Maybe Baby Lite

by ANDREA SMITH

  “What about the incident with Littleton?”

  “That was different,” I said, “that was in your workplace. Believe it or not, I was trying to protect you from yourself.”

  I raised the glass of milk, putting the straw up to my lips.

  “You realize that she probably spit in that, don’t you?”

  I slammed the glass down, looking wide-eyed at Trey.

  “Just saying,” he took a sip of his coffee and winked.

  Back in the car, I selected a new Christmas CD and played “White Christmas.”

  “I wish it snowed in Bristol. Wouldn’t a white Christmas be awesome?”

  “Is that how it was when you grew up?” Trey asked.

  “Yes, we got snow in Radcliff. Not every year, but some Christmases were white.”

  “What else do you remember about your Christmases?”

  “Nothing that brings back any fond memories in particular. I’d rather hear about yours, Trey.”

  “Pretty traditional stuff,” he said. “We always had a formal dinner on Christmas Eve with family and some friends. Christmas Day was for family only. My dad always cut a fresh tree from the woods. We’d decorate that on Christmas Eve morning. My mom insisted on making all of the pies. My favorite is chocolate by the way,” he looked over at me smiling.

  I’ll file that away for future reference, I thought. “Trey, we haven’t really talked much about what’s going to happen when the baby gets here,” I said.

  “What do we need to talk about?”

  “Well, do you want to raise a child in an apartment in mid-town Atlanta?”

  “I hadn’t thought about that. Babies don’t walk or play outside for a while, though. What’s the hurry?”

  “I just wanted to know your feelings about the type of environment you want our child to be raised in. I mean, both of us come from very different backgrounds. We probably have different philosophies on child rearing. Don’t you think we should talk it over before the baby’s born?”

  “You tell me your expectations, Tylar, and I'll tell you whether I feel the same, how’s that?”

  “Okay,” I started. “Well first, I think that our child should have a pet. It’s important that he or she learns responsibility. And, I think at some point we need to consider moving to a house in the suburbs.”

  “Agreed.”

  Good, that wasn't difficult.

  “I also think that children should have chores and earn spending money, when they are old enough of course.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “I don’t believe in corporal punishment. I believe that discipline is more a matter of behavior modification through rewards, and punishment should be in the form of restrictions or denying privileges.”

  “We’re still on the same page,” Trey replied, smiling.

  “I think it’s also important that we present a united front, even if we disagree. This discourages the child from playing one of us against the other.”

  “I agree as well.”

  “That’s about all I can think of for now. Did I miss anything?”

  Trey thought for a moment and then a slightly wicked look crossed his face. “You didn't mention one of my most rigid expectations,” he said.

  “Which is?”

  “That you meet my rigid expectation,” he replied, putting my hand on his crotch.

  “Trey, you're so crude!” I laughed. “This was supposed to be a serious talk.”

  He laughed his gorgeous laugh.

  “While you're on that subject, with a house full of family, it may be wise to practice some self restraint this week. We won’t have that side of the house to ourselves I bet.”

  “What do you mean by self restraint?” he asked.

  “I mean that we shouldn’t fuck while others are in the house. We can get fairly vocal, you know.”

  “Tylar,” he said, giving me a sidelong glance, “we’re not going to stop fucking just because there are people in the house—no way. In fact, we’re taking a nap as soon as we get there.”

  My stomach flip-flopped. It was almost impossible for us to keep our hands off of each other. A whole week side-by-side would make us crave one another even more.

  It was 11:45 a.m. when we pulled up to the manor. Clive and Susan stood waiting for us on the porch. Susan grabbed me in a hug, making me stand back so that she could see my belly. Clive slapped Trey on the back. I greeted Clive with a hug and peck on the cheek. He blushed and pulled me to him in a gentle bear hug. Susan was gushing over her youngest son’s Santa hat, telling him how darling he looked. I wondered if Trey was her favorite. I looked forward to seeing how she interacted with the other sons.

  Thatcher helped Trey with our luggage. Susan put her arm around my waist and we walked together into the house. She announced that Nigel and Tristan would be arriving around 2 p.m. the next day. Christmas Eve dinner was at 7 p.m. Susan asked Trey about our plans for the day. Trey’s eyes locked with mine when he told his mother that he and I needed a nap before lunch. He told her we were going to finish our Christmas shopping after that. She said she was busy baking in the kitchen and was relieved that we had our own plans.

  Trey took a suitcase in one hand and pulled me up the stairs behind him for our nap. Thatcher had already put my suitcases in Trey’s suite. As soon as the door closed behind us, he pulled me close. His hands framed my face; his thumbs caressed my cheeks. Our tongues playfully probed and explored, his teeth tugged at my lower lip, sending shivers up my spine.

  He raised my arms up over my head, pulling my sweater off, tossing it to the floor. His fingers dropped to the waistband of my jeans, tugging the button open. He lowered the zipper, sliding his hand inside my panties and cupped my sex. His lips were back on mine, kissing and expertly working mine in hungry passion. His fingers were gently massaging the soft folds of my pussy, plying the lips apart and stroking my clitoris between his thumb and forefinger.

  Wanting more, he jerked my jeans and panties down, lifting me out of them. He reached down and unclasped my front-hook bra, freeing my breasts and sliding the bra off of my shoulders where it fell to the floor with the rest of my clothes. His hands massaged my breasts, his fingers pinching my nipples to full tender erection.

  I moaned as he moved his free hand to my apex. His thumb continued to circle my clitoris, my hips flexing against his hand. He lifted me, carrying me over to the bed, gently laying me on top of the duvet. He took his place beside me, kneeling over me as he sucked my breasts. He lips and tongue traced downward, circling my bellybutton, and then traveling to my pussy.

  I gasped as his mouth covered my sex, licking and sucking gently on my clitoris, while his long fingers probed the moist flesh, finding their way inside. My hips gyrated against the gentle thrusting of his fingers, pressing his other hand against the outside so he could massage the special place from both sides. I moaned again as I felt the familiar swelling of my sweet spot.

  “You taste so good, Tylar,” he said, gently sucking my clitoris and bringing me to the edge. Trey could feel me quickening and ready. He stopped his ministrations. “Not yet, Tylar. Don’t come yet.”

  I moaned. I so wanted to come right this second.

  “I want to feed you some fresh protein,” he said, smiling wickedly.

  I salivated for him and sat up against the pillows, “I definitely want some fresh protein.”

  He straddled me, rising up to bring his erection to my face. I hungrily took his shaft into my mouth, sucking the whole length. He drew in his breath, watching me suck him, his eyes burning with passion. I pulled him deep into my throat, my hands on his tight ass, guiding him closer. He knelt over me, his hands on the wall above the bed. I groaned feeling the fullness that was Trey, my Trey.

  “Feel good, baby?” I pulled back to ask as he swelled in my mouth.

  "Mmmm . . . yeah,” he moaned.

  His hips rotated as my hands bought his firm ass closer to me, wanting to take him deeply, roughly even. I pulled
his erection in and out of my mouth, going deep, then shallow then plunging deep again. He reached behind and guided a finger into me as I sucked him. I moaned with a new wave of pleasure. My pelvis lifted up to him as he plunged his fingers deep. He swirled his thumb over my clitoris as I focused my tongue on the ridge of his cock. I was unable to contain my response to the pleasure we delivered to each other.

  “Come for me, baby. Come for me, Tylar,” he urged, his erection throbbing in my mouth. “This is yours, Tylar, and only I will make you come. Do you understand?”

  Oh yes, I was on the edge.

  Trey stopped his movements.

  I pulled back, begging him, “I understand, Trey. Please don’t stop,” I was about to explode. I took him back in hungrily and he pressed his thumb on my sweet spot, his perfect rhythm matching mine. My eyes rolled with pleasure.

  “That’s it Tylar,” he crooned, “I want you to come for me.”

  I braced myself as my orgasm washed over me in surges of pure carnal pleasure. I moaned with him in my mouth, loving the power he had over me. Trey moaned and stiffened, his cock throbbed in my throat, releasing his love into me. I swallowed his rhythmic surges eagerly as he came over and over. He shuddered finally as he was emptied. We collapsed onto the bed, sweating and spent.

  “I love you, Tylar,” he breathed next to me.

  “I love you, Trey,” I answered, locking my hand in his.

  Downtown Bristol was bustling with holiday shoppers. There were several Santas on corners ringing their bells for donations. In a department store Trey picked out a “Learning to Share” Hummel figurine for his mother, a collector; for his father, he purchased a new Chacom Eltang Smooth Horn pipe and some tobacco. Trey said his father occasionally liked to enjoy brandy and a pipe. We bought Burberry wool scarves for each of Trey’s brothers. I managed to sneak a purchase of a new Burberry wallet for Trey while he was browsing through the scarves, tucking the package into my purse after paying for it.

  We browsed some of the specialty shops. I found a crystal picture frame for Susan. I asked Trey where we could get some brandy; I wanted to buy a bottle for Clive from me to go with his new pipe and tobacco. We finally ended up buying Caroline a Hugo Kohl sterling silver die struck bracelet engraved with floral scrolls. With our primary shopping finished, we bought wrapping paper, bows, tags, and tape at the Hallmark store. Then, we headed back to the manor, stopping to pick up some Chinese take-out. We met Susan in the kitchen, where several pies were cooling on racks.

  “Are you kids hungry,” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron. Trey was eyeballing the pies.

  “Tylar had a protein shake earlier,” Trey replied dangerously. “We’re going to eat this take-out upstairs.” He held up the bag. I glared at his amused smile as his mom continued dusting the pie dough with flour. She hadn’t caught his meaning.

  Thank goodness!

  “Where’s my chocolate pie, Mom?” he asked, coming up behind her and wrapping both of his arms around her in a playful hug. “I see you have mincemeat for Nigel, pumpkin for dad, and pecan for Tristan—where’s my pie?” He was like a little boy with sibling rivalry, I thought, slightly amused.

  “Do you see those baked pie shells over there Trey Michael?” she asked, trying to sound stern.

  He nodded, still holding her hostage in his arms.

  “Well, I’ve got the chocolate filling cooking right now for one of those, and the other one is going to be lemon meringue. You know I wouldn’t forget your pie,” she smacked at his arm. “If you don’t let me go, that chocolate will scald,” she warned, “then you won’t have your pie.”

  He released her with a loud smooch on her cheek. She smiled, and I guessed that she loved the playfulness of her youngest son. I asked Susan if she would share her chocolate pie recipe with me. She was delighted that I'd asked and said she would make sure to copy it down for me before we left.

  Taking our leave, Trey said he wanted to veg out in our room for the rest of the evening. I called Gina to see what she and Ian were doing over the holiday. She said that Ian’s family was coming in from out of town so we agreed to get together after the first to exchange our gifts.

  Trey and I ate our take-out and wrapped gifts while we watched television in his room. I decided to wrap his presents when he wasn’t around, although he was sticking to me like glue. I figured I'd have a chance on Christmas Eve when he went with Clive to cut the tree.

  As we lay in bed that night, totally spent from our busy day, I was curled against Trey. He was almost asleep. “Trey,” I said, tentatively.

  “Hmm?” he responded.

  “What’s your middle name?”

  “Michael,” he said.

  “So if our baby’s a girl, I want to name her ‘Treyla Michaela,’ what do you think?”

  “I think she’s really going to hate her mommy...”

  CHAPTER 49

  Trey made himself scarce on Christmas Eve day, which allowed me the opportunity to wrap his gifts. I then spent time in the kitchen with Susan making Christmas cookies. She baked, I decorated, and we talked and talked. I wanted to know things about Trey and she was more than happy to tell me.

  “You know Trey is eight years younger than Tristan,” she said, smiling at a particular memory that must have surfaced. I nodded, dusting a stocking-shaped cookie with red sprinkles.

  “Well, it was almost like Trey was an only child with the gap in their ages, and I know he probably was a bit more spoiled as a result, but he’d follow Tristan around like a puppy. I’ll never forget this one time; Tristan had recently turned 16 so Trey would have been seven, not quite eight years old. Clive and I'd bought Tristan a used pick-up truck for his 16th birthday. Tristan was proud of it; he kept it pristine, bought a tonneau cover for it, put a new sound system in it and everything. Well, Tristan had a girlfriend, Kate, who he'd been seeing for awhile. Anyway, this one evening in early summer, Tristan and Kate drove out to Steele Creek Park,” she giggled at the memory.

  “Don’t you know that Trey had hidden in the back of Tristan’s truck, underneath the tonneau cover? Tristan and Kate were getting rather hot and heavy in the cab of the truck and Trey came out from under that cover and saw the whole thing through the back window of the truck,” she said, now laughing harder.

  She wiped a tear from her eye as she continued, “Well, all of a sudden Tristan heard Trey yelling, ‘I’m going to tell Daddy on you Tristan! We aren’t supposed to let anyone touch our pee-pee.’”

  “Oh no!” I exclaimed, doubling over with laughter, “that’s a hoot! How did you find out about it?”

  “Oh, well Tristan was fit to be tied. He hauled Trey back home, threatening to pummel him good if he said anything to either Clive or me about it. He dropped Trey off in the driveway and took off again with Kate. Trey was stubborn, and not one to be easily intimidated by his older brothers. He marched right in the house where Clive and I were entertaining some friends and told us that Tristan was ‘bumping uglies’ with Kate in his truck. I thought his Daddy was going to bust a blood vessel. Of course that precipitated the talk Clive had with Tristan about safe sex and all. We laugh about it to this day.”

  “What was Trey’s relationship like with Nigel?” I asked.

  “Nigel is two years older that Tristan, so 10 years older than Trey. To be honest, Nigel was pretty much out and about his business by the time Trey was five or so. Nigel went away to boarding school after the eighth grade. Tristan went to the local high school because he played a lot of sports. I'd say that Nigel is more academic, Tristan is more athletic, and Trey, I guess I'd say Trey is a combination of both. You'll definitely see a physical resemblance between Tristan and Trey. My God, the day I delivered Trey it was if as I was looking at Tristan the day he was born. You never forget what your babies look like the day they’re born, honey. I’ll tell you that.” She smiled at me warmly, pulling another sheet of cookies from the oven.

  “Why do you think Tristan has never married? Not that 39 is anci
ent for still being single.”

  “He had one long-term relationship out in California. We really thought that he would marry Tara,” she said. “Clive and I liked her. You kind of remind me of her,” she added. “She had the same coloring and build as you have. I don’t know what happened with them. Tristan is a fairly private person.”

  “I guess Trey’s kind of like that as well,” I commented.

  “Not lately,” she said, smiling, “his emotions are very loud and clear where you're concerned Tylar. I’ve never seen Trey so in love. I’m so happy to see how deeply you love him too.”

  “I do,” I smiled, flushing, “he’s my world, Susan.”

  Our conversation was interrupted when Clive and Trey came in the front, dragging the Douglas Fir tree behind them. Susan had already made room for it in the large living room that was off of the main hall next to the dining room. Clive and Trey stood the tree in the stand and brushed the branches out. It nearly touched the ceiling and was shaped beautifully.

  “That's the prettiest tree we’ve ever had,” Susan gushed.

  “You say that every year,” Clive teased, hugging her.

  “Did you cut some greenery for the mantle?” she asked.

  “I’m on my way to do it now, Susie, don’t fret,” Clive answered shaking his head in mock torture.

  Trey turned, seeing me in the doorway, while Susan fussed with some of the branches on the tree. He smiled, almost shyly, and came over to where I stood. His suede jacket smelled of pine and evergreen. He wrapped his strong arms around me. I wondered if he and his dad had a man-to-man talk.

  “Hey you,” he greeted, “what have you been up to?”

  “Just hanging out with your mom, making cookies and learning about your childhood.”

  “Did you learn anything interesting?” he smiled sweetly.

  “A couple of things maybe,” I answered coyly.

  He lowered his head, tilting my chin upward with his fingers, finding my mouth with his. “I love you,” he breathed huskily against my lips.

  “I love you, too,” I replied softly.