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“Gonna. Make you. My baby. Mama.” He grunts with each thrust. “Gonna. Fill you. Up.”

Marshall cries out as he cums. He shudders with each release, but he doesn’t stop fucking me. Each thrust in and out squelches, proof of the cum he’s filled me with.

The sound alone and the knowledge that he just gave me everything I needed sends me over the edge.

My orgasm crashes into me like a storm that knocks me out completely.

The feeling of Marshall pulling out brings me back to myself.

I start to pull myself up, but then his fingers slip through my slit to gather up the cum that’s escaped my pussy. When he pushes his cum back into me, my head drops back, and my body shudders.

“Take it all, princess. Take daddy’s cum like the dirty bitch you are.” He murmurs before crawling up on the bed next to me.

He tugs me up so my whole body is laying on the mattress, encompassed by his massive frame. One of his arms props up my head like a pillow, but his free hand reaches down to my pussy.

Fingers rub at my lower lips, and every time that I feel a little bit of cum drip out of me, thick callused fingers push it back inside. After a few times, his fingers remain in me and gently stroke that sensitive spot in my pussy.

The soft strokes have my body tensing, readying for another orgasm.

This time, when it comes, the sensation is a soft wave of pleasure.

“Sleep, princess. Daddy’s got you.” He whispers, placing a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll wake you up when we need to go.”

After that, every sensation fades out except the warmth of him curled around me and his hand cupping my pussy.

The chime of the phone in my hand brings me back from the memories into my kitchen.

Fuck.

I’m gonna be a mom.

Someone is going to call me Mommy.

And their “daddy?”

“Daddy” was supposed to be role-play.

It was sexy, but just play.

But my goddess-damned uterus made it a reality.

I’m pregnant.

I’m going to be a mom.

And Marshall Law is going to be a dad.

Chapter 3

Elsie

March 7 — 9 Weeks 5 Days, Kumquat

Nausea is relentless today, and I want to murder everyone more than usual.

It’s like my doctor’s appointment triggered the symptoms everyone talks about having in their first trimester. Or maybe I was just ignoring the signs. But now, my body is overly sensitive, and my head is achy. However, it’s the inability to keep food down and sensory overload that are killing me.

“Oliver!” I call out from my corner office. “Do we have more ginger ale?”

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