Hold Onto Me_A Secret Baby Romance

by Juliana Conners

  Brandon soothes me. Cuddles me. “Aaaah,” he whispers, leaving me back against the bed and beginning to kiss me, “like this?” At first, his kisses land on my cheeks. Then on my neck. Then my chest, nipples. He takes special attention to not just kiss, but lick, those. But those kinds of attentions are short-lived. He returns to kissing his way down my body, before I’ve even had time to enjoy the feeling of his tongue on my nipples. The coldness his saliva adds to the air touching me.

  Along with kissing his way down my body, he kisses himself off the bed and between my legs. Once between my legs, he kisses and nipples my inner thighs. My mound, creeping closer and closer to my hood. My clit, with each kiss and love bite.

  In no time at all, his nose and mouth are buried in my pussy. In my wet, tender folds. Which he wastes no time in tasting and stroking. With his tongue and fingers in turn. When his fingers are on my clit, his tongue is on my lips, and vice versa.

  The firmness — the commitment his tongue displays for me — that’s as addictive as it is arousing. After what I know can only be a handful of licks and strokes from him, I’m already building. Already tightening toward orgasm, though I know that part of this is from the leftover sensitivity. My clit is still raw and tender from my treatment of it last night, which was heavy and intense, even by my standards.

  But even with the intensity of his licking and sucking of my clit, of its size and base, I don’t stop him. If anything, I spread my legs wider. I even use my hand to pull up and out on my mound, so that my clit hangs free of all the folded skin and darkness.

  Even so, I’m flinching with each touch of his tongue. Each lap he takes of my juices. I’m squirming and gasping under all of it, seeing stars. Feeling pop rocks on my tongue, fireworks of pleasure in my brain.

  At some point during the oral treatment he’s giving me, Brandon puts his whole mouth on me. Over me and begins to suck and taste me like I’m a giant clam. Pastry. Something worthy of eating whole. Tasting deeply. His tongue shoots into my pussy like a fleshy, soft dildo. But warmer and more autonomous than any toy. Once inside, his tongue carves circles in my tender flesh. In and around my hole. And it doesn’t take more than a few of us to have me climbing toward another orgasm. Add to that some pinching and stroking of my clit (something he’s started to do, even while tongue-fucking my pussy), and I’m gone.

  I cum in a swirl of color in sensation — of feeling like I’m one horny thread getting pulled from a giant naughty sweater — and narrowly escape visions of receiving the bad news. Of hearing that my father’s been killed in combat. Sought out by the enemy to not come home.

  But all of that disappears in one violent, shuddering release of pleasure. One that has me almost squeezing Brandon’s face with my legs into nothingness.

  Chapter 15

  Brandon

  Maybe it’s just because I’ve been living by myself in the woods for years, haven’t had any female companionship for nearly as long, but Juliet’s got the most beautiful pussy I’ve ever seen. The tastiest, too.

  Every time I lick it, flicking the little nub of her clit and taste the silk of her surrounding lips, it’s like having the sweetest truffle. The creamiest ice cream or yogurt. I know it’s odd, but even now, I can still taste the faint sweetness of flowers. Of the bubblebath I made for her. And while not soapy, it’s perfumed. Addictively so.

  The perfect taste for such buttery and soft pussy lips. There so pink and shiny, I have to remind myself that they’re real. Maybe that’s what compels me to keep tasting and touching, even though I know I already have Juliet over the edge. Her lady’s so perfect, so milky sweet in its texture, I just have to enjoy every inch of it.

  And I do. I lick and suck every inch of her, driving myself just as wild. Just as crazy. Knelt as I am in front of her, I can’t squirm as much as she is, but I’m aroused. If she was closer to the end of the bed than she is, she’d feel that for herself.

  She’d feel just how hard and erect I am. As it is, as I’m licking on her I’m grinding against the end of the bed. Lightly humping the bit of the mattress I can reach without disturbing the bit of heaven I’m initiating her to. After everything she’s been through, I don’t want anything to disturb her peace. Her paradise. If anything, I want to give her more.

  And more I do. I continue my diligent tasting of her until she squeezes my face and cheeks with her legs under an intense, happy orgasm.

  The cry she lets out is adorable. It’s almost like an eagle giving her freedom, but more girly. Sweeter. But no less loud and proud.

  After she orgasms, I take that as my queue to get off my knees between her legs, and to give her some more love. Some more attention. More “escape” from her reality. On the bed now, I’m still between her legs. Except now I have her legs and feet up over my shoulders. I gently hold her feet and legs in that position, as I enter her.

  I don’t even ask if I can. Let her know that I am, I just do. I just enter her, immediately getting rewarded with a happy sound. A squeal. Something like a giggle, but definitely a moan. A tender sound. One that only increases the further and further I push inside of her. Again, as I was last night, I’m blown away by the way her lips practically “melt” around me. Over me. Through me, almost.

  Again, it’s warm and inviting. All-encompassing. It’s easy and blissful, the way in. Before long, I’m as far in her as I can go. I’ve filled her up again, but unlike last night, I decide to go gently. Pump in and out sweetly softly.

  I’m going slowly. Savoring each movement in and out. I’m letting her savor as well, and as we settle into a rhythm, I almost forget we don’t know each other well. As I’m rocking back and forth in her, leaning further into her body, grabbing and massaging her breasts, it feels like we’ve been like this forever. Like we’ve always known each other. Been with each other, even though she just showed up yesterday like a ghost on a cliff.

  Putting my hand on her belly, I pick up pace slightly. Not hard, but enough to let her feel my texture. Let me feel hers, and we both share a sigh. A groan. From her belly, I move my hand back up to her breasts. Her nipples. I decide to pinch and roll one and then the other between my fingers, enjoying her trembling. Her quivering. Something that even enters her pussy, and vibrates into my cock.

  Soon I decided to switch from having her legs up over my shoulders, to having the same legs and feet wound around my hips. My waist, with my body completely draping over hers. As I do this, I see and feel her admiring my tattoos. The ink she’s able to see on my arms, my chest, and part of my back, now that I have my shirt off. She’s pulled it off me as we change positions. But even while changing positions, my cock never comes out of her, and my penetration rhythm remains consistent. Steady. Quick, but not grueling.

  I put my lips and mouth on her neck and give her little nibbles there. Bites. No bruises, but definitely a few red marks here and there. Innocent Hickey’s.

  As I pick up my pace a little bit more, lace my hand with one of Juliet’s, I hear her mumble, “I want to stay here. I want to stay her with you, where it’s safe. Where I’m loved.”

  “You can stay with me. You can stay here as long as you want. As long as you feel safe and loved, I have no problem with you staying here for as long as you want, Juliet.” I murmur these words, feeling secretly elated by the prospect. Not because I’ll get to have a beautiful woman to have sex with you whenever the mood strikes, but because I finally won’t be alone.

  And after so many years of purposely being by myself. Purposely disengaging from all human contact. And now I have her. Juliet.

  And she’s just said she wants to stay.

  Chapter 16

  Brandon

  After finishing with Juliet (it was enough for her to cum and for me to feel sufficiently massaged), I have decided to cook us breakfast. Eggs and spam and a side of toast and jam. Coffee or tea, depending on what she wants or likes.

  I’m not sure how she likes her eggs, so I just decide to go with the way I like them. Fried. Cooke
d in tons of butter and dusted with a little salt and pepper. I make her and me two eggs each, deciding it’s best to finish off my carton of them today, rather than let them hang another day or two. They’re already getting close to their “use by” date.

  While I’m cooking, I decide to give Harlow a call. I know he and I talked about me being a speaker at the next Veteran’s Conference. I know I told him I would think about it more, but after going through the relatively sleepless night with Juliet, I know I’m not going to be in the right space to be the kind of speaker he needs to be. It takes a particular kind of mindset to do that and be there for those veterans, and right now I don’t have it.

  Not with my emotions and thoughts pulled so completely to Juliet and the healing process she needs to go through.

  As I get the eggs in the pan, and get them on their way to crispy, golden-edged perfection, I dial Harlow. He picks up almost immediately. “Well, gooood moorning there, early riser!” He pauses, taking a sip of something. Probably his coffee, which he likes black. Never takes any sugar or milk. “Got good news for me this morning? Gonna come to the conference?”

  I pull out a wooden spoon, and adjust the bubbling egg whites so they don’t stick. With that same spatula I move some pieces of spam into another pan. As I do so, I rest the smart phone against my shoulder and my ear. “I really want to say yes, but I can’t. You know that girl? Juliet? The one I picked up yesterday from a cliffside?”

  “Yeah, I remember,” says Harlow. “Wasn’t born yesterday, you know?”

  I snap on the heat for a second burner, hoping to get the spam up to temp as quickly as possible. “Well, I’ve been up with her all night. Been having nightmares. Night terrors, Harlow, and so I just can’t in good conscience leave her alone. Going do this thing, when I know she needs me. She needs my help in healing what she’s been through.” I smile, thinking about how much more relaxed she’s become after our romps. Hate to admit it, but the sex hasn’t just been good with her — mind blowing — it’s been good for her. Like a literal medicine, which I never thought I would ever see happen. Certainly not outside of hospital-themed porno. “I seem to be really helping her out, Harlow. I seem to really be helping cure what ails her,” I say, blushing a bit. Even without saying anything overly sexual, I can feel her mouth on me. Her small, squishy pussy sucking on me like a baby. “I just don’t want to take chances, you know? Don’t want to take the chance that me going to this event disrupts her healing process. Makes her backslide or anything like that.” I pause, flipping both my spam and my eggs quickly and efficiently. Both are beginning to splatter and bubble under the heat and released grease. “Believe me, man. If I didn’t think this was so important, I wouldn’t miss that conference. If I didn’t think Juliet needed me more than those vets right now, I’d be there in a heartbeat. I’d be there without a second thought, but I just feel like I’m needed here right now.”

  Harlow chuckles. “Somehow I knew you’d say that. The minute this girl came into your sphere, I knew you’d want to be there for her. Be her hero. Help her through whatever she’s going through, because that’s just the kind of man you are, Brandon.” He sighs. “And let’s face it. I can tell she’s gotten to you. You’re serious about her. I can tell by the sound of your voice.” Another sip of his coffee off speaker, followed by the sounds of distant cooking. Also from a pan or griddle. “So, tell you what? I’m gonna let you skip out on this one, but you have to come to the next one three months from now, okay?”

  I flip my eggs back over, not wanting to cook the yolk too much. From there I move them onto a plate, and prepare to flip the spam as well. One side is beginning to get extra crispy.

  Before I can give any sort of answer, Harlow continues, his voice sounding much more urgent, less playful now. “I’m serious about that, man. I’m really gonna need you at the next one. Suicide rates amongst ex-seals is really beginning to skyrocket, man. And I really need to be able to increase my outreach potential. My sphere of influence, and you’re the man who helps me do that. Your story. Your experiences, all that really helps them. Gets to them in a way that, when it’s just me, I can’t hope to re-create. I know you want to help this girl. I get that. I respect that, but your fellow seals need your help too, Brandon.”

  Under his words, a pang of guilt begins to rise. I flip over the spam, pressing it down into the pan a bit. It’s just in time, too. Edges were beginning to go black on a few pieces. “I know. I haven’t forgotten about them. I won’t forget about them,” I say.

  “Not trying to bust your balls, man. I know she just kind of dropped in your lap, so don’t take anything I’ve said too hard. Just trying to let you know what I’m dealing with through my foundation and everything.”

  “I get it. I’ll come to the next conference. You have my word.”

  Saying these words, I grab out another plate for the spam, and began transferring all of my cut pieces to a plate. As I do, I still can’t help but feel guilty. Selfish, even though I’m being selfless by looking after Juliet. I’m choosing one woman with mental health issues over hundreds of ex-seals with the same issues.

  “All right,” says Harlow. “I’m holding you to that, you know?”

  “Scouts honor,” I say, wondering if I’ve really made the right choice. If my mother and father were still alive, they might say differently. They also might have a problem with how I’ve just gotten so sexually involved with a woman I don’t know, and who is obviously troubled.

  But, just as I’m about to start really beating up on myself about this, Juliet comes out of her room. My room, dressed only in a pair of sweatpants. The top part of her is completely bare, leaving her small but firm breasts exposed. Open and available to my eyes, which waste no time in enjoying the view. Her nipples light pink and small, are hard. Pointy in the cool morning air.

  “Talk to you later, Brandon,” says Harlow.

  “Later,” I murmur, barely able to focus on moving the rest of my spam out of the pan and onto the plate.

  Harlow hangs up from our call in the next second, and as he does, I no longer feel guilty. Looking at Juliet — how she walks resolutely and unfazed into the room and toward the breakfast table topless — I know I’ve made the right choice.

  Chapter 17

  Juliet

  I’m not sure what possessed me to come out of my room and to breakfast topless, but I don’t know and I don’t care. For some reason, I feel completely comfortable and at ease here. With him, even though we just met.

  Besides that, I don’t know what it is, but I have this overwhelming desire for him to see me. Stare at me, partially naked, all the way naked. It doesn’t matter. I just want him to look at me, and see how much I don’t care that he can see my tits. My boobs.

  I want him to see and feel just how unfazed I am around exhibiting my body to him.

  With this strength and determination to rattle him and show him how in control I am, I sit down at the breakfast table. When I take my seat, it’s to a plate of fried eggs, spam and toast and jam. A great breakfast as far as I’m concerned. Something similar to what dad would make when he was home. Except instead of spam, we’d have thick-cut pepper bacon. And instead of toast and jam, we’d have Bavarian breakfast pastries.

  For a drink, he’s made me a cup of tea. He’s also poured me a glass of milk, which is smart of him, considering I don’t really drink tea. Except for when I’m sick.

  I thank him quietly for the breakfast and dig in again. Though I’m hungry, I do my best to eat like I wasn’t raised by wolves or in a barn. I try to eat like my mom and dad raised me with some concept of manners, not wolfing and choking everything down like it’s my last meal. I start with the eggs and make quick work of them. From there, I go on to the spam and toast.

  I decide to put it on my bread instead of jam. I folded over into a makeshift sandwich, just as Brandon starts up a conversation with me. “You’re looking better this morning. Much better than last night,” he says.

  I nod.
I’m feeling better, though part of me still wonders when those terrors are going to come back. I can’t have sex every day all day to keep them at bay.

  “And I’m really glad you decided to share a little bit about the dream you had last night. The nightmare, and what you’ve been going through.” He takes a bite of his spam, seeming to enjoy the black crunchy bits he has on his pieces. “It really helps me understand you a bit better, which will help me help you a bit better from now on.”

  He smiles, taking another bite before washing it down with some warm drink. Probably coffee. Maybe a homemade mocha, by the smell of faint chocolate and coffee blended together.

  “Since you decided to be open with me about what happened to you, I thought you deserve to know a little bit about my situation,” he says, taking up a piece of toast and buttering it. Jam comes on next. Blackberry by its dark, gloppy appearance. “How I came to be where I am. What I’ve been through. That kind of thing.” He takes a bite of his freshly-buttered and jammed bread. “As you know, I used to serve in the military. Navy specifically as a seal.” As he speaks, I see him set down his bread and go to cradle his arm. One that I notice has scarring. I noticed those scars earlier, I remember, but lost track of them and all the tattoos and sex. Until now. Until I see him petting them absently. Like memory shards. Like things that still can hurt him, even though they’ve “healed” to the naked eye. “I was on a rescue mission before I was discharged honorably and sent home. My helicopter was shot down in the middle of the rescue mission by enemy forces.” Again, he pets his arm. Massages some parts where the scarring is heavy. “Practically a fireball, I was lucky to escape with just deep tissue damage. Some of my guys burned alive. Got crushed under the metal and gear in the crash. I tried to save a few of them from the burning wreckage.” Nervously, he flexes that arm. “That’s how I got some of my tissue damage. Trying to pull my fellow rescuers from heavy, burning metal, not realizing I had torn muscles and tissue in my arm to shit.” He shakes his head, almost as if part of his mind is still consumed by smoke and flames. Or will be, if he lets it. “Again, I’m lucky I got out of there with my life, but you wouldn’t know that when I got back. I had terrible night terrors for a long, long time. Felt like I was crashing and then helicopter over and over again. Tearing my arm to bits over and over again.” As he speaks about these night terrors, I get the sense that he hasn’t told this part too many people before. Hasn’t really shared this bit of information. “I was scared all the time, Juliet. I didn’t think that I would ever feel sane again. Even my waking hours were filled with noise. Rushing and exploding noises. Thinking that shrapnel was hitting my window. That bombs were rumbling under my floorboards. I spent many nights like the one you just got through. In a sleeping and waking hell. Was so bad at times I thought I would be better off dead.” He looks directly at me, looking sober as he takes another bite of his toast and then a bite of spam and egg. “Which is why I was so worried about you last night. Why I was afraid you were trying to jump when I saw you on the cliff. And why I didn’t want to leave you alone last night. Because I know what I was like when I came home.” He shovels in a few more bites, and I know he’s feeling a little too vulnerable for his liking. Even in front of me. “So, anyway I guess I just wanted you to know that I do know what you’re going through. And that I’m sorry for how everything’s been for you. Even so, I’d love to know more, if you want to tell me.”