Her Swedish Billionaire’s Baby

Samara smiled, half-asleep. “Thanks, Bjorn.”

Bjorn pressed a kiss to Samara’s forehead, letting out a happy little sigh.

It couldn’t possibly get any better than this.

*****

Alison was pouring drinks at the bar when she spied her dad in the corner. He was hustling pool in the corner; pretending to be drunker than he was. She rolled her eyes and turned away. The men he was playing with were some serious badasses; if Chris wanted to risk his life trying to get money from them, that was his problem. Alison was staying out of it. She was legit now; had a pay check and everything. Maybe next month, when she had some vacation days she’d go down to California and look her sister up.

She was mixing a margarita when she felt a presence on her right and she didn’t have to turn around to know it was her father.

“Baaartender?” he called. “Give my good friends here some drinks on me.”

Alison ignored him; she knew he had no intention of paying for those drinks and she didn’t plan to get stuck with the bill.

“Excuuuse me! Bartender?” he called.

“Yo bartender,” a new voice said and Alison couldn’t keep ignoring them. She turned around and spread her lips wide in a parody of a smile.

“What can I getcha gentlemen?” she asked.

*****

“You did what?” Amy asked, mouth open as she lay curled on Samara’s bed, legs crossed; her tiny pyjama shorts showing off her shorter yet no less shapely legs.

“I don’t even know what happened. One minute we were sitting down, discussing…I don’t even know. His dad I think. The next minute I’m on my knees in his suite or berth or whatever you call a bedroom when it’s on a boat, and his dick is in my mouth.”

“Wow. How…I mean. God; Samara you’ve practically been a virgin for the past six years and now you’re sl*tting it up with some shipping magnate?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say sl*tting. It was more like…we had a connection.”

“A connection? Like did he ask to see you again?” Amy asked her whole body radiating scepticism.

“No…I mean I don’t expect…it’s not like,” Samara shrugged. “He called me beautiful.”

“Wow, he called you beautiful? That’s great Samara. But even you know it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. I mean you know that, don’t you?”

*****

Samara’s heart raced as she nearly sprinted down the stairs from the Girls’ Dorm to the Common Room. Mentally she was counting and re-counting and calculating days and percentages as her thoughts whizzed over the conclusion that her brain was most certainly not jumping to.

Not twenty minutes ago Samara had been sitting peacefully in her dorm laughing with Mary and Alice about their respective boyfriends. She’d been having a good time, taking her mind off of the fact that she hadn’t heard from Bjorn since their night on the boat. That was, until Marlene had walked in, swimming gear in tow, complaining about how the coach had made her swim through her cramps, and Samara should bite his head off for it because Marlene was in too much pain to do it. The girls laughed, and Samara’s stomach dropped seven floors.

Yes, Samara was having a wonderful morning until she realized she was late.

Three weeks late.

“Oh bloody hell,”