by Gem Sivad
“Pretty much,” I answered and shrugged. “We all have different ways of dealing with stress. This happens to be mine.” I had no idea why I shared evidence of my craziness with him.
“Well, next time, lock up before you crawl into your think tank,” he growled, evidently not finding my meditation spot odd. Which was nice but left my own question unanswered.
“What do you want?” I repeated.
“How about sex?” Seeing my eye-roll, he said, “Hungry? I brought chicken. And I’ve got some music I want you to hear.”
“Why would I be hungry? We just ate breakfast not long ago. And I doubt we listen to the same sounds.”
“Need some help sanding your cupboards?”
“No.”
“Want me to work on your swing? It’s a little low.”
“No. Honest to God, I’d say you’re like a stray dog begging for scraps only you brought the meal. What do you really want?”
“Female company, yours specifically.”
“Company as in…?”
He nodded.
“Aren’t you past the age where you want it all the time?” I kind of hoped he wasn’t.
“I would have said yes to that until we danced.” He delivered that line with one of his wolfish leers.
Heat pooled low in my belly, my breasts ached, my nipples pebbled, and I told myself I was simply curious to see what he’d offer. Incapable of stopping myself, I opened my mouth and asked, “What music did you bring?”
I did not expect him to carry in a Harmon/Kardon speaker, set it on my living room mantle, and fiddle with his phone getting the song he wanted me to hear.
Rhinestone Eyes started playing, my hips swayed, my shoulders shifted, and my body absorbed the sound. Marty’s gaze held mine as he took my hands, caught the beat I’d already started moving to, and mirrored my actions. When the music segued into Stylo, he reduced the space between us, turning me in his arms to hold me from behind.
One of his arms wrapped around my front, palm resting on my stomach. The other delved under my sweatshirt to find bare skin. I arched my back, pressing into him.
His fingers, traveling upward as they were, plus the heavy beat of the music, made my blood heat and my body pulse to the rhythm. As warnings of overload echoed through the song, my butt rubbed sinuously against my partner’s arousal. Oh wow.
There could only be one place this was going. I edged us toward the steps, closer to my bed upstairs. He turned me in his arms, again. No playing around now, or I should have said, a lot more playing around now. His hand went for gold and slid beneath my sweats to cup my wet heat. His erection, confined by his pants, stood tall between us and pressed against my belly.
Damn. My sex clenched, squeezing hard on nothing, eloquently showing me a better place for his hard length. I yanked up his sweatshirt, hiked up my own, pressed my breasts to his chest, and pulled his head down to capture his lips.
Behind us, Glitter Freeze’s high-pitched squall provided counter point to its bass beat, and I sucked on Marty’s tongue, rode his fingers, and desperately reached for an orgasm. Apparently, he was just as greedy to come. He pulled his mouth from mine and growled, “Where?”
“Up.” I no sooner croaked the word than he lifted me, again as if I were weightless, and held me in his arms as he carried me upstairs. Just call me Scarlet.
I was impressed. He was impressed when he saw my bed.
“Whoa.” He slowed down to admire the giant, pedestaled, mahogany creation I slept in each night. It came with the house. I grinned. My grandpa was a big man. He’d built it before beds came in king-size. Evidently, no one had wanted to move it between the time he’d lived here and the time I’d reclaimed it.
But now was not the time to digress. I shifted in Marty’s grip and slid my hand under his waistband. Yep. He was a big man, too. I didn’t have practice at this kind of thing, but, when I wrapped my fingers around his hardness, he grunted, “Oh yeah,” and became more interested in using it, than staring at the bed.
I laughed when he dropped me on the mattress and started peeling his clothes off until he growled, “Get naked.”
Okay.
I started with my sweatshirt, but he was already baring me down below by the time I got my shirt over my head. My arms were still tangled when he propelled me backward and came down on top of me.
“I’m covered,” he assured me.
I looked down at his too late to matter condom covered cock, poised for action. I wrestled with the arms of my sweatshirt as he nudged apart my thighs, and almost casually, reached for my top. I thought he was going to help me out of the tangle of material.
Instead, he leaned his forearm across my trapped limbs.
“Hey,” I twisted and arched, instinctively trying to throw him off. Oh. My. God. He thrust home. I didn’t even have time to draw breath before the first climax rocketed through me.
He moved with it, timing his thrusts to the rhythmic clenching of my insides. Round one over, he freed my arms and grinned wickedly down at me. Oh yeah. Two could play that game. Using a move I’d learned in a self-defense class, I rolled him to his back and held his arms above his head, his wrists cuffed by my hands.
Of course, that meant I had to lean across his face to hold him down. He latched onto my nipple and sucked like he’d planned it that way. Every time he pulled with his mouth above, my sex clenched below. I was going to come, again. No, I was going to ignite and incinerate in less than sixty seconds.
I fleetingly tried to think of some way to reciprocate but gave into gluttonous pleasure when he stopped sucking my nipples and kissed his way lower. Much lower.
My slippery wet state didn’t put him off a bit. He separated my lower lips and licked. I would have cringed. I was embarrassed. But ohmygod it felt good, and I wanted him to lick again. And again.
He paid special attention to my clit. It felt swollen, needy, sensitive beyond belief, the zone of pleasure I’d underexplored in my limited experience. He used his finger inside me to appease my sexual core that screamed fill me even as another orgasm rolled over me.
Apparently, Marty heard. He slid up my frame, until his mouth reached mine, his chest covered my breasts, and his cock found its home inside me.
“Oh yeah,” I sighed.
He grinned, slid his hand under my rump, and growled, “Hang on sugar, daddy’s gonna take you for a ride.”
I’d thought myself to be in pretty good shape. I walked a lot. Sometimes jogged. Heck, stacking boxes at my warehouse job should have prepared me to match Marty’s endurance.
Not so. A blur of orgasms later, he finally came. He didn’t pass out this time. I thought I might. Before I could, he nibbled on my ear.
“How was that for a do-over, hotshot?” he whispered in my ear, making me want to do it all over again.
“Good. It was good,” I managed to answer.
He laughed, gave my butt a friendly pat, and got up.
Worn out and unbelievably content, I lay on the bed, eyes closed, thinking about nothing. I drifted awhile. Marty’s music still played downstairs, and I recognized Snoop Dogg talking revolution.
I dozed a little. Not much because the same song continued downstairs when I became aware of a change in the room’s atmosphere. I swear, it felt as if someone had thrown a switch and blasted cold air on me. I opened my eyes.
Marty stood beside the bed. In his hands, he held three boxes. Two were opened. One, of course, not.
“You want to explain this?”
So much for sex softening his personality. I grabbed and put on the first sweatshirt that came to hand, which happened to be his.
Covered, I rolled to the other side and stood facing him across the wide mattress.
“No,” I answered. “First of all, don’t snoop through my trash.”
“You will explain this right now. Do you hear me?”
Really? “Here you go. How’s this for an explanation?” I guess sex hadn’t softened my rough edges that much,
either. “You’re the frigging moron who wore a condom and didn’t put it on right. The darned thing came off inside me. I should sue you for that, alone. Don’t stand there and glare at me. Your sperm got loose. My eggs came out to play. They tangoed. Or maybe they did. Whatever you call it, shit, happened…”
He held up the box and squinted at the fine print. “Says here 99.97% accurate. How many times did it—”
“Twice, three times if you count your on-call doctor’s test.” I crossed my arms defensively. I shouldn’t be feeling apologetic. Screw him. Well, no, we did that and look how that worked out. “You can go now.”
“What? I don’t think I heard you just tell me to get out after I’ve just found out you’re…” His lips seemed to grope for the term, but it escaped him.
“Pregnant. I think that’s the word you’re searching for,” I muttered, putting him out of his inarticulate misery. He grabbed sweats off the floor, his shoes, and left.
Well, that went well. I lay back down on the bed, listening for him to leave. The music abruptly switched off. Guess he didn’t feel the beat, anymore. Sadly, I tracked his footsteps to the door. Uh huh, open. Close. Goodbye Marty. I waited for the sound of his Hummer starting. All remained quiet.
I should go down and lock up behind him. Instead, I wandered into the bathroom and showered. It felt good, geez, wonderful. I probably ran all the hot water out of the tank I stood there so long. I might have cried some, too.
Silly, sloppy sentimental me put his sweatshirt back on once I was clean and dry. It smelled good, and I liked the illusion of strong arms wrapped around me. My stomach growled. For heavens sakes give it a rest. If I kept eating like this, I’d weigh four hundred pounds soon. Still…
I went down stairs and directly to the kitchen, hoping Marty had left the bucket of chicken behind. He had. He’d also helped himself to my kitchen scissors and the arms of my sweatshirt lay on the counter. Revenge? I could only wonder.
I shrugged, picked up a drumstick and shuffled to the sink, prepared to stare mournfully at my empty backyard. Except it wasn’t empty. Though it was only mid-March, the early warm days had already produced budding trees and grass beginning to green. And evidently a permanent resident in my swing. Marty wore my sleeveless sweatshirt. No doubt the slashed neck was so he could get his big head through the opening. His eyes were closed, and he sat in the swing, gliding back and forth.
Chapter Ten
Marty
Jesus. I’d gone to a dance to do a good deed and ended up… I didn’t need to open my eyes. I could feel the sway of Holly’s swing beneath me. After I’d fled the bedroom, I’d found myself standing naked in the middle of her kitchen. Befuddled. That’s what Elaine would call it. I’d managed to get my head together enough to dress. Sort of.
I’d pulled on my pants for the sake of any neighbor who might come by, but, I’d left my sweatshirt with Holly upstairs. I’d thought about going back up and claiming it. Instead, I’d made-do with hers before stumbling outside to her backyard swing, where I collapsed when my feet wouldn’t prop me up any longer.
I’d thought I needed fresh air to clear my head. Nope. My head was still in a far-away place. I still couldn’t quite believe it. Shit, I knocked her up. I had sense enough to understand that didn’t sound right. I put a bun in the oven. No. She’s increasing. I didn’t understand that one. Expecting. Hmmm. Holly’s expecting… Maybe. None of my descriptions matched the reality. Jesus, she’s having my kid.
I wondered if she’d planned on me finding out this way. She’d pointed us upstairs. The pregnancy test kits had been in her bathroom. But, I didn’t think any of our fuck had been calculated on her part. She seemed like an innocent caught up in…
I swallowed, and pushed the swing harder. I’d wanted a do-over and had come loaded with bait. Music, food, charm. What a fuck. Lust squashed paternity thoughts and my cock stirred, remembering. Now, that, was a do-over.
I didn’t waste time wondering if it had been as good for her. She’d been sprawled, limp, satisfied, and smiling when I left her bed. I’d been pretty damn satisfied myself, taking a piss and staring down at the wastebasket, grinning like a loon.
My mind had been in I don’t give a shit what I’m looking at, I just want to get back to bed, mode, when I kind of focused on the box. I couldn’t see what it was; I thought it might be beauty shit. I was not snooping. Well maybe a little bit.
Kit had colored her hair from a box and I was curious if Holly’s blonde color was natural. I’d even made plans to check her lower curls after I climbed back into that magnificent bed.
I’d leaned closer, trying to figure out what had come in the box, without actually touching it. I mean, that would fall into the snooping zone. I could see that. But, still.
I’d nudged the can with my bare foot, shaking it enough to get a better look. There had been two boxes. And after I read the label, I shut the shit about nosiness down, and examined the box, read the instructions, checked for wands, and found a third kit unopened.
I’m having a kid. Holly and I are having a kid. Hell. The full implications of her pregnant state settled over me. I needed to tell Jack, call Garret and get medical instructions, set up a trust for the kid. Excitement zipped through my veins.
I opened my eyes and gazed at the house. Holly stood where she had earlier, watching me from the kitchen window. There stands the mother of my child.
I realized this could get complicated. I mean, I wanted the kid, my progeny, a son I hoped, but hey, a girl would be okay, too. I frowned. I’d need a lot of help with a girl baby. Not so much with a boy.
But that was a dumb thought. I’d have Holly to help. But would I? Did she want the baby? My baby? Women didn’t always feel maternal or want to commit to raising a kid. My mom hadn’t. She’d left me with my grandma and took off right after I’d been born.
I needed to let Holly know I’d be responsible for everything if she wanted to just hand the baby to me after she’d delivered. We needed to talk. But, my penchant for opening my mouth and pissing her off kept my ass parked in the swing.
I was afraid if I went into the house, she’d make me leave. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to go back upstairs with her, crawl into her grandpa’s bed, and enjoy it with her for a long time.
My thoughts seemed to be lingering a disproportionate amount of time on having sex considering that this new development should have captured all my attention. And that led me to questions about fucking during pregnancy. Could we? Should we? Would she?
While I’d mulled over the possibilities of when and how to get into her pants again, Holly had been busy. She was dressed in khakis and a green shirt. Different clothes from the night before, but same combo.
“I’m going to work. I need to lock up.”
She didn’t tell me to get out, but she didn’t invite me to stay, either.
“I’ll drive you there.” I expected her to tell me to go to hell.
“Okay.” Her answer had me out of the swing and scrambling to be her chauffeur.
“Why don’t I leave that here?” I said casually, as she handed me my sweatshirt when I went back inside. I guess she wanted hers back. I’d decided I’d keep it. Who knows why because the neck was too tight even with the slit I’d cut in the front.
“No.” She shoved the shirt at me like it was hot.
“Fine. Ready to go?”
She nodded. I escorted her to my Hummer. She was very quiet. She didn’t object when I buckled her into her seat. Another sign all was not well. I cleared my throat, delicately, I thought.
“What?” her snarled question assured me she was getting back to her old self.
“Can I tell anyone?” It might seem like a dumb question, but I didn’t know how this was going to play out.
“Huh?” Her startled look informed me that was an unexpected question.
“I’m not comfortable with maybes. Either I’m going to be a dad, or I’m not. If it’s happening, I’ve got to tell Jack, and,” I
added in a mumble, “a couple other people.”
Elaine, my secretary, administrative assistant, motherish in a bizarre kind of way, and friend. Church, because he was still worried about the chili, and it was only fair to share the news. Besides, Church might poach on another man’s woman but not his pregnant woman.
Then I needed to talk to Garret and let him know I knew. He could recommend a specialist for Holly, one who would share medical information with him, and he in turn would share it with me. Jack, being a man who didn’t hold back on happy, would tell the crew. So, if Holly intended to keep the news secret, it wasn’t happening.
Unless she’d decided she wasn’t into having a family yet or at all. In which case…
“The test could be wrong,” she said.
“The stats indicate otherwise.” Pretty accurate outcomes. A 99.97% probability, in fact. “But either way, am I allowed to talk about it?”
“You want to tell people I might be expecting?”
“Yeah.” I did. I was proud. “Hell, yeah.”
“And if I’m not?”
I shrugged. “Then I’ll tell ’em you’re not. It’s a big deal to me. You’ve got your friends you’ll share with. I’ve got mine. But, I want to know if maybe is real, because if I can do anything to sway your decision into a yes it’s real, tell me, and I’ll do it.”
“That made no sense at all.”
She was right I’d garbled that explanation.
“I want you to tell me that if you’re pregnant, you’re going to stay pregnant.” I’d pretty much worked out all the details while I’d been swinging in the backyard. Holly was the only part I couldn’t control.
“Yes, if the test was right, I’m having the kid.” She remained silent the rest of the ride to the sports bar.
Not wanting to push my luck, I kept my mouth shut. When we arrived, I blocked traffic and let the cretin behind me blow his horn while I pulled her into my arms for a goodbye kiss.
“I’ll pick you up. What time do you get off?”
“I’m meeting Megan after work tonight. She’s picking me up. See you around. Thanks for the ride.” And out she went and on her way.