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

by Liz K. Lorde

  I crawl in closer by an almost microscopic amount, and I wait, keeping still, as Emma wails once more.

  Okay, it’s time. I lick Emma’s perfect cunt, lapping up slowly with my tongue, trying to get as much of it as I can with one broad master stroke before getting more detailed and intricate.

  “Hurry, hurry.” Emma’s speaking slowly and so quietly I can barely hear her. I don’t think the words mean much at this point besides keep fucking going until I have one orgasm, at least.

  As I keep going, moving into a swirling pattern, Emma does have an orgasm. She grabs a pillow, gripping it tightly, and slams it back down on the bed as she comes.

  I keep fucking going, and Emma’s shoving herself into my face. I move my tongue more aggressively around her lips, and a little faster, and she squeals briefly, but keeps pushing herself closer.

  I lightly touch my tongue in Emma’s clit, and she has another orgasm, and she lets out a shriek full of primal aggression and longing.

  It’s a sound that signals that this is still not the time to stop. No, this is just getting started.

  I keep fucking going.

  I keep my tongue locked around Emma’s clit. Not on it, but around it, spiraling in one direction then the other. I slow down the pace as I get closer, until I’m almost—but not quite—just fucking stopped.

  My tongue is moving at a rate that would have to be measured in the geologic scale.

  And then I’m stopped for real. And I stay there until I hear Emma moan softly, almost under her breath, and I lightly tap her clit once, then twice.

  Emma has another orgasm, thrashing on the sheets like she’s possessed, and then letting her body go limply relaxed with a sigh.

  I start an upward trail of kisses, past Emma’s belly button, then skipping up to her glowing, enraptured face.

  “One more,” Emma whispers.

  “Way ahead of you.” I reach back down to Emma’s pussy and start lightly skimming her lips with my fingertips. “And then we’ll fuck.”

  Emma’s face lights up into her full, electrifying smile.

  There is nothing as sexy in this world as that smile. It really is too much, and I roll my eyes up towards the ceiling, automatically feeling unworthy of seeing something so beautiful.

  “And then we’ll fuck,” Emma repeats, bringing me back to Earth.

  I run my fingertips around Emma’s pussy, building another rhythm, faster this time, before stimulating her labia again, keeping a real light touch to start.

  We lock eyes, and the fucking fire is still burning so fucking bright, and I move one finger slowly, lightly into Emma’s pussy.

  Emma’s eyes go blank as she wails lowly to herself. I bring my fingertip back out, and slowly work it just a tiny bit back in.

  “Yeah. That’s the one,” Emma comments quietly before succumbing to another orgasm.

  Emma

  You know that saying people have about certain vices? Something like One is too many, and a thousand is never enough? In a way, I think that could apply to orgasms with a bit of a twist: one is never enough, and a thousand’s probably never enough, either.

  “Okay, let’s fuck.”

  Man, do I enjoy saying those words in that sequence.

  Another orgasm, coming right up, and pretty soon at that. I don’t think we’ll fit a thousand in today, but I’ll do my best.

  It’s about time I start paying attention to this new aspect of life. I’m talking about a whole other side to it, an entire new universe that I’ve purposefully put off discovering for too long.

  But those days are gone.

  “You’re the most achingly beautiful, amazingly fucking sexy person on the whole fucking planet, and I’m the luckiest motherfucker alive.”

  And I enjoy hearing those words as well. This is turning into a very nice little exchange.

  I’m about to enjoy another exchange even more.

  “I buy it.”

  “Damn straight. You know how lucky I am.”

  We’re still kissing, our lips meeting for extended periods of time. There’s not much of the magnetic desperation as there was earlier. The desire’s still there, but by now, we’ve proven to each other that we’re here, we’re together, and neither of us is going anywhere—hopefully ever again.

  One kiss leads to a longer kiss, then to an even longer kiss, like Morse code, as we lie the wrong way across the bed.

  A little bit of the desperation inches its way in to our last couple kisses, but that’s okay—it’s time to fuck.

  Do we even bother trying to get ourselves completely back on the bed? You know, so our legs aren’t dangling off the edge?

  I don’t think the answer to that question’s too hard to figure out, but here’s a hint: my feet are still hanging off the edge of the bed, yet I’m already sensing the unmistakable presence of Dylan’s humungous, hot, throbbing cock—specifically the tip of it—hovering around the perimeter of my begging pussy.

  “Just like this?” I ask Dylan.

  “Just like this—let me do all the work.”

  Not to get all flaky or New Age or whatever, but I can feel all the accumulated tense, toxic energies of my recent stint in New York just float right out of me the instant Dylan’s dick starts to slide right in.

  “Ooh. Okay.”

  I sound as if I’m enjoying a nice day at the spa, except for this spa treatment feels way better than any fucking steam bath or seaweed wrap I’ve ever had.

  “Yeah,” Dylan pants. “Okay, indeed.”

  He grabs a nice handful of right ass cheek and lets go after a couple short seconds.

  “Just fucking slap it, why don’t you?”

  Dylan gives my ass one firm smack, and then another firmer one.

  “Okay,” I say between quick breaths.

  “Okay.”

  Dylan’s hand finds its way around to my ass again, this time running his palm over it with a fierceness I rarely see from him.

  “That seems like fun.”

  I embrace the opportunity to get some of Dylan’s sculpted ass to enjoy in my hand as I also enjoy his girthy dick.

  He’s taking it a little cautiously, though—not that I blame him, but…

  “It’s…you can go fucking faster. It’s okay, come on.”

  Fucking finally, Dylan starts to press down on the accelerator.

  “Okay,” I add approvingly, using our new favorite word, “and you can go a little harder, too.”

  “Okay.”

  Dylan pulls out. I could ask What the fuck? but instead, I just roll with it. Also, we share a few more hot kisses, and he starts playing with my pussy again. I track my fingers around his epic shaft, so things aren’t too bad.

  But fuck, we keep going just like that for another few minutes—maybe five minutes, maybe ten, or longer. And now the desperation from earlier is coming back to the surface, with a renewed conviction.

  Dylan moves from delicate stroking to circling around my clitoral hood like he did earlier with his tongue, and I’m now moving my hand aggressively up and down the length of his shaft.

  Yeah, I’m just jacking him off now, except we both slow down before we reach the off part.

  I think I’m training Dylan, or at least finding a way to communicate with just the right kind of blazing stare, directly into his cocoa-colored eyes.

  Actually, I think that’s one way that we’re training each other, because this time, it’s wholly mutual. Our eyes meet at the exact same time, detonating each other, setting the bed and this whole room ablaze with the message that our eyes say better than our words ever could.

  But, if I had to put it into words, it would simply be:

  It’s time to get back to fucking.

  “A little harder this time would be good,” I remind Dylan.

  “Okay, lift up your leg.”

  “Which one?”

  It’s not the smartest joke—lying on my side, there’s only one leg I could possibly lift—but it’s enough to get us cackling
.

  “Your right leg, Emma.”

  “Oh, like up in the air?” I point my foot up at a forty-five-degree angle, like I’m stretching after a spin class.

  “Okay…”

  “Okay!”

  “Okay, that can be step one.”

  “Ooh, this is getting fancy.”

  “Well, you know how fancy I am, Emma.”

  “Rrrrright. What’s step two?”

  “Step two is to swing that leg down in my direction, and just fucking wrap that thing around me.”

  “Wait, why are we doing this?”

  “So I can try to accommodate your request.”

  “Hmm, I’m not sure what that means, but you are talking fancy now, so…”

  I drape my leg right over Dylan’s body, and it fits like a puzzle piece. My knee rests just above his waist, and my lower leg is touching that rock-hard ass.

  And that rock-hard cock starts going right back into me, but there’s something different this time. Dylan’s cock coasts in with ease, and it just keeps coasting, and coasting.

  It’s like Dylan’s considerable girth is touching me in ways I’ve never been touched—even though I thought that all happened when I lost my virginity.

  “This, right here, is what I’ve been missing,” I comment, my voice dripping with pleasure.

  As Dylan pulls out, my eyes close involuntarily. Ripples of both gratification and invigorated desire swell in unison.

  When he proceeds to thrust his cock back into me, my leg becomes a conduit for expressing exactly what the fuck I want. I flex my leg muscles, bringing Dylan in fiercer and quicker.

  “Fuck, you’re in fucking control,” Dylan tries to convince me, as he’s panting, that I’m in the driver’s seat.

  He’s still thrusting, but I’m way more in control than I’ve been yet.

  I could get very used to this indeed.

  For one, I like how ravenously fucking passionate it’s making me. The more of Dylan I feel, the more that I want, and I have the means to embrace that as much as I damn well want to.

  And, for the moment, I damn well want to a lot.

  As Dylan keeps going, and I keep going, we find a steady trajectory of speed and motion. It feels like we’re slowing down, and that might be the case, but the far-reaching mists of divine pleasure keep growing heavier.

  They’re growing so fucking heavy that it might just be time that’s slowing down, not us. The sensation of the two of us locked in intercourse is at the route of this sense-scrambling pleasure, but it’s no longer the focal point.

  The focal point is Dylan, and it’s me. It’s the two of us, together. That’s what really feels so fucking good about it.

  Time really is slowing nearly to a halt. This single moment crystallizes as an expression of what’s in our hearts, and the way we’re showing that to each other.

  In this crystallized moment, it’s just us, just our eyes locked in the heat of desire and adoration…and love. That’s all there is in this eternal point in time, and nothing else—not even our two bodies humping away, although they still very much are.

  But in the eternal moment we’ve created, it’s just our eyes—Dylan’s and mine—locked in that look that’s become a secret language and is now solidified for all time.

  We live in that moment, the mountain dweller and myself, for a few minutes or an hour, or maybe more or maybe less before we leave what we’ve created and float back into the real world.

  Back in the real world, we’re still fucking. We’re going at it tenderly, a bit delicately still, but it still feels so fucking great. And we stay in that moment, fucking on the bed in Dylan’s new cabin for a little while, until we both come with the usual full body surges of bliss.

  Then we lie there, surrounded by all the pine in the room, our feet still dangling off the edge of the bed.

  “So, what do you think of the new place?” Dylan asks me.

  I consider the question carefully for a minute.

  “You know what? I like it. I like it quite a bit.”

  Emma

  If the weather stays as it is, and we don’t get a raging storm, the marquee should hold and none of the guests will get frostbite or the flu. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

  I tried to keep the guest list short, but in the end, it blew out to about a hundred, give or take.

  My rationale for inviting more people has been to make sure we’ve at least got some wedding guests. I had no idea everyone would come.

  For the umpteenth time, I check on the caterers and try to ignore the millions of butterflies that have taken up residence in my stomach.

  It’s less than two hours before the first guests are due to arrive.

  Phoebe is due any minute. My assistant from work was super excited to be my bridesmaid. Dylan hasn’t told me who’s going to be his best man, and deep down, I suspect he won’t have one. If we still had our bear, I bet he’d use him.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” I hear his voice from behind me.

  I spin around.

  “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” I tease, but he pays no attention to me.

  In large strides, he comes toward me. He kisses me.

  Instinctively, my arms wrap around his neck. Tingling spreads through me. I pull away from him

  “Not now,” I murmur, and steal a glance at the young woman from the catering, watching us. Envy is written all over her face.

  His hand runs up my back with the other resting on my ass. Intense desire stirs up in me.

  Fuck.

  Not now.

  “We don’t have enough time,” I whisper. Instead of letting me go, he presses my hips against his growing bulge.

  He chuckles into my ear and smothers me with feather light kisses. A combination of heat and lust spreads through me faster than a wildfire.

  “Oh, Dylan.”

  When he pulls away, I try and compose myself.

  “There’s a surprise for you in the bedroom,” he whispers into my ear before he turns to leave. “Better go now. Things to get ready and you know…”

  With hungry eyes, I watch his ass walk away from me. It takes all my fucking self-control not to jump his bones right now.

  “Excuse me, miss.”

  I turn and look into the face of the young woman who’d been staring at us with intense jealousy. “Yes?”

  Nervously, she shifts from one foot to the other. “I just wondered if…”

  She bites her lip and I’m getting a little impatient.

  “Could you—” I start and stop.

  She’s young. It won’t hurt to wait until she tells me what it is she wants to tell me.

  “I can’t find the placements for the table.”

  I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Usually, the bride or groom provide name placements to go on the table, but in your order, it didn’t mention anything and I just, you know…how do people know where to sit…”

  Of course.

  Name holders with names.

  Dylan has spent hours making them.

  “I’ll get them for you with the list of where to put them.”

  I hurry back into the house and get the box. I take them to the young woman and she gasps when I pull the first one out.

  In my hand, I’m holding a little wooden carved bear with one paw up. In the paw is a piece of paper with a name written on it.

  “Wow” is all she says.

  “I know. Aren’t they cute? My husband—I mean my husband-to-be—carved them. We had a bear cub for a while,” I start to explain but stop myself.

  It really is time I get ready.

  “In the box you’ll also find a seating plan. It should be easy enough to follow.”

  Without another word, I leave the woman to do her job.

  “Hey, lovely,” a familiar voice says, and I turn to find Phoebe there.

  “Great, you’re here already.”

  I go and hug my assistant and then l
ink arms with her to take her inside.

  “Come on, let’s get ready.”

  Phoebe follows me.

  “This place is amazing,” she says, and I can tell she’s not just saying it to be polite. She means what she says.

  “Wait till you see the inside.”

  We go straight to the main bedroom. When I walk in and see the surprise, I gasp.

  Fuck.

  Wow.

  I’m speechless.

  Over the back of my wardrobe door hangs the most amazing cream-colored winter cloak with hood and fake fur trimmed edging. It looks Russian-princess gorgeous.

  “Wow,” Phoebe says next to me, and I turn to her and smile.

  “Dylan organized it. I had no idea.”

  “Where’s the dress?” Phoebe can barely hide her excitement.

  “Come, I’ll show you.”

  At first, I was going to wear something plain, but then, over time I opted for something in between plain and over-the-top dressy. It just wouldn’t look right to turn up in something too glamorous.

  Phoebe claps her hands like a little kid let loose in a candy shop when she sees my dress.

  “Ohhh, Emma you’re going to look gorgeous.”

  She helps me into the body hugging, slim-fitting long dress. It has a high neck and no sleeves.

  On my feet, I wear white leather boots with a small heel. Long cream-colored gloves to my elbow complete the outfit.

  Phoebe puts the cape over me and skillfully, without messing up my hair, drapes the hood over my head.

  I turn in front of the mirror and am pleased with the end result. Definitely not over-the-fucking-top, and yet I look good.

  Living in the mountains doesn’t mean I have to give up all of life’s little luxuries.

  When Phoebe and I walk toward the make shift little chapel, no one makes as a sound. I can hear the whispers of surprise of some of those girlfriends of mine who weren’t keen to come into the woods at all.

  Dylan’s eyes shine, and I feast my own on his choice of outfit.

  He hadn’t told me what he’s going to wear.

  I’m not sure, but it looks like his suit is made from extremely fine leather. It’s a light brown color and fits him perfectly.

  When our eyes meet, my insides melt.

  The ceremony goes all too quickly. I barely remember saying “I do” and hear Dylan utter the same words. When his lips come down on mine, I know the celebrant must have pronounced us to be husband and wife.