The Baby Clause: A Christmas Romance

by Tara Wylde

  His hand on the small of my back slowly strokes back and forth, cat-like. I arch into it, wanting the light strokes to both continue, while simultaneously knowing that I should put an end to this, that doing so now is the best thing for both of us.

  My mouth opens, prepared to tell him, but the words refuse to come.

  We sway in time to the music. His thighs brush against mine, sending little shivers of pleasure pulsing through my body. I struggle to reel in my emotions.

  Cool it, girl, I firmly remind myself, even as my body snuggles into his. This guy, he’s way out of my league. The only reason he’s here now is because he’s new in town and bored. Dancing with me is the best form of fun he’s found. I’m available and dancing with me is cheap entertainment.

  The thought should humble me, convince me to put some space between myself and him, but it doesn’t.

  I try again.

  I don’t know anything about this guy. He could be married, involved in a long term relationship. Hell, for all I know he could be a serial killer who routinely picks up bartenders and dances with them before ripping their still-beating hearts out of their chests.

  The thought should chill me to the bone, but it doesn’t. All of my instincts tell me that Paul is one of the good ones.

  I try again. And even if he is the so called “One” for me, what good does that do? We live a thousand miles apart. I can’t leave Chicago and he probably can’t leave North Carolina. And there’s no way I have time for any type of relationship. Better to end things right now.

  This argument I can’t ignore. I let my head fall back, ready to tell him we need to end this right now. That it can’t go any further, that … And I find him staring down at me. The warmth and kindness in his dark eyes causes my insides to melt until they feel like milk chocolate that’s been left out in a pool of sunlight. An arrow of insight strikes me. Tonight, just for tonight, I’m not going to be logical and practical. I’m not going to make myself sick worrying about all the different things that might go wrong. I’m going to live in the moment and enjoy having his hands on my body.

  Just this once, I’m going to let whatever happens happen, and simply enjoy the ride. If tonight ends with the last strains of Moonlight Serenade filling the air, that’s fine. If it goes further … Not wanting to explore that, I let the thought trail off.

  As if reading my mind, Paul changes the grip on my hand and lifts it. Without breaking eye contact, he places a light, toe-curling kiss on my wrist.

  Shuddering, I lean in closer until my entire body presses against his, until it’s impossible to tell where he ends and I begin. His spicy cologne assails my senses. I slide my arms around his shoulders, linking my fingers behind his neck.

  His own hands slide down the side of my upper body, triggering sparks of electric pleasure everywhere they touch before they finally settle on my waist, gripping me tightly just above the generous curve of my hip.

  My upbringing, my common sense, should be screaming at me right now, pointing out that getting so wrapped up in a stranger is not only foolhardy, but also dangerous.

  But that part of me is strangely silent. Silenced, no doubt, by the strange, overwhelming warmth that’s steadily building in my core.

  How can something be wrong when it feels so good?

  Paul doesn’t give me an opportunity to explore the thought. He bows his head, his lips finding the side of my neck and placing a light kiss on my pulse point, at the very spot I dabbed a bit of perfume on just before stepping behind the bar for the night.

  I tilt my head to the side, pressing my brow to his strong shoulder, giving him better access, offering it to him the same way an ancient Greek warrior would have offered a virgin sacrifice to his gods.

  Thinking about virgin sacrifices sends me crashing back to my senses. The comparison hits a bit close to home. Maybe I should tell Paul …

  Not one to let an opportunity pass, Paul drops a line of sweet kisses along the curve of my neck, derailing my thoughts and making me forget all of my concerns. This feels way too good to worry about something as trivial as virginity.

  I close my eyes and concentrate on how my body responds to his touch. This is a moment that’s meant to be savored, each second committed to memory so that I can pull the experience out during all the long, cold, lonely Chicago winter nights that are just around the corner.

  Finally, his lips find mine.

  They’re softer than those of any other man I’ve ever kissed. Even as I realize this, the tip of his tongue traces the seam formed by my lips. I submit to his urgings and grant him access. Our tongues swirl together in a strange dance that’s as old as time. I detect the faint, familiar traces of the whiskey I served him. Strange, it tastes better now than it ever has before.

  His grip on my waist tightens, his fingers pressing through the sheer material of my dress as he pulls me even closer, a hardness pressing against my navel that lets me know that he’s as turned on by the kiss as I am.

  The pressure that first started building when he took my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor builds. If I don’t do something about it soon, I’m going to explode.

  As if sensing my urgency, Paul deepens the kiss. I moan into his mouth, completely lost in sensation. His hands slide lower, covering my ass, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh, squeezing almost to the point of pain before easing up on the pressure and soothing the flesh with long, slow, circular rubs.

  My knees tremble. My fingers twist into his hair, as if that will help me remain upright while my entire body turns to liquid.

  My mind, unable to cope with the myriad of sensations, shuts down. Time is measured not in seconds, but heartbeats. Heat shoots through my body in a way I never imagined possible.

  He pulls back, unbowing his neck just enough so he can press a kiss against my brow as his cock twitches to life against my belly, the firm pressure assuring me that even though he broke the kiss, Paul is still very much into me.

  In the dim lighting, his dark eyes shine down into mine. There’s no mistaking the intense desire swirling in their depths and I know the same thing burns in mine. Around us, the air seems to buzz and crackle with pent-up longing and anticipation.

  Paul slides one hand up my body until it circles the back of my neck. He nudges my hair aside and strokes the soft skin beneath it. I close my eyes and practically purr.

  He dips his head, pressing another kiss to my parted lips, triggering another moan. His hand tightens against my neck as the kiss deepens. I forget about the music, the lighting, everything. The only thing that matters is his kiss and his touch.

  Paul pulls back a second time. Breathing ragged, he presses his brow against mine.

  “I’ve never …” I struggle to remember how to form words, to figure out how to string them together into a coherent sentence. Two kisses, apparently that’s all it takes to render me mute.

  Paul’s thumb strokes my cheek, soothing me. “Me too.”

  My brow furrows as I process those two words. Somehow, I don’t think he’s talking about the same thing I am, but for the life of me, I can’t think of what else he might mean.

  “So now … What … I don’t…” My inability to make myself understood frustrates me.

  Paul bends and tucks one arm behind my knee, the other against my shoulders. The next thing I know, he’s lifted me up and off my feet and has me cradled against his wide chest.

  “Now.” He kisses my forehead. “We find.” His lips brush against my cheek. “Someplace.” A butterfly soft kiss to my lips that ends before I can fully enjoy it. “More comfortable.”

  5

  Lara

  Paul peppers my face with kisses, placing them on my eyes, the tip of my nose, my cheekbones, my jaw, and occasionally covering my lips in a kiss that’s over far too quickly.

  Desire sizzles within me, making it impossible to stay still in his arms. I arch my back and rub against his chest, too consumed with the heat and pressure building inside of me to car
e where he’s taking me.

  He pauses after a few steps and lowers himself to the huge brown leather couch I placed alongside the dance floor, settling me on his lap. Clutching his perfect head between my hands, I bury my fingers deep into his thick, soft hair and crush his lips against mine, delighting when he moans into my mouth. His hands slide beneath my ass and his cock jerks, straining toward me despite the layers of clothing separating us.

  Paul’s hands glide up my back, finding my dress’s zipper pull and lowering it a few inches before they stop moving. He shifts, freeing his mouth and stares down at me. “May I?”

  I can’t find my voice, so I nod, giving him my consent. He understands, and in one long, smooth move, he slides the zipper all the way down. The straps slide off my shoulders and the bodice falls, revealing my bare breasts as the dress pools around my waist.

  Paul’s hungry gaze rakes across my breasts. The nipples pebble in response and a self-satisfied smile lifts the corners of his mouth.

  “Beautiful,” he whispers, gently pushing me backwards until I slide off his lap and tumble onto the couch cushion. The leather is cold against my skin, but it does nothing to cool my ardor. At this point, I don’t think anything can douse the intense fire burning within me.

  Paul’s strong hands slide the dress over my hips and down my legs. My heart does a neat little flip as he takes in my silky, fire engine red panties and the matching garter belts that circle my thighs.

  He fingers one of the narrow straps that attach the tops of my stockings to the garter belt. “Apparently dressing the part doesn’t end on the outside.”

  I blush with pleasure. When I dressed for work, I never imagined anyone but me would see my choice in underwear. Now, I’m glad I took the time to put on the pretty pieces that are reproductions of the types of underthings women wore during the Roaring Twenties. I don’t know why I do it, but I wear them for me. To feel like something I’m not. Or something I’m about to be…

  “It seems appropriate.” My voice is so thick with desire I barely recognize it as my own.

  “I love it,” Paul whispers.

  “I’m glad,” I reply.

  Paul shifts so his upper body covers me. He rains a line of kisses along my collar bone, each brush of his lips igniting little pulse points of pleasure that border on pain. I shiver and squirm beneath him.

  “Relax,” Paul whispers, his hands gliding up and down the sides of my torso.

  Easier said than done.

  I’ve never felt this way before in my life. The hot, liquid pressure building within me is like nothing I’ve ever experienced, and at the rate it’s building, it’s going to blow me apart before much more time passes. I’m torn between wanting Paul to continue his ministrations and wanting to stop before the pressure overwhelms me.

  Paul’s hands slide lower. His fingers hook in the waistband of my panties before he slides them down and they land in a heap on top of my discarded dress. A second later, my garters and stockings join the pile.

  I let out a moan and slide my own hands beneath his shirt, desperate to touch him. My hands slide along rock-hard muscles.

  Paul responds to my touch with even more force than I respond to his. With a low, animalistic growl, he jerks his heavy sweatshirt over his head and throws it over the back of the couch. His jeans disappear in the next moment, landing on the floor beside my dress.

  Bare silken skin tugs against hair-roughened skin as Paul slides down my body, dragging his mouth across my slightly rounded stomach. I think he’s murmuring something, but I can’t make out the words past the roar of blood pounding through my veins. I squirm against the couch, instinctively parting my thighs, preparing myself for the touch I know is coming even as I worry that it’s going to burn me from the inside out.

  Coherent thought is pushed aside by a tidal wave of intense, undeniable desire.

  Paul slides even lower, his mouth grazing my pussy, brushing against the outer lips that protect my most sensitive and secret place. I close my eyes and buck against him, demanding more.

  He doesn’t make me wait.

  My trembling thighs press against his shoulders, holding him in place as his breath fans over me, touching nerve endings I didn’t even know existed. I didn’t know, didn’t even imagine, it would feel this good.

  Nerves lick at my stomach, but I don’t care. I trust Paul in a way I’ve never trusted anyone else. He’ll walk out on me, I know that, and the experience might leave me with a bruised heart, but that’s on me.

  I know, deep in my bones, that Paul won’t do anything to hurt me.

  “Please,” I whisper, thrusting my hips up at him. “I need …” I can’t put my needs into words. I can only hope he understands.

  “Me too,” he replies, his voice sounding like it’s coming from very far away.

  He lifts one hand, covering my right breast, his thumb circling the hard peak, setting off bursts of electric energy while his head lowers to my pussy. His tongue flicks against me, causing me to jolt before I slide back into position, begging him with my body to repeat the move.

  The pleasure might kill me, but I can’t think of a better way to go.

  “Like that, do you?”

  “More … than you … can … imagine,” I gasp.

  I barely get the words out before Paul turns into a man possessed. His mouth is on my pussy, licking, sucking, lightly nipping.

  A faint crinkling noise catches my attention. A condom, I realize, as he unrolls it, covering himself. Thank God he’s using his head. I’m too overwhelmed by desire to have even given safe sex a second thought. And a surprise baby is the last kind of complication my life needs.

  My hands find his shoulders, my short nails digging into his flesh as I arch my back up and off the couch, giving him better access, silently demanding more from him.

  Taking advantage of my position, Paul’s hands glide over my hips, cupping my ass cheeks. His fingers feel like they’re branding me, but I don’t care. The only thing that matters right now is how I feel.

  With one last lick, Paul rises up onto his knees and surges over me.

  One hand continues cupping my rear, holding me in position as he guides himself into position. His thick member presses against my opening, pushing against the tender skin. For a split second, I worry that I won’t be enough, that he’s too big for me.

  Paul mutters something unintelligible, and his thumb unexpectedly rubs against my small pearl, setting off shockwaves of pure pleasure. My hips buck in response and his thrust at the exact same time. And just like that, he’s buried all the way to the hilt within me.

  I shudder as my body struggles to adjust to this intruder. He feels bigger and more intense than my vibrator ever could.

  Paul moves before my body is prepared, nearly pulling out all the way, before thrusting back home again.

  Desperate to get back to the overwhelmingly pleasurable place I was in just a moment ago, I close my eyes, focusing all my attention on the way his hands feel on my body. The delicious scent of his cologne. And the way his heartbeat and mine seem to be in unison.

  It works. By the third thrust, my inner walls pulse around Paul, welcoming his movement instead of resisting it.

  It’s like a switch gets flicked somewhere inside of me. One second, I’m aware of Paul’s every move. Of the way he smells. The taste of his kisses. The slide of his skin against mine. The next second, fireworks explode behind my eyelids and ricochet through my body, touching every part of me, burning me with sensational pleasure. Wave after wave rolls through me, each one dragging me under.

  Above me, Paul stiffens. His body jerks one more time before his guttural cry mingles with my sobs of pleasure and he sags against me, holding me tightly so we ride out the last waves of intense pleasure together.

  6

  Paul

  Sighing softly, Lara cuddles against my chest. I drape my arm over her waist, my thumb tracing lazy figure eights on the small of her back as the last of the shivers ea
se from her body and she relaxes.

  Sleep flirts with my senses, sending me in and out of consciousness while the events of the past half hour flit through my mind. The rich music mingling with the sound of Lara’s stockinged feet sliding across the dance floor as her body swayed against mine. The sweet taste of that first kiss. The sound of her surprised gasp when I entered her. The way her body gripped my cock. Her cries as the orgasm ripped through her.

  Each memory is more delicious than the last, yet something feels wrong.

  She matched me move for move, a willing and eager partner, my sexual equal, but the entire time, something bothered me, though I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to stop and investigate.

  But now, as my heartrate slows and sanity returns, I can’t help poking and prodding at the memories, seeking out whatever it was.

  Like one of Zeus’ lightning bolts, the truth blasts through me.

  The whispered half phrase on the dance floor. The hesitation in some of her touches. The way she stiffened when I was about to enter her. The sharp gasp and momentary dimming of desire I sensed but didn’t understand.

  “You’re a virgin.” The words burst from me almost before I fully comprehend their meaning.

  “Not anymore,” Lara whispers, her voice thick with sleep.

  “Why…” I swallow, still trying to grasp the fact that the beautiful, responsive woman in my arms is … was, mostly likely one of Chicago’s last adult virgins.

  “Why?” Lara repeats. “I don’t understand the question. Are you asking why I was a virgin? Or something else?”

  Yes, I wanted to know why someone as beautiful as her had clung to their innocence, but that wasn’t my only question.

  “Why me?”

  Grumbling under her breath, Lara sits up. She tucks her sex-tangled hair behind her ears. “Because I liked the look of you. Because you have kind eyes and you’re a good dancer.”

  “But you don’t know me!”