’ girlfriend? Why haven’t we seen him for weeks now? I shake my head before digging my hands in the fresh dirt again. Again, it’s probably better not to know, and I’m not going to ask Elsa either. There’s no sense in poking my nose in someone else’s business, especially where a billionaire is concerned.


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