Lucky Neighbor: A Second Chance Secret Baby Romance

by Gage Grayson

  I close my eyes, taking in the tactile rushes of pleasure from Madeline’s fingers exploring my rock-hard cock through my pants leg.

  Ready to move on to the best parts of the evening, I hasten things just a touch by undoing my own belt buckle.

  Still in sync, Madeline immediately yanks my pants and boxer briefs to the floor.

  It takes about half a second for Madeline to register my throbbing cock, pointing straight up at the ceiling, but I hear a delighted squeak escape her inviting lips as she gets her first glimpse of the sizable underside of my shaft.

  I move the process along again, only slightly, by pushing my cock down from its upstanding position so it’s facing Madeline.

  The grin that grows on her face as she watches makes me feel hotter than I already am, which in turn makes me feel like I’m about to fucking spontaneously combust, but I keep things calm by focusing on Madeline, watching her let her hair down and toss it mildly―the soft, blond strands brushing up against my thighs and my dick.

  It’s a fucking amazing feeling, and it’s a good thing I have such excellent self-control, because otherwise I would be coming real fucking hard right fucking now. Instead, I close my eyes again and inhale deeply while Madeline runs her tongue methodically up the entire length of my cock.

  I’m used to ensuring that my partner has had a surfeit of pleasure before getting into stuff like this, but this early in the night, I’m already unable to hold back a low moan.

  I try to keep my breathing slow while Madeline moves her tongue around the thickness of my hard-on. By the time I feel her taking my cock inside her mouth, deep into her throat with ease and confidence, I swear that the whole fucking world begins to shake.

  I grasp two handfuls of Madeline’s golden hair as she moves her head up and down at an ever-increasing pace.

  Fuck.

  My eyes roll up to the ceiling, and I let out another moan, low in pitch but fucking loud.

  Luckily, Madeline slows down and lets my cock pop out of her mouth entirely before I start to get too close to coming.

  There’ll be time for that later. This is a night I want to savor.

  And right now, it’s Madeline’s turn.

  Ethan

  Madeline pulls her hair back with her left hand, looking at the wall with a smile. It’s just now that I notice she’s reaching into her skirt from behind with her right hand. From the looks of it, she’s caressing her own pussy gently, maybe not fully consciously.

  At this point, she’s all about maximizing the moment.

  But I can make it so much better for her.

  Madeline’s still on her knees as I drop to the floor, on my own knees, so we’re at something approaching eye level with each other.

  I’m trying to think of some clever banter. Usually this shit comes to me so naturally, but now I’m mentally running through all the possibilities as fast as I can.

  Should I go funny? Sincere? Seductive? All the above and then some?

  My train of thought is derailed in the best fucking way possible: with another greedy kiss. Again, we both just seem to be in agreement that it’s time for that to happen.

  This time, instead of stumbling around the room while making use of our tongues, we collapse onto the floor fully, with Madeline on top of me as we kiss, and the silky fabric of her skirt rubs in slow, exhilarating ways against my exposed, unyieldingly stiff cock.

  Before ending the kiss, we roll over so Madeline’s below me.

  “Your turn now,” I half whisper just after the kiss ends.

  “Already? This suite is great, after all.”

  “If you think it’s great now, just you wait. This suite’s about to get fucking mind-blowing.”

  I don’t wait for Madeline’s reaction. I just begin sliding down the floor, moving down her body until I’m looking right at the print of her skirt.

  I start moving the skirt up Madeline’s never-ending legs. This time she helps move the process along by grabbing and lowering her panties past her knees.

  And then she just rips off her fucking skirt in one fluid movement and throws it across the room.

  Jesus Christ. Just when I was thinking I couldn’t be any more fucking turned on.

  My hand makes its way straight to Madeline’s cunt with gentle deliberateness. I move my fingers smoothly up and down her left inner thigh, getting closer to her pussy each time but not quite arriving. Teasing. Driving her wild.

  I do the same with her right inner thigh, and Madeline’s already beginning to writhe softly on the carpet, her breath picking up pace.

  This time I don’t just keep it a tease, I touch her pussy for the first time, although this first time it’s especially subtle and brief, creating another sort of tease.

  “Don’t stop,” Madeline demands quietly between breaths. And I don’t.

  I start stroking Madeline’s pussy lips with the lightest touch I can muster. I continue for a few seconds as Madeline’s breath starts to come in shallow gasps.

  When I finally reach her clit, Madeline lets out a low, slow moan. I pull my hand away, but Madeline doesn’t complain this time as she must know what’s next.

  Bringing my face in close, it’s confirmed that Madeline is super wet. I start things off with a slow lick up her lips, making my tongue flat so I can taste as much of her as possible.

  Another moan from Madeline—this one a few octaves higher. I give her another even slower lick, and she squirms in such a way that her pussy gets even closer to me. I don’t know if it’s intentional.

  But it works. I start getting more aggressive, licking around the edges of her pussy, finding my way back to the center and finding her clit with the tip of my tongue.

  Madeline’s increasingly animalistic writhing is fitting nicely with the rhythm of the moment, but something about her wetness—which by now must be breaking some kind of fucking record—is sending flickers of exhilaration from my busy mouth all the way down to my fucking toes.

  When I give Madeline’s clit another flick of my tongue, she thrusts into it automatically, riding my face hard as she finally lets out a yelp of pure fucking ecstasy—uncontrollable and wild as she rides the wave of her orgasm.

  I can sense the time stop for Madeline, her body and mind reaching a state of almost fucking transcendence. This is the type of shit I’ve been waiting for.

  I lift my head up to watch the bliss ebb and flow in Madeline’s eyes as she reclines in wordless joy. She sits up rapidly, a bit startlingly, and directs the still-needy passion in her eyes at me.

  I know my expression matches hers, because I don’t know if it’s just this very moment in this room right now, but it seems like I’ve never felt anything so fucking real or as intense as the fevered yearning surging through every pore, every fucking fiber that makes up all that I am. It’s fucking inexplicable, but it’s there nonetheless.

  As I stare silently back into Madeline’s sweltering gaze, I know that my eyes are saying all of that and more.

  There appears to be a jump in time, like a bad yet natural-feeling edit in a movie, when we instantly go from our intense, mutual stare to one last scorching kiss to bring us into the third and best act of the evening.

  We’re quickly learning to anticipate the other’s movements better and work in harmony in the blind, tongue-locked state of our kisses. This time, instead of clumsily clambering across the room, we rise to our feet deliberately, our tongues tangled in passion, holding onto each other as if we’re the only thing keeping each other tethered to the Earth.

  We both fall sideways onto the bed, our kiss never breaking. Madeline pushes me lightly, and I roll onto my back. I let her climb on top of me, her face fixed in a smile that could easily set the room ablaze.

  Madeline grabs the center of my shirt, between the buttons with one hand, then the other.

  No, don’t do it...I’ve already lost one fucking shirt to her. Actually, okay, yeah, do it. Please.

  As if she’s reading my fucking mind—in fa
ct, I’m pretty sure she is—Madeline tears my shirt open, sending buttons soaring in every direction. I hear some of them land on the carpet with muted thuds as Madeline’s soft, delicate hands explore my pecs, roving down to my abs as she lets out a quiet, breathy squeal of delight.

  I grip Madeline’s tits with my left hand as I reach into the top dresser drawer, located ever so conveniently right next to the bed, and pull out a condom from the box resting there.

  No matter what this honeymoon was going to actually entail, I don’t travel unprepared.

  Madeline grabs the wrapped condom from me while my arm is in midmovement. I watch intently for her next move, which is to make a gorgeously sassy sneering face and bite into the wrapper with her teeth, tearing it open. Fuck yeah.

  I know what comes next, so I glide myself up the bed to grant Madeline easier access to my cock, which is pointing right at her, urging her on. She makes quick work of rolling the condom down over my cock.

  She knows what she’s doing, and she’s at that same beyond fucking ready point that I am.

  Madeline starts by pinning down both my arms on the pillowtop mattress, and she continues by grinding her wet pussy against the underside of my fiercely erect cock. We both make almost feral moaning noises at the pure fucking ecstasy of it.

  Once she can tell that I can’t take it anymore, Madeline slackens her grip on my arms, and in another one of those jump-cut edits, I’m hovering above her as she grasps the headboard in shock and excitement.

  I steadily guide my cock into the place it’s now quite literally aching to go. When I first sink inside, just partially to start, the sensation of all-enveloping pleasure almost takes me by surprise.

  “Oh my god,” breathes Madeline, who apparently feels the same way.

  I slowly pull out.

  “No, don’t you fucking stop,” she whispers.

  Usually, my teasing buildups are where I excel, but this time we’re both just too fucking horny for any of this bullshit.

  I do take my time guiding my cock back in, not to try and create some spectacle which may or may not be there naturally, but instead to not rush the moment, to take my time so we both get to luxuriate in paradise for as long as fucking possible.

  “Oh my GOD,” Madeline repeats as I slide back in. Her words perfectly sum up the feeling that I’m getting as well—a carnal bliss that’s centered around my cock but is traveling throughout my body, seemingly throughout everything, making the world feel like it’s fucking vibrating again.

  As I sink balls deep inside her, Madeline emits another squeal, this one not quiet or breathy but brash and piercing, building in pitch until it seems like the window might fucking break.

  God, this is so fucking good.

  I mean, I’ve had my share of women. Some leave an impression, some don’t. But Madeline? I’m quickly coming to the conclusion that I may not ever be the same after her. And the scariest fucking part? I don’t know if I want to be.

  Ethan

  Do you ever have one of those days where you wake up feeling supremely well rested, see the glorious sun shining through the window, and all you want to do is leap out of bed and start belting out Rodgers and Hammerstein songs about what a beautiful morning it is?

  Because I certainly fucking don’t.

  Ever.

  Except this morning, for some fucking reason that makes me check my head for a fever.

  I open my eyes bright and early, which is usually the precursor for me grudgingly starting to get ready for work, or if it’s a weekend, just going the fuck back to sleep if I’m lucky.

  This is a pretty goddamn comfortable bed, which doesn’t hurt. The silk linens are agreeing with me too. I mean, this is the motherfucking honeymoon suite, after all.

  Also, I’m in Hawaii—a destination which lends itself to you being in a pretty good fucking mood when you’re here on vacation.

  Oh, yeah. One more thing. I also had what I’m pretty fucking sure was the best sex of my life last night.

  I mean, it was un-fucking-believably great. Nothing I’ve experienced even comes close.

  Goddamn.

  I decide to stay in bed for a little while and put my hands behind my head to match the fully relaxed, content vibe that this morning brings with it.

  “Madeline.”

  Man, I can’t seem to stop saying that name out loud, especially after just waking up.

  This time, there’s no hungover confusion about it.

  This time I’m thinking about nothing but Madeline’s amazing pussy and how I made her come so fucking hard.

  Well, I’m also thinking about us fucking on this very bed and how it felt so damn good for both of us it was like we transcended the current understanding of time and space and found new, unexplored dimensions or some shit.

  It was so fucking good.

  On this very bed.

  Last night.

  So where is she now?

  So this is what it’s like. Waking up in my own room, alone, after what was arguably the most mind-blowing sexual experience of my life.

  Fuck that, it in-fucking-arguably was the most mind-blowing sexual experience of my life.

  It’s an experience I’m sure I’ve given others—women familiar with men who provide enough sweetness and romance but lack the prowess and dedication that I pride myself on bringing to the table.

  I’m not one to boast, but rocking worlds is what I fucking do, and what I do when I’m done with that is to make myself scarce in the dead of night to go sleep in my own bed and continue with my own life.

  You could say that I’ve lacked empathy, maybe more than I’ve realized. The way I typically see it, I can provide a world-rocking, enjoyable time for all parties involved. But I’m not always good for providing what someone may want beyond that.

  But if the empty room coming into focus right now is what those middle-of-the-night disappearing acts feels like...let’s just say that it’s fucking time to reconsider my comfort zone for the sake of my own damn sanity.

  I throw off the silk linens and the down comforter. I swing my feet down to the floor. I’m still well-rested, at least.

  The sun is peeking in brilliantly, and the plush hotel-room carpeting feels fucking awesome against my bare feet.

  Audra. That was one instance where I decided I could provide both the bedroom world-rocking and everything else that could come with it, anything she would ever want.

  I push myself up from the quicksand-like pillowtop, letting reality flood in like it keeps fucking doing these past few days.

  Obviously, I couldn’t fucking do it with Audra. I’d say I tried, but the way she made me feel, it was like I didn’t need to fucking try. I could just act on my heart.

  I never used those words with her. Maybe I should’ve.

  But now, this—the empty honeymoon suite bedroom that looks so small right now—it gives me some fucking perspective. Maybe my habit is leaving women alone with empty honeymoon suites, over and over, figuratively and, well, sort of literally.

  Who knows how many times I did that with Audra, and she definitely fucking did it with me with no small dose of melodrama.

  Now I’m pulling up the sheets and comforter, smoothing them out and tucking them under the mattress. Why the fuck am I making the bed?

  Madeline’s serving up that karma quite fucking literally herself, and somehow it’s hurting more than Audra—it’s because I don’t really even know Madeline, and it’s because I’m processing that shit right now. But no worries. I’ll be over it soon enough.

  Right? Right.

  It must really be about Audra still. How can it not be?

  But she’s not the one I’m thinking about. She could show up at the bedroom door right now and I can almost guarantee I wouldn’t feel anything. But if Madeline showed up...

  Where could she be? This can’t just be projection. Granted, all this canceled marriage and false honeymoon shit is new to me, but Madeline is taking up a clear spot in my mind—my de
sires—that not even Sigmund fucking Freud would deny is real.

  In this case, really wanting to see Madeline is just really wanting to see Madeline.

  I finish making the bed so I don’t abandon what I started. I choose a casual outfit from the closet and dresser in about two seconds, and I shower the last of the sleep off and leave a tip for housekeeping on my way through the main suite room and out the door to...to wherever the fuck I’m going.

  I’ve still not decided by the time I’m in the elevator heading down to the lobby.

  “Just pick something, dude. No fucking wandering,” I mutter out loud to the empty elevator car. “And no fucking talking to myself anymore.”

  I look down at the faux-marble floor of the elevator and at my feet.

  “The beach it is.” Jesus. There I go again. I don’t know where the fuck that habit’s coming from.

  As conflicted and as I am in fucking Hawaii of all places, I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of this beach. Walking that paved path toward the clear cobalt sky and the Pacific, I’m thinking that my future may just be right here. I may never fix whatever stupid lovesick wounds I’m bearing, but Hawaii is a pretty damn good salve for whatever ails you.

  There are people on the beach—too distant to see clearly—but I know none of them are Madeline.

  She’s probably on a plane back to wherever she’s from. She may or may not find anyone who deserves her, who can give her everything she needs. I wouldn’t mind trying, but all this shit will probably fade with time, and in this moment it’s time to visit that beach bar yet again and maybe see if the buffet is open.

  I’m still a few feet away from the bar when I see it’s closed with a makeshift wooden gate. I look up at the sky over the ocean. Fuck, I can’t even picture Audra’s face.