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

by Liz K. Lorde

  Okay, she’s going to need that towel when she gets out, so I may as well give it to her now.

  Right?

  I knock.

  I wait, listening.

  Nothing.

  I knock again.

  “Emma!”

  Still no response. Come on.

  Her pleasurable moans are getting louder. I can’t fucking stand it any longer. I practically bang on the door with my fist, hard enough that it opens.

  As soon as poke my head, I see her turn and half leap out of the bath.

  Droplets of water run down her pale skin. Her perfect, delicious tits are exposed. On the right one, a bit of foam is still sticking to her nipple.

  “Here’s a towel for when you’re finished,” I growl, and then I make a run for it.

  I burst through my bedroom door and land with a loud thud on the bed.

  What the fuck have I just done? I’ve walked on in on a goddess, a goddess who was masturbating and erupting in her own orgasm.

  Her pleasurable moans are still reverberating in my head. It wasn’t the high pitch yelp some women do when they come, no. Emma’s moan was melodic—almost a baritone.

  Okay, maybe a tenor.

  Humming. Yes, it sounded like beautiful, musical humming, and I can still hear it now.

  Of course, the other thing I can’t get out of my fucking head is those perfect tits with those exquisite soft pink nipples.

  Like a beacon, they light the way to a land of happiness and unimaginable bliss.

  Unable to form a clear thought, I rip my shirt off, quickly followed by my pants, freeing my throbbing fucking cock.

  It’s desperate for attention. My hand shakes a little as I wrap my fingers around it.

  I stroke my shaft up and down, up and down. Quickly, I establish a working rhythm.

  And all I can see in my mind’s eye are those tits and nipples.

  I imagine her fingers pulling and pinching them.

  It doesn’t take long before I feel myself building to an almighty crescendo. I push my hips forward a little, rub a little harder and faster, feeling my muscles contract, relax, and contract again.

  My fucking cock is pointing straight up, and I’ve got my eyes fixed on the ceiling, as if Emma and those fucking delicious tits were up there.

  She’s smiling at me. Her right hand’s inviting me to come taste the forbidden fruit. Now I’m moaning, deep and low, like a tiger about to build up to an immense roar. When I come, I might just end up roaring like that myself.

  I wonder if Emma would be able to hear that, or if she’d even notice.

  For all I know, she’s gone back to running her own hands over those curves and pale skin of hers.

  Tits. Goddamn, those perfect fucking tits.

  Round, perky, and firm, just the right size. They look as if my hand could just about cup them, with a little spilling out over the edge.

  How fucking good would it be if I could put both my hands on her tits, massaging and kneading them.

  Yes. Yes. Yes.

  I’m building up. The fire is burning brightly, and it’s spreading.

  It would be so much fucking better if she were here in the room with me.

  I could spank her ass for torturing me like this. I would take my time, feasting on her perfect ass cheeks.

  My fingers would then move to her clit. My index finger would brush across her ever so softly, feather-like. Another spank on her ass and more caressing.

  My fingers would be visible on her nakedness, and I would lean forward to kiss her, let my tongue trail the outline of my hand, before rolling her on her back and spreading her legs to ram my massive member into her, hard and fast.

  My mind’s gone blank now. I’m about to go over the edge.

  I try to squeeze some more of this fantasy before it’s all over. I imagine my mouth sucking on those rosebud nipples—and that’s enough for my load to explode out of me.

  Like an angry volcano, I erupt and shoot cum high into the sky. Most of it lands on my hairy chest. I feel it run down my naked body as more comes out.

  And then, as the last bit of my cream-colored cum blasts up into the air, the unthinkable happens.

  Emma

  A storm brews.

  It’s my own, internal storm—but it matches the storm raging outside.

  Did Grizzly really just walk in on me? Just as I was drowning in a delicious wave of intense pleasure? Does the hairy, sexy brute not have any fucking manners?

  Is he really like a wild beast then, a bear?

  I can’t fucking believe it.

  I slam my fist down in the bath and watch water splash up. Some of it gets me in the eye.

  Any pleasure I was feeling just moments before is gone—evaporated just like that.

  Swearing under my breath, I get out of the fucking tub. It’s probably safe to assume he won’t show his face around here any time soon.

  The abandoned bath sheets are lying on the floor, and I pick one up. They’re surprisingly soft. I rub myself vigorously, as if this will rid any shame I feel at having been discovered pleasuring myself in a stranger’s bath.

  I throw my head back and bite the bottom of my lip. Could this ridiculous situation get any fucking worse? Tears are close to coming, and I blink a few times to fight them back.

  It’s not my fault. None of this is because of anything I’ve done. It’s Grizzly’s own fault for walking into the bathroom when he knew I was taking a bath.

  Of course, I should’ve locked it, but I’m not exactly thinking straight today.

  As if it’s not enough for my fucking apartment to burn down only for a wild bear-man to rescue me without any of my fucking belongings, he then just has to disturb me in my most private of moments.

  I sigh.

  What the fuck am I going to do now? How could I ever look at him again?

  Actually, I know exactly how I’m going look at him again—by storming right after him and confronting him about his lack of fucking manners, that’s how.

  With my head held high and his shirt covering my immodesty, I stomp through the house.

  Where could he be hiding? He’s not in the kitchen or the living room.

  I guess that makes sense—who’d go into the kitchen to hide?

  Although, this bear-man might decide he needs to bake a cake or some other shit. I mean he’s totally into self-sufficiency. Who knows, maybe pounding flour into submission is his thing?

  In my rage and inability to find Grizzly, I throw open every closed door I find. Nothing.

  What the fuck? He couldn’t have disappeared.

  After covering all of the ground floor, I hover at the bottom of the stairs.

  Would he have gone outside or upstairs?

  From where I’m standing, I can see the blizzard still raging outside. Surely, even bear-man wouldn’t go out on a day like today.

  Would he?

  Resolutely, I start on my way upstairs. If I can’t find him there, I’ll try my luck outside.

  I tackle the stairs two steps at a time. When I reach the top, there’s nothing but a small, empty hallway and two closed doors.

  Moving decisively, I open one of the doors—and immediately wish I hadn’t.

  Torn between tearing him to shreds with a tongue-lashing and getting as far the fuck away as I can, I hover where I am for what seems like an eternity—but is probably really no more than a few seconds.

  Something tugs at my insides, squeezing them until it becomes difficult to breathe. I’m not sure what’s more disturbing, seeing the mammoth size of his cock or the cream-colored cum squirting out of it—and onto him.

  His eyes are rolled upward, focused on some invisible spot on the ceiling. I follow his gaze, half-expecting to see some picture of a naked woman up there.

  As if he’s now just finally noticing my intrusion, he looks over. His right hand is still wrapped around his tree trunk-sized cock. Fucking hell, I’ve never seen anything so imposing.

  I can’t
help but wonder what the fuck that would feel like inside of me.

  “How dare you just barge in on me while I’m naked in the bath, you rude, arrogant, ill-mannered brute?” I shout anyway. I’ve got my hands on my hips, and I’m shaking all over. “You deliberately came in when you knew I was…”

  My voice abruptly stops like somebody hit the pause button.

  I can’t bring myself to say it out aloud in front of him. I mean, I hardly know this beast.

  Watching me and slowly absorbing my words, he sits bolt upright. His eyes are blazing. “Look who’s talking?” His own voice is raised a little. “If you sit in a glass house, you can’t throw fucking rocks.”

  Open-mouthed, I stare at him.

  “Stones,” I correct at him. “If you live in a glass house, you shouldn’t throw stones. And even that’s not the exact…”

  “Who gives a fuck? You just walked in on me. And don’t try to tell me you didn’t know what I was doing in here!”

  He’s shouting. It’s not like I had any clue what was doing, but he does have a point—not that I’m about to admit that.

  “What? How am I supposed to know you’re in here masturbating…while thinking about me?” I yell, trying hard for my voice not to rise too much. I don’t want to appear hysterical.

  To my horror, he doesn’t immediately deny it. In fact, I think I can see the smallest trace of a dreamy look settling over his eyes.

  What a sleazy, sexy, hairy bear-man.

  I clench my fists, nearly ready to walk straight into the bedroom and punch him right between the eyes.

  But oh god—he’s such a fucking stud. I try and picture some of the men I know—men I work with, men who I see at the gym, at the club, shopping at high-end fashion boutiques. Not only do they pale in comparison, they pretty much fade into insignificance when held next to the pure, primal magnetism of Grizzly here.

  “It takes one to know one,” growls Grizzly, and I just stare at him.

  Has he always had trouble communicating, or does that come with living with the bears in the wild?

  “What?” I frown. What is he getting at?

  He rolls his eyes, and briefly I fear they might fall right out of his head if he’s not careful.

  “And let me guess, Goldilocks, you weren’t thinking about me when you were humping my bathtub.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm.

  I feel myself burning with shame. How dare he accuse of me of that?

  “Y-you must be joking. No, you better be! Y-you’re so full of yourself. And I wasn’t, you know, h-hu…”

  I can’t bring myself to repeat his words. I feel myself blushing deeply. If the ground were to open up right now and swallow me, I’d be mighty grateful.

  Maybe after swallowing me up, the ground could spit me out somewhere, anywhere, as long as it’s far, far away from here.

  If I don’t have to see this beastly man ever again, it won’t be soon enough.

  His bushy eyebrows rise into a perfect arch. “Oh. I see. You were thinking about one of those slimy bastards from the city in their designer suits and pretentious, thousand-dollar haircuts, right? I suppose you’re missing them, missing the attention they give you and all that crap. How many did you fuck? I bet it’s a different one every week.”

  His words cut me so deep, he might as well have stabbed me with a real sword. Making me sound like a floozy is not fair. Outrage gushes through me, and all I want to do is defend myself.

  “No.” I can’t get out anything after that one word. My eyes are stinging, and I bite my bottom lip hard to keep from bursting into tears. I’m not a little girl anymore, and I won’t give him the satisfaction of crying.

  “Don’t deny it. I bet you’re real popular back in the city.”

  “Stop!” I shriek, putting my hands to my ears. Each one of his words is inflicting more hurt than the last. I suppress a sob.

  “You know nothing about me.” I keep yelling as I’m walking towards him. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but for your information, I am not an easy target, and I don’t sleep around. Just because I’m a city girl does not mean I fuck anyone and everyone. And what’s more…what’s more is that I’m still a virgin!”

  There, I’ve told him. By now, I’m standing so close to the bed I’m almost touching it.

  He says nothing, and I don’t want him to.

  The cum is still dripping down Grizzly’s chest. I can tell by his silence that he believes me…but he might be making even more assumptions now that he knows I’m a virgin.

  It’s time to teach this grizzly-man a lesson about making assumptions.

  Without warning, I jump up on the bed and lean over his cum-covered chest. I start licking those juices right off of him, no hesitation whatsoever.

  I may be a virgin, but I’m not a complete novice.

  Grizzly says nothing, does nothing, and barely even breathes. I’m getting right into it. My hands push against his chest as my tongue does the dirty work of cleaning him up. And then I spot the tattoo.

  I’m not big on those things, but they work for some men.

  But this one…this one looks oddly familiar.

  I stop cleaning him with my tongue as suddenly as I started. I place my fingertips right over the tattoo and part the thick wilderness of chest hair to get a better look.

  The tattoo is plain and black. Digging further, I can see it’s just a series of numerals, with a couple dots.

  It looks like a date, with the day first, then the month, then the…

  Wait.

  No.

  13.09.46 x

  OMG.

  Dylan. Dylan fucking Westmont.

  My business partner—who disappeared long ago, who I just happened to be thinking about just before the fire—had the very same tattoo.

  I remember him telling me all about it. It’s his mother’s birthday, and he got it when she died of cancer years ago.

  How many years ago?

  I can’t think straight.

  How did Dylan’s tattoo end up on this hairy beast’s chest? It doesn’t make sense.

  Unless this hairy beast is Dylan.

  Is this hairy beast Dylan?

  I peer at him through a haze of fog, confusion, and disbelief.

  “Dylan?” I can feel my limbs starting to shake. “Dylan Westmont?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he grabs me, pushes me out of the way, and leaps off the bed. Confused, hurt, and distraught, I watch him hastily pull up his pants before storming out of the room.

  Stunned into silence, I listen as he treads heavily down the stairs and out the front door.

  “Dylan?” I call out to the empty cabin, feeling like I’m speaking to a ghost.

  Dylan

  It’s well below freezing.

  There’s a colossal nor’easter blizzard moving into the area, and it’s just getting started—and yet I’m wandering around outside, wearing nothing but jeans and a flannel shirt that I haven’t even bothered to fucking button.

  Because right now, I’ve only got one thing on my fucking mind: the vision of Emma sitting on my lower abdomen, a leg on either side of me, licking my chest.

  It’s still sending shockwaves through me.

  Alright, there’s also something else on my mind—that bit of news she decided to deliver today.

  Emma. A virgin.

  It’s un-fucking-believable.

  To avoid getting into even more of a shouting match with her, I didn’t question the accuracy of her statement. Besides, I actually believe her.

  There’s no one here she needs to impress, and there’s no reason she wouldn’t be totally honest. There’s also no reason for her to tell me—and judging by her sudden change in attitude when she saw my tattoo, she had no fucking idea who I am until a few minutes ago.

  I shake my head. Surely, I haven’t changed so much that I’m beyond recognition?

  I’m being fucking dense. Of course I’ve changed that much.

  I suppose that si
nce I don’t look in the mirror very often, I can be forgiven for thinking I look roughly the same as I did before I disappeared from Emma’s life.

  It actually does make sense that she blurted out that secret about her virginity, whether she knew who I was or not. I was baiting her, and she was defending herself.

  But if she expects me to just calmly discuss this with her right now, she’s on another fucking planet.

  I can’t deal with any of it right now. That might be the case for the entire time she’s here in my vicinity.

  It’s not like I can fuck her. That would be out of the question.

  Fuck, this whole nightmare is getting harder and harder to deal with.

  I shake my head. On top of everything else, talking is the last thing I want to do right now. Conversation, words, excuses, and all that other crap will have to wait.

  That’s why I needed to get out of there—and fast.

  But it still took every ounce of self-control to force myself to leave that room after feeling and seeing Emma run her tongue all over my chest.

  Ultimately, I’m going to have to forget that ever happened, because otherwise the memory is never going to leave me alone, and I will lose my fucking mind guaran-fucking-teed.

  Fuck. Why did she have to come into my room just as I finished? I mean, her fucking timing couldn’t have been worse.

  Of course, I’m sure Emma doesn’t realize what kind of effect this would all have on a man.

  Or does she?

  To even do what Emma was doing, you have to have some knowledge and some idea about the sort of thing that turns a guy on. And, of course, she knows enough to masturbate herself.

  I saw very clear evidence of that today—and that’s another memory that’ll haunt me for the foreseeable fucking future.

  It’s sure as hell haunting me right now.

  Fucking woman. Surely, she would know what effect she was having and how it would drive me right up to the brink of insanity and beyond?

  I’ve got needs, and I’ve spent my years of solitude trying to subdue, suppress, and outright deny every bit of loneliness and lust that tries to rise to the surface. For Emma to lick my chest, half-naked, in my bedroom…

  It’s like she found that highly combustible cache of stifled longing and desire, walked right up to it, and lit a fucking match.