The Billionaire's Baby

By S.N. Garza

“I need you, Ms. Snow.”

I never expected those words to ever come from my boss’s mouth. Only in my head and in my fantasies. But it was the middle of the night, I was asleep and what I heard in the background just wasn’t possible.

A baby? When did he have a baby?

Now, I find myself moving in with him, replacing all my ladyporn with child care books. But as soon as I held that adorable little boy that reminded me of his father, I fell. Hard. I’ve never loved anyone like I did that baby. Because every child deserves to be loved without reason.

Then I see Chase Mitchell, sexy and untamed, look at me like he never has before. With hard lust and need. And one night, when things got wild, I never expected him to do what he did next.

But then, Chase Mitchell has never been one to play by the rules. And I could either submit to his demands, or blow everything up until there’s nothing but ash.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.N. Garza
• Release date: Feb 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370830862

S.N. Garza

I am a 37 year old wife and mother of two who lives in a small country town in southeast Texas. I work during the day at Chilis Bar and Grill. I write dark, deeply emotional stories weaved with erotic romance that leaves you wanting more. My debut novel is Love Came Back & my best selling book & series, is The Billionaire’s Baby, book one in my Nauti Billionaires of Houston series. It is all sexy passion with an alpha hero who’ll sweep you off your feet.

Book preview

The alarm blares loudly, waking me up at six thirty AM every morning. I’m one of those girls who likes her sleep. I hit the snooze four more times before its seven ten and I can’t stay in bed any longer. Well…not be asleep in bed, but I am going to lay here. Contemplate. Masturbate. I don’t have a partner warming my bed unless you call Mr. Good-N-Ready, my handy-dandy rabbit vibrator, my partner. We wake up every morning together. And ever since I got this job at Mitchell Enterprises I’ve been hitting the vibe a lot lately. Why one might wonder?

My boss is fucking hot.

Hot with sexy messy hair, broad shoulders, and a piercing gaze that makes my panties wet—it doesn’t help that I read smut all day either. He’s an aloof type of man that if I were any other type of woman, I’d be throwing my soaking wet panties at his face, saying take me, take me now. But I won’t. That would be totally fucking inappropriate. That only happens in my dreams.

I’m his secretary for God’s sake and I have a fucking brain. I need this job. Throwing my panties at the man would find me either fucked—yes please—or fired. Most likely fired because I’m not the type of woman a man like him gets with.

He’s a billionaire that had a billionaire-type childhood that sent him to the best of the best of whatever the rich subject their children too. But if he asked me to drop my drawers and spread’em, I might be tempted. Very tempted. But I’ll keep my panty throwing strictly in my dreams.

I’m his secretary, although I barely do anything. I sit in a chair and basically read my smut all day long. Or work on my blog.

Anyway. I picture his wild, animalistic face coming over me and fucking me like a man possessed. I could usually read a little smut and get going but with my boss, Chase Mitchell stuck in my head, I didn’t need any reading material. He gets my pussy soaked just picturing him in my mind. I let the little vibrating ears brush over my clit and the thick purple rubber of the cockhead sweep over my soaking lips, streaking the vibrator with my arousal. I didn’t even need lube, the man got me wetter than any ladyporn book I’ve ever read. And I read them a lot. The dirtier, the better. I just finished reading Mr. Romantic by JA Huss and I swear it got me all hot and dirty thinking of Mr. Mitchell taking me like Mr. Romantic. Sigh. And that butter scene? Yeah. I’m a dirty fucking chick but since I've learned the art of masturbating at sixteen, I can’t help myself.

But Mr. Mitchell is only in my fantasies. I am all that is professional when I am in the office. I'm able to keep my cool because I don't see him very often. He doesn't want a secretary or personal assistant but I do my best anyway.

However, every morning, I usually jill-off to the face of my boss. He had this hair that begged me to mess it up even more. I could imagine him thrusting into me as I pull on his hair, and I'd hear him talk dirty to me—telling me how tight my pussy felt and how he’s gonna fuck me until I’m screaming out his name.

My arousal coats the silicone tip and sides of the vibrator until I slide it in and out of my vagina with ease. Then I turn the speed of the rabbit ears that stimulate the clit on high and fucked myself while imagining my rock-hard bodied boss drilling into me like a beast. I can picture his face as he comes. Hands lifting my ass, kneading as he thrust with powerful, hard strokes, hitting my g-spot until I'm squirting all over his big, fat dick. Only I hope his dick is big enough to hit that spot. I don't push the dildo all the way since I plan on waiting for the right man to take my virginity.

Yes. I am a virgin and I'm proud of it. I usually use the little rabbit ears against my clit until I'm spilling all over the soft sheets of my bed. Quick and efficient. That’s all I need to make myself happy enough to go about my day without lusting after him like a club whore in a motorcycle club. Like those Kim Jones’s books. The Devil’s Renegades could…sigh—moving on. I could picture my boss in any book I read and I’ve read most of them.

My body began its ascent into bliss and just when I'm at the precipice, I think of his face with his mouth open in satisfied agony and I come hard. My body writhes and jerks until I feel my release squirting from my body before going down the crack of my ass, wetting my sheets.

My body slumps back on the bed as I level down Mr. GNR. My body is humming and thrumming with satisfaction.

Fuck. Me. That was a good one. I can't help the smile that lifts on my lips. Sometimes that happens. I never thought a woman could ejaculate like that, but the first time it happened, I always did my best to reach that pinnacle. It always makes for a good day.

It isn't like I had a man anyway. Hell, I’ve never even been with a man. A live one anyway. I’ve never been much interested in the opposite sex very much. I’m not into women either. My life hasn’t been the easiest since my dad passed away when I was eighteen. And I’ve just been too busy to date or whatever. It wasn’t like I had many friends.

My dad, who was in the Navy for at least ten years, fought overseas after 9/11 happened and not one thing happened to him. He came home, retired to life as a cop— like my grandpa, and uncles have before him—and a drive-by shooting took his life in the blink of an eye.

I was heading to college in Austin when my mother called to tell me what happened.

College was out of the question then. I stayed home to help my mom out. She had been a stay-at-home wife and never had a job because my dad always provided for us. We weren’t rich or poor. We were right in the middle. But after the funeral and all the expenses had been paid, the money she’d get from the Navy and then the HPD didn’t cover everything. I got a waitressing job at Chili’s and made good enough money that my mom could tuck away the money she got for a retirement. Something she could live off of in the future if she had to.

That was until two years ago when I was twenty-three and she was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer. She definitely couldn’t work much and they hadn’t offered good insurance for such a small amount of hours at the Chili’s I worked at.

The money she managed to save and put away went to medical bills. Our insurance wasn’t grand and since we lived far from the city of Houston, a lot was out-of-pocket. The money I brought home from Chili’s paid our regular bills and her money paid the insurance company.

I worked extra shifts and worked my ass off, yet, it still wasn’t enough. The money she had saved was gone soon enough and after the first set of treatments, we thought it would go away. There was only a small chance that she’d get the cancer back. And of course, we were that lucky because seven months ago, it came back. And while I made good money bartending, it still hadn’t been enough to pay bills and medical expenses at the same time. My dad left me with a mortgage payment, truck payment, and of course all the other utilities that had to be paid.

Then I got a call out of the blue—or maybe not so far out of the blue, my mother knew I think—but a Mr. Chase Mitchell called and told me he wanted to pay for my mother’s medical expenses. I didn’t know who the hell he was but he said he knew my dad back in the service. Said he owed my dad a debt. I wasn’t one to take charity and I promptly hung up on him.

Evidently being told no had never happened to him—which his son follows after him in that regard—but I could tell when I met him it didn’t happen very often. Being rejected or told no. He came to my parents’ house, where of course my mother let him in. A complete stranger. But then, my mother never knew a stranger. She always opened her home to whoever came by. It wasn’t like dad ever talked about that time when he was in the service—he kept a lot to himself—mom seemed genuinely surprised that anyone from that time in his life came to pay respects and offer to pay for my mother’s complete treatment and recovery.

We had sat down where my mother brought out tea and for some reason I didn’t really like Mr. Mitchell.

His arrogance seeped into my pores and I wanted to tell him to get the hell out of my house but my mother did instill manners in me so I held my tongue.

If you won’t take my charity, then I have a job offer for you.

Job offer? As what? There’s nothing you have that I want.

Maddy! Don’t be rude.

It’s alright. But your unwillingness only hurts your mother.

That had shut me up.

And here I am.

Only thing is, my boss, Mr. Mitchell Senior’s son, didn’t want or particularly need an assistant. I’m basically the errand-girl. I don't even answer the phone. I have a desk with a computer because it ‘looks professional’ but when I get here each morning, Chase Mitchell junior says good morning and then promptly disappears into his office. Shutting the door behind him.

He doesn’t even mind when I need to leave to take my mom to her treatments. He never says take a holiday. He told me to do what I needed to do and if I didn’t get done by five, then I could just go home. I didn’t want to take advantage but he waved me off. He was stern with everyone he came into contact with except me. He was courteous, yet quick. He knows I’m only here because of his dad, but he never talks to me like I’m a nuisance. Thank God or else I might just have to punch him right in his sinfully hot face before I tell him to fuck off. Wouldn’t be a wise choice, but my temper is legendary.

A part of it is because he’s so aloof, quiet, focused—he gets this look sometimes that it’s like his concentration is solely on the situation at hand and that intense focus makes me want him in bed so bad. Not that I’d ever do anything about it though because well…hello. Once again. Boss.

And he’s thirty-five. He’s ten years older than me. He told me in the beginning to be at the office by nine every morning and have a fresh cup of coffee ready for him and that’s all I really need to do. So basically I sit there and do nothing—well, I read my books and wait until five o’clock.

After the first month of working for Chase Mitchell, I thought I’d try and do a little work—you know, clean, organize.

Once he caught me in his office and he just looked me over with his privileged, arrogant stare and mesmerizing light green eyes that made me think of limes (weird I know but whatevs) but he basically ignored me. He never dismissed me or told me he needed his privacy. He let me dust around his photos—his parents, him and his brother Clark who is equally hot, and some from his college years—and straighten up around his office. I even put accent pillows on his couch that sits near a mini fridge. I couldn’t stand it all plain and black. I put some dark purple throw pillows and it worked out nicely. He never once said anything. Sometimes he looks up and quirks an eyebrow, but then he just huffs out a breath and carries on with his work as if I’m just scenery. Hopefully he finds me pretty scenery but I’m sure he doesn’t even see me most of the time.

And he has my unwavering loyalty because the one time my mother had an emergency, I had run into his office while he was on a conference call—so inappropriate of me and I was sure he’d fire me on the spot because he looked irritated—but he told the caller to hold on, pressed mute and asked me what I needed. As soon as I told him my mother had an accident and was being admitted into the hospital, his sternness softened and he said of course. Go. I hope everything's okay. But I didn’t hear anything else after that. I had already turned and ran out the door, clocking out and rushing from the office.

Thank goodness it hadn’t been too serious, but the next day there were purple tulips on my desk with a card that said, hope your mother’s alright. And then I noticed he fixed my time, making sure I was still clocked in until quitting time.

My mother is the only person I have left. She means everything to me. And I feel like Mr. Mitchell understood that.

He let me keep busy around his office. I never got in his way. I wouldn't call it a crush—just a heavy bout of lust. I loved looking at him. I never caught him looking at me like I look at him though. And thank God he doesn’t notice how I do look at him or I probably would be fired. At least he doesn't when I'm looking if he does.

He doesn't really speak much. I’m at the bottom of the social chain while he’s at the tip-top. At least that’s how I feel about the differences between us. But that don't stop me from thinking about him when I take care of myself at night in the darkness of my room or in the bright early morning of a new day.

Hence why most mornings, I jill-off to his handsome, rugged face. It’s that hair. It is wild. Untamed. Sexy. Shorn on the sides, long on top. He has scruff too. I never liked a beard and mustache but on him it’s sexy as fuck. That black hair contrasted to his light green eyes. The Mitchell inheritance because M-Senior had the same eyes.

But unlike M-Senior and his superior, douche-canoe arrogance who didn't have a problem speaking out his every thought, his first born is quiet. Like a panther. He only struck when the mood is right. M-Senior, which he preferred to be called, even by his sons, decided to get off the throne of his empire and split the company 60-40 to his sons, Chase and Clark.

Clark Mitchell is thirty and the proverbial play-boy billionaire. He doesn't have to work as hard as Chase. He’s more pleasant to talk to and since working here, I’ve spoken to him a few times. He is polite and jovial. Nothing like M-Senior and the complete opposite of Chase. I don't think I really have a type, but I would have thought I liked Clark's cadence and happy-go-lucky self, but nope. It is definitely not him I fantasize about. It is almost sick the way I get off by imagining my boss but somehow his quiet, dark, brooding aura did it for me.

It seduces me without him even knowing it. Ugh. I needed to get my ass up and get ready already.

It never takes me long. I didn't really have any professional attire except some figure hugging dickies—no one ever said anything about it—and blouses that belonged to my mom. She always wore pretty tops and told me to use them as long as I wanted since she didn't wear them anymore. When she was diagnosed, they had done a double mastectomy and she hadn’t bothered with reconstruction.

I probably should get some skirts or business dresses but that just isn’t me. Mr. Mitchell never said anything about it so I didn’t worry.

Although, Stacey, Clark’s assistant, wore flirty skirts and low cut blouses. She flirted with him and he had no problem reciprocating. But she’s efficient in her job, unlike me. I have no secretarial skills. Not that Chase noticed. He does everything himself. Do I mind? Not really. I don't know what to do besides bring him coffee and sometimes lunch.

I sit in on the meetings because it’s ‘required’ of their secretary’s and Stacey is always there, making notes or whatever. But before I would get there Chase would tell me not to worry about taking notes. It’s all up here, and he’d point to his head. That I was just there as a courtesy to the old man. Making sure I’m ‘working’ lets him know he’s not doing all the work himself. He’d chuckle and we’d go to the conference room.

I never knew what to say to that. He said it often but never like I was a hindrance. But I began bringing my iPad in, made it look like I was writing notes at least. I mostly read though. I’m there to be seen not heard anyway. M-Senior sits at the head of the table, Chase at the other end and I sit directly behind him and just off to the side. Clark sits at Chase’s right hand with Stacey behind him.

Today is one of those meeting days. I get up and shower, dress and slip on my pretty heels. The only pair I owned. Knowing that he wouldn’t mind if I read in the meeting, I stuffed my iPad into my messenger bag and went downstairs. There’s a new M.N. Forgy Sin City Outlaws book out and I’m excited to start reading it.

Mom just made me a ‘lunch kit’; just like I was back in elementary school—yes I lived at home with my mother. It was just us so there’s no reason to get a place of my own especially in her condition. I wanted and needed to be close.

We had a small veggie garden in the back yard and she’d pick it fresh every morning. I always had a Caesar salad with a container of cucumbers, carrots, green bell peppers and then cream cheese. I’m not a vegetarian, but mom didn’t cook like she used to. She’s tired more often than not.

She’s not bouncing back as well as she had the last time around. And that worried me greatly. I don't want to lose my mother. The last person in my family. She means everything to me.

Morning, Maddy. Here you go, honey.

She hands me my kit and I reach my arms around her, hugging her tight. Everything okay, mom?

She pats my back and says, Yes, honey. I think I’m going to take a nap a bit before my soaps come on.

I laugh because I didn’t understand how people could watch soap operas. But every day like clockwork she's up and watching them like it's her life line

She kisses my cheek as I'm walking out the door to my car. I wave to her as I drive down the street. It’s going on seven years and the heater is broken, but there's no way I'm giving it up. There’s no extra money to get it fixed so I keep a blanket in the back seat when it’s winter. It’s the middle of March so if you're from Texas and especially Houston you know it's an iffy month. Sometimes cold, sometimes sweltering hot. The mornings are cold enough that I lay the blanket on my lap. It takes me a little over an hour to get to work with the last half being nothing but fucking traffic. Houston traffic is always a bitch. And when I get to the office, my day goes from orgasm-rific to shit-storm in minutes.

chapter two

Dammit, Chase! You’re thirty-five fucking years old, boy. It’s time to settle down. Marry one of the debs your mother prances around you. The first one to make your dick hard, marry her, fuck her and produce an heir.

Holy crap. Mr. Mitchell is getting his ass handed to him by his father, M-Senior.

I’ve never heard him speak so openly and so loudly before. The office door is open enough that I’m not the only one to hear. Clark had come out of his office as well, leaning against the corridor by the main office with a bored look on his face.

One thing I know about Clark Mitchell is that he normally likes getting under M-Senior’s feathers. But now he looked like he was ready to rip someone’s head off. I’ve never seen him angry before. Stacey is sitting at her desk, pretending to be busy. When I come in though Clark stands up straight, a small, tight smile on his face.

Then M-Seniors voice gets louder.

And for God’s sake, do something with that mop of hair on your damn head. It’s so unprofessional. No one wants to do business with a man whose hair is all over the place.

I didn’t hear Mr. Mitchell’s response but the way I heard a sharp hitch, I knew it wasn’t any good.

Don’t forget Sunday dinner. Your mother will have a candidate for you.

FATHER! I said no!

I don’t give a shit. Do as I say or you’ll be on your ass.

You might have built this company father, but I’ve done just as good and even better than you have. No one gives a shit about my looks unless they have a pussy. I’ve made my billions already, father. You won’t ever get rid of me because I’ve helped grow this damn company ten-fold. Clark has as well, he’s just as good and you sure haven’t been hounding on him about getting married.

I heard Clark mutter, Asshole. Throw me under the bus.

I can’t help the giggle that slips free.

Clark winks before rolling his eyes and going back towards his office. And leaving me to deal with the fall out.

Asshole back at ya. Leaving me alone to deal with the bear and bear junior. I mutter under my breath.

Then I see a shadow and look up to see him peeking around the corner, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

Good luck, Ms. Snow.

I stick out my tongue and roll my eyes. I sit down and wait for the fury that is in that office to come out and make itself known. Then I hear M-Senior continue.

He’s not ready. You’re my first born son. You should be the first one married, by God! Fine, you want to act that way then you'll be withdrawn from my will.

Go for it, old man. Your threats are hopeless. I’m not changing for anyone. Period.

M-Senior walks out Mr. Mitchell’s door and growls, Be at dinner.

"Fine. But if some bitch thinks she’s going to dig her greedy, money-hungry claws into my pockets or pants, she has any other thing coming. Besides, every woman mother flaunts in front of me are in their early twenties. For fucks sake, dad. I want a seasoned woman, not some fresh face chit out of the school room who wants what’s in my wallet instead of what's on the inside."

In my head I think, I definitely want what’s on the inside. AKA his cock. But I don’t think that’s what he means by that. Maybe he has a heart after all. I snort and Clark looks at me sharply. I cough, trying to regain composure. I didn’t know he was still there. Hiding. Ugh. I smile and hurry to my desk. I can already tell the meeting today is going to be a long one. It usually is when they argued, but they’ve never been this loud and this…angry before. Usually Chase Mitchell kind of scoffs and lets his father argue and then they move on. But this…I’m surprised the door had been cracked open.

By the way you sleep with them, who would think you cared for anything more? You’re just fucking them, aren’t you? Dear God, son. You haven’t gotten of them pregnant, have you?

Oh, my God. This is not a conversation I should be hearing. M-senior never loses his cool like this. He never had before. At least never in this public view. But he’s going at it as if someone shoved a stick up his ass.

He’s never mentioned Chase getting married. Or producing an heir. Why do they have to say heir like they’re in some royal family or something? Shouldn’t he find someone to love and then fill that woman up with babies?

Not that I knew anything about it. If he has a healthy sexual appetite, what is wrong with that?

What am I saying? It isn't like I have a healthy sexual appetite. I don’t even have an appetite period. I use my vibrator, Mr. GNR, so often I had to replace his batteries a few times a month. I’ve never had sex with a man so I’m a live-man virgin.

What can I say? I just haven't found the right guy that does it for me. Chase Mitchell says he likes seasoned women? Well, I’m twenty-four. Not that I’m interested or anything. Not really. Hell, Mr. Chase Mitchell is one hot, piece of male flesh. Any girl would die to be in my shoes. Even if it's only to get a good look at him. I’ve never once hit on him or flirt with him. It isn't right and with my mother’s health, I was extremely happy to get this position with little to no experience.

Makes me wonder what is wrong with the guy. There has to be something. He’s in his thirties, no wife. No girlfriend. At least none that I know of. Which is a pity. I bet he gives it to a girl nice, long, deep and hard. Or maybe that’s just my wet dreams talking.

Either way, when the senior Mitchell told me to show up here and get to work, I did. The benefits are really great. My mother is in treatment now and I’ve been Mr. Mitchell’s secretary for the past six months. And I get to see him every day, five days a week. And fantasize about him every night as I jill off. I call that a win-win situation.

I could look at him all fucking day and fantasize. Speaking of looking…the only color tie he wears is purple. Deep, dark purple. Every once in a while he’d wear a paisley pattern but black suit and purple tie is his everyday look. I don’t know why that sparks my interest, but it does. You’d think it was a feminine color, but with the slick suits he wears, that spark and pop of color makes him seem more untouchable. More…magnanimous. Like a conquering King up in his tower. But he isn't conceited or rude; at least not with me.

And I can definitely say he’s sparked one or two— hell—several masturbating sesh’s I’ve had over the past few months. It’s sickening how he could rev my engines like that and get me going like a race car at Daytona Beach.

He isn't really a prick or anything. I wonder what it would be like to get to know him. He seems like a decent guy. But who knows what happens behind closed doors, right? He can be some sick, twisted freak.

Eh…that doesn’t bother me none. I read dirty ladyporn, so maybe I’m a freak too.

I’m sitting at my desk, pretending to shuffle blank paper across the desk when M-Senior slams the office door open, the wood smacking against the wall, startling not only me but Clark as well who stands up straighter.

Mr. Mitchell hates it when people aren’t keeping busy but I’m the most non-busiest person there is, yet he never says anything to me. Which makes me feel special, but I keep that to myself. It probably isn’t anything.

Mitchell Senior stops at my desk, his old weathered face softening slightly as he holds back his irritation. Hello, Miss. Snow. How are you?

Hi, sir. I’m doing very well. How about yourself? And Mrs. Mitchell?

He sighs, flickers his eyes towards the door which makes me turn to see the younger Mitchell looking over both of us as if we’re conspiring against him.

The way one brow raises burns my insides. He has sleek cut sideburns that are neatly trimmed down into a beard and mustache. The beard is called a boxed cut, which leaves some skin below his bottom lip bare. He is so incredibly sexy. Have I said that already? Gah. He renders me speechless when he looks like that. Silent, inquisitive. Dark. Intense.

Shit. My pussy feels so damn hot and I feel my panties dampening with my juices. Thank goodness my legs are underneath the desk so no one notices how I'm tightening my thighs and squeezing my vagina muscles tight. The light green of his eyes captures me and I feel lost. God, I'd love to touch him. Intimately. With no strings. Fuck, I hate feeling horny. Especially right now when every Mitchell is in sight. I want to put my hand over my pussy and smear the juices around the material of my panties which usually makes my eyes roll back as I stimulate my overly sensitive clit, soothing the ache that comes from this sexy as fuck man. I turn back to M-Senior and smile, waiting for him to respond.

She’s fine. How’s your momma doing?

In my periphery Chase stands straighter and takes a step forward. At least that’s what I think he's doing.

She’s doing alright. Making sure I toe the company line. I laugh because that’s exactly how my mother is. My dad had been in the Navy and they were both stubborn, difficult people. But the most loving and caring, too.

"I wish this one would toe the company line."

I look over to where M-Senior hitched his thumb towards his son who just looks at me with curiosity. Waiting for a response out of me. I definitely don't want to get fired so I do my best to answer noncommittally.

He is a man, isn’t he? Did you always toe the company line, sir?

You, young lady, do not take his side.

He is my boss. I chuckle as I shrug my shoulders.

I know he helped me get the job here, but I’m loyal to Chase Mitchell. I don’t know why.

No, I do know why. He knows what I do when I’m here. I basically read. A lot. I’ve never read so much before and then get paid for it. Hell, my reviewer ranking is at an all-time high and my reading blog is catching some pretty nice traffic. He basically