A heavy weight sinks into my stomach at his confused expression. I knew he was too young to understand.
“But don’t a lot of astronauts have families?”
I nod. “Yes, but either they’re men, who don’t have to do the actual having of the baby, or they’re younger, with plenty of time to balance motherhood, astronaut training and space flight. I don’t want to do all that.” My eyes focus on an inflatable snowman waving in the breeze, testing the limits of the stakes holding it down. “I’ve set out to accomplish all that I wanted to, and I love my job. But there is no overwhelming drive to be an astronaut.” I’ve never said any of this out loud, and it’s scary, but I force myself to look Ryan in the eye. “But there is to be a mother.”
Another breeze funnels through the neighborhood and I shiver. “Hold up.” I bend over the stroller, tucking the blanket tighter around a sleeping Adam. “There.”
Strong arms wrap around me, cutting off the breeze at my back. “You’re going to be a great mom.”
I allow myself five seconds. Five seconds of his strength and warmth before I pull away. “It’s probably a good thing we said this now. That way you know where I stand.” I walk forward, now unable to look at him, upset with myself for how emotional I’m being when we haven’t even kissed yet. “But thank you for asking me out and for the picnic; I had a great time.”
“Wait.” His large hand wraps around my biceps, stopping me from walking away. “Why does it sound like you’re saying good-bye?”
It’s my turn to be confused. “I just told you I want to get married and have kids.” He continues to stare at me. “Like, in the very immediate future.” More staring. “You’re a few years younger than me.” He flinches and I jump on his reaction. “See? You have plenty of time for all that. You’re hot and fun and a firefighter to boot. You don’t need to date a woman whose biological clock is more like a ticking time bomb.”
He smirks. “You think I’m hot, huh?”
“Oh my gosh.” I can’t help but laugh as I roll my eyes. “You’re such a guy.”
“Yes. A hot one.” We pull up into his driveway, Ryan maneuvering the stroller to the front porch. “You know, you haven’t asked me what I want.”
I watch him scoop up a sleeping Adam from his seat, trying hard not to drool at the sight of that small baby huddled against his large, imposing chest. “What you want?”
“Yeah. You said I’m hot, which, thank you by the way.” He smirks over his shoulder as he opens the front door. “But you just assumed that we weren’t on the same page just ’cause I’m a little younger.”
I replay what I said in my head as I follow him upstairs. “I guess I did just assume.” We turn into a bedroom at the top of the landing, painted blue with a white crib set up under the window. “Whoa. You really went all out for Adam. Does he stay with you a lot?”
“I try and help out on my days off. Gives Cammie a break at single motherhood and on daycare costs.” He lays Adam down on his back, pausing to rest his palm on his head before turning to me again. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a single guy with a steady job I love, living in a four-bedroom family home in a good school district that’s already set up with a nursery.” He walks toward me with purpose, until I find myself walking backward out of his reach, unsure of these feelings rising inside me. We stop when I back out of the nursery and butt up against the hallway wall. “And I love all of that. I want more of that. I may be just a year or two younger than you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want what you want.”
“A year or two?” He looks younger than that. “How old are—”
His mouth meets mine hard, cushioned only by the fullness of his lips. It’s forceful and dominating and so freaking hot I lose track of my thoughts. His wide, hard thigh rubs between my own and if my eyes weren’t already closed, they’d roll up inside my head.
Ryan’s lips move across my jaw, just under my ear. “I’m waiting.” His voice sends shivers down my spine, all while his thigh still presses firmly against me.
It takes me a few seconds to process what he said. “Waiting?”
“Mmm-hmm.” The vibrations from his mouth seem to be directly linked to my clit. “For your apology.”
“Apology…” Why is he talking? How is he talking? My hips start grinding on his quadricep.
“For assuming you knew what I wanted.” His teeth graze the cord of my neck and I can’t help but whimper. “I love when you apologize.”
“So-sorry. So sorry.” Just keep doing what you’re doing.
“You’re forgiven.” Then his lips meet mine again and it’s like playtime is over. The smoldering fire he stared in my pants turns full-on inferno when he shifts his body, lifting me until I wrap my legs around his waist.
I’m vaguely aware of him walking. I’m more concerned with the back and forth motion happening between my legs with each step he takes.
And then my back hits the mattress and my shirt is over my head and for once all I can do is feel. I don’t have to be in control. No one’s life in is my hands. The fate of space travel and people’s health aren’t my concerns.
What concerns me is my clit. And how very badly I need it taken care of.
Ryan unhooks my bra, kissing down my body until his lips circle my nipple, his hand tweaking the other.
“Oh, sweet baby Jesus that’s good.”
He chuckles against my skin. “Am I going too fast?”
I look down at his concerned face, his lips an inch from my hardened nipple. “If you slow down, I’ll cut you with a scalpel.”
The side of his mouth twitches. “Okay, then.” He nods. “Duly noted.” And then he’s back, biting my puckered flesh, sucking until my back arches and I feel the beginning of an orgasm.
“God damn you’re beautiful.” Another suck. “So sexy.” His hand moves from my breast to the button on my jeans. I bat his hands away, undoing the zipper myself.
“Oh no you don’t.” He grabs my hands, raising them above my head. “Hands up.” He squeezes my wrists. “Don’t move.” His eyes meet mine, unmoving until I give a slight nod. “Good girl.”
Holy fuck. I’m a feminist. I want equal pay, no glass ceilings and I stand for empowering women everywhere, I swear. But I can’t help but saturate my panties when he takes control and calls me a good girl.
I’m further rewarded when his hands travel slowly but firmly down my arms, over my breasts and hook into the waist of my jeans and panties before pulling them down, exposing me fully on his bed.
He’s still dressed, still in control and I love every second of it.
“Spread.” He doesn’t wait for me to acquiesce, but takes his large, rough hands and pushes my thighs wide. “Beautiful.”
And I feel beautiful. I hadn’t realized how long I’ve gone without that feeling, having been beaten down by bad first dates and self-consciousness about why I haven’t found someone to start a family with. I didn’t realize how much blame I put on myself for that. Until it’s gone, lifted by a few sincere but meaningful words by this handsome firefighter.
His eyes meet mine. “Perfect.”
Before I can make a fool of myself and cry, he dips his head, inhaling deeply before licking, sucking, kissing and nibbling his way around my arousal, building it up.
My fingers find his hair, funneling through the blond strands.
“Ah, ah.” He lifts his head and I whine when his mouth leaves me. “Arms up.”
I hurry to comply, my hands grabbing the bar of his headboard, and he returns to his work. His very appreciated and very effective work.
My thighs clench and I feel heat spreading under my skin, ribbons of pleasure building and building…
“Oh fuck. I’m—” There, I’m there, arching my back, my heels digging into his back. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe… “Ahhh,” I sob, my lungs finally inflating, dots speckled across my sight. My body is limp and languid, my mind in the same state.
I barely register his soft
kisses traveling up my body, or the sheets being pulled across my skin. How long has it been since I had a release? Jules was right; I’ve been missing out.
But as Ryan’s arms wrap around me, and I register the warmth of his skin and the steady beat of his heart, I know I wasn’t just simply missing sex.
I was missing him.
Seven
Fire Break
Ryan
“Okay, little man. Today is your first lesson in being a wing man.” I snap Adam’s onesie closed and lift him off the changing table. “It’s an important job. And this is an important girl. So no pressure or anything, but don’t screw up.”
Adam giggles, and it’s probably gas, but I’m going to take it as an understanding between men.
I open the dryer door with one hand and pull out the doc’s shirt. Luckily, the shit stain came out. “No more pooping on our girl, okay?” His legs and arms pump back and forth in answer. “Good. Glad we cleared that up. Can’t be a good wing man if you’re pooping on people.” That gets me a gummy smile.
As usual, I woke up before the sunrise, my body used to getting up early for shifts. I did my workout, walked River and heated Adam’s bottle just in time for him to start squirming in his crib.
I figured I still had time to start breakfast before I needed to wake Becca.
Becca. I catch a goofy grin on my face in the hallway mirror before I reach inside the closet to get the baby carrier.
Yeah, I have it bad.
Securing Adam to my chest, I get started, glancing at the clock as I go. Becca didn’t say anything about going in to work early, but I don’t know when she usually goes in. What exactly is a flight surgeon’s schedule? I haven’t asked.
But then again, I didn’t have much of a chance; she went to sleep right after her orgasm. Not that I’m complaining. We’re both ready for something more, something serious. There’s plenty of time for sex. Getting her off was more important than not going to bed with a hard-on.
Besides, I slept like a champ after making Becca come so hard she passed out. Win-win for everyone.
I lay the bacon on a sheet pan lined with parchment paper, pop it in the oven and set the timer. Tom gives me shit for cooking bacon in the oven whenever I cook breakfast for the crew at the station, but it’s a hell of a lot easier to clean up. And when you’ve got an infant strapped to your chest you don’t need to be worrying about grease splatters.
I can’t wait to hear what the boys at the station have to say about Becca.
I’ve taken a lot of ribbing over the years for my blatant desire to be domesticated. Especially when I didn’t follow up a first date with a hot chick because I knew it wouldn’t lead anywhere, so I didn’t see the point. Ironically enough, I’m the last single guy standing at the station.
They all say singledom is wasted on me; and they’d be right.
I was ecstatic when Becca laid it all out last night. When she mentioned kids and marriage, she cemented herself as the perfect woman. After years of set-ups and dating apps, I finally found someone with the same goals. And she happens to be smart and sexy as hell. I guess when my mom referred to me as an old soul, I should’ve taken that as a sign that I needed to enlarge my dating pool age bracket.
I crack eggs into a bowl, cringing as I think of the little fib I told last night. I mean, I didn’t specifically tell her the wrong age, but I did say one or two years younger. How else was I going to stop her from side-lining me just because she thinks guys my age can’t or don’t want to commit?
I whisk the eggs, careful to keep Adam’s feet out of the way, then heat the pan. I’m the most commitment ready guy I know. She and I are at the exact same point in our lives and the chemistry is off the charts. Add in the fact that I’m bossy in bed and the good doctor likes to follow orders, and I know Becca and I are a match made in heaven.
As soon as I’m sure she sees it, I’ll tell her how old I am. By then age won’t even matter. “Right, little man?”
Adam lets loose a loud, long, air-popping fart.
I brush my lips across his fuzzy head. “That better not be your thoughts on the subject.”
“You cook?”
“Yeah I—” My brain stutters on Becca wearing my shirt and nothing else. It’s probably cliché of me to think it’s hot for her to wear something of mine, but I never said I was all that original.
“You okay?” She looks amused, so I’m thinking my gawking is fairly obvious.
“Uh, yeah.” I clear my throat. “Adam and I were just cooking up some breakfast.” I put the butter in the hot pan, turning to the side to keep Adam out of the way, I twirl the pan back and forth before pouring the whisked eggs in.
“Here, let me help.” She pushes me aside, grabbing the spatula I had resting by the cooking top, and moves the eggs around the pan in perfect figure eights.
“Huh.” I try to keep my eyes on the eggs and not her lean, pale legs. “Never saw it done that way.”
“My dad taught me.” She scoops it all to the center and starts the figure eights again. “It was one of the only dishes he could make, so we had a lot of scrambled eggs on the rare occasions I stayed at his place when I was little. That or take-out.”
“When did your parents divorce?”
She blinks, pausing like she just thought of something, then continues cooking the eggs. “He left when I was four. I saw him here and there, but not much. I took my mother’s maiden name when I turned eighteen.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugs, turning the heat off and moving the pan off the hot burner. “It was a long time ago. No big deal.”
“So then you’re close with your mom?”
“I guess.” The timer goes off, and without asking, she grabs the potholder and opens the oven, taking out the bacon. I reach up and get two plates from the upper cabinet.
It doesn’t escape my notice how well we work together.
“When I turned eighteen and went off to college, Mom moved back to Japan. She always missed it and her family.” She divides the eggs and bacon on the two plates, and I carry them over to the table by the windows. “We talk on the phone every month or so.”
“That’s it?” I can’t help the surprise in my voice. My parents live thirty minutes away in Deer Park and it’s all I can do to keep their calls down to every other day.
She nods, then sits at the table, avoiding my eyes.
I unstrap Adam and put him in the rocker that’s set up by the table. He’s too little for a highchair. “What does your schedule look like today? You won’t be late, will you?” I snap the bucket of the swing’s harness closed. “I wasn’t sure when you went into the office or whether or not I should wake you up.” The swing gets going and almost immediately Adam’s eyes drift shut.
When she doesn’t answer I look over at her and she has this dreamy expression on her face, her eyes on Adam and me. Smirking, I flex my bicep for her.
She snorts and rolls her eyes before looking at the clock. “I should be good. Maybe not enough time to go home and change, but I can always grab some scrubs to wear at the clinic.”
I pour two mugs of coffee, handing her one. “No need. I washed your shirt; the poop stain is officially gone.” I grab the sugar, but she waves it away.
“You cook and do laundry? How are you single?” She laughs, but there is an edge to it, and I wonder where her mind went. “But, uh, thank you. For doing that. It wasn’t necessary.”
“I’m pretty sure when your relative shits on your date’s clothes it’s pretty necessary to wash it out.”
Her laugh is more genuine this time. “Touché.”
“So how about that schedule? You free for lunch? It’s my off day and Adam and I are just hanging out. We could meet you somewhere?”
“Really? You want to meet me for lunch?”
Why is she so surprised? “Yes. Really.”
A slow, sweet smile spreads over her face and she hides it behind her coffee mug. “Yes. I’d like that.”
> Rebecca
“Why are you looking like a whore in Babylon?” Jules leans against the frame of my office door, her blue flight suit tucked into her shit-kicker motorcycle boots.
I drop my pen on my desk. “I don’t think that means what you think it means.”
She waltzes in, then falls into one of the chairs in front of my desk. The clinic offices are up and running, all smoke and water damage taken care of.
“Whatever. That was me trying to use euphemisms.” She leans forward, propping her arms on my desk. “How’s this? You look like you got dicked. How ’bout it?”
I shush her, getting up and closing the door. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”
She laughs. “Why not?”
Settling back into my seat, I wonder how to get out of this conversation. “I heard Bodie is giving his mother a tour today.” Bodie’s mom is a notorious hard-ass. I’m pretty sure Jules has elevated her to her own personal guru.
“Really?” She perks up before shaking her head. “Hey, no distractions. Tell me about the dicking.”
“Oh my God.” I laugh. “Fine, but stop calling it that.”
She settles back in the chair, a pleased smile on her face.
Truthfully, I’m kind of glad she’s here. Most of my friends from medical school are scattered all over the country now, and we’re all too busy for any kind of close relationships. I have the volunteers at the shelter, but they are either retired or teens. I’m not sure either would fully appreciate the, ah, dicking, as it were.
I try to control the smile that wants to overtake my face. “I slept with Ryan.”
“Cool. Who’s Ryan?”
My mouth drops open. “Jules!”
“What?” She raises both hands in the air like she didn’t just kill my moment.
I speak slowly. “The lieutenant firefighter you made me go on a date with?”
“Oh.” She draws out the word, like she’s searching her memory banks. “Awesome. Go me.”
Space Age- Houston, Prepare for Launch Page 5
