Page 19 of SEAL’S Baby Surprise (Lanes #2)

LEE

I awake the next morning in Austin’s arms. This is my favorite thing in all the world, I decide. I feel safe, warm, and loved.

This is the best part of the dream. One that I hope will never, ever end.

I climb over Austin, which wakes him almost instantly. He makes a grab for me, but I say, “Bathroom,” and he lets go.

I don’t hurry, but I don’t linger, either. I know that Austin is going to want his turn in the little room.

Sure enough, when I return, he heads down the hall. In just a few minutes, he’s back. “Little chilly out here,” he says, snuggling back under the blankets.

“Mmm-hmmm,” I agree, running my topmost hand over his pectorals and abs. He’s built lean and strong, his muscles well defined but not bulky. His nipples tighten under my touch.

He growls and licks at my ear. “Careful there. Or the big bad wolf is going to eat you all up,” he says.

I laugh, pull my other hand out from under us, and kneel up so I can run both hands down his sides to his hips. His penis hardens, rising up, ready for action.

Before I can help it along, Austin pounces, trapping both my hands. Then he does this complicated thing with his body, and his feet are up by my head and his nose is right next to the center of my heat.

Oh.

Oh.

This is new, and I’m ready to see what comes next.

Keeping hold of my hands with one of his, he slides his other arm under my butt, hauling my vagina right up to his face.

Then he uses his tongue. First on the outer edges, interspersed with little kisses on the insides of my thighs, then all along my opening — which is getting very wet, melty, and excited under his attention.

When I think I just about can’t stand anymore, he kisses and licks all around my clitoris, which I swear is just about ready to dance off my body and start looking for his penis.

Then he closes his mouth over my firm bud and gently sucks on it. I come so hard I think my insides are going to be my outsides, and the world is all starry lights and a flood of the most extreme pleasure I’ve ever felt.

Honestly, I’m pretty sure that I black out for a minute.

Then, when I’ve settled down a little, Austin gives this happy chuckle, and starts in again, only this time he has his thumb in my vagina and his fingers spread out over my backside while he sucks on that sensitive little bundle of nerves.

I come again; this time it’s still intense, but mellower, and it goes on forever and ever while Austin licks, sucks and finally nips at my clit. I’m totally out of my mind with sensation and with want.

Austin eases away from me, reverses order, and reaches up into the headboard cabinet for the condoms. I’m beginning to hate those darned things. Yes, yes, I know. Safety — barrier against disease and against pregnancy. But they are an interruption, a break in what we are doing.

Not that Austin doesn’t try to work it into our pleasure.

I can’t resist the fantasy of wanting him to be inside me with nothing else.

I stroke his balls, then his penis, eliciting what can only be described as a purr of pleasure from him.

He hands me the opened foil pouch and says, “Let’s get this fellow dressed for business. ”

Austin is well-endowed, and we’ve had to try different sizes to get the “just right” condom.

This last batch is the best yet. I don’t have any trouble rolling it down over his luscious member, and he gets even stiffer and harder than he already was — and he had been ready for business before I started.

This protection sleeve is well-lubricated and is even ribbed on the outside, so it hits every possible sensitive part of me going in. Austin’s penis gives it shape, fullness and heat, making it a hundred times better than any personal vibrator ever invented.

I’m so sensitive from coming twice already that the sensation is almost torture when he enters. Then my vagina floods with my own juices, my nipples harden, and I lift my hips to receive him, to get all of him, get him inside me as deep as I possibly can.

He responds with long, slow strokes that are driving me crazy. “Faster,” I say. “Harder. Oh, yes! More! Faster! More!”

And then I don’t have words as every part of my body is responding to him, every part of me is yelling Yes!

Yes! Yes! even though the only sounds coming out of my mouth are heavy panting gasps.

Then Austin kisses me, his tongue exploring, tasting, fucking my mouth while his hardness slips in and out of me, pounding me with every delicious thrust.

I grab his buttocks with both hands, wrapping my legs around his thighs, trying to draw him in even closer, even tighter, tilting my pelvis to him, rising higher, higher, higher with every glorious thrust until I explode in showers and pinwheels of pleasure.

Every part of Austin stiffens, and he grunts as he engages in his own release.

Even through the condom, I can feel his penis pumping out its essence, and I feel glorious.

Nobody ever told me what a confidence boost this would be.

I feel like I’m the queen of the world. Like I’m a beautiful goddess, and I’m all-powerful.

I’m used to feeling small and weak. My brothers never made me feel like I was capable of anything.

With Austin, though, I do.

It’s a glorious feeling.

Afterward, Austin cuddles me and gives me little nibble kisses down the side of my neck while we stay hooked together as long as our bodies will cooperate. It seems like blissful hours, but it was probably only a few minutes before Austin slips out and sighs.

He snuggles me in his arms a minute or two longer, then he says, “I’m afraid we are going to have to get up if we don’t want the kids to find us in bed again.”

I giggle, kiss the side of his neck because that’s as high up as I can reach and say, “Okay. What’s for breakfast?”

“Pancakes, I think,” he says. “We don’t have enough eggs to make bacon and omelets for everyone.”

“All right,” I say, snuggling in closer, and not making any attempt at getting up or letting him up.

“Come on, Lady Mermaid,” he says, gently disengaging. “Kids. You know, Julia and Bobby, and the way-too-wise for her age, Betty.”

I laugh at that last part. Betty seems to know a lot more about mommies and daddies and what goes on in the night than I did at her age. In fact, Mrs. Turner has taken to sending the kids over to us some nights when Mr. Turner is at home.

I guess they like to have a little privacy, too. Last time, Austin had shown everyone how to set up a pup tent, and the kids each had the equivalent of a room of their own for the night.

Of course, that had meant we had to sleep outside, too, which was cool because we’d had this big inflatable bed and a two-person pop-up tent. Only neither one of us felt private enough to make love in it, but it did mean we were on hand in case the kids needed us.

I sigh and let go. I know we have to get up. “First dibs on shower!” Austin calls, heading down the hall. I grumble under my breath, but I don’t argue. Austin is always good about leaving enough hot water for me, and besides, he’s the one who has to make the pancakes.

Since he’s in the shower, I make up the bed, and I’m careful to make sure I bury the used condom in the trash. It’s one of those icky aftermath things that seems to go with making love. And Austin makes love, he doesn’t just have sex. He makes me feel special in so many ways, both in bed and out.

I wonder if it’s real. If he’s telling me how he feels.

Or if this is just who he is.

“Lady Mermaid,” he calls out, “Your shower is ready!”

One time, we had gone to a truck stop to get showers because there had been something wrong with the water delivery system at the beach. He uses exactly the same intonation as the mechanical voice at the truck stop when it would say, “Customer number _____, your shower is ready.

I laugh, then hurry down the hall to get cleaned up while Austin gets dressed and goes outside to make breakfast.

I am dried off and just running a brush through the short fuzz on my head, when I hear the children’s voices. By the time I get outside, Austin is serving the kids pancakes.

The minute I appear, he says, “Why don’t you go to school with the kids today? Mrs. Hubbard sometimes likes to have help, and I’ve got a lot of online work to do.”

I’d never been to the school, so I agree.

It is pretty cool, really. Mrs. Hubbard greets each child as they arrive. She calls each one by the pronoun they prefer, which I thought was interesting.

One youngster addresses the man who dropped him/her/them (I have trouble with the pronouns) off at school as “Mom.” Mrs. Hubbard introduces the child as “Jean” and uses the “they/them” pronouns for the youngster. They wear a unisex outfit of jean shorts and a “save-the-whales” T-shirt.

The kids play some sort of complicated flag-and-chase game until Mrs. Hubbard blows a whistle; then, they line up for snacks, followed by story time.

I’m not sure what kind of story to expect, but it is an old fairy tale about a table and some goats.

It is the gritty version out of Grimm’s, not one of the cleaned-up kind printed out in picture books.

Then the kids and I help make lunch. I ask, “Don’t the kids usually go home at lunch time?”

“Some of them do,” Mrs. Hubbard says. “But most of them are here all day. Freedom Beach has moms and dads who have jobs in the village or in the city, so they need a safe place to be while their parents work.”

I think about this for a little while. “Do you ever take babies?” I ask.

“I don’t,” Mrs. Hubbard says. “But Anna May, who has a toddler of her own and lives two doors down, watches babies. She’s full up, though. She’s watching two infants and a toddler as well as her own little girl.”

“Oh,” I say, turning this over in my mind.

After lunch, the kids have a choice of lying down and listening to the soft music, or lying down, listening to the soft music, and reading books.

Mrs. Hubbard motions me into her office, turns on a super-duper baby monitor that seems to have cameras in every corner of the nap room, and closes the door.

“It’s not any of my business,” Mrs. Hubbard says, “But are you making it with Austin?”

I don’t say anything, but I feel my cheeks grow hot.

“That’s what I thought,” she says. “No shame in it. He’s a handsome man, and a good one. But have you taken any thought to birth control?”

I think back to when my mother had “the talk” with me. By the end of it, I’d wanted to squirm, especially since I’d realized I learned more from books out of the library than I did from her. Where was Mrs. Hubbard when I’d had questions?

“We’ve been using condoms,” I say.

“Hmmm,” she says, thoughtfully. “You know those things are only so-so as birth control?”

I really don’t know. “Why?” I ask.

“Well,” she says, “First of all, you have to stop all the action and actually use one. Same thing goes for diaphragms. They don’t do any good in the headboard or drawer beside the bed.”

That makes me giggle, especially remembering how much I hate to “stop the action.”

“Then, sometimes they get pin holes. Or they can break. Or you can put them on too late, or in the wrong sort of way. No, no,” she says, “I don’t need details. But I volunteer at The City Clinic twice a week.”

“You do?” I ask, surprised. “Who watches the kids?”

“My husband, of course,” Mrs. Hubbard says. “He was a child psychologist until he retired, so we had no trouble at all getting him qualified. Or my daughter when she has time. But she’s a nurse at the clinic, so she has a hard time getting off.”

While I’m letting this information tumble around in my brain, Mrs. Hubbard takes out a business card and hands it to me.

“You should go over there and get some real birth control,” she says. “I love babies as much as the next person, or I wouldn’t be in this business, but life is best for everyone when they are expected and wanted. They do a bang-up job of helping out with education and prevention.”

I turned the card over in my fingers. It was an address and phone number for a local family care clinic. “I’ll think about it,” I say, remembering that I don’t have any money.

“You do that,” she says, Then, almost as if she has read my mind, “Don’t worry about whether you can afford it or not.

They got a grant this last year to help people who don’t have an income.

Now, we’d better get back out there before some of these lively little ones decide it’s time to get up — whether we are ready for them or not. ”