Pregnant and Needy: A Forbidden Romance

By S.E. Law and S.C. Adams

Hannah: I’m pregnant, huge, and desperately poor. My babydaddy is out of the picture, and I have no income to speak of.

So I make money in the most shameful way …

Working on my back …

For handsome, gorgeous clients who pay a pretty penny for good times.

Who does this? I should be ashamed but I’m not because Rick is different. The billionaire adores the fact that I’m expecting and makes me feel beautiful and gorgeous, even though I’m basically an ungainly hippo with swollen ankles. Plus, Rick is no shy pansy. He’s handsome and huge, with a broad chest, six pack abs, and a certain something that makes me so *needy* all the time. Being with the billionaire is an utter dream …

… but can this fantasy last?

After all, Rick wants more babies even though I’m a working girl … and he won’t stop until I’m a mommy to all of his children!

Hannah faces her fears in this story because she’s gone through some scary times as a single mother, and she’s not sure about throwing herself into that chaos again. Of course, we all know how this is going to end – our hero is a determined alpha male, and he’s going to get his woman pregnant, whether she’s ready or not! But that’s where Hannah takes him by surprise because our sassy girl isn’t your regular MILF. She’s an incredibly dirty woman who needs a “hand” in a very special way, and yes, it’s exactly what you think. *wink wink* Is this filth to the fullest extent? Yes indeed! Put on your seatbelts and strap yourself down for a ride because this story will have your hair on fire with its twists and turns. This book is a follow-up to Pregnant and Willing, but all of my books are standalones and can be read in any order. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and always a HEA for my readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.E. Law Romance Author
• Release date: Oct 18, 2022

Book preview

1

Hannah

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Ahumid breeze blows in through the open window. It’s my only relief from the sweltering heat that’s settled like a haze in my apartment. The air literally feels heavy and wet on my skin, and I wipe at my forehead, unsurprised that my arm comes back sticky. It’s September, but there’s a heat wave passing through NYC this week, so I guess we’re all suffering en masse. But hopefully my baby’s doing okay and with a sigh, I stare down at my belly before lightly resting my hands on the not-so-small bulge.

Oh Christ, what a mess I’m in.

The child seems to hear and kicks me in response, making me let out a soft oof! I like to think of these little movements as the baby’s way of telling me that things will be fine, yet tears spring into my eyes as I mull over my situation.

After all, it wasn’t exactly part of my life plan to be single and pregnant at twenty-five. But here I am, alone in my apartment with a child growing in my tummy. Tears rise to my eyes, and an incredible loneliness seeps into my bones.

Ugh, it must be the stupid pregnancy hormones making me so emotional.

It could be, but somehow I know that that’s not all. The situation is scary because I’m a single mom in NYC with no family, very little money, and a somewhat high-risk pregnancy underway. As a social worker with Children’s Protective Services, I’ve seen some really tough situations in my line of work, so I know things could be worse. But still, life recently has just felt incredibly hard.

I sigh and continue to stare out the window. The heat settles on my skin like a heavy blanket, and I try to push my sticky hair out of my face. The tangled mess of curls is probably a bird’s nest right now, but I don’t care because I have bigger problems to say the least. Bills. A job. Childcare. No money. Did I mention bills?

I glance down toward the street a few stories below. My small, cramped apartment doesn’t have much going for it, but at least the people watching is good, even if that’s about all I can say for the place.

Then, my gaze shifts away from the window and toward the interior of the apartment. It’s a little grimy, but I’ve done my best with the space. The paint is chipping around the window ledges and the counters are stained yellow with age. The floors desperately need stripping, but at least they’re real wood and not ticky-tacky linoleum. Then again, maybe linoleum would be better because it’s more sanitary if you have a child? I have no idea.

Are you ready to be a mom, Hannah?

I look around, squinting because I don’t really want to know the answer to that question. Sure enough, there’s a frayed electrical outlet next to my second-hand dining table, and none of the windows have screens, so a child could easily plunge to their death from this high up. Even worse, I’m pretty sure I saw a pigeon building a nest on the fire escape, which means, you guessed it: bird droppings.

Relax, Hannah, I tell myself in a trembling voice as my heart begins to race. You’ve still got time to figure this out.

To be honest, ever since I found out I was pregnant, I’ve been repeating that mantra aloud to myself every day, and yet my panic seems to grow with each passing moment no matter what. Calm down, I tell myself again. You are an independent young woman. You can do this. Besides, you’re the only person this baby has, so you HAVE to make it work.

I turn to look out the window once more, deciding to save my rising panic about baby proofing for a different day. Things will be fine, I tell myself. Things will work out, you’ll see.

Suddenly, I jerk forward in my seat. Is that …? No, it can’t be, and I lean back, semi-relieved. A tall blond man continues down the street and then disappears into the subway station at the corner. His stature and complexion reminded me of the guy who got me pregnant, and I shake my head. It’s not his fault that he went back to Germany, and it’s not his fault that we got pregnant either. It’s just something that happened after our hook-up.

Still, I wonder what this child is going to look like. Will he be brunette like me, or blond like his father? Will she have my curves, or will she be lean and toned, like her dad? To be honest, I’m well into my second trimester so I could easily find out the gender, but I don’t want to know because it’s only going to make everything that much more real.

A buzzing sound makes me start, and I sigh. Ugh, it’s my phone. Hoisting myself off the couch, I waddle towards the kitchen where it’s plugged in and immediately stub my toe against the baseboard, making me double over in pain.

Hello? I answer sharply.

Hey girl, my friend Christine burbles. What’s going on? You sound like you’re in agony there.

I roll my eyes.

Yeah, I’m so big that I can’t see my feet anymore, so I just ran my toe into the counter. It’s just so frustrating, but honestly, it could be worse. I could have hit my head and collapsed in a heap before being eaten by wolves.

On the other end of the phone, Christine giggles.

You’re not going to be eaten by wolves, she says.

My tone is dark.

You don’t know that. I’ve heard there are packs of stray dogs roaming through Staten Island.

My buddy titters again, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, but that’s Staten Island. We live in Manhattan, girl, and there definitely aren’t packs of stray dogs here. In fact, I’ve never even seen one stray dog in the time I’ve lived here."

Okay, no stray dogs, I grouse. Maybe rats then. My dead body will be devoured by rats.

Christine goes serious then.

OMG, I think you might be right on that one because there are So. Many. Rats. In this city. It’s crazy. I saw one dragging a slice of pizza down the subway stairs the other day.

I lean forward with excitement.

OMG, you saw Pizza Rat?

My friend is confused.

He has a name?

I nod.

Hell yeah! He’s like a meme now. People videotaped that rat dragging a slice of pizza around, and he has his own Instagram account now. He’s a celebrity.

Christine clucks her tongue.

OMG, who would have guessed? Only in New York, she says in a rueful tone. But then my buddy changes the subject. So how’s the bump today? she asks in a cheery voice. Do you feel more like an elephant or a hippo at the moment?

I laugh because if anyone can understand my pregnancy woes, it’s my friend. Christine has two small children of her own—Paddy and Jeremiah—who are less than two years apart. Despite her busy life as a mom of two, however, my buddy always finds the time to call and say hi.

Hippo, definitely, I respond, rubbing my belly. An elephant can still be graceful, and I’m definitely not.

My friend laughs good-naturedly.

You still haven’t found out if it’s a boy or girl? she asks.

I shake my head as I answer. No because it would make things too in-your-face, I confess. I’m just not ready to have a kid!

My friend immediately tries to calm me down.

Of course, she says in an easy tone. "It’s totally a personal decision, and I respect that. Although it would make it easier to know what gender of baby stuff to buy you," she hints.

You don’t need to buy me anything, I immediately say. Although I do appreciate it if you do, I add, feeling a bit embarrassed. After all, the reality is that I can’t afford most of the items I need for the new addition to my family, and I’d be grateful for anything. But I don’t want to beg either, because it’s too humiliating.

You’re definitely getting a baby gift from me, Christine says in a firm tone. Something big and good, too.

Thanks, I say softly, looking down at my hands. I appreciate it.

Of course, she replies before smiling. So how did the doctor’s appointment go the other day? Oh wait, hold on a sec, she says before turning to soothe her youngest son.

Is that Jeremiah? I ask, hearing a baby’s soft cries in the background.

"Yeah, he’s teething, so I’m the only person he wants right now. Well, me and my boobs. But don’t dodge my