I'm Having a Royal Baby {ORIGINAL VERSION; BOOK 2}

Chapter 1: One Night Stand

This is my first story on Wattpad, and I'll say that I am very much proud of it. And yes, I know that Folashadé's name is Yoruba, but SHE is Ethiopian because I want her to be.

Anyway, don't be shy, guys. Vote, Comment, and PM if you have a question. But just remember to enjoy to story

Chapter 1: One Night Stand

Folashadé

My eyes fluttered lightly taking in the bright, luminance of the fresh morning. The sun's rays momentarily blurred my vision from my surroundings. I blinked a few times, before my eyes finally adjusted. But, once they'd adjust, I noticed the silk, transparent drapes, concealing the decorated balcony behind them. The walls on either side of the balcony doors were a creamy white with gold, decorative trimmings. It was beautiful, this room, even from my stomach-lying position, I could tell this was an extravagant room, but, this room did not belong to me. The comfortable pillows that supported my breasts beneath me was not mine! The California king sized bed that I was lying on was not my usual full sized bed. But, yet, everything was so familiar. Although this room was not something I was used to waking up to, I had a prediction of who this room could belong to.

Suddenly, I felt a heavy weight of pressure shift beside me. I froze, realizing that I was naked. Completely naked! With someone in bed with me!

A large, callous hand was abruptly thrown over my back, pulling me against a smooth, toned chest. My bare back smashed against the man's chest, bringing back jumbled memories of last night's events. The talking, the flirting, the kissing, moaning, groping. Everything all came back into my mind in just a matter of seconds.

"Good morning."

Those simple words made me jump hastily out of his arms. I sat up, gasping in disbelief at how strong of an effect his voice had on my body.

'Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God,' my mind repeatedly went on.

His strong arms wrapped protectively around my waist, pulling me back against his defined chest. The action sent a shiver down my spine, but I hid my reaction well, simply by ignoring it. I was very stupid. Either very stupid or very drunk.

His tender kisses began to trail down my neck and onto my shoulders. This time, his action had a serious effect on me as I felt my nipples harden.

"Please," I said calmly, inching away from him. "Stop," I begged, rising out of the comfortable bed.

"Love," he said, grabbing my wrist. "What's wrong?"

I didn't give him a reply. I just stood there darting my anxious gaze between him and his hand on my wrist, his simple touch sent sparks throughout the nerves in my arm. Just as I attempted to pull away from him, he yanked me toward him and wrapped his arm around my waist. Although, he was slightly rough, he managed to gently sit me on his lap.

He was naked, just as naked as myself, and even though there was a thick duvet separating us, I could still feel him against me. I felt his large erection penetrating through the comforter as he held me tighter in his arms. I didn't want to pleasure him again, albeit how good he felt at this moment. I wanted to get away from him. What we did last night was wrong and shouldn't have happened; it was a mistake, a mistake many people make when they're drunk.

"Please tell me what's wrong," he pleaded with concern. "Is it me," he asked as he buried his head into the crook of my neck, causing his voice to muffle a bit. With no reply from me, his hands began to rise up my torso, settling on my small breasts. As soon as his hands came into contact with the tender skin of my breasts, I yanked his hands away and rose from his lap. I slid off the bed, scanning the room for my missing clothing articles. I found my lace trimmed bra at the foot of the bed and quickly strapped it on. Shortly after, I spotted my matching underwear around a cologne bottle on his vanity dresser.

"What are you doing," he inquired. I finally turned around to face him for the first time this morning.

He was handsome, with the persona of a heartbreaker and a heartthrob. His cleanly trimmed head of hair was tousled wildly, forcing me to remember the countless times I've ran my fingers through his soft, dark brown strands. His strong, chiseled jaw tightened as he glared at me. And his eyes, his eyes are an enticing shade between blue and gray. When he's angry, they become two shades lighter on the gray scale, giving him a menacing aura. But, when he's in a good mood, his eyes become the brightest blue, giving his face a god-like appearance. Unfortunately, he's not always happy, like at the moment.

"I'm getting dressed," I replied nonchalantly, squeezing myself into the black, knee-length dress that I was assigned to wear. "What time is it," I asked, searching for my apron, yet watching his clouded expression.

"What does it matter? Why are you leaving me," he asked incredulously. I frowned and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Six forty-five. Shit.

I hurriedly found my dark, transparent stockings and slipped them up my legs and thighs. As I'd been doing this, I could feel his eyes on me. I turned my head in his direction and caught him examining me with raw hunger in his eyes. "You know I can't stay here. I'm sorry," I hastily said.

As I slipped on my black flats, he bit his full bottom lip and ran his hand through his thick hair. This was something he did when he felt nervous.

I stride over to the full size mirror on the other end of the room to fix my hair. I always have to wear my hair in an up-do. Having the natural head of hair that I've inherited from my Ethiopian parents has always cursed me. Even to this day. It was curly like my father's, Hakim Lemuel, but somewhat kinky and big like my mother's, Folami.

A small tear escaped my eye as I thought of my parents. But, instead of sulking over them, I attempted to pull my hair upward in my hands. I could see in the mirror that he was making his way toward me, boxer-briefs clung to his lower body. I braced myself, expecting for him to touch me.

Instead of kissing and groping me like I anticipated, his large, callous hands cupped over my own and held my hair securely in place. I stood calmly as he managed to pull my hair in a neat ponytail. He then wrapped the remaining pieces of my hair around itself until it made a neat bun.

"Thank you," I said, preparing to leave, but he stopped me.

"I want you to stay," he whispered, wrapping his arms around my small waist, but not before gripping my wide hips and pulling me against him.

"No! I'm not willing to lose my job because of you! At the end of the day, if they tell me I'm fired, then I'm fired," I said angrily. I wasn't brought into this world to satisfy everyone. He should know this.

"But we can change that. You can be mine, Fola-"

I interrupted him rudely, "see, that's the thing. If they found out about this, I'm gonna be the one in trouble, not you," I said exasperatedly. "This isn't going to work. It was just... a one night stand. Okay," I said, finally, before breaking out of his seducing grasp. I made my way to the door before clipping on my maid choker.

"I'll see you at breakfast," I said quietly before stepping out of the room. I dared myself to not give him a second glance. I knew his expression; a mix of anger, sadness, and disbelief.

I made my way downstairs, ready for my dutiful, tedious job as a maid.

Yes, I am a maid, for the Royal family of the United Kingdom, and yes I did have sex with The Crowned Prince Vincent Alexander, last night.

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