by Anne Marsh
As if the only reason for us to have sex is to knock her up.
“This would be for us.” There’s probably a greeting card for this. Or balloons. Maybe a condom with a custom message. I’ll get on that—later.
I brush my mouth over hers. “How about we stop analyzing and just do it?”
As soon as I pop the question, I think of a thousand reasons to say no. I don’t get nervous. I don’t have performance issues, don’t worry about what I look like naked, don’t choke when a gorgeous woman invites me to rip her clothes off and do me, bad boy (yes, that happened one time in Rio de Janeiro and I never quite lived it down). Sex is just something natural and fun, and I’ve never worried about it.
Not that I know what it means. Not really. Because when Marlee pops to her feet and starts towing me toward her bedroom in the most unromantic way possible, I’m not only all kinds of turned on, but I’m nervous. What happens if I get something wrong?
Not the sexual stuff. I can make her come—that’s just biology and experience. But the emotional stuff? I’m as virgin as they come there, and Marlee’s the experienced one. My heart’s pounding in my ears, my adrenaline surging. Sweat beads my back and my stomach’s rising and sinking faster than the stock market on a bad day.
I don’t engage.
I stand back.
But instead of watching life (and taking well-aimed shots at hostiles and assholes), I’m jumping in feet-first. Marlee ducks under my frozen arms, opens the bedroom door, steps through, and I follow numbly in her wake, my fingers curled in hers. Are hers sweaty, too? What is she gonna see when she turns around and looks at me—and is it too late to do this with the lights off? And we definitely need to do it later. After the sun has set and I’ve invested in some quality blackout curtains.
I’m a SEAL. A fighter. I need to… man up.
What if my pussy indecision is contagious, we make a mini-us tonight, and then he’s as bad as me?
Parenthood suddenly takes on a whole new meaning.
“Vann?” She drops my hand like a hot potato and stares at the bed. For a moment, I stare with her. Marlee is plenty of things, but neat is apparently not one of her qualities. A mountain of clothes, pillows, and various faux fur blankets successfully disguises anything resembling a mattress.
“I should—” she says and waves a hand at the mess.
“This is why we needed to practice. Make a few dry runs.” My voice sounds low and gravelly, like a beach full of pebbles rocketed back and forth by the waves.
I set my hands on her shoulders. Loosely. In case, you know, she’s got cold feet about this and would rather apply my sperm to her egg in a less personal, more turkey-baster-like approach at a fertility clinic.
“Are you sure?” she asks, watching me with big brown eyes. She looks hopeful and cautious—but not turned on.
Shit.
“Sure that you’re gorgeous? Yes. Sure that I can’t wait to see you naked? Yes.” I run my hands up her throat, cupping her head. “Sure that if you tell me what you want, I’ll deliver? One hundred fucking percent.”
Okay. That one’s a lie—but I’m damned certain going to try.
“Oh.” Her hands come up to cover mine, but she’s not pushing me away. Instead, her fingers tangle with mine, seeking, stroking, caressing. Holding me closer.
I’m suddenly, fiercely jealous of anyone who’s ever been this close to her, had this part of her. Thank God Roddy’s a total fucking idiot, or I wouldn’t have this chance. I savor the soft skin of her cheek beneath my fingers, my thumb tracing her jaw. We come together close, closer, closest, like we’re slow dancing to a favorite song and the DJ’s only just begun to spin. She’s short and just comes up to my shoulder. She’s a fucking perfect fit.
I bend my head again. “I owe you a song.”
“You do.” There’s laughter in her voice now, laughter and happiness. I put that there. I got something right.
“You should know I suck in the singing department.” I dip my head, brushing my mouth over her forehead. Ghost my lips down her cheek to her ear.
“Consider me warned.” She slides her arms around my waist, tucking her fingers inside my jeans. I’m commando underneath, rock hard from her gorgeous, teasing, wicked fingers.
“I know Happy Birthday.” I hum a bar and waltz her a step backward toward the bed. “But that’s not the sexiest number ever. I’ve also got Row, row your boat in my repertoire.”
She giggles and her fingers dip lower, skimming the top of my ass. I reach down and pop the top button on my jeans. Just to give her something to work with and not because she’s killing me an inch at a time.
She tilts her head back and looks up at me. “I’m mentally imagining you ripping off your shirt and twirling it over your head while your boat heads downstream.”
“How’s that working for you?” Because I’m more than willing to help her out with that particular fantasy.
She sighs, and I feel it on my own lips because we’re that goddamned close. “Do I have another option?”
“I know a few Prince songs,” I admit and take her back another step. “And I do a mean Blake Shelton.”
“Tell me you own a cowboy hat.” Her fingers sink lower, cupping my ass, and I’ll wear whatever the fuck she wants. Boots. Spurs. I’ll buy a saddle and a pony too if that’s what she likes.
Her knees bump against the edge of the bed, and I clear the mountain with one sweep of my arm. Then I fist the hem of her tank top. “May I?”
“You bet.” Her fingers tangle with mine as we tug her shirt up together. She squirms, breathing heavily like she’s already mentally away ahead of me. I catch up fast, though, once I see her bra. Marlee owns the prettiest lingerie ever. She’s got every color of the rainbow—if the rainbow was a psychedelic, lace-covered, tit-enhancing explosion of color. Today’s is bright blue, the kind of color you find in Easter candy and Tahitian lagoons. Lacy straps lift her tits up, and my mouth waters for a taste. She told me once she didn’t see the point in going for white or beige. It was the one time she could guarantee she wasn’t boring or bored—and she didn’t care if the whole world could spot her bra through a white T-shirt. Screw them, right?
I skim my fingers over those curves, tracing the soft edges and dipping my fingers into the cups. She’s soft and smells as good as she tastes—which I know firsthand because my mouth follows my fingers. I kiss her gently, carefully, and then when she starts to wriggle because that’s not enough, I yank the pretty cups down and suck her nipples into my mouth. I lick and tongue her until she’s whimpering and making demands.
“Take it off, cowboy.” She yanks at my shirt, fisting the cotton like it’s the only thing standing between her and coming.
Properly motivated, I step back and whip my shirt over my head. By the time the cotton clears my eyes and goes sailing behind me to land somewhere on the floor, Marlee’s already stripped off her shorts and panties and is climbing on the bed. She’s so fucking matter-of-fact, but maybe that’s because she’s been married and had married sex? Like it’s no big deal and she’s done this before. I told you I was the relationship virgin. See? It shows.
But I’m damned good at sex, and her ass as she climbs onto the bed is irresistible. Since I’m no saint, I grab her hips and pull her back.
“Vann?” That’s one hundred percent genuine confusion in her voice. Guess Roddy-Fucking-McFuckup didn’t know about this move. And since our current position puts me close to the end zone, I have to go for the touchdown. Followed by the two-point conversion.
I flip and drop down between her thighs, drag her legs over my shoulders, and devour her. I love having her like this, making her whimper and ask for more. And then giving it to her. She chants my name as if it’s her new mantra or a one-way, no-stop, express ticket to heaven, VannVannVannVann dropping from her pretty mouth as she digs her heels into my shoulders and her fingers tear at my hair.
She’s slick and swollen, her body ready for me already. She’s not th
inking about babies or being sensible or the inescapable fact that she’s eight years older than me, but in ways that don’t count, don’t matter, not when I have her like this. I open her up with my thumbs, parting the soft folds until I see my prize.
I lick her clit softly at first. Gentle, sure strokes like she’s the ice cream in my cone. Then harder, longer, sucking her into my mouth. She’s sweet and juicy, and I tease her with my fingers as I lick her clit. I take my time. No matter how much she whimpers and groans, twisting in my careful grip, I’m not rushing this. Not when she tastes so good and I’m so very, very hungry.
She tenses, the muscles in her thighs shaking as she races toward the finish line. “Vann—”
That’s my name on her lips. My desperate, pleading, I-want-you-so-fucking-bad-right-now name. I kiss her harder, deeper, sliding my tongue through her folds and sucking mercilessly. She’s gonna give it up to me. Gonna give me everything she’s holding back as she cries out and bucks.
I could lift my mouth, take it away, fuck her just with my fingers and push her over the edge that way, but the taste of her is addictive, as perfect as she is. And so I lick her all the way to orgasm, savoring the way she clenches against me, riding the wave of her orgasm with an ear-piercing shriek. Turns out, Marlee’s not quiet when she comes. Not at all.
That’s my cue, my hand-delivered invitation, and my golden ticket. I drop her lightly onto the bed, stand up, and shove my jeans down my legs.
She pulls me on top of her, impatient hands grabbing and guiding.
“Greedy.” I nip her bottom lip and she pants up at me.
“Fix it,” she demands and I can do that. Just as soon as I figure out what it is.
“Like this?” I drag my dick down her hot, wet seam. Down. Back up. Down again.
She grabs my ass with both hands, trying to guide me into place. “Two words, O’Reilly. Justifiable homicide.”
“Such a complainer.” I lean down and kiss her, nipping her lower lip. Funny how she’s the one who’s wide open and yet it feels like I am. For a long moment, we kiss. Mouths open, tongues stroking and fighting to see who’s gonna win this round.
“If you don’t put yourself inside me now, our deal’s off.” She glares up at me ferociously, like we’re negotiating some kind of real estate deal, but her pussy’s squeezing me tight as if it’s never letting go. She’s not getting any complaints from me.
I notch my dick at her opening and push in. She shoves up to meet me, taking me deep. Maybe I need to rethink my saintly designation, because sliding inside her feels like heaven. So I do it again. And again. And again. Fuck, I could do this all night because Marlee is so tight that we both groan.
I drive into her hard, pushing us both toward our end goal, and she wraps her arms around me. She’s got her face buried in my shoulder, her teeth and nails digging in, and I’m loving the small sting. Marlee’s only sweet up until a point—and then the claws come out.
“Tell me what you’re feeling,” I whisper roughly in her ear. I pull back, thrust into her, my hips driving into hers. She likes to talk, so she can talk now. To me. Dirty.
For a moment, I’m not sure she can. She lifts her head, panting. “Give me more,” she growls.
Holy. Shit. She slides her hands down and grabs my ass, pulling me where she wants me. Her legs tighten, her heels digging into my thighs as I pick up my pace. I’m gonna come. Gonna explode, lose myself, win this race.
“You got it.” I cover her mouth with mine—fuck talking—and take her in a wet, raw kiss. Our tongues clash, our teeth nip, and the heat that burns through me has to be illegal. I slam into her faster and faster, riding her hard, loving the way she gives as good as she gets. She takes me, sucks me in, and finally wrings me fucking dry.
I bury my face against her throat as I come, and we’re wrapped together so fucking tightly that we’re never coming apart. Instead, we come together, hips fusing and meeting as I empty myself into her, and she squeezes down, gripping my dick in the sweetest, dirtiest, most erotic of holds. Pretty sure I’m saying things—her name over and over followed by bits and pieces of words that escape me as I come and fight to breath and part of me’s already thinking I could do this again. And again.
I collapse onto the bed, slip out of her, and roll to my back. Don’t want to outstay my welcome, even if the little flutters squeezing my dick make me think it’s time for a do-over. A repeat. The best goddamned sequel ever. When I run my hands down her back, she shivers and looks up at me. And smiles. The look on her face is part contentment, part happiness. I did that.
Best thing I ever did.
She’s smiling for me.
I pull her into my side, loving the way her hair stands up everywhere, tickling my nose, my arm. She puts her head on my chest and exhales. I breathe in, she breathes out. For a few minutes, it’s all Zen as I catch my breath and get my head back on straight.
This is the part where I leave. Where I grab my clothes and head out the door. I sit up, surveying the mess on the floor. Pretty sure I can pick out my stuff. I can hit the road in minutes, just like always.
“Vann?” Marlee rolls into my side, wrapping herself around me. I should feel suffocated, should peel her off and stick to my plan. She reminds me of one the kittens Finn is always lugging home with him. People (and Ro and I have our money riding on those people all possessing an XY chromosome) are forever handing him orphaned, homeless, big-eyed, just-one-more kittens. He’s like a magnet and perpetually furry.
“Yeah, baby?” That’s my voice, although those words have never, ever come out of my mouth before. Guess today’s the day for all kinds of firsts. I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Somehow, my jeans have ended up halfway across the room. Feels like I have to cross most of Siberia and all of China to retrieve them.
“Stay for a while?” She sounds sleepy and contented. She won’t stay awake long, and then I’ll leave. This isn’t a sleepover or a commitment. It’s not even a date. We’re just friends who fuck and who maybe take a little nap together. It’s no big deal.
We’ll wake up in an hour, and then I’ll leave. We’ll get together and screw when Marlee’s worked out that ovulation kit, and then she’ll get her baby, and I’ll hit the road for good. Or maybe I’ll stick around on the edges, coming by for birthdays and school stuff. No big deal. No big commitment.
“Yes or no, Vann.” Amusement colors her voice. “Stop thinking so hard.”
It’s just a shared bed and a quick nap. I’ve slept in a hundred different places with a thousand different people. Being in the same place doesn’t have to mean anything. I know that better than anyone. Marlee’s hand rubs down my back, finds my hip and curls around me. Well. Okay, then.
I give up the idea of getting dressed and crawl back in the bed beside her. Marlee rolls over with a contented sigh, her butt pressing against my dick and hips, her soft curves cradling me. This isn’t bad at all. This isn’t friendly at all.
I’ll figure it out if it becomes a problem, because right now I bury my face in Marlee’s pretty, every-which-way hair, and I drift off inhaling her.
Funny how time flies when you’re having fun. Marlee and I fall into a seductive rhythm. We spend time together, both naked and not. She thinks it’s important we get to know each other. Apparently, the best co-parents are friends, so if I do decide to play anything other than a walk-on part in the Mini-Marlee’s life, she wants to know more about me than the size of my dick and my O-face.
We’re not dating. I mean, we go out. We do shit together, we eat out, and then we come back and bang like the last pair of rabbits after the nuclear apocalypse. Marlee really, really wants that baby. Three weeks after we first start Operation Make a Baby, however, Mother Nature hands Marlee her first defeat.
I get the heads up when I knock on Marlee’s door. We’re supposed to be going to a drive-in movie in my truck, and I’ve packed snacks in a cooler. I’ve got a stack of blankets and a six-pack of nonalcoholic beer (I’ve be
en informed we all have to make sacrifices in the Great Baby Quest), and we’ve got just enough time to drive the twenty miles before the opening credits start rolling and all the best parking spots are taken.
Marlee opens the door, holding her phone in her hand. She looks surprised to see me, which should have been my first clue. Except I’m drinking her in. If I were a dog, I’d be barking and licking and all over her, but fortunately for her, I’m better trained than that. I lean down, intending to go for the kiss, but she backs up.
Whoa.
Yeah. Let me say that again. She fucking retreats from my mouth, and I have no idea why. Yesterday we were naked and banging, and now it’s like I’ve got a terminal case of halitosis.
She waves her phone at me like it holds all the answers. “I texted you.”
“Forgot my phone.”
“Oh.” She chews on her lower lip.
“Something you want to tell me?”
“I bailed on our movie night,” she admits.
“I figured,” I tell her, motioning to her clothes. I’m still not sure what’s going on here, but Marlee’s in her pajamas. Most nights, I like those pajama pants of hers. I love them even better, though, when I’m stripping them down her legs, tossing them over my shoulder, or discovering them balled up at the bottom of the bed. My dick gets hard remembering, and my fingers itch to touch her. What the fuck did I do to screw things up?
“Sorry.” She gives me a small, tight smile and crosses her arms over her stomach. She’s holding onto herself as if things might fall apart if she eased up even a millimeter, and her mouth is tight. What. The. Fuck.
“Can I come in?” I know she enjoys what we do in bed, but that’s sex with a purpose. I have no idea if she’d really want to spend all this time with me if we weren’t—
Don’t go there.
Fall.
Back.
“I got my period this afternoon,” she admits.
We knew this was likely to happen. Most people don’t get knocked up their first month of trying. That’s probably one of the reasons why sex is so amazing, why the sensations are so fucking addictive. You want more and more so that Mother Nature gets as many shots as she needs at knocking your ass up. If it was easy, the world would be wall-to-wall people and we’d have already figured out how to colonize the moon.