I took deep breaths to calm my nerves while seated in the wide, spacious bathroom that could hold twelve people doing different activities at once without a hitch. My kitchen was a rat’s home compared to this.
It was almost six o’clock in the morning and I was still trying to recover from the aftershocks of intense pleasuring Max had put me through the previous night. He’d fucked my pussy so good with his tongue – a treat which no other past ex-boyfriend of mine had agreed to – and we had rough, marathon sex till about two in the morning before we eventually fell asleep to recharge and he woke me up by five for one brief quickie.
I sighed in contentment as I scanned the luxury bathroom once more, wondering how surreal it would feel to have my bath in it every single day of the week. It was so exotic and everything looked so fancy and expensive. I bet the money used to purchase the oval stone jacuzzi sitting in a corner would be enough to cover my rent for two straight years. There was a three-nozzle shower separated by a thick white curtain on the other side of the room. The entire place looked blissful, and I only thought it existed in movies until that very moment.
And that was disheartening. I felt intimidated, the more time I spent in Max’s house. He was a self-made, rich billionaire, famous all over New York for both the good and the bad. He had wealth, he had power, he had the world at his fingertips while I… well, I had just three hundred dollars in the bank which I was saving up for Finn’s education. I had no money, I wasn’t a CEO, and I didn’t own a mansion. If someday, he made good on his promise and married me, how would I ever fit into his home? And also his life and status in society? How would the press take the news that he suddenly had a child after barely a week of getting married? I blew out a deflated breath and adjusted my butt on the toilet seat. There were so many questions I barely had an answer to. My joints were aching from the numerous sex positions Max had insisted we try out last night.
After the quickie, he’d called the shots and insisted we had sex in the shower. It was something I’d never thought I would enjoy, being held at an awkward angle with my back hurting while he pounded hard into me, but he’d been surprisingly gentle, soft, and loving, and kept whispering how beautiful I looked at that moment as he thrust slowly, his cock filling me up and bringing me to a blinding orgasm. It was awesome. It was more than awesome. It was phenomenal.
And now, I couldn’t just have sex with any man ever again. Max had raised the bar so impossibly high that it’d take a goddamn miracle for me to be impressed by someone else.
I straightened, wiped my butt, washed my hands then stared at the deep, dark bags beneath my eyes. I looked fucked. Which was so fitting, because I’d actually been fucked. A goofy smile crossed my lips as I remembered all the nasty things we’d done with each other last night. We complemented each other in ways we never imagined and each time I looked at him, I thanked my lucky stars that I hadn’t left that club five years ago before I had the chance to encounter him. No man had ever ticked all the boxes of what I wanted in a life partner except him, and before things got even more complicated, I figured that I needed to tell him we had a son.
“It’s nothing shocking,” I laughed nervously, not sounding very much convincing to myself. Wiping the tears that slowly gathered, I sighed and sniffled. God, I’m ruined.
Just take a deep breath, go out there, and tell him, a deep voice encouraged in my head. The longer you keep this secret away from him, the harder it’d be for him to forgive you. What’s gotten into you, Elaine? You used to be so brave.
Yeah. Used to be.
Perhaps he would laugh it off as one of my numerous pranks and say, ‘since you’re so eager for a baby, why don’t we make one and start a family?’
Probably in my dreams though.
But what if he was disgusted and threw me out of his house, firm, and life forever? How would I get another job and still manage to stay afloat? How would I deal with seeing and hearing about his escapades with other girls? What if he got married to another girl who wasn’t me?
What if he ended up, not caring at all?
The problem wasn’t telling him that he had a son. The problem was what would be his reaction? I would stop hating myself if he insisted we end what we had right there. I should’ve told him that night he found me at the club with Sky, just before I rode his dick in his car. Brushing my fingers through my stringy dark tresses, I tried to imagine his reaction. It could take a lot of load off my chest with regards to the house and rent, and also on the other hand it could place a whole new lot of load with regards to a new job, getting thrown out of the house, and Finn’s education being placed on hold.
Stop being a pussy and go tell him! The voice urged me, persistent. What’s the worse that could happen? He rejects you and you go back to Manhattan. You start a fresh life and work hard before putting Finn in school again. If God wills it you’ll find a much better, richer man who’d accept Finn as his son, and you two will get married and live happily ever after.
Ugh. Who was I kidding? I’d hate to get married to any man who wasn’t Max, no matter how hotter, richer or smarter the man was.
Then just fucking do it, you fool.
I patted my hair down. Okay, okay.
Here goes nothing.
Pushing the bathroom door slightly open, I went out and found Max downstairs, setting two plates of toast and two steaming mugs of coffee on the dining table for breakfast. He was shirtless, wearing brand new black jogger pants that incredibly hugged his arse and showed off his distinct V line. I watched him as he arranged the table, admiring the way he flexed those sculptured biceps. A grin exploded on my face when I recalled how my fingers had traced over them while he slept.
At last, he glanced up, saw me standing on the bottom stair, and beamed. “Hey, sweetheart,” he kissed the sides of my face and scooted back a chair for me to sit.
My stomach fluttered as I settled my butt on the leather seat, my heart warming at how domestic everything was. He sat across from me and pushed a plate and cup forward. “Dig in.”
“I never knew you could cook,” I murmured in amusement. As a cold, brooding billionaire, he struck me as the lazy type.
“Cherry, every man can make coffee and prepare toast,” he laughed. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Well, I’m sure there are about 10% of men in the entire universe who beg to differ.” I countered him, hiding my crooked smile behind my mug.
“Then they should be ashamed of themselves,” he said nonchalantly.
I swatted his arm. “Oh, come on. Some people just don’t like going into the kitchen. It doesn’t make them any less human or lazy. Cooking isn’t their focus.”
“Still.” He maintained.
I pouted, shoving a piece of toast into my mouth. “You should be ashamed of yourself as well. Coffee and toast ain’t something to brag about, you know?”
He guffawed. “Smart girl.”
We ate in silence and afterward, I placed the plates in the dishwasher and joined him on the sofa. He lay, sprawled out with his legs wide open invitingly. I took my place between them and watched him fiddle with his phone for a while. “We’ll be late for the office.”
“We’re not going today,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Let’s take the week off. You’ll stay here till the weekend.”
My mind boggled as I stared at him in disbelief. “Is this a joke?”
He lowered his phone to give me a pointed look. “Does it sound like one to you?”
“I can’t stay here till Saturday. I’ve got a lot of work to do at home. Responsibilities…”
“Like what?” he asked, sitting up.
I wanted to chew my tongue. “Like…” I tried to rack my brain for the right excuse but came up with nothing.
He smirked, settling back down. “Yeah, I thought so.”
“Listen, Max. Please…”
“Let’s go to Manhattan.”
I paled instantly. “What the hell?”
“I wanted to take you out on an apology date. We can’t do that in New York, thanks to the media. I know a beautiful restaurant that’s just the perfect spot for us.”
I moved away from him. “It’s official. You’re out of your damn mind.”
He snorted. “The nuts are still intact, Cherry. We could spend the week in Manhattan and return home first thing on Sunday morning. Then I’ll let you go prepare for Monday.”
“I hate to be a downer, Max. But I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You’ll have to back it up with a suitable reason, then.”
I stared at him blankly, searching my brain for something, my heart racing. Why couldn’t I leave Finn with Ma till the weekend was over? He seemed to love her and her grandkids an awful lot, and they’d get on just fine. Still, last night was the longest I’d been away from him. He might not miss me after a day or two because he had his mates to play with, but soon enough he’d want to see me.
I bunched my hands into fists, struggling to contain my tears.
Just fucking tell him.
“I’m sorry, Max, I can’t,” I said with an air of finality, a few tears slipping out. “You know I can’t afford such luxury. I’m broke as hell.”
“Hey, hey, now,” he sat up and pulled me closer so my head rested on his broad chest. “Who said anything about having you pay? It’s my idea, it’s my treat. I will pay for you.”
“That wouldn’t make me feel better,” I glanced up at him. “Can we hang out in here, instead? Please? We could go downtown, to that quiet restaurant, and spend some quality time.”
He shook his head. “Cherry, that place isn’t befitting. You’re my princess. You deserve the best or nothing. Please, sweetheart. Come to Manhattan with me. If it’s fine we could stay till Friday and come back first thing on Saturday.”
I considered this for a moment. It wasn’t so bad. “Alright. We’ll return first thing on Saturday.”
“Yes!” he punched his fist in the air, then twirled me around. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he placed me down on the floor. “I’ll go book some tickets upstairs. You wait here.”
When he disappeared up the stairs, I sank into the leather couch and shut my eyes.
What the hell have I done?