Make Me a Mommy: A Mother's Day Secret Baby Romance

by Liz K. Lorde

  When one of us isn’t unconscious or at the other’s throat, we don’t make all that bad of a team.

  As I’m fishing about in the water for the final fork, Avery reaches down to grab it at the same time I do. Our fingers curl around it simultaneously, and I feel an electric fucking current running through the water as they do.

  “Sorry!” Avery yelps, pulling her hand back like my skin burns her.

  At the same time, I grunt, “Sorry,” recoiling at her touch like she might turn me to gold beneath her fingertips.

  Who fucking knows.

  After, when she’s gone back into the living room to pet Buck and watch the fire, I take a look at the place on my hand where her fingers touched. I can still feel where her skin was against mine. It’s like she burned her fingerprints right into me. Marked me as hers forever.

  And damned if when I hold my hand up to the window to look at it, it doesn’t seem just a little more golden in the light.

  Avery

  My eyelids are getting heavier with each blink. All of those pancakes just left me so comfortable.

  I gaze into the fire for a moment, nestled into the couch. The dog, whose collar has a little tag on it that reads BUCK, settles down next to me. His warm, furry form curls around me, and I curl around him right back.

  Daddy only ever had hunting dogs—and they always seemed just plain mean. Mommy had a lapdog, but it wasn’t anywhere near as nice as Buck is. Mostly, it just piddled everywhere and tried to bite the fingers of anyone who wasn’t Mommy when they tried to pet it.

  All things considered, I’m as comfy as I can be with all these bruises and bumps all over me.

  I turn my head to face the back of the couch and close my eyes. I take a few deep breaths, relaxing myself as best I can and I drift quietly off to sleep.

  When I wake, I impulsively want to stretch. I go to try and whimper at the soreness of my body.

  Destroying a car seriously takes its toll on you. I still can’t believe it even happened. Yesterday is such a blur to me now that I don’t even know what to call real.

  I yawn, padding to the window to look outside. Yep—still snowing. I feel Buck’s tail thumping against my leg as I stare out into the white oblivion that the world has become while I was asleep.

  Five days. Isn’t that what Jack said? Five days, maybe more.

  Suddenly, just outside the window, Jack appears. His tolerance for the extreme cold just baffles me. Where I’m from, a slight breeze puts a hot cup of Starbucks in my hand and a brand-new designer coat on my back.

  But I guess living out here there’s no Michael Kors nearby. Not that I could see Jack ever stepping foot in there. If he did, he’d certainly be turning some heads.

  They’d have to make something special for him, just so it would fit those broad, rugged shoulders of his. They’d have to sew two coats together for a man the size of Jack.

  I study him as he loads the bird feeder just outside this quaint, rustic cabin. I still can’t believe he built this entire place by himself. I’m intrigued by Jack. He’s so different from anyone I’ve ever known.

  He’s not afraid to speak his mind to me, but he’s still so kind at the same time. He’s rugged and robust, but that’s not a bad thing at all. It’s just so different.

  I’m used to men being so groomed, so sleek. And Jack, he’s the exact opposite of that. He’s large and muscular.

  Cardinals begin to flock over to the bird feeder once Jack’s refilled it. There’s an incredible beauty out here in the real wilderness. I don’t think I’ve ever been so off the grid before, and I’ve never seen many animals in their natural habitat.

  Jack’s created an entire life for himself out here. Everything he does, everything he owns—it all has a purpose and a routine.

  On one hand it sounds like exactly what I need. I need a place to disappear, and Jack obviously built this place to do just that.

  On the other hand, I know what kind of girl I am. I’m not cut out for roughing it, and Jack knows it. I’m thankful that this is just for a few days while I recover enough to get back to town.

  Ugh. Town. Town means civilization, and back in civilization, everyone is going to know what’s happened.

  No. They’re going to know what Adam told them happened.

  If he’s feeling generous and still wants to salvage his little deal with Daddy, he’ll have said that I’m just a silly little thing and must have gotten cold feet.

  If he’s feeling cruel, he’ll tell them all something worse. That I was cheating on him, or that I’m just being a bitch. That I ran off to embarrass him because I’m a spoiled, vindictive little cunt.

  That’s what he called me before I left, after all. I can’t imagine he would have a hard time repeating it.

  In Adam’s story, I’m sure I made no effort to even try to love him. In Adam’s story, I’m sure it’s me that’s the liar—not him.

  I freaking hate politics. I hate my father for putting me in this position. I hate myself for never asking my father for the brutal honesty that I decided way too late that I actually need to survive. I just blindly trusted everyone and everything.

  I look down at my body and I’m reminded of my escape. As soon as I broke free from Adam’s restraint over me, I booked it. I found my keys, hopped in my car, and just hauled my ass as far off as I possibly could.

  Do I even have my shoes? I lift my leg in the air, looking at my foot and see my toes. Right. I kicked them off so I could drive. They’re probably still laying abandoned in the resort parking lot, or perched on Adam’s desk at the lodge—proof of the cruel flight of his runaway bride.

  I wore stilettos for my wedding so Adam didn’t have to bend down too far to kiss me. But when I look back up at the window to Jack’s massive form as he stoops to offer a handful of bird seed to a tiny, fluffed up bird that’s obviously too scared to fight the cardinals for its share of the food, I have a stupid thought.

  Jack would bend down to kiss me.

  Jack wouldn’t mind.

  I look down again at the tattered tulle and silk resting against my thigh. It’s covered in dirt and still stinks of gas, but it doesn’t change anything.

  I’m still wearing my wedding gown.

  This awful, ugly reminder of the worst day of my life remains wrapped around me like a prison. It’s nothing more than a badge of dishonor, a token symbol of the abuse I experienced on my own wedding day.

  I didn’t think such horrible things could happen to such sweet people. I’ve always been a good person. I’m kind to others, and I’m very giving, just not in the way Adam wanted me to be.

  I kept shouting at him, “NO! NO! NO!” Just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes. I blink and turn my head away from the window so Jack can’t see me in my indecency.

  He yelled at me for not swearing properly. I can’t imagine what he’d say if he saw me cry.

  When Adam tore my dress apart trying to take me, I screamed so loud. Why didn’t anybody come to save me then? Where was my rescuer then?

  If Jack had been there, he would have ripped Adam in two and fed both halves to Buck.

  But Jack wasn’t there. Jack was probably standing at the top of the mountain, masturbating to the brisk glory of nature or something.

  I can only be thankful that in that one, singular instant, I actually took care of myself.

  I kicked Adam so hard in his balls that I hope I turned his voice back to a prepubescent state.

  Adam isn’t a man. Men don’t disrespect women like that. It’s deplorable.

  And I know for certain that when I get back, I’m making my abuse known. I’m going to tell the whole world about how Adam tried to rape me.

  I want to keep this fire he’s lit in me going, but as I stare down at the tattered remains of my gown again, all I can do is weep. I can’t even reach behind my back to take it off—after the car crash, my shoulder is too bruised for me to move my arm in that way.

  As I wallow, the doorknob turns, and I
hear a CREAK.

  For a dumb, stupid second I’m afraid that it’s Adam, come to make sure that I’m wearing some form of this awful fucking wedding dress for the rest of my life.

  But duh. Of course it’s not. It’s just Jack, his cheekbones tinged pink with cold and frost in his beard.

  “Everything alright?” Jack asks, his brow furled and his mouth slightly agape, breathing in the warm cabin air after being out in the cold.

  “Puh…Peachy,” I lie. Badly.

  How the heck can I impose my troubles on this poor man? He’s already accommodated me for so much. But reading his face, he’s not buying my answer.

  “Avery, I’ve carried you out of a burning car,” he says, shrugging his coat off and throwing his gloves on the floor next to his boots. “I’ve given you a place to rest, a place to sleep, and all my damn pancakes. I think we’ve established that anything you need, I can provide,” he assures me.

  I take a deep breath. How far into this do I go?

  Do I tell him about Adam? About my attack? Should he know why I was speeding up the side of the mountain?

  It’s all so much, and even though he’s offered to help, I just can’t impose like that.

  But since he asked…

  “I need…a favor,” I start.

  “Alright,” he responds. His arms are now crossed and he’s waiting for my request, his brow still furled in expectation.

  “I need you to take off my dress,” I say before he can rescind his offer.

  I’m not fast enough.

  “Nope,” Jack grunts, shaking his head. “I ain’t dumb, Avery. That’s bait.”

  Bait for what?! This freaking man is so infuriating sometimes. I’m annoyed that I even asked now—but since I have, I might as well see it through.

  “Please,” I beg him. “I can barely stand, let alone reach my arm behind to unfasten these clasps. Also, I think some of the embroidery beads melted together when the car was on fire, and now they’re stuck. I just can’t do it alone. You have to help me.”

  Jack just stares at me for a little bit. I can see the wheels turning in his head, trying to think of a way out of this.

  Gosh. Men have been offering to take my clothes off for most of my freaking life. In Adam’s case, he didn’t even ask. And now the one time I actually ask a man to undress me, he’s looking for a way out?

  Gee, thanks, Jack. That’s like, soooo flattering.

  “I haven’t ever had a lady living here,” Jack warns me. Which, wow. He’s been up here for a while now, and he’s never had female company? My gaydar is usually pretty spot on—and I don’t get the sense Jack swings that way—so what gives? “I don’t have other clothes for you to wear once this comes off.”

  “I don’t care,” I respond sternly. The tears are still rolling down my cheeks, and my voice now shaky from the anger that’s manifested in me. “I’d rather be out of this dress, stark naked, than have to sit in it another moment. I just don’t have it in me to bear it any longer.”

  I see Jack surrender with his body before he does it with his mouth. It comes in a huge, heavy sigh, his massive shoulders slumping forward like he’s bowing down to my will.

  Pretty sexy, honestly.

  Not that I’d tell him that.

  “Okay, then. Come here,” he says.

  He meets me just in front of the fire. I can tell he’s keeping himself just a little bit away from me, but I come in closer and rest my body weight against his.

  Beside us, Buck wags his tail and hangs his tongue out of his mouth, blissfully oblivious to how much this means to me as Jack wraps his arms around me and captures a clasp in his fingers.

  “I have a garter belt that needs to come off too,” I add, last minute.

  Jack gives me a narrow look, but he makes good on it. He squats down on his feet and lifts my dress to the frilly, white garter belt wrapped around my thigh. His fingers graze my skin gently, and I shudder.

  The warmth from the fire really has me feeling…different.

  “These too?” he asks. There’s something dark in his gaze as his fingers trail further north on my thigh and brush against the waistband of my panties.

  They’re white lace wedding panties.

  I nod.

  “Those too.”

  I see a flashing image of Jack’s tongue all over my pussy as he pulls my panties off of me.

  My pussy now exposed to him and his breath running hot against it makes me wish I could just push myself forward against his face. But I can’t. I won’t. It’s not proper…

  Even if I wish it was.

  Jack brings himself back up and moves behind me slowly. His fingers graze the top of my back as he goes to reach for the clasps of my dress. His touch sends a shiver down my spine.

  My heart beats faster and faster as he starts pulling the clasps free, one at a time. I bring my hand over the front of my dress to hold the top in place as he continues unlatching each little hook.

  The last one stops right at the top of my ass. He unfastens it and wraps his arms around my waist, almost as if he’s admiring my body as much as I wish he would right now.

  His hands move up, hovering over my breasts. He takes his fingers under the seam at the top of the gown and starts gently tugging it down.

  Jack lowers the fabric off of my chest, exposing my perky, round breasts to the warmth of his cabin. The heat travels along my body as he pulls it down slowly.

  The dress slides off of my hips and my bottom, exposing my ass and pussy to the cabin as well. The thrill of the sudden reveal has me all but climbing all over Jack to get a piece of him. I can’t tell if it’s the mountain air, the fire, or the way his hands feel all over my body, but I want him to take me.

  Jack stands up, holding the gown in his hands. He gestures it to me.

  “Where do you want this?” he asks. I snatch it right from his hand and toss it right into the fire.

  That piece of shit can burn.

  Jack

  The fire in Avery’s eyes is burning stronger than the remains of that fucking gown. It’s her way of freeing herself from whatever emotional prison she’s locked herself in. I support that shit heavily, even if I don’t necessarily practice it myself.

  I know she deserves true happiness. Whatever marriage she was running away from, she wasn’t going to find it there. If she thought she was, she wouldn’t fucking be here.

  But that happiness isn’t here either. I don’t know Avery all that well yet, but I can be damn sure I know that much.

  She’s in my cabin, eating my food and under my protection, but despite all that, this woman still remains a mystery.

  And if we know what’s good for us, we’ll keep it that way.

  As embers fly out of the fireplace from the massive dress, I turn to her. She’s staring hard into that fire, figuring herself out in the process.

  I know I shouldn’t touch. I know damn well that if I put my hands on this girl, there’s going to be more than just putting hands that follows.

  But a hungry dog knows that he ain’t supposed to nose his way into the fridge and devour Christmas dinner, too.

  Doesn’t fucking stop him from doing it anyway.

  I move my arm over her, just placing my hand against her shoulder to comfort a new friend. That’s what I tell myself: we’re friends. I’ve made it my responsibility to ensure this woman is safe. And right now, safe just means giving her some reassurance that everything is going to be okay.

  Avery looks to me when my hand touches her body. She’s caught off guard, but not put off or scared. She gives me a small smile. Forced, but given the circumstances, it will do.

  I’m doing my best not to draw attention to her…physique. It’d be rude of me as a stranger or a friend to think of her as anything more than another human being right now, especially when she’s in a position where she actively needs my help. I don’t want her to think I’m taking advantage of her in time of her vulnerability.

  Even if the fucking monster i
n me wants to. Christ, the monster in me is clawing up my insides and howling at the door at the sight of a single inch of her bare, supple skin.

  I can’t help it. I don’t know if it’s pure instinct or the unavoidable attraction that every man must have to her, but my eyes keep wandering. Part of me is ashamed.

  The part that’s left is just grateful.

  Her body is beautiful.

  Perfect lips, pouted out as she clenches her jaw.

  Perfect for suckin’, the monster inside me growls.

  I shut him out as my eyes linger on her breasts. I try to look at her the way my mother taught me to look at art—objectively, but with an appreciation for her fucking beauty.

  She has perfect tits. Big and full—a woman’s tits, even though the rest of her is as fragile and delicate as a doll. Peachy pink nipples standing erect in indignation, the areolas flushed in the firelight. A woman’s nipples. Firm and perky and fertile. Just the right color to catch a baby’s eye, draw its mouth near so it can latch on.

  Or a man’s mouth, the monster pipes up.

  I squash the damn thing beneath my mental thumb.

  Her pussy. Her pussy is beautiful. Hairless—must have waxed before the big day. But I can imagine it with hair on those pretty little pussy lips too. Blonde as the hair on her head. Pretty little curls, like molten gold in the light of the fire’s flames.

  Before the monster inside me finds some way to ruin that too, I broaden my gaze, taking in the full picture, and realize she’s filthy. Gasoline, motor oil, smoke and blood stain this poor girl’s skin.

  “Bath,” I grunt. “Might be nice to get the day washed off you.”

  “More like the week,” she laughs in reply.

  Her whole body shakes when she laughs. I can’t help but stare.

  “Can do,” I respond, turning and getting out of that fucking room before I hold her down on the floorboards and rut with her right there in front of the fire.

  “Thank you, Jack!” she calls after me. Her voice is so sweet and angelic. It’s almost second nature to care for her.

  I’ve got a big, old fashioned claw foot tub. Traded it for ten pounds of deer jerky at a swap meet about three years ago. I fill it up with every last drop of my hot water reserve. I’ll have more soon enough. For now, Avery needs it more than I do.