Emily and her new baby

Emily and Mark is having issues making a baby. So she finds a new way

"Are you sure this is the only option?" Mark's voice cracked as he stared at the fertility clinic brochure. His fingers trembled against the glossy paper.

Across the kitchen island, Emily sipped her coffee, her gaze steady. The steam curled around her lips. She didn’t blink. "Three rounds of IVF. Three negatives. The doctor said it’s not me." She set the mug down. "So yeah. I’m sure."

Silence settled between them, thick and sour. The fridge hummed. Mark’s jaw worked like he wanted to say something—anything—but all that came out was a slow exhale. His shoulders slumped.

Emily pushed off the stool, her bare feet padding against the tile. She stopped at the hallway mirror, catching her reflection. Blonde. Blue-eyed. Soft hips. The kind of woman people called "all-American." She tilted her head. Maybe that was the problem.

Two weeks later, she sat across from Lana at their usual brunch spot, picking at a waffle. "What if it’s not gonna happen?" Emily muttered. Lana leaned in, her dark curls bouncing. "Girl, please. You ever heard of...alternative solutions?" Her grin was wicked as she pulled out her phone, scrolling to a contact. "Jamar. Trust me, he gets *results*."

Emily’s pulse hammered as she stood outside Jamar’s apartment building—somewhere she’d never normally go, not in this part of town. The intercom buzzed. When the door clicked open, she took a shaky breath. The hallway smelled like incense and something muskier. His door was ajar. Inside, Jamar lounged on the couch, all broad shoulders and thick thighs, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. "So," he drawled, "you wanna make a baby?"

Her knees went weak when he stood up. The way his sweatpants hung low on his hips, the outline of him already thick and heavy—Jesus. He didn’t touch her yet, just circled her slowly, his heat radiating against her back. "You sure?" His voice was rough, right against her ear. She nodded, biting her lip as his hands finally gripped her hips, spinning her around. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her leggings, yanking them down in one swift motion.

The first thrust knocked the air from her lungs. Jamar’s grip was iron, pinning her to the wall as he drove into her, deep and relentless. She clawed at his shoulders, gasping at the stretch—god, he was *everywhere*. His chuckle vibrated against her throat. "Yeah, you take it good," he growled, hips snapping harder. Emily’s vision blurred, her moans turning ragged. She came before he even touched her clit, her body clenching around him like a vice. Jamar just grinned, pulling out only to flip her onto all fours. "Round two," he muttered, palming her ass. "We ain’t done."

You wanna a baby right?” His hand slid between her thighs, finding her slick. “Then beg for it.” His voice dropped, rough and commanding. “Tell me how bad you want my seed.”

She whimpered, thighs trembling as his fingers pressed deeper. “Please,” she gasped, nails digging into his chest. “I need it—need you to fill me again.” Jamar chuckled darkly, pinning her wrists above her head. “Not good enough.” He rocked against her, the thick head of his cock teasing her entrance. “Say it like you mean it.” Emily moaned, back arching off the bed. “Fuck me full,” she begged, voice breaking. “Make me carry your baby—*please*.” no try harder beg for my seed like ur life depends on it or no baby inside u said jamal sternly pushing her legs apart wider.

Her breath hitched, desperation clawing up her throat. “I’ll die without it,” she sobbed, hips jerking against his restraint. “Breed me—*own me*—I’m nothing without your cock stretching me open.” The words spilled out filthier than she’d ever dared, her cunt dripping onto the sheets. Jamar’s grip tightened, his teeth grazing her nipple. “Damn right.” He slammed into her with a snarl, the force knocking the headboard against the wall. Emily screamed, her orgasm ripping through her before he’d even fully sheathed himself. “That’s my girl,” he growled, pounding her into the mattress

His hands were everywhere—kneading her breasts, twisting her nipples, smacking her ass until the skin burned. Emily arched back, begging wordlessly. Jamar obliged, slamming into her again, this time so deep she felt him in her ribs. The wet slap of skin filled the room, mingling with her choked whimpers. He leaned down, biting her shoulder. "Gonna put a baby in you," he promised, voice rough. "Gonna make sure it *takes*." Emily shuddered, another orgasm ripping through her as he pistoned harder, his cock swelling inside her.

When he finally came, it was with a groan that rattled her bones. Hot spurts flooded her, dripping down her thighs as he held her hips flush against him. Jamar didn’t pull out—just kept her there, his breath hot on her neck. "Hope you like chocolate," he murmured, laughing when she whimpered. Emily’s legs shook as he finally let her go, her knees buckling the second she tried to stand. Jamar caught her, tossing her onto the couch. "Rest up," he said, thumb brushing her swollen lips. "You’ll need it."

Three months of weekly fucking later, the pregnancy test glowed positive. Emily traced the lines with trembling fingers, her stomach fluttering—part guilt, part thrill. Mark would never know. Jamar’s text buzzed in her pocket: *Told you I’d make it stick.* She bit her lip, pressing a hand to her still-flat abdomen. This was just the beginning.

The first ultrasound hit Mark like a punch to the gut. The nurse blinked at the screen, then at Emily’s pale skin, then back at the screen. “Well,” she said slowly, “congratulations.” Mark’s face drained of color. “That’s not—” He swayed, collapsing into the chair as Emily squeezed his hand, her nails digging in. “Babe,” she whispered, “sometimes these things skip a generation.” His horrified stare said he wasn’t buying it.

Jamar laughed when she told him, sprawled across his bed with her legs still spread. “Should’ve seen his face,” he mused, fingers tracing her hip. “Bet he looked like a ghost.”

Three years later, Emily’s hips swayed as she pushed the stroller through the park, her sundress clinging to her swollen belly. The toddler inside giggled, his curls bouncing—dark as the man waiting for her at their usual bench. Jamar’s smirk widened when she sat beside him, his hand sliding under her dress without hesitation. “Already wet,” he murmured. Emily jokes “You know what happens when I get like this,” she whispered.

Mark never questioned the midnight cravings that sent her out for “ice cream,” never noticed the way her thighs trembled when she returned. He just kissed her forehead, oblivious to the scent of musk and sweat clinging to her skin. The nursery had two cribs now—one for their son, one for the daughter growing inside her. Jamar’s daughter.