Free Billionaire's Seduction: BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE (Alpha Billionaire Romance Collection) (BBW Pregnancy Marriage of Convenience) by Betsy Poole
Authors: Betsy Poole
kink I was hearing and he was just having plain old vanilla ice cream cone sex. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.
I ducked low and crouched in front of the window of Marsh’s unit. The curtains were white and nearly as transparent as gauze. Plus, there was a 4-inch gap so I had a clear view of everything that was going on inside, and what was going on inside was freaky. The girl was actually very pretty—that is if you ignored all the tattoos and piercing, but I guess some guys are really into that look—and was fully clothed. Marsh, however, was not. Marsh was on the bed wear a baby bonnet and sucking on a pacifier. The girl stood over him strapping him into the biggest diaper I’d ever seen, and the girl was lecturing him about what a bad baby he was. I’d heard of this kind of thing on some late night cable documentary, but I never in my life thought I would see it live and in living color.
I felt laughter bubbling up in my stomach at this ridiculous sight, but I needed to hold it together long enough to get my shots. I keep the lens low and start snapping as the girl rubs baby lotion into Marsh’s well defined chest and stomach. Suddenly, his entire body starts to strain. His skin turned a bright red, the veins in his neck bulged, and he’s holding his breath as if he’s bearing down and preparing for something. Finally, he let out a long, pleasure filled breath and begins to fuss and cry like a baby would.
“Did you mess yourself again, baby?” I hear the girl ask as she begins undoing the diaper. “You are a very, very bad baby.”
She unfolds the enormous diaper, and sitting right in the middle of it is a giant turd.
I see this, and I completely lose it.
My laughter seems to start at the top of my toes like someone is tickling me and shoots through me like a bolt of electricity and my entire body is shaking and wracked with laughter. The whole scene goes blurry with tears and I barely notice as both of their heads turn at the sound of my hyena guffaws. Thankfully, I collect myself enough to start running as Bad Baby Marsh rockets off the bed and charges out the door in nothing but his birthday suit. He’s practically right on top of me as I jump into the Toyota—which thankfully turns over with the first turn of the key—and I leave him standing in the parking lot just as God made him covered in road dust.
After a couple of miles, I finally have to pull over so I don’t kill anyone because I’m laughing so hard.
So I know I sounded a tad bit grumpy about my particular lot in life yesterday, and I’d like to apologize for that. Honestly, I really don’t have it all that bad. I mean, being a PI is like running any business. You have your ups and downs. You have your months where you don’t know if you’re going to be able to make rent on your office, or if you’ll even be able to afford to pay your annual license fee. But then there are other months where you’re absolutely flush and the cases just keep coming and coming, and soon enough you have so much money rolling in that you’ll be able to pay your rent 6 months in advance and put a decent down payment on a new and far more comfortable car. It’s these months that you absolutely live for. That you begin to think that you made the right decision to be your own boss instead of going to work with one of the big corporate detective agencies.
Admittedly, these months have been few and far between since I hung my shingle a year ago, but when they happen, I feel like a God. And I just so happen to feel that way the morning after the Marsh case as I’m printing out some prime shots to give to Mrs. Marsh when I meet with her on Monday. The 12 pictures—one of which sends me into a 15-minute giggle fit—will end up netting me $6000. More than enough to cover rent for the next 3 months and buy me a wider variety of groceries other than cheap jars of peanut butter and Ramen noodles. But then again, maybe just a little of that cash will
I ducked low and crouched in front of the window of Marsh’s unit. The curtains were white and nearly as transparent as gauze. Plus, there was a 4-inch gap so I had a clear view of everything that was going on inside, and what was going on inside was freaky. The girl was actually very pretty—that is if you ignored all the tattoos and piercing, but I guess some guys are really into that look—and was fully clothed. Marsh, however, was not. Marsh was on the bed wear a baby bonnet and sucking on a pacifier. The girl stood over him strapping him into the biggest diaper I’d ever seen, and the girl was lecturing him about what a bad baby he was. I’d heard of this kind of thing on some late night cable documentary, but I never in my life thought I would see it live and in living color.
I felt laughter bubbling up in my stomach at this ridiculous sight, but I needed to hold it together long enough to get my shots. I keep the lens low and start snapping as the girl rubs baby lotion into Marsh’s well defined chest and stomach. Suddenly, his entire body starts to strain. His skin turned a bright red, the veins in his neck bulged, and he’s holding his breath as if he’s bearing down and preparing for something. Finally, he let out a long, pleasure filled breath and begins to fuss and cry like a baby would.
“Did you mess yourself again, baby?” I hear the girl ask as she begins undoing the diaper. “You are a very, very bad baby.”
She unfolds the enormous diaper, and sitting right in the middle of it is a giant turd.
I see this, and I completely lose it.
My laughter seems to start at the top of my toes like someone is tickling me and shoots through me like a bolt of electricity and my entire body is shaking and wracked with laughter. The whole scene goes blurry with tears and I barely notice as both of their heads turn at the sound of my hyena guffaws. Thankfully, I collect myself enough to start running as Bad Baby Marsh rockets off the bed and charges out the door in nothing but his birthday suit. He’s practically right on top of me as I jump into the Toyota—which thankfully turns over with the first turn of the key—and I leave him standing in the parking lot just as God made him covered in road dust.
After a couple of miles, I finally have to pull over so I don’t kill anyone because I’m laughing so hard.
So I know I sounded a tad bit grumpy about my particular lot in life yesterday, and I’d like to apologize for that. Honestly, I really don’t have it all that bad. I mean, being a PI is like running any business. You have your ups and downs. You have your months where you don’t know if you’re going to be able to make rent on your office, or if you’ll even be able to afford to pay your annual license fee. But then there are other months where you’re absolutely flush and the cases just keep coming and coming, and soon enough you have so much money rolling in that you’ll be able to pay your rent 6 months in advance and put a decent down payment on a new and far more comfortable car. It’s these months that you absolutely live for. That you begin to think that you made the right decision to be your own boss instead of going to work with one of the big corporate detective agencies.
Admittedly, these months have been few and far between since I hung my shingle a year ago, but when they happen, I feel like a God. And I just so happen to feel that way the morning after the Marsh case as I’m printing out some prime shots to give to Mrs. Marsh when I meet with her on Monday. The 12 pictures—one of which sends me into a 15-minute giggle fit—will end up netting me $6000. More than enough to cover rent for the next 3 months and buy me a wider variety of groceries other than cheap jars of peanut butter and Ramen noodles. But then again, maybe just a little of that cash will
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