by Daphne Swan
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” she says again.
Hell, yeah.
I slide one arm around her ass, and with my fingers still in her pussy, I get up from the sofa and carry her into her bedroom. Only after I’ve set her down on her bed do I pull my fingers out of her, and that’s only because I’m desperate to get those panties out of the way.
That takes all of two seconds. I slide her panties off her hips and down her legs. She fumbles with my belt and button, and soon she’s reaching her hand into my pants to release my cock, which is already rock hard.
“Ooh...” she says, gazing at my cock with crazy eyes. “Hello, old friend.”
Laughing, I reach down to pull her dress up and over her head. Fuck, man. This girl is gorgeous. Her tits are bursting out of her bra, and that bump... Holy shit, I never realized how sexy it is to be pregnant.
I open my mouth to tell her just how gorgeous she is, but the moment she starts twirling her tongue over the head of my cock, I find myself speechless.
Fuck...
With every kiss and lick and nibble, my desire grows and multiplies until it’s like this massive mythological beast looming overhead. I reach down to cup Molly’s gorgeous face, but she surprises me by slapping my hand away.
Huh?
She grabs the bottom of my shirt with both hands and tugs on it.
Oh, okay. I take this to mean that she wants me to take my shirt off. Closing my eyes, I undo all my buttons and then toss the discarded shirt on the floor, quickly followed by the fitted tee I had on underneath it.
With one last swirl of her tongue around the head of my cock, Molly draws her lips away.
Shit.
I’m not going to lie. I’m fucking irritated. Why did she stop?
“I’m sorry, Eric,” she says in a sultry voice that hardly even sounds like her own. “Normally I’d want nothing more than to suck that gorgeous cock of yours until you come, but I’m way too desperate to have you inside of me to let that happen.”
A sense of relief washes over me, and I smile.
I reach my arms around her to unhook her bra, and she grabs the waistband of my pants and pushes them down. Once we’ve got her bra and my pants and boxers out of the way—as well as my socks and both pairs of shoes—nothing else stands in our way. Still, I want to take a moment to appreciate her beauty before we get down to business. I’m so grateful for the light. The early evening sky outside is still light enough that I can see her clearly, and she is nothing less than radiant.
“Fucking hell, Molly. You’re even more gorgeous than you were six months ago.”
“Yeah, right.” She laughs and climbs up on top of me.
“I’m being serious here.”
“Whatever.”
She grips my shoulders, arches her back and lifts herself higher, positioning herself over my cock. For a second there, I want to put on the brakes and ask if she has any condoms, but I nearly laugh out loud when I realize the futility of worrying about that.
I grab the base of my cock to hold it still while Molly slides on down.
Oh my fucking god. This is good. So good.
She smiles and leans in for a long, sultry kiss as she starts to move on top of me.
And then she leans back and gets ready for the ride of her lifetime. I am fucking serious. She is like a woman possessed. Her face is flushed and shimmering and contorted with desire. Her lips glisten with wetness. Her tits bounce with every move she makes. Her movements are fast and hard and frantic. If her pussy wasn’t already completely soaked, this would probably be painful for the both of us, but because she’s so wet, it’s the biggest fucking thrill ride I’ve ever experienced.
I hope it’s the same for her.
Soon, both our bodies are glistening with sweat. I slide my hands all over her overheated body, wanting to touch each and every inch of it from her muscular thighs to her strong back to her graceful neck to her determined chin to her round belly to those plump, juicy, gorgeous fucking nipples. She’s just so fucking ripe.
Holy shit!
Molly opens her eyes, and I am instantly mesmerized. We lock gazes. Her eyes are darkened with desire, and I can’t exactly put my finger on how this happens, but somehow I can tell by looking at them that she’s about to climax. Some kind of imperceptible change comes over her, and I just know.
She starts moving faster and faster and faster, confirming my suspicions.
Her eyes start to glaze over a bit, and after a moment, she squeezes them closed. I’m sorry to lose the eye contact, but I’m not sorry to be here to witness the orgasm shooting through her body.
“Fuck!” she cries out, loud enough to alert the neighbors, probably.
“Fucking f...uck!” she cries again, riding my cock like she’s going for a world record or something.
And then she takes a deep breath and holds it in. Her entire body trembles, and I grip her hips with both hands, hoping this will make her feel more secure.
This is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
I’ve been trying as hard as I can to hold out, but there’s no way to keep it in any longer. I unload what feels like a gallon of jizz inside of her in long, hot bursts. God, it feels so weird to come inside of her, rather than inside a rubber condom. It’s liberating and natural and beautiful.
Fuck.
That was awesome.
After a few moments, Molly slides up off of my cock and rolls over so that we’re lying on the bed, side by side. She turns her head to face me, and gives me a smile and a kiss. I reach down to take her hand.
“Thanks, Eric. I needed that.”
Hah!
I’m pretty sure this is the first time a chick has thanked me for sex.
“You’re not the only one,” I tell her. “That was fucking awesome.”
“Hell yeah, it was.”
I flip over on my side so that my whole body is facing her. Leaning over to swirl my tongue over one of her nipples, I reach over to stroke her baby bump. My little guy is going crazy, kicking up a storm in there.
“Whoa,” I say, pulling back in surprise. “Feels like Junior’s on speed.”
“I know, right?”
“You think he’s okay?”
Suddenly, I’m frantic with worry. I know it’s perfectly normal for pregnant women to continue having sex, but that was no gentle lovemaking we just did; that was fast, frantic, full on banging.
“He’s fine,” Molly says, reaching over to stroke my cheek. “He’s just experiencing a little sensory overload, what with the movement and my increased heart rate and everything.”
“But...”
“Don’t worry.” She leans up to give me a slow, sweet kiss on the lips. “I’ve read up on it. Sex is safe all through pregnancy, no matter how vigorous or whatever.”
“Yeah?”
She nods.
Well, that’s good. I slide my arm under her and pull her close so that she’s resting her head on my chest and her bump is on my abs. The little guy is still kicking up a storm. Man, this feels so good. It feels comfortable and natural, but also kind of bittersweet seeing as it’s a spontaneous, one-time thing and all.
Or is it?
Maybe Molly feels the same way that I do—that this feels so good and natural that we ought to at least consider becoming something more than just friends and co-parents.
Now, how can I bring this up without sounding like a douche?
“So...” I start.
“So...” she echoes.
Oh, hell. I have to just go for it.
“So, where do we go from here? Is this going to happen again?” I laugh, hoping to release a little tension. “At the risk of sounding like a pansy ass douche bag here, what just happened...did that mean anything?”
“Um... I think not.” She laughs. “Like I said, my hormones were raging and I was pretty desperate.”
I gaze at her in mock horror. “So you jumped me because I was the only guy in the room?”
“No, dumbass. You’re the sexiest guy I know, and the temptation of your supreme hotness paired with my pregnancy hormones makes you impossible to resist.”
Jeez. That’s nice to hear. I flash her a smile in response.
“Anyway, that was awesome, but it definitely doesn’t mean anything,” she tells me.
“Good to know. And just so we’re clear, I didn’t think it did. I just thought it would be best to get everything out in the open, to keep the lines of communication clear.”
You’ve got to be creative sometimes when it comes to saving face.
“Very true. We’re going to be such awesome parents,” she says.
“We really are.”
And I honestly do believe this. I give her a kiss on the cheek and tighten my arms around her.
23. MOLLY
“Don’t even think about it,” Nina says.
I roll my eyes and say, “Why in the world not? Eric’s a total man’s man. He’s a professional athlete, for heaven’s sake. I’m sure he’s got a set of tools.”
She laughs. “That’s hardly the issue here, girl, and you know it. I’m not questioning whether or not he’d be capable of hanging your curtain rods. I’m saying if you ask him to come over and help you, that is not the only job he’ll end up doing.”
“What exactly are you saying here, sweetie? It sounds like you’re implying that having sex with me is a job.”
We share a laugh as we unfold pillowcases and sheets to make my bed.
I moved in a few days ago, and so far it’s going great. In fact, I am head over heels in love with my new apartment. I still can’t believe what an incredible deal I got! Unless my life changes drastically, I will probably be living here for years to come—decades, even.
It’s wild to think about how Junior will soon be crawling around on this rug. And before you know it, he’ll be running through the halls. The place has an extra bedroom, so he’ll have his own room when he needs it, although I fully intend to have his crib in my room for the first six months at least.
“All I’m saying is that you’d be better off calling a handyman to take care of stuff like this,” Nina says.
She’s probably right. Not that I have any regrets about hooking up with Eric on the day of my graduation, but it’s probably not the best idea to make a habit out of it.
Oh my god, that night. The sex was so, so good. I hate to say it, but I could totally see myself getting accustomed to hooking up with Eric. Although maybe “addicted” is a better word to describe what would probably happen.
But what if we found ourselves unable to put the brakes on, even after the baby is born? What sort of messages would it send to his impressionable young brain with Daddy coming by for intermittent booty calls? I don’t want to condemn Junior to a lifetime of dysfunctional romantic relationships. That’s the last thing I’d want.
I remind myself again and again how stupid it would be to tempt myself, but less than a half an hour after Nina leaves, I find myself scrolling for Eric’s number.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asks.
“Hey. Are you busy?”
“Nope. You need something?”
“Well, if it’s not too much trouble, I was hoping you might be able to help me hang my new curtain rods. Do you by any chance have a toolbox?”
He shows up twenty minutes later, looking sexier than ever in a fitted black tee shirt and a well-worn pair of jeans that hang loosely from his hips.
My body is already pulsating with desire.
I lead him into the bedroom with no ulterior motives. Honestly! I can’t help it if that’s where the new curtains are going to go. He gets right to work, opening up his toolbox and pulling out a pencil, a measuring tape and this strange narrow wooden box thing with a clear plastic window towards the top that’s filled with this weird neon yellow liquid.
“What on earth is that?” I ask, pointing at the curious object.
“This? It’s a level. Haven’t you ever seen one before?”
“Why would I?”
He grins. “Well, they’re pretty important to have if you want your pictures and mirrors and whatnot to hang straight. I’m assuming you have experience with hanging things on the wall.”
In all honesty, I don’t, but I hesitate to admit as much. Dad has always taken care of stuff like that for me, not just in the house but also when I moved into the dorm, and then when I moved into the apartment with Jules. The fact that I don’t know how to carry out what I assume is a pretty basic household task makes me feel like a child. It’s embarrassing.
Eric glances over at the framed prints and the heavy oak mirror, all of which are propped up against the wall on the other side of the room.
“Here. I’ll show you how it works,” he says.
He kicks over the step stool and asks me to hold up one end of the curtain rod over the top of the window frame while he holds the other. He’s so tall; he doesn’t even need a step up. Once we’ve got it pretty level, he puts that wooden thing on top of it, and points out the plastic window.
“See that little bubble there? What we want is for it to be in between the two red lines. Lift up your end of the rod just a quarter of an inch or so.”
I do as he instructs and sure enough, the bubble ends up dead center in between those red lines.
“How cool.”
He smiles. After making a few marks on the wall with that pencil, he takes the rod and tells me to step down. Carefully.
Both curtain rods are securely mounted within ten minutes, and by this time, I’m desperately horny. Watching Eric at work was a deeply erotic experience for me. I don’t know it’s more to do with the thrill of watching his massive arm muscles flexing or with something more primitive. Not only is this guy the father of my child, but he’s also doing his part in helping me build my nest. What’s more, his “part” also happens to be incredibly gender specific. Is there anything manlier than a sculpted young man wielding a set of tools?
I think not.
Oh my god. He is so fucking sexy. I need him so much.
I need him now.
Without so much as a moment of hesitation, I reach down to grab the hem of my loose cotton sundress and yank it over the head.
He turns to me with a devilish grin and says, “Oh, really?”
I reach down to start unbuttoning his jeans. He starts working on unhooking my bra strap. We shed the rest of our clothes and...bam! We’re off to the races.
Yeah, maybe this isn’t the smartest move I’ve ever made, but lust is a very powerful conductor.
It happens again a few days later when he stops by to drop off this exquisite rocking chair he found at an antique store on the Upper East Side, and this time, we have a talk afterwards. I suggest we welcome this new development in our relationship and don’t bother to fight it. As long as we keep things from getting emotionally intimate and we agree to cease all physical intimacy after the baby is born, I really don’t see the problem. Eric agrees, and we’re both so pumped by the new arrangement that we have a celebratory quickie.
The timing is actually perfect. We’ve still got another month and a half to go before training season starts, so Eric has a lot of free time on his hands. Things are chugging along at a comfortable pace. We’ve started taking Lamaze classes twice a week, and after class we always end up either at his place or at mine to fuck each other’s brains out. Pretty soon we’re getting together on non-Lamaze days as well.
Yeah, I know.
Red flag, red flag!
I’m playing with fire here. I’m running the risk of getting emotionally attached to him. I know this, but I still can’t seem to put a stop to things. I can’t even bring myself to pump the brakes and slow things down.
And who could blame me, really? I’ve been enjoying the best orgasms of my life and I can’t even contemplate what it would be like to cut off my supply.
I’m an addict. That’s for sure. Now that I’ve had a taste, I’m hooked. Yeah, I know I’
m going to have to clean up my act at some point, but not just yet.
“Hey,” Eric says, leaning down to give me a kiss. “You need a cup of tea?”
“That would be fabulous.”
I stretch my arms over my head and take in a long, deep breath. We slept at his place last night, and when we’re here, he tends to be even more accommodating than he is when we’re at my place. I try not to take advantage of this, but it I do love being pampered...
“Be right back.”
He kisses me again, and we exchange a smile.
I watch him get up out of bed, that amazing cock of his swinging with his movement. And I watch his tight, muscular ass when he leaves the room. Sigh. I could gaze at Eric Wenzel for days. He’s just so magnificently gorgeous.
After a couple of minutes, Eric’s phone lights up with a text. It’s sitting on the nightstand, and all I have to do to read the text is to scoot over a few inches and lift my head.
I know I shouldn’t read his text. I’m fully aware that he deserves his privacy, but despite the logic, my curiosity gets the better of me.
I scoot over and I lift my head, and when I read what’s on the screen, I gasp.
What the hell?
The text is from a guy called Ted Grady, CPA, and it reads:
Re: 3rd Street apartment:
Direct deposit is all set up to start 7/1
$2.5K to be deducted from misc acct
1st day of each month
Regards, Ted
I cannot even fucking believe this. Unless Eric has a whole other apartment in Manhattan that he hasn’t mentioned, it looks like he’s splitting the rent for my apartment.
Oh, who am I trying to kid? Of course that’s what’s going on here. It’s no coincidence that he’s paying the exact same amount that I am.
I am such an idiot! I should have known that deal was too good to be true! Oh my god. I can’t believe I fell for that ridiculous story about the kind-hearted billionaire with no heirs. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m usually not this naïve. Is the pregnancy brain to blame?
No. Wait a minute. Fuck that. I’m not the one to blame here. Eric is the one who apparently went to great lengths to deceive me. Yeah, I’m sure he thought he was being all noble and shit when he made the arrangements to pay half my rent, but that is no excuse for lying right to my face.