Falling for the Babysitter

by Penny Wylder

  My thoughts had gotten away with me. I’m angry that I was thinking about Karen on a night that should be just about me and Deacon. “Everything okay?” he asks.

  I stand up and hug him. “Everything is perfect.”

  A slow song comes on. Guests flock to the floor with their partners. I put my head on Deacon’s shoulder and we start to dance.

  “Something’s on your mind,” he says.

  “Just nervous about the court date.”

  We’d gotten a court summons earlier this week. I thought Karen had been bluffing, but it seems she was angrier than I thought.

  “Me too,” Deacon says, “but this is our special night, and I’m not going to let that bitch ruin it for us.”

  I smile up at him. “Me neither.”

  We spend the rest of the night dancing with our friends and family. It’s a blast. I never want it to be over. By the time everyone starts to leave, my feet are aching. It’s time to go home.

  My mom takes Bailey for the night. Those two have gotten close and Bailey even calls her “gamma.” It’s so sweet.

  Deacon and I go home. His friends had tied cans to the back of his truck and so we rattle down the busy road, people honking as we pass. When we finally get home, he helps me out of my dress and boots and takes off his tux, then we collapse in bed.

  He’s had a bit to drink, but not to the point of being drunk. Just a nice, mellow buzz. He gets horny when he drinks. Actually, he gets horny whenever we’re alone together, and that’s fine by me.

  He rolls over on his side to face me, tracing circles around my belly button with his fingertip. “What do you want to do?” he asks playfully.

  I shrug. “I don’t know.” I glance down at the giant bulge in his boxers. “Go to sleep?”

  The crestfallen look on his face has me laughing out loud. “You’re a cruel woman,” he says.

  I roll over on my side to face him. God, he’s beautiful. That sculpted jaw, big green eyes. I’ve never met a more handsome man. And now he’s all mine. My husband. He wants to spend the rest of his life with only me. It’s still hard for me to wrap my mind around that. How did I get so lucky?

  “Or …” I say, caressing the clothed shaft of his cock with the back of my hand.

  “I like ‘or,’” he says, and kisses me.

  His hand tickles the skin of my lower back, sliding a finger down the crack of my ass. His lips become more eager until he’s kissing me as if his life depended on it. He flips me over onto my back and practically tears my bra and panties off. So it’s going to be like that, I think with sudden excitement. Making slow, passionate love is wonderful. The orgasms are explosive. But there is something about when he fucks me like a mad person that drives me crazy.

  I frantically peel his boxers off of him, springing loose his gorgeous cock.

  He reaches between us, rolling my clit in his fingers. I moan into his open mouth, encouraging him. His fingers dip into my waiting wet hole. The sticky sound of his fingers slipping in and out of me only seems to make him more frantic, until soon his hand is slapping against me fast and furious, the muscles in his arm taut and flexing. I’m howling as my first orgasm rushes me. The sound of my voice can probably be heard by the entire neighborhood but neither of us cares. Once they see all those cans tied to the truck out front, they’ll understand.

  He doesn’t give me time to come down from the first orgasm. Instead he dives face first between my legs. It’s so wet down there, but that doesn’t stop him from devouring every drop of my juices. He’s a fiend for it, delving his tongue in and out, straining to reach more. He licks my asshole too. That’s always a startling feeling and I’m still not used to it. Once the initial shock of it wears off, I let myself slip into the pleasure of the feelings he’s giving me. He’s so thorough, spending as much time down there as needed to get me to the peak of my arousal. Never in a hurry.

  Finally, when I can’t take anymore, I say, “Fuck me.”

  “As you wish,” he says. He eagerly slips his cock into me. No hesitation, no teasing with just the head as he sometimes does. It’s just full-force penetration. I gasp as he slams into me. With all of his force, he drills into me, the headboard hitting the wall so hard it sounds as though it might punch right through the drywall. Neither of us cares, though. Maybe we will in the morning, but right now it just feels so fucking amazing, neither of us are willing to slow it down.

  Grasping his ass cheeks, they flex beneath my hand. My legs are up in the air, arms folded behind my knees to lift my ass higher, getting myself in the best possible position so that he can thrust deeper inside of me. Hard sex with Deacon is always a balancing act between pain and pleasure.

  In the beginning, when he would fuck me hard like he’s doing now, there was always a fear in the recesses of my mind of bodily harm. He’s so big I was afraid he might cause some internal damage. But now my body is used to it and I know I can take it, and so those little tendrils of pain only add to the excitement.

  “I love that fucking pussy,” he says. Each word lands on a thrust so that there’s a pause between each one. “Come for me baby, I want to make you feel good.”

  Normally I participate in the dirty banter, but I’m right on the cusp of an orgasm. My words don’t work. Instead I scream, “Oh fuck!”

  We must’ve reached our peak at the same time, because he lets out a roar and starts fucking me so hard the entire room blurs. And then he stops, his cock twitching inside of me as he releases his load.

  When he pulls out of me, our combined juices run down my ass, leaving a wet spot on the bed. Both of us are too out of breath to speak. Instead we curl up together and soon fall asleep.

  I’m nervous as we walk into the courthouse. My entire body is shaking as we go through the metal detector. Sam hired the best lawyer middle-class money could buy. It was his wedding gift to us. Deacon has chewed his nails until there’s hardly anything left of them. Neither of us says anything as we enter the courtroom. We just clutch each other’s hands and hold on for dear life. My mom comes in with us, holding Bailey. We are ready for the fight of our lives.

  Karen’s lawyer is sitting on the bench, holding his cellphone and texting. He keeps glancing at us and our lawyer. He looks sleazy. Just the type of person someone like Karen would hire. The judge enters the room. We all rise. Then eventually we’re given permission to sit.

  Still no Karen. All the dread I’ve been feeling for the past could of weeks, shifts into something else. Not quite relief yet, because this isn’t over. Not yet. But no Karen has to be a good sign, right?

  “Where’s your client, Mr. Montgomery?” the judge says to Karen’s lawyer.

  “I’m afraid she’s not here.”

  “Would you like to change the date?” he asks.

  Deacon and I look at each other. We don’t want a different date. We want to get this over with.

  “I’m afraid not. My client won’t be showing up at all. She’s left the state.”

  Deacon squeezes my hand, fighting a smile. It’s all either of us can do to stop jumping up and down with joy.

  “Very well then,” the judge says. He’s an older man, worn down, and looks like he doesn’t have much patience for anyone anymore. I imagine that’s what happens when you have to sit through court day in and day out for a living. “Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy—” (That’s us. It still sounds weird to be called Mrs. anything, let alone by Deacan’s last name. I love it, though. When I first changed it, I spent hours practicing my new signature) “—I am granting you full custody of Bailey McCarthy. Congratulations.”

  Deacon and I are both crying as we cling to each other. We finally have our happy family together and there’s nothing anyone can do to ever get between us again.

  THE END

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  Wilder by Frankie Love

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the first two chapters of WILDER: The Mountain Man’s Babies by Frankie Love? Keep reading!

  Wilder comes out on January 12!

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  1

  The longer I’m out here, the harder leaving the mountain becomes.

  Damn, it’s crazy to think that just a few years ago I was giving my business partner Jaxon a bad time about selling his shit and staking a claim in the woods, and now, here I am.

  A few trips out to these woods sold me on them. The pine trees, the clean air, the clear blue sky, and the quiet.

  Well, it was quiet.

  Not too quiet anymore. I swear this place ought to be called the Fertile Mountain. There are babies fussing all over the place. They’re cute as hell, but there are a lot of them.

  Jax and Harper have four, their three-year-old triplet boys and a one-year-old baby girl. Rosie and Buck have their three daughters--two-year-old twins, and a six-month-old baby, and my brother and his wife have a set of newborn twins to boot.

  That’s a helluva lot of babies.

  I close my suitcase, wishing I were packing clothes that are a little more me. Flannels and blue jeans. But I’m going to Seattle to fucking charm the pants off some exec who wants to film a reality show out in the woods. Apparently, they think mountain men that build custom homes who have a bunch of babies might equal good television.

  What the fuck do I know about TV? Not much, but Jaxon and Buck don’t want the crew around their women unless they’ve been vetted first. We need to know their intentions before we set them loose on our property.

  That’s why I’m out here. Before I went into business with Jax, I went to law school. Fuckin’ A, right? But I didn’t last long. Hated the bullshit then, and I hate it now. I didn’t want to be in an office–I wanted to use my hands.

  But I’m also the right person to go meet with this show, find out what they are planning. Hell, I don’t have a woman and children to look after. God knows no one is gonna miss me.

  After pulling on my winter coat, I lock my front door. Toss my luggage in the truck, and head down the mountain.

  On my way out of town, I stop at Rosie’s Diner to have lunch with the guys. Jaxon and Buck are already there, sitting in a booth, shooting the shit.

  I slide in next to Jaxon. Facing Buck, I watch as his eyes land on his woman who’s walking toward our table.

  Lucky bastard to have a woman like Rosie. Funny, sincere, genuine. Both these jackasses won the goddamn lottery when it came to women landing on their doorstep.

  “You boys having your usual?” Rosie asks, pouring us black coffee.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I tell her, having a sweet spot for her meatloaf sammy. “I need a Rosie Special, I’ve gotta long day ahead of me.”

  “Flying out of Coeur d'Alene?” she asks.

  I nod. I’m gonna drive the two hours to the city, then fly over to Seattle for tomorrow’s meeting.

  Buck asks for a burger and fries, and Jax grunts out his order.

  Rosie pauses before heading to the back and says, “You boys think this is a good idea? Because from where I’m standing, a TV crew is going to make a racket we aren’t prepared for.”

  “I know, baby,” Buck tells her, threading his arm around his wife’s waist. “But this fell in our lap, we might as well see it through. Things tend to happen for a reason, you know? And the exposure for the company could be huge.” Buck is a chainsaw artist by trade, but after the babies came, he joined our custom home company. Gotta put food on the table, and all that shit.

  Rosie smirks. “I don’t know, Buck. Right now I think Harper and I are mostly worried about our boy Dean Wilder, here,” she says, pointing to me. “About finding him a good, solid wife. And I don’t see how that’s going to happen in Seattle.”

  Jaxon laughs. “Yeah, you don’t want some woman who can’t hack it in the woods.”

  Rosie furrows her brow. “Buck tells me you weren’t always a mountain man yourself, Jaxon. Careful now.”

  Jaxon runs his hand over his beard, shaking his head at us. “Yeah, but you and Harper have the right disposition for this life. Not every woman does, is all.”

  “I’m right here, you know,” I tell them, raising an eyebrow at this crew who thinks they know what I need.

  “We know, Wilder, we know.” Buck laughs, lifting his coffee to his mouth. “We just feel bad for you. Never getting laid, all by your lonesome up there in your tiny cabin.”

  I laugh, “You guys are a bunch of fuckers, you know that?”

  Rosie clucks her tongue. “Regardless, we know that you need a woman, but not some city-slicker girl who won’t play nice with us.”

  “You’re telling me not to get laid when I’m in Seattle?” I shake my head, knowing I’d never tell Rosie this, but the prospect of getting laid tonight is half the reason I said I’d go.

  “You can sleep with whomever, Wilder. I’m just saying, don’t knock anybody up that we haven’t approved.”

  “She talks to you like that, too?” I ask Buck. He just grins like a lovesick puppy. Rosie winks at her husband before going back to the kitchen.

  “You know she’s just giving you a hard time, right?” Buck says.

  “The girls just want you to be happy,” Jaxon says. “And selfishly they want another friend. It’s lonely up here for them, too.”

  Living in the mountains is great. I set my own hours, am my own boss, and work with the greatest guys I’ve ever known. But damn, Jaxon, my oldest friend, hit the nail on the goddamn head.

  “I know, I know,” I tell them, before I take another drink of my coffee, knowing just how lonely it can be up here.

  Damn, maybe I need to get off this mountain more than I thought.

  I need to go get laid. And badly.

  2

  what?” I furrow my brows not understanding why my sister can’t just support me. That’s what I need. That’s all I’ve wanted. My family to have my back.

  She takes a sip of her mimosa before answering. “It’s so tacky.”

  We’re having brunch in a swanky Seattle bistro, something French and something expensive and she doesn’t seem to understand that we all aren’t married to stockbrokers living in posh waterfront homes. Some of us are just trying to pay rent and a reality TV show seems like the best offer I’ve seen lately.

  “You are such a talented interior designer, and you’ll make more money updating the homes of my friends. That house you did for Alana was gorgeous.”

  I frown. “Buying furniture for mansions is redundant. I want something more exciting.”

  “Well, this reality show is a bad idea. Those shows always make someone out to be the villain. What if that person is you? Your entire career could be ruined.”

  I take a deep breath; frustrated that she doesn’t understand me. “This show could pay my bills for the entire year.”

  “Or you could just move into our spare bedroom and help watch Nicolette.”

  My mouth is in a tight line. “You know I love helping with my niece, but I don’t want any handouts. I want to make it on my own.”

  Anna spears a piece of pineapple, eyes narrowed. “Mom and Dad think it’s embarrassing. The idea of you flaunting around on television.”

  “Mom and Dad could call and talk to me about it. If they had their way I’d already be married to a guy like Brent. And that’s not going to happen. Ever.”

  My sister’s husband is the last sort of guy I want to be with. I want a man who cares about more than his bank account.

  Anna purses her lips. “You may think being married to Brent sounds like your worst nightmare, but he is able to support me and Nicolette. That counts for an awful lot.”

  Anna married for money, not love. Just like our mother. And we may be family, but our priorities have always been different.

  “It’s out of the question.” I fold my napkin and set it on the table. “I want my freedom, and I need some money in order to do t
hat. So I’m going to try and get this gig.”

  Anna shakes her head, confused. “Don’t you want a family? A husband? A baby?”

  I shrug; because of course, I want those things. But I also want them on my terms. In my own time.

  “One day,” I tell her. “But I’m not in a rush, Anna.”

  “I know.” She pouts, and for a split second, I feel bad for her. Then I remember she chose this.

  As if ignoring my comments about what I want, she launches into a new plan.

  “Ohh! Brent can set you up with someone from work and we could have a double date. God, I need a night out.”

  She is literally the last woman I know who needs a night out. She sends Nicolette to a fancy-pants preschool, has a private chef and a personal driver.

  “No thanks, and I doubt Brent would want to help me,” I snort, thinking about her husband and the way he was condescending when I told him that I wouldn’t be taking my father’s money.

  “It’s because you aren’t grounded. Once you have your shit together, a husband, a house, and a 401k, then you and Brent will get along.”

  I swirl my mimosa, wondering what planet my sister lives on. I love her, I do. But she’s living in a completely different galaxy.

  Anna must sense my irritation because she softens her stance. “Listen, I just care about my little sister. You’re twenty-five and don’t have a plan.”

  I groan. “I do have a plan. The reality TV show is going to fund my life,” I explain, circling back to where we started.

  Anna raises her hand and signals for the check. “And if you don’t get the job?”

  I down the rest of my mimosa. “Then I guess we’ll have to go on that double date.”

  * * *

  Well. That sucked.

  I was so not supposed to eff up that interview. I was supposed to be classy and smart and current. I was supposed to speak clearly and look at the camera.