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Her Billionaires(124)

By:Julia Kent


“Isn’t that what sperm banks are for?” one of them muttered.

“Hater,” Josie threw over her shoulder, spiriting Laura in.

“Lame-o,” Laura said, shaking her head. “You’re losing your touch.” Josie growled at her, baring her teeth. Madge appeared, looking older and shrunken, as if she possessed no fluid whatsoever under her skin.

From Laura’s face to Josie’s face to Laura’s stomach, Madge took them in. Pointing to Laura’s belly, she said, “Fat or pregnant?”

“Alien baby.”

Madge hacked out a laugh. “Which one?”

“Which alien?” Now Laura was confused.

“No—which guy? The Italian Stallion or the viking?” She led them to the only clean table in the place. It was slammed.

“Actually, the baby is mine,” Josie interjected. “New technology.”

“Yeah?” Madge rasped. “If any woman’s got balls, it’d be you.”

“Can’t be yours,” Laura protested. “I’m not your type, remember?” she said with a bit more snap than she’d intended.

Madge spun her hand in a circular gesture. “I ain’t got all day. Same thing you ordered last time?”

“I want that foccacia. And everything we ordered last time.”

“Eating for two,” Madge mumbled as she poked her handheld device and sped away. Josie looked around and seemed to take in the crowded place.

“Nothing like it was in the early morning.”

“You can see how they stay in business,” Laura marveled.

“How does that old woman work midnight shift and lunch?”

“Not human.” Laura’s stomach jumped as some odd muscle spasm took hold of her abdomen.

“You OK?” Josie asked, leaping to her feet. “You look like something ripped inside.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Laura gasped. As she looked down to examine her belly she felt it again, a little spasm and then it was as if something in her moved. Kicked.

“Oh, my God! Josie! The baby. She’s moving!” Laura pressed her hand to her belly and felt it, a little kick or a somersault that made the uterus feel slick and weird inside, as if a pocket of gas spirited itself from one side of her hips to the other.

Fluttering. Nothing. A flimmer, like tiny swimming flippers inside her, moving slowly.

Josie sat down next to her and planted her hands on either side of Laura’s belly, frozen in place and staring at nothing, just anticipating. Then she shrieked, “I felt it!”, eyes wide and amazed. From a proud grin to tears, her face morphed into a mask of emotion, gasping and overcome.

“It’s real.” Her eyes met Laura’s and she flung her arms around Laura’s neck, the two separated by the baby.#p#分页标题#e#

“It’s been real for a while,” Laura cracked, her voice filled with emotion.

“Not for me. I’m not living it. This?” she said, touching Laura’s belly, palm flat against it, waiting. “This makes it real.” Grinning like a fool, Josie wouldn’t let up, her hands pressing to catch another movement.

Madge appeared with their coconut shrimp. She stared at their position. “Get a room, you two.” And off she went, speed walking.

Josie shouted, “That’s what got her in this condition in the first place!” and abandoned Laura’s belly. Coconut shrimp vs. feeling baby move? No contest, apparently.

And Laura had to agree. The shrimp was about as mouth orgasmic as you could get, and lately this was as orgasmic as she got. First trimester nausea had depressed her sex drive, but by week seventeen she’d emerged, scathed and emotionally battered by morning sickness, so grateful it retreated that she didn’t dare complain about anything else. Within weeks, though, the second trimester horndog impulse kicked in.

She needed to buy stock in Duracell. The baby’s college fund would go to batteries at this rate. There were moments she weakened and wanted to call Dylan and Mike just to fuck them and then send them home, needing the satiety of having these urges and constant arousal expunged, even for a few brief hours.

None of the pregnancy books warned her that she would be engorged twenty-four/seven, that she would want to be touched and manhandled and fucked and to come and come and come until drained, then bounce right back up and be ready for more, face flushed and tissues eager. Even in her late teens she’d never had a drive like this; if pregnancy turned her into the female equivalent of a sex-crazed eighteen-year-old boy by week nineteen, she was going to have a crater where her clit should be by the thirtieth week.