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

by Liz K. Lorde

  I’m really not sure. I’m lying on my back, on the rug, trying to recover from the first fucking blowjob I’ve gotten in years—and it seriously felt like the first blowjob I ever got.

  I must be lonelier than I thought because I’m still fucking reeling from the deep and powerful pleasure of it—and from coming nearly hard enough to break a window.

  I hope Emma’s doing okay; she’s gone quiet, even though I’m pretty sure she also came when I did.

  “Are you hungry, Emma? I’ve got enough fucking food to feed an army, small or large. I can make you whatever you want.”

  When Emma turns to face me, there’s a look in her eyes that I haven’t seen before. Emma has always been playful, but I’ve often seen some vulnerability in her eyes. Now, though…

  Now, I can’t figure out what that look means. All I know is she looks serious—and intense.

  “You alright, Emma? You must be hot, sitting so close to the fire.”

  “It is hot. Really hot. We should go to bed.”

  “I could put it out. It’ll take a while, but…wait, what?”

  “Did I trip over a word or something?”

  “Uh…”

  “We. Should. Go. To. Bed.”

  “Are you…tired?”

  I feel so fucking stupid right now. But for some reason my raging fucking hard-on is back already.

  “Aren’t you?” she prompts.

  I shake my head, confused. “No.”

  “Good. You ready to go to bed? Because this moment is once in a lifetime for me.”

  I should be more fucking confused by that, right? But I’m not.

  Emma stands up, hot to trot, and I’m ready to follow her wherever the hell she wants to go.

  I’m not even worried about putting out the fucking fire, something I normally attend to religiously.

  I just hope the cabin doesn’t burn down…although I have a feeling that might happen even if I didn’t even have a fireplace.

  Emma watches me stand up with her big and beautiful eyes, and I’m just trying to pretend my cock isn’t rock fucking hard.

  Emma notices it, though. She’s looking at it with incredible intensity.

  Now I’m starting to think I know what that look means. It’s a look I can feel, because it’s inside me as well, and it’s starting to boil to the fucking surface.

  The fireplace hits me with a strong wave of heat, but I can’t see the flames, even as they flicker just a few feet in front of me. Emma’s eyes have claimed me, and they’re all I can look at, all I can see.

  They’re bringing me to the fucking boiling point.

  “I’m not sure if we’ll make it to my bedroom,” I manage to say, my voice thick with arousal.

  “Just take me. Right fucking now where we are.”

  I knew where it was leading. Emma’s words have confirmed it, but I hesitate. “Are you sure?”

  “Right fucking now on this fucking rug. This is the moment. Take me.”

  The fire inside both of us finally comes to the surface, desperate to joint forces—the ultimate blaze, something wilder than either of us could create alone.

  We kiss. Emma’s body pushes up against my cock while my desperate hands grab her exquisite ass.

  Emma’s lips leave mine, but her eyes stay on me with unwavering focus. Her lips twist into a near-grimace, and she makes a weird, impatient high-pitched grunting noise.

  Emma’s fingers dig into my arms, and I get the message—it’s time to let the animal out of its fucking cage.

  My lips close around Emma’s, and she leans her head back as we devour each other like the greedy fucking beasts we’re becoming.

  She leans back further as I get greedier. I try to hold her up with my arm, but we soon collapse back onto the rug.

  This kiss could go on forever, but my tongue’s never going to be satisfied—it wants more.

  I set hungry kisses on Emma’s neck and her tits, then follow a steady path down to her beautiful fucking pussy.

  My kisses get lighter as I move down to her thighs, my lips barely making contact. I hear Emma flat-out fucking growl in frustration and anticipation, and she shoves her swollen, sopping pussy lips in my face.

  I try to keep up the fucking showmanship, to keep up the coyness and the teasing till neither of us can fucking take it anymore—but we’re there already. The fire is fucking burning, and I give my tongue what it thirsts for.

  I slowly twirl it around her pussy lips, making Emma’s entire body quiver in ecstasy.

  She has no control anymore, and neither do I. The quivering stops, and the cabin air fills with Emma’s rough, raspy screams.

  I stop, keeping my tongue exactly where it is. After Emma releases a quiet and rapturous moan, I inch my tongue slowly toward her clit.

  Emma tenses up, becoming still as a statue for the briefest flash of a second, before she lets out another raspy scream—this time with a shrill edge as she comes urgently.

  I can almost see the tension evaporate from Emma’s body like steam from a kettle. I climb around the side of her languid body as she lies blissfully on the rug.

  Seeing Emma in this beatific state is enough to help quell the fire for a moment—but only a moment.

  I feel it still burning inside of me. I lie there, listening to her panting, the desire still burning, almost ready to overtake us both again.

  “Time for bed.” Emma’s whispered words come without warning, and I’m not prepared to see her suddenly spring to her feet and scamper up the stairs.

  But I have no time to worry about how fucking prepared I am. The chase is on, and I better fucking get moving.

  I rise to my feet in a swift, effortless move, as graceful as a goddamn gazelle. Paying no mind to my fully rigid cock, I scuttle to the bottom of the stairs.

  My heart is pounding, and now I’m fucking shaking with yearning and excitement.

  I can’t rush this, though. I take the first step slowly, carefully…

  “I’m in your fucking bedroom, come on!”

  So much for not fucking rushing. I charge up the stairs, taking two, three, and finally four steps at a time, the sound of Emma’s giggling encouraging me to get there as fast as humanly possible.

  I bolt to the bedroom, but I’m not fast enough. I need to be a fucking cheetah, taking twenty fucking feet or more in a single stride.

  It might just be a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity before I push open the door to find Emma reclining at the bed, with fire in her eyes and a saucy smirk on her lips.

  Now is the moment.

  Emma squeals as I leap onto the bed, and she laughs as I kiss her eagerly.

  The fire never let up, not for a second, and now it’s burning in every part of me.

  Emma’s eyes have me trapped again as I massage her drenched pussy with my frenzied fingertips.

  Our eyes stay locked, and I see passion, lust, desire, but also anticipation in her gaze as my cock begins to succumb to the gravity of her waiting pussy.

  My hands gripping the sheet underneath us, I shift myself, gradually, feeling the moment taking hold and not letting go.

  My eyes go out of focus when my cock gets close enough to feel the warmth of her pussy.

  As my dick starts to make contact, Emma’s eyes roll to the back of her head. I go completely fucking blind for a second as I let out my own growl to match Emma’s own moans.

  I grunt as my eyes refocus, and everything becomes crystal fucking clear.

  “Ooh,” Emma groans, pleasantly surprised. “Ooh!” she says again, but this time she’s moving past surprise.

  Her expression of astonishment transforms into a giant grin, and it fucking electrifies me. I push in a little more, and the whole universe starts fucking shaking around us.

  Emma gasps, and my voice cracks with a moan.

  I pull out and start going back in slowly, ignoring the desire trapped within me that’s been stifled and left to fester unchecked for years.

  I ignore the yearn
ing to let loose, the desire to have the wildest, most fucking unbridled, animalistic sex possible. This isn’t about me; it’s about Emma.

  She moans and digs her head into the pillow. I shudder at the wave of warmth and pleasure crashing through me.

  It might not be the unbridled sex I imagined, but this is all of that and more. It’s enough to quench that fire in me—in both of us.

  The moment has me in its grip, and I start going faster. Emma continues to moan and grip my shoulders, digging in tightly.

  I let out another grunt as the fire reignites, stronger than ever.

  “More. More!” Emma demands.

  I grunt, and Emma screams as the world catches fire.

  She moans and quivers as her cunt squeezes around my cock. Another orgasm rocks her body as a mighty climax travels through me. I collapse in happy exhaustion at Emma’s side.

  Emma

  “This has been a long time coming,” I say.

  Dylan’s relaxed like I could never have imagined him—hands behind his head, contented eyes looking up at nothing in particular.

  “For both of us.”

  I’m lying on my side, facing Dylan, and still feeling the animalistic heat in my eyes. I’m willing him to look at me with that heat, to keep connecting, even though the deed is done, for now.

  It totally works. Dylan turns onto his side, and I flush as he faces me.

  “Does it stay this exciting?” I ask him.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about this. Us…or anyone, I guess. Making love, then just lying together. This part’s exciting, too. Is this just like, the first flush, or will it always be this good?”

  Dylan lightly strokes my arm, giving me goosebumps and instilling me with warmth.

  “It’s not always exciting at the start, and it’s definitely not always this good. But for us babe, it’s always going to be exciting and good. I’m fucking sure of it.”

  He brings me closer to him with his arms of steel.

  “And why is that?” I don’t know what I’m asking or why. I think the feeling of being cocooned in Dylan’s rugged embrace erases every care and concern in the world.

  “Because there’s nobody as good or as exciting as you. I don’t think that’s going to change, so…”

  “Does that mean you’re going to stick around to make sure it stays so good, so amazing, and so exciting? I think you’re part of that, too.”

  He kisses me softly once but with an underlying fevered desire.

  “Emma, I couldn’t imagine not sticking around for more of this, more of you…”

  Dylan stops for what may be a dramatic pause, but I find myself floating off to sleep, wrapped up in those words and Dylan’s secure, devoted embrace.

  I sleep like a rock, hours passing in the blink of an eye, before I reawaken and find myself still in Dylan’s arms.

  His eyes have fallen shut, and he’s snoring softly, barely audible in the early morning sunlight.

  Even as he sleeps, I can’t deny the real passion and warmth in his embrace.

  Is this really the same Dylan I knew in New York? Sometimes, it’s hard to believe.

  Physically, it’s the same man. I may not have recognized him at first, but his eyes and face had been burned into my mind, my heart, and my daydreams…even after all these years apart.

  But his body…it’s better than I recall, better than I could have imagined.

  Nobody else could live up to—and exceed—my expectations in that department.

  No way.

  But this cabin…and that feral, untamed edge.

  I don’t know how much sleep I got. It couldn’t have been much, but it was high fucking quality. Feeling well-rested, I slip out of bed and walk across the cool wooden floorboards on bare feet.

  I’m up now, full of energy, and it’s hardly dawn yet.

  I look out the window by the bed. There’s just enough sunlight to see the man still sleeping soundly. He’s facing the spot I left, his arms hanging limply without me there to hold.

  It’s unreal, like everything else these days…like this cabin.

  The Dylan I know—or thought I knew—is a city boy through and through.

  I don’t mean that as an insult—that can be something to brag about. I know plenty of city boy-wannabes, desperately trying keep up with and cling to the latest fashions and trends.

  The Dylan Westmont who still lives in my mind, floating gracefully though the cutthroat world of Manhattan real estate, didn’t have a drop of desperation in him. That Dylan has a thorough appreciation for the upscale, the fashionable, and the refined.

  That Dylan Westmont understands those things intuitively; they’re in his bones, in his soul.

  The last place you’d expect to find someone like that is a cabin in the middle of nowhere, unshaven, with closets full of flannel.

  I watch this present version of Dylan, slumbering like a grizzly bear in his bare, rustic bedroom, and it makes me doubt whether he was really the one who took my virginity with wild abandon.

  I know it was him, but I don’t know if Dylan is still Dylan Westmont. Is this just an image he’s presenting to me, or is it something else entirely?

  All those options seem hard to believe. I start wandering around the cabin as the morning grows brighter.

  Dylan’s going to wake up sooner or later, and before that, I want to get some idea of who he really is now.

  I just don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to do that, so I go to the bathroom.

  The first thing I see, before I turn on the light, is the blade of a straight razor reflecting the tiny beam of sunlight coming through the door. Apparently, Dylan does some shaving—but where?

  I had just spent the last few hours exploring every nook and cranny of his body, and I didn’t see any sign that a razor blade had even touched his skin.

  The razor’s sitting by the sink next to a wooden bowl of shaving cream. Hell, Cabin Dylan can use that to transform himself back into the Old Dylan Westmont if he wants.

  That would be something. If only I can see him like that, in the flesh, maybe this will all make more sense.

  Fuck, if only I can just catch a glimpse of the tattoo on his chest—clearly, I mean. Not covered in a forest of hair like it is now.

  I can’t take my eyes off that razor and small wooden shaving bowl. That’s all it will take, just a quick couple minutes of shaving.

  I wonder what Dylan will think if the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is me standing at the edge of the bed, holding up the straight razor with a big, eager grin.

  Hmm… It might be better to ask him, but how will I even start to explain why I’m asking? It’d be easier to explain why it happened…after I shave him myself.

  It’ll just take a minute, and I could probably get it done while he sleeps. How long will it take him to even notice?

  It doesn’t matter. I want to see that tattoo; I want to see some of the Dylan I remember. I scoop up the razor and shaving bowl before I can talk myself out of it.

  Dylan’s sleeping like a large, masculine log when I walk into the bedroom. He’s in the same position, on his side, which means I’ll be able to get to his chest easily.

  So, this should be a breeze.

  I scuttle around to my side of the bed, realizing I need to fucking get started. I look at the glob of shaving cream in the bowl. It’s undoubtedly homemade, and it’s sitting in a bowl meant for shaving soap, and I don’t have a brush…

  But I need to do this now; there’s no time to run back to the bathroom to check.

  I spot the set of numbers on Dylan’s chest easily. I use my fingers to lather some of the cream gently over the tattoo.

  There’s a pleasant peppermint scent as I lather, and I picture Dylan growing the peppermint plants himself and distilling the leaves into essential oil for shaving cream and other purposes.

  That seems to be who he is now.

  The cream is no match for Dylan’
s chest hair, and I’m not able to get much of a lather going. I open the straight razor, which looks sharp enough to quickly remove just a few inches of chest hair without much trouble or much shaving cream.

  I gingerly angle the blade right at the top of the tattoo, and it just rests on the daunting blanket of Dylan’s chest hair. I try putting just a tiny bit of pressure on the blade, and it breaks right off the razor handle, falling onto the mattress.

  Dylan’s chest hair and his awe-inspiring pecs glow in the brightening morning sunshine. That freaking razor never stood a chance.

  I carry the broken razor and shaving bowl back to the bathroom, trying fruitlessly to get the blade back on its handle. I switch on the bathroom light when I get there, and the first thing I see is someone in the mirror, staring back at me.

  Some…person. Her hair is a mess, her complexion looks so lifeless, and her features look so plain.

  She has a gloomy look on her face, like she knows how ugly she looks without makeup.

  The mirror doesn’t lie—that’s me. That’s what I look like right now, without my usual routine.

  Holly crap. It really is me without makeup.

  It’s like I’ve been hiding myself, and now I see why. I snap the blade back onto the handle with tears in my eyes.

  I’m so ugly, and I didn’t even realize it.

  I tearfully put Dylan’s shaving stuff back and bury my head in my hands, hoping never to have to look at myself again.

  Dylan

  Waking up on your fucking own never feels good. Even after what feels like an eternity alone in this cabin, I’ve never gotten used to it.

  Feeling the warmth of the sun on my face is enjoyable as it should be for once, because I’m waking up to the awareness of the beautiful body and beautiful soul making my bed a little less big and a lot less fucking lonely.

  That enjoyment dies the moment I open my eyes and see that she’s not there.

  “Emma?” I ask, my arms still stupidly stretched out to her side of the bed.

  Her side…the bed feels emptier than ever.

  “Emma!” I call loudly, listening for any evidence that this whole thing hasn’t been the crazed dream of a lonely, isolated mind.

  Last night seems like a dream now—the best damn dream I’ve ever had.