Baby Fever

by Landish, Lauren

  I taste Aaron's precum, and I lick it up happily, smiling as I take him out of my mouth. “I changed my mind. I want you inside me.”

  I know I should’ve learned my lesson. I should be insisting on a condom right now. While I know Aaron’s a great man and I don’t regret having his child for a second, the last thing we need right now is for me to end up pregnant again. But I’m too caught up in my desire to think straight. I’ve dreamed about this moment for years.

  Climbing up Aaron's body, I take his cock and position it at the entrance to my pussy, quivering with want and need. I sink down, my pussy stretching, but I don't stop, needing him all the way inside me. There's an instant of pain right at the end, but then I feel my thighs touch his, and I let my eyes open. I slide slowly at first, letting his cock ease in and out in wonderful gentle waves, both of us relaxing in the connection, the feeling of our rift healing.

  Why did I fight this? Why did I let something as stupid as the Army get between us, between this? I don't know, but it doesn't matter anymore. Leaning down, I devour his mouth, both of us humming as his cock slides in and out while I lift my hips slowly. I caress his lips with my tongue and smile. “Good?”

  “Perfect,” Aaron whispers, reaching down and cupping my ass. “You always have been.”

  “Mmm, you keep your hands there, and I'm going to be coming again soon,” I hum, sighing in pleasure as he starts kneading me. “You always have liked my ass.”

  “You have no idea,” Aaron tells me, and I giggle when he holds me tight, turning me carefully on the bed so that I'm underneath him, his cock still buried deep inside me. He pulls back and thrusts, both of us groaning into each other's mouth while we taste each other, our tongues slipping over each other.

  Aaron sits back, lifting my hips slightly as he starts thrusting, his cock rubbing over my g-spot with every stroke, and I'm lost in the waves of warm heat that fill me.

  Aaron's cock is wonderful, and when he reaches up to massage my breasts, my pussy floods with more wetness, the warmth in my belly turning into a raging fire. I wrap my legs around Aaron and pull him in tighter on top of me, his mouth finding my neck again and sucking hard as he starts thrusting faster, pounding into me.

  Our bodies move as one, his thrusts faster and harder just when I need them. Suddenly, thunder rumbles outside, and both of us pause for just a moment before turning and looking each other in the eyes. The storm is just the world trying to copy the power of the need inside us, pushing us on at the same time. With renewed passion and power, Aaron thrusts again and again, the thunder outside rumbling almost in time with his thrusts.

  Lighting cracks the sky nearby, and it's a pistol shot, turning both of us frantic with need and want. His cock hammers me as I kiss and suck on his neck and shoulder, feeling him swell inside me. I'm on the edge, and when a tremendous bolt tears open the sky above our heads, so close that the entire bedroom is outlined in electric purplish white, I'm coming, gasping and crying out as Aaron groans deeply and fills me, his come hot and completing, making me his again. Forever.

  When we can breathe again, I listen carefully to see if Lance woke up, but the house is silent, so silent that I'm worried. “I don't hear anything.”

  “Power's out,” Aaron hums, holding me close. “Should we go check on Lance?”

  “Let's get dressed, but . . . but can we just stay the night?” I whisper. “Is there room for me on the couch?”

  “Always. But for Lance's sake, as much as I regret it, we may have to sleep alone,” Arron says, easing out of me. We both sigh, then laugh lightly as we seem to be in perfect synch. “Come on, let me get you your things.”

  Aaron's a barely visible god as he gathers my things in the light that's filtering through the window, and I'm reminded of the nights under the moonlight at West Point. Aaron brings me my things, and I make a quick visit to the bathroom to wash.

  We walk back to the living room hand-in-hand, and when we reach the living room, Aaron lets go to go to the kitchen, where he comes back a moment later with a lantern flashlight. “First time the power went out here. All I have is my TA-50 flashlight,” he says, setting the little lamp down. “So I bought this. Not much, but it only needs a single triple A to run. How's Lance?”

  “Out like the power.” I chuckle, going over to Aaron and wrapping my arms around him.

  We sit down on the couch, and I snuggle against his chest. I can just hear his heartbeat in my right ear, and I'm comforted, safe and happy when he wraps his arms around me. “Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer.”

  “What?” Aaron says, both of us keeping our voices low. It's not that we're worried about waking Lance. He's sleeping through a thunderstorm, after all, but just that there's no need to raise our voices. Not right now.

  “The whole time, were you really celibate?”

  Aaron chuckles and nods. “Yes. A few times I tried, especially when I was at the Academy, but every time I got to that big tipping point, I couldn’t.”

  “And how did you take care of that physical need?” I ask shyly. “My best friend sent me a vibrator that I got very familiar with.”

  “No vibrator here,” Aaron teases, then chuckles. “Let's just say I spent extra time in the shower.”

  “Hmm, a shower . . . we never did try that,” I purr. “We should try that next time. And . . .”

  “And what?”

  “Next time,” I reply, knowing that while I'm not ashamed, there are other things to talk about. “So I guess this means . . .”

  “Seems so,” Aaron says, kissing my neck and making me shiver. “Are you worried?”

  “A bit,” I admit. “We may be Lindsey and Aaron, but there's a whole base that thinks otherwise.”

  “We did it before, when I was under a lot bigger microscope,” Aaron reassures me. “At least now, we can leave post. I don't know how we'll handle it with Lance, but . . . to be honest, I don't care.”

  “It could cost you your career. Mine too,” I whisper, and Aaron shrugs.

  “Any Army that won't let me have you in my arms, let me have Lance as my son, is not an Army I want to serve in,” Aaron says with deep intensity. “We'll figure it out.”

  “So you do understand that I'm not a single woman anymore,” I hum happily. “I'm a package deal, you know.”

  “Which is exactly what I want,” Aaron says, turning my head and kissing me softly. “I want you, and I’m going to be his father. I know I missed a lot of time, but I’m over it. It’s time to look to the future.”

  * * *

  Monday afternoon, and I'm thinking about the weekend. Sunday was perfect, with Lance happy to wake up after a 'sleepover' at Aaron's house. Aaron brought back breakfast from the store before we left to go home. Now, finishing up my work, I'm smiling lightly the whole day, my body still tingling.

  I get an email on my computer, and I see that it's from Beanie. It's a bit more info about me re-upping, and I think about it, wondering. After this weekend, I'm leaning toward leaving the Army, but where am I supposed to go? I know that even with the feelings that I have for Aaron, I don't want to become an 'Army wife,' where most of my life is controlled by his deployments, his chain of command, and the whims of his commanders. Some of them love it, but it’s just not for me.

  Maybe I can talk it over with Aaron. I know that this is a decision that really hinges on him as much as me. I send a quick reply to Beanie, thanking him and letting him know that I'm still thinking about it, then I get ready to leave the office. The nice part about being in the Adjutant General's Corps is that I rarely have to waste time with end of day formations. I just leave the office. I enjoy it as I see infantry units getting together for their end of day formations, some of the troops looking pretty tired and raggedy after a long day.

  I get to the post daycare center, parking and going up to the entrance. Fort Bragg is pretty relaxed about soldiers visiting their kids. The post commander knows that troops work weird hours and sometimes that one-hour gap in t
he middle of the day might be the only chance a soldier has to see their kid awake, so the staff is on a first-name basis with nearly everyone.

  “Hey, Lindsey,” Jill, the lady at the front desk, says. “How was your Monday?”

  “Papers filed, emails typed, and I was able to do it all without a paper cut,” I joke. Jill's a former service member herself, Air Force, she told me, and she understands. “How was Lance?”

  “Your son . . .” Jill says, laughing and shaking her head. “He's kept us all in stitches all day. He won't stop talking about his new Big Brother. Apparently, this Aaron is something of a cross between Superman, Chef Marco Pierre White, and maybe a bit of God. All day, he's been telling people about how awesome Aaron is, and even the staff's gotten in on the joke after about the tenth time of him saying 'Well, my Big Brother, Aaron, can do it better' to anything. We're about to nominate Aaron for President around here.”

  I laugh, blushing at the same time. “Yeah, Lance has taken a shine to him. Sorry if he got excited. He had a bit of an impromptu sleepover last night with the thunderstorm.”

  “Well, just to let you know, Lance made this today. He made me help him write it, and he insisted that I keep it safe for when he goes home. Take a look while I go find Lance.” Jill hands me an envelope and gets up, going toward the play room. I open the flap on the envelope and take out a construction paper card.

  I open it up, and what I read stops my heart and brings tears to my eyes.

  Big Brother Aaron,

  Thank you for the sleepover.

  I love you.

  Your Little Brother,

  Lance

  I read the letter three times and make a decision. I pull out my phone and hurriedly send Aaron a text. I think you and I need to talk about Lance. I think he's ready to know the truth.

  I hope that Aaron replies soon, but when he hasn't sent anything back by the time Lance comes from the back, his eyes sparkling and his smile melting my heart, I reluctantly put my phone on vibrate. I know it's after five o'clock, but maybe Aaron's got military duties. If so, we can talk later, when we both have some free time.

  “Ready to go home, honey?”

  Lance nods, smiling. “Did you see my card, Mommy?”

  I hand it to him, safely back in its envelope. “I did. I think Aaron will like it very much.”

  I lead him out of the daycare center, taking his hand and smiling at my son. “It's one of the coolest things I've ever seen, little man.”

  Chapter 17: Aaron

  It feels good to be out on the range for a change, maybe because it's at least better than being in the motor pool.

  Pillman gives all of us the safety brief. He's looking a little nostalgic about it. His time with the platoon is up next month. “Okay, everyone, remember, you keep your glasses on the whole time on the range. Fulsom, that means you too. I don't care if those over glass goggles you have are hot or not. Check your field of fire each time you squeeze a trigger. It may just be a sting in the ass and a laugh now, but remember that in the real world, you just shot your battle buddy.”

  There's a titter of laughter. I know the feeling. We're actually 'playing' live. There is an actual chance for someone to get hurt, even if it is with a plastic pellet. I'd prefer paintball guns, but the hoppers on those are just too damn big to give people that real-world feel. Loading the pellets into their magazines is slightly weird, but we are able to at least replicate the feel of having to change magazines too. Overall, the Army thinks that the increased danger from the pellets is minimal compared to the training value gained from them. Still, we're live.

  “Everyone clear?”

  “HOOAH!” the platoon answers, and I'm looking around, proud of my Regulators. Even Hardy's doing okay, looking a bit antsy, but I guess I can expect that. He hasn't been allowed out of the barracks except for duty purposes since his arrest, a part of the deal we've worked out with the JAG so far while the echelons above me try to decide whether to court martial him or not. He's at least being busted one rank, but maybe he'll stay out of jail.

  “Roger that,” Pillman says, turning to me. “El Tee?”

  “Thanks, Sergeant. Great brief,” I respond, walking to the front of the platoon. My rifle's over my shoulder, and I look around, ready to play my little role in the pre-training prep. “Okay, Regulators, Sergeant Pillman got to be nice about it. Now it's my turn. Last time we tried this, we ended up with more Regulators 'dead' than what I find acceptable. Of course, the only number I'm accepting is zero. You all know the drill. Nobody here is a wet blanket private. We're going to be starting rotations, Sergeant Pillman's going to be gone by Thanksgiving, and by next summer, I'm probably gone too. So this is your chance to make sure that you've got your shit tight before some fuck up from Omaha waddles in and makes your job twice as hard! Run your lanes by the numbers, and by the end of the day, I want to see perfection. Got me?”

  The platoon's answering roar reassures me, and I nod. “Good. Squad leaders, fifteen minutes with your squads to break it down before we do the walk and talk. Range goes hot at ten thirty.”

  Training starts, and I'm encouraged by the work the squad leaders do. I've got good ones, and any officer worth their rank will tell you, good NCOs make your job a million times easier. As wars become more and more decentralized and the individual soldier has become deadlier, decision making has been pushed down the rank ladder, with more stress on the lower ranks. As a platoon leader, I'm responsible for as much firepower and battlefield space as a World War II company, and more than what a regiment would do in the Civil War. And while my higher ups might try and control the battle, facts are that a lot of life and death decisions are now falling on the shoulders of Lieutenants who are barely old enough to legally drink. Thank God I've got good NCOs.

  The range is made up of three 'buildings' with two 'streets' in between. It's pretty good, maybe not as good as the FBI’s famous 'Hogan's Alley,' but it's a good system. We go through in fire teams, with me working together with Fire Team Alpha from first squad leading the way. We do well, and we get through building one in less than standard time with no 'casualties' or missed targets. Pausing in the assembly area for the next part of the exercise, we wait for each fire team to go through, eight groups in all.

  We go step by step through each of the five zones before taking a break for lunch, MREs for those who forgot to pack a lunch, although I just munch on a protein bar. After the wonderful weekend, I kind of indulged a little yesterday, and I don't want to let it get out of hand and put on weight. Chubby isn't good for Lieutenants, or for boyfriends.

  I'm thinking of Lindsey when suddenly, there's a yell from near the toilets, and I rush over to find Corporal Nadar, the fire team leader for Bravo Team, holding his ankle. “Fuck!”

  “What happened?” I ask, kneeling down next to Nadar while a bunch of the other troops come running. “Where are you hurt?”

  “Slipped on some mud, sir,” he says, groaning and holding his leg. “My ankle . . . I heard something crack.”

  “Okay, just relax,” I say, looking around. “Sergeant Pillman!”

  “Sir!” He calls back, stepping forward. He kneels down, looking at Nadar. “What's up?”

  “Nadar slipped, says he heard a crack,” I tell him, putting my hand on Nadar's shoulder to keep him on the ground. “Call in to the hospital, and take my Hummer. Evac him to get X-rays. I'll notify the CO and take over the range. Keep me in the loop.”

  Nadar's injury puts a damper on the good mood everyone has going into the afternoon's training, which has four teams going through in staggered starts while the other three teams act as range safeties. With me stepping out of Alpha Team of 1st Squad and Bravo Team, 3rd Squad losing their leader, we adjust, condensing down to seven teams.

  “Okay everyone, remember, this is what happens in real life too,” I remind everyone as the team leaders work their people into new positions. “Stay sharp, and go by the numbers. There's no pausing this time—you go from station to sta
tion as your range safeties say so. Squad leaders, keep your teams safe, and we'll have a good afternoon.”

  With the quicker pace and redistributed teams, things are rough the first run through, with the platoon suffering six more 'casualties' from missing angles or slow reaction times that miss the targets set for the exercise. I check my watch. It's only three o'clock, and I decide to run it again. We'll go past five o'clock, but that has to happen sometimes. “All right, one more time. Keep your heads on a swivel and do your jobs. We're not accepting fifteen percent dead!”

  Thankfully, the second run through goes much smoother, and only three of the teams suffer 'casualties,' which isn't too bad. We run an evac drill for each team and start to head back to the company area. While I'm riding, I feel my phone buzz, and I pull it out, seeing that it's a text message from Lindsey. Whatever it is, it can wait a little bit, and I shift it aside to call Pillman. “What's the deal, Sarge?”

  “We're waiting on a second eval of the X-rays, sir, but the tech thinks that Nadal might have just sprained the hell out of it. He'll be on profile a while either way, but I think he's looking forward to goldbricking it for a while.”

  I laugh, relieved. “Okay, that's not too bad. Let me fill in the CO. We're headed back now.”

  I take a moment to read Lindsey's text since we've got a few minutes left before reaching the motor pool, and as I read the words, I can't help it. I'm excited. I can barely contain my desire to call her back, but I feel like I need to be sitting down for this, and I don't want to have to rush things.

  Walking from the motor pool back to the company area where my car is parked, I can't wait any longer, and I dial up Lindsey. “Hello?”

  “Lindsey. I got your text. What's up?”

  There's a pause, and I hear her tell Lance that she needs to step outside to talk on the phone about adult things, and the creak of her screen door opening and closing. “Hey, sorry about the delay. He's happily eating his dinner. So how was your day?”