by ANDREA SMITH
Trey looked at me, amusement flickering in his eyes.
He looked so adorable with his fuzzy red Santa hat; he broke into a grin, his sexy dimple appearing.
“Baby, you amaze me,” he said with a chuckle. “I don’t have a problem whatsoever with you claiming what is yours. I do have a problem with you restraining me from doing the same.”
“When did I ever restrain you from doing that?”
“What about the incident with Littleton?” he reminded me.
“That was different,” I said. “That was in your workplace. Believe it or not, I was trying to protect you from yourself.”
I leaned over, raising the glass of milk, putting the straw up to my lips.
“You realize that she probably spit in that, don’t you?”
I slammed the glass down, looking wide-eyed at Trey. (Was he serious?)
“Just saying,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee and winking at me.
Back in the car, I put a new Christmas CD in the first song on it was ‘White Christmas.’
“I wish it snowed in Bristol. Wouldn’t a white Christmas be awesome?”
“Is that how it was when you grew up?” Trey asked.
“Yes, we got snow in Radcliff. I mean it wasn’t like snow was guaranteed for Christmas, but I recall some of them being white.”
“What else do you recall about your Christmases?”
“Nothing that brings back any fond memories in particular, I’d rather hear about yours, Trey.”
“Pretty traditional stuff,” he said. “We always had a formal dinner on Christmas Eve with family and selected friends. Christmas Day was for family only. My dad always cut a fresh tree from the woods. We would decorate that on
Christmas Eve morning. My mother insisted on making all of the pies. My favorite is chocolate by the way,” he looked over at me smiling.
“I’ll file that away for future reference, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Trey, we haven’t really talked much about what’s going to happen when the baby gets here,” I said.
“What do we need to talk about?”
“Well, I mean do you want to raise a child in an apartment in mid-town Atlanta?”
“I hadn’t thought much about that part of it, I suppose. Babies don’t walk or play outside for awhile, though. What’s the hurry?”
“I just wanted to know what your feelings were about the type of environment you want our child to be brought up in. I mean both of us come from very different backgrounds. It’s probable that we have different expectations or philosophies on child-rearing. Don’t you think we should discuss this kind of stuff before the baby gets here?”
“You tell me your expectations, Tylar and I will let you know if I feel the same, how is that?”
“Okay,” I started, “Well first of all, I think that our child should have access to animals or even a pet. It’s important that he or she learns responsibility. I think at some point, we need to consider moving to a house in the suburbs.”
“Agreed,” he said.
Good, that was not difficult.
“I also think that children should have chores and earn their money – when they are old enough of course.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“I don’t believe in corporal punishment. I believe that discipline is more a matter of behavior modification through rewards, and punishment should be in the form of restrictions or denying privileges.”
“We’re still on the same page,” Trey replied, smiling.
“I think it is also important that the parents present a united front even if at times they may disagree. This discourages the child from playing one parent against the
other.”
“I agree as well.”
“That’s about all that I can think of for the time being; is there anything you thought of that I missed?”
Trey thought for a moment, then got a slightly wicked look on his face.
“You did not mention one of my most rigid expectations,” he said.
“Which is?” I queried.
“That you meet my rigid expectation,” he replied, putting my hand on his crotch.
“Trey! You are extremely crude at times,” I said. “This was supposed to be a serious discussion.”
He laughed his gorgeous laugh that I found very hard to resist.
“While you are on that subject, Mr. Sinclair, with a house full of family it may be prudent to practice some self restraint this week. We won’t have that side of the house to ourselves I would suspect.”
“What do you mean by self-restraint?”
“I mean that perhaps we should abstain while others are in the house. We do have a tendency to be fairly vocal, you know.”
“Tylar,” he said, giving me a sidelong glance, “We are not going to stop fucking just because there are people in the house. That is not happening, baby. In fact, I planned on taking a nap once we got there. You’re going to take one with me.”
My stomach flip-flopped. I knew it was folly to think that I could practice self-restraint when it came to Trey; it was almost impossible for us to keep our hands off of each other at work a few hours each day. A whole week having uninterrupted time with each other would prove impossible for us.
It was 11:45 a.m. when we pulled up to the manor. Clive and Susan were waiting for us on the porch. Susan grabbed me in a hug, making me stand back so that she
could see if my pregnancy was coming along well. Clive was patting Trey on the back, talking to him in fatherly tones. I went over and gave Clive a hug and peck on the cheek. He blushed and pulled me to him in a gentle bear hug.
Susan was gushing over her youngest son’s Santa hat, telling him how darling he looked. I wondered if Trey was her favorite. I was looking forward to seeing how she interacted with the other sons.
Thatcher came out greeting us and helped Trey with our luggage. Susan put her arm around my waist walking me into the house. She updated us as to when Nigel and Tristan would be arriving. They should be in around 2:00 p.m. the following afternoon. Christmas Eve dinner was at 7:00 p.m. Susan asked Trey what our plans were for the day.
Trey’s eyes locked with mine when he told his mother that he and I needed a nap before lunch. He told her we were going to finish our Christmas shopping after that. She seemed okay with our plans. She was busy in the kitchen baking, so was relieved that we had our own stuff to do.
Trey took a suitcase in one hand, pulling me up the stairs behind him for our ‘nap.’ Thatcher had already put my suitcases in Trey’s suite. I suddenly felt shy around Trey. I wasn’t sure why. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of new things happening with both of us. I needed a comfort break so I went into the bathroom. Everything was just as it had been when we left it only immaculate.
I brushed my teeth and my hair. I had worn jeans and an oversized turtle neck sweater. I had my brown heeled boots on. I went ahead and took them off, carrying them with me as I walked back into the bedroom. Trey was in his walk-in closet, tossing his sweater off, pulling his boots and jeans off as well. He swaggered back out in his boxers that hung low on those narrow hips. He came up to me, pulling me close and lowering his head to kiss me. His hands framed my face; his thumbs gently caressed my cheeks. Our tongues playfully probed and explored, his teeth gently tugged at my lower lip, sending shivers up my spine.
He raised my arms up over my head, pulling my sweater off, tossing it to the floor. His fingers dropped to the waist band of my jeans, tugging the button open. He lowered the zipper on them, sliding his hand inside underneath my
panties and cupped my sex. His lips were back on mine, kissing and expertly working mine in hungry passion. His fingers were gently massaging the soft folds of my womanhood, plying the lips apart and stroking my clitoris around and around between his thumb and forefinger.
He jerked my jeans and panties down, lifting me out of them. He reached down unclasping my front hook bra, freeing my breasts, sliding the bra off of my shoulders wh
ere it fell to the floor with the rest of my clothes. His hands massaged my breasts, his fingers pinching my nipples to full tender erection. He lowered his head to my breasts, his mouth finding one and gently sucking and swirling his tongue around and around the pink taut nipple. He moved to the next one, showing the same exquisite attention to it.
I moaned, fisting his hair as he sucked my breast, and moved his free hand to my apex. His thumb continued to brush my clitoris in a circular motion. I moaned, my hips flexing against his hand. He lifted me, carrying me over to the bed, gently laying me on top of the duvet. He took his place beside me, kneeling over me as he continued licking and sucking my breasts. He lips and tongue traced a downward patter, circling my bellybutton, and then dipping even lower to my womanhood.
I gasped as his mouth covered my sex, licking and sucking gently on my clitoris, while his long fingers probed the moist flesh, finding their way inside. My hips gyrated against the gentle thrusting of his fingers inside me, pressing his other hand against the outside so he would massage the special place from both sides. I moaned again as I felt the familiar swelling of my sweet spot.
“You taste so good, baby,” he said, gently sucking my clitoris and bringing me to the edge. Trey could feel me quickening and ready. He stopped his ministrations.
“Not yet, baby. Don’t come yet.”
I moaned. I so wanted to come right this second.
He straddled me, moving up so that his penis was in reach. I adjusted upward on the pillows, leaning forward and taking his shaft into my mouth, licking and swirling and kissing it the whole length. He sucked in his breath, looking down at me his eyes burning with passion.
He took his penis from my mouth. What?
“I need to be inside you now, baby,” he moaned. His hand was on his very erect penis, guiding it slowing into me, firm and gentle. I groaned feeling the fullness that was Trey, my Trey.
“Feel good, baby?” he asked as he began to slowly move inside of me.
“Mmmm yes,” I purred.
My hips rotated against him, my hands pressing his firm ass against me, wanting him to take me deeply, roughly even. Trey thrust his penis in and out of me, going deep, then shallow then plunging deep again. His hips moved in a circular motion, touching every sensitive nerve in my cortex of pleasure. My pelvis was thrusting against him again and again, bringing me to a peak of pleasure. I was moaning over and over again, unable to contain my response to the pleasure he was delivering deep inside of me with each new thrust.
“Come for me, baby. Come for me, Tylar,” he coaxed softly, his breath warm against my ear, whispering to me provocatively. “This is mine, Tylar, and only I will make you come do you understand?”
Oh God, I was on the edge.
Trey stopped his movements.
“I understand, Trey. Please don’t stop,” I mewled, thrusting against him to take me back to the edge.
He moved against me again, thrusting in perfect rhythm; meeting me thrust for thrust.
“That’s it baby,” he crooned. “I want you to come for me now.”
I braced myself as my orgasm washed over me in surges of pure carnal pleasure. I cried out his name I
moaned and my body convulsed against him, gushing my
ejaculation in riveting pulses. Trey moaned and stiffened, his
penis throbbed; releasing his love into me deeply. I counted seven rhythmic pulses of his penis inside of me as he came over and over. He shuddered finally as he was emptied. He lowered his face to mine, drawing my lips to his in a passionate kiss.
“I love you, Tylar,” he breathed against my lips.
“I love you, Trey,” I answered, locking my arms around his neck as our tongues met and playfully explored each other’s mouths.
“Let’s take a short nap,” he said, huskily. “Then I need to feed you some fresh protein if you’ve a craving for it,” he said, smiling wickedly.
I kissed his lips playfully. “I think I could use some fresh protein, Mr. Sinclair.”
Trey and I showered and dressed after our nap and went downstairs. Susan was in the kitchen baking. Delicious aromas permeated throughout the house. My stomach grumbled. My fresh protein had been delightful, but hadn’t made me full. We joined Susan in the kitchen where several pies were cooling on racks.
“Are you kids hungry,” she asked, wiping flour off of her hands onto her apron. Trey was eyeballing the pies cooling.
“Tylar had a protein shake earlier, “Trey replied, “We’re going to grab something in town before we shop.”
I glared at his amused smile as his mom continued dusting the pie dough with flour. She hadn’t caught his meaning. Thank God!
“Where’s my chocolate pie, Mom?” he asked, coming up behind her and wrapping both of his arms around her in a playful hug. “I see you have mincemeat for Nigel, pumpkin for dad, and pecan for Tristan, where’s my pie?” He was like a little boy with sibling rivalry I thought slightly amused.
“Do you see those baked pie shells over there Trey Michael?” she asked trying to sound stern.
He nodded, his face buried in her hair, still holding her hostage in his arms.
“Well I’ve got the chocolate filling cooking right now for one of those, and the other one is going to be lemon meringue. You know I wouldn’t forget your pie.” She smacked at his arm.
“If you don’t let me go that chocolate will scald,” she warned, “Then you won’t have your pie.”
He released her giving her a loud smooch on her cheek. She smiled, and I guessed that she loved the playfulness of her youngest son.
I asked Susan if I could have her chocolate pie recipe for Trey. She was delighted that I had asked and said she would make sure to copy it down for me before we left. I figured I needed to learn to bake a pie anyway since I had never done so.
Downtown Bristol was bustling with holiday shoppers. There were several Santa Clauses on corners ringing their bells for donations. Trey dropped a $50 bill in one pot. We headed to the department store. Trey picked out a ‘Learning to Share’ Hummel figurine for his mother who collected them; for his father, he purchased him a new Chacom Eltang Smooth Horn pipe and some tobacco. Trey said his father occasionally liked to indulge himself with a brandy and a pipe.
We purchased Burberry wool scarves for each of Trey’s brothers. I managed to sneak a purchase of a new Burberry wallet for Trey while he was browsing through the scarves, tucking the package into my purse after paying for it.
We continued shopping in some of the specialty shops. I found a crystal picture frame that I wanted to buy for Susan. I asked Trey where we could get some brandy; I wanted to buy a bottle for Clive from me to go with his new pipe and tobacco. We finally ended up buying Caroline a Hugo Kohl sterling silver die struck bracelet engraved with
floral scrolls.
Our primary shopping was finished. We headed to the Hallmark store for wrapping paper, bows, tags and tape. I told Trey he was going to help me wrap gifts tonight in our
bedroom. The only part that seemed to appeal to him was
being alone in our bedroom together.
We headed back to the manor, stopping to pick up some Chinese take-out. Trey said he wanted to veg out in our room the rest of the evening. I called Gina from my Blackberry to see what she and Ian were up to over the holiday. She said that Ian’s family was coming in from out of town; we agreed to get together after the first to exchange our gifts.
Trey and I got everything wrapped that evening while we watched television in his room. I decided I would wrap Trey’s presents when he wasn’t around though he seemed to be sticking to me like glue. I figured I would have an opportunity on Christmas Eve when he went with his father to cut a fresh tree.
As we lay in bed that night, totally spent from our busy day, I was curled against Trey; his arm was thrown possessively over me. He was almost asleep.
“Trey,” I said, tentatively.
“Hmm?” he responded.
“I never knew t
hat your middle name is ‘Michael,” I said.
“Well, it is,” he replied, groggily.
“So if our baby is a girl, I want her name to be ‘Treyla Michaela,’ what do you think?”
“I think she is really going to hate her mommy….”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Trey made himself scarce on Christmas Eve day which allowed me the opportunity of getting his gifts wrapped. I then spent time in the kitchen with Susan as she was making Christmas cookies that required decorating. She baked, I decorated and we talked and talked. I wanted to know things about Trey and she was more than happy to tell me.
“You know Trey is eight years younger than Tristan,” she said, smiling at a particular memory that must have surfaced. I nodded, dusting a stocking shaped cookie with red sprinkles.
“Well, it was almost like Trey was an only child with the gap in their ages, and I know he probably was a bit more spoiled as a result, but he would follow Tristan around like a little puppy. I’ll never forget this one time, Tristan had recently turned sixteen so Trey would have been seven, not quite eight years old at the time. Clive and I had bought Tristan a used pick-up truck for his sixteenth birthday. Tristan was proud of it; he had detailed it all out, bought a tonneau cover for it, put a new sound system in it and everything. Well, Tristan had a girlfriend, Kate that he had been seeing for awhile. Anyway, this one evening in early summer, Tristan went to pick her up and they went out to Steele Creek Park,” she started giggling at this point and blushed slightly.
“Don’t you know that Trey had hidden in the back of Tristan’s truck, underneath the tonneau cover? Tristan and Kate were getting rather hot and heavy in the cab of the truck and Trey came out from under that tri-fold cover and was watching the whole thing through the back window of the truck,” she said, now laughing harder.
She wiped a tear from her eye as she continued.
"Well all of a sudden Tristan heard Trey yelling, 'I'm going to tell Daddy on you Tristan! We aren't supposed to
allow anyone to touch our pee-pee.”
“Oh my God,” I said, laughing with her, “That is a hoot! How did you find out about it?”