Size King

by S. C. Adams

  She laughs. “Well, yeah. If you’re serious, and you’re willing to put your damn money where your fine mouth is, I say yes. I could move in with you tomorrow if that’s what you wanted.”

  “Is that what you want?” I demand to know.

  “Yes,” she answers. “I want to live with you, Mason.”

  We share many long, passionate kisses. Her tongue lightly grazes across my lips, and I look into her emerald green eyes.

  “This feels like a fairytale or something,” I say. “I know that’s corny-sounding.”

  “It really is a modern fairytale,” she agrees. “Premarital sex that ends with a baby sounds more like today than those old-school fairytales.”

  “You don’t think Prince Charming fucked the princess from behind in the old-school fairytales?” I joke.

  “I’m sure he did, but those are in the adult editions they keep locked up in a vault.”

  “What do you think’s going to happen next in our story?” I ask her.

  “I’m going to fall more in love with you every day until I tell you to put a damn ring on it,” she says.

  “Whoa.” I laugh. “Wait, I thought you said you weren’t expecting a proposal from me.”

  “That was before I realized how much I need you.”

  “I could barely function with you not around. I’m the one that needs you.”

  “Let’s agree to never go a day without talking,” says Jillian. “From now on, we always talk or text each other at least once a day.”

  “Deal,” I concur.

  “I think what happens next,” she begins, returning to my earlier question, “is that I look for work casually while crashing at your big-ass house. If you think you can handle me for a week, let’s say. If you still love me after living with me for a week, then I’ll move in with you for good. I can sublet.”

  “Sounds good.” I nod.

  “You will keep expanding your delivery empire and make more money so that you can buy a café. Do you know what you’re going to name your restaurant?

  “I have a few ideas.”

  “Like?”

  “You tell me what you’re going to name our son, and I’ll tell you what I’m going to name my café,” I bargain.

  “I can wait.” She winks.

  “I’m surprised we haven’t fallen back asleep yet,” I say while looking at the time.

  “I’m not.”

  “I love you, Jillian.”

  “I love you too, Mason.”

  Epilogue

  Jillian

  Nine Months Later. Conceiving a child is something many women experience at some point in their lives, and it’s something that everyone knows and understands. Describing the delivery is both easy to do and yet so difficult.

  When I give birth to my child, I am joined by the father of my child, who never leaves my side. He holds my hand, listens to me scream and curse for twenty hours, and he never breaks. He is my man and never falters, no matter what awful things I say to him. Of course, once the baby comes out, nothing else matters.

  He looks exactly like his father. He has my eyes and likely will get my height, but everything else is Mason. This boy is going to get all the girls looking at him once he grows up.

  I hate being away from him for any amount of time. The moment I am able to see him, I hold onto him and don’t let him go until we get to the house. Even when I put him down in his crib, or put him in his high chair, I always keep in close proximity to him. The only boy I’m more in love with than Mason is our son.

  Mason doesn’t tell his dad that I’m pregnant or that I’ve given birth. To my knowledge, they never even spoke during the entire nine months of my pregnancy. I let my family know that I was pregnant once I began my second trimester. I had dinner with them once, shortly before I gave birth. I wasn’t sure how much involvement with my baby I wanted to give my parents.

  I go back to see my doctor once I hit six weeks postpartum. I want a checkup to make sure that I am indeed handling things well, and it isn’t all in my head. Most people recommend going back to the doctor well before six weeks, but I feel confident during the early stages that I am doing well. I am more concerned with getting my new child to a doctor before I worry about me.

  I arrive for my 10:30 appointment, am examined, cleared, and sent on my way. I ask my questions—that I indeed already know the answer to, thankfully—and am able to get some ideal medications for the baby and myself.

  One of the medications I get for myself is birth control. Since I have given birth, Mason and I haven’t had sex. We aren’t going to tempt fate again and have sex with a condom, no matter how tested and great they are, and no matter how horny we get. We take care of each other in many other ways during our abstinence period, but we are craving a good fuck like we are starved. Fortunately, we always supply each other with plenty to feast on in the meantime.

  I start on the pill about a week after I give birth. And so, with a month having passed, and a three months’ supply of birth control, I am finally ready and able to have sex again. Plus, I am almost back to my ideal weight, and I am excited to show off my progress to Mason.

  As I drive from the doctor’s office back to the house, I think about the weeks ahead and how I am going to hate being away from my man and my son. I start back at K-Plus soon, and I will be returning to my routine during my maternity gigs.

  During periods when I have brief shoots in L.A., I stay with Emma at her place rather than drive for three hours each day. I alternate between Mason’s house and Emma’s apartment—I primarily stay with Mason, but I do have a room and bathroom at Emma’s place, too, with many of my belongings scattered around the apartment. I expect to work about three full days a week, so it stands to reason that my old methods are likely to be practiced again regularly.

  I get home and am happy to see Mason’s car in the driveway. He had a business meeting earlier and was looking into some buildings in town to potentially buy and renovate into his dream café. Mason had the baby for the day. The meetings weren’t going to last long, and he wanted to take him out to look at buildings with him. He feels like having his son there with him will help keep him honest and making good decisions.

  I walk into the house and am hit by a cloud of exquisite aromas. Mason is cooking in the kitchen, still in his business attire, sleeves rolled up and looking sexy.

  “Honey, I’m home!” I call out.

  “Excellent!” he says with a thumbs-up. “Dinner should be ready in about ten minutes!”

  I walk into the kitchen, trying to stay out of his way while he moves around from spot to spot. I look at the kitchen table and se my baby boy in his bouncy seat. He stares up at me with his gorgeous green eyes.

  “Hi, handsome!” I say in my baby voice. “Hi, handsome boy!”

  He smiles at me with his adorable toothless face, squinting his eyes and cooing. I kiss him all over his cute little head, barely leaving any part of him uncovered.

  “I’m just gonna eat you up,” I say. “Yes, I am!”

  “Please don’t!” Mason says. “Food’s almost done—eat that instead.”

  “I am kidding!”

  I pick up my little angel, holding him and squeezing him. I’ve missed him dearly, even though I’ve only been gone for a few hours.

  “I missed you, little Mason,” I whisper to my son.

  Yes, we named our son after his dad. At first, his dad protested that choice—he said our son would grow up to resent being named after him and not given a new and special name. He also claimed that he didn’t like his name.

  I countered his opinion by saying that he, Mason Sr., was the only man I’ve ever adored in my life, and I love and respect him more than anyone else in the world; and I thought, for those reasons and more, his name was one I want to pass on. It also helped my case when Mason Jr. was born, and he came out looking exactly like Mason Sr. did when he was a baby. Finally, he conceded to me.

  Mason Sr. typically refers to our son as Junior so
we won’t get things mixed up. The two of them get along wonderfully and are almost as inseparable together as I am with Junior.

  “How was the doctor’s?” Mason asks.

  “Fine, everything’s all good,” I reply. “How was your meeting?”

  “It went fucking incredible!”

  “Language!” I hiss.

  “He’s six weeks old, Jillian,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, things went really well. In fact, I might have picked a place.”

  “What?”

  “We looked at four buildings today,” he explains. “The first three wouldn’t have made for a suitable café, but when we got to the fourth one, it was different. I’m telling you, I think even Junior knew it was the right place. We talked it out, came to an appropriate figure right then and there, and I signed the lease a little over an hour ago.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “It’s small, but has plenty of kitchen space,” he continues. “It’s not right in the downtown center, but it’s still on Main St. It looks great, and I think it could become a big attraction factor for Wrightwood.”

  He shows me some pictures on his phone. It is tough to discern from pictures alone, but I have faith in his decision-making.

  “That’s so amazing, baby!” I cheer. “So, you really signed it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he confirms. “I’ll be in business by next year.”

  “I’m so proud of you,” I tell him. “You’re working so hard. You’re putting a café together, running Dunn Deliveries, and you always spend time with your son. Why must you be so perfect?”

  “One of these days, you’re going to believe me when I tell you I’m not perfect,” he says.

  “No, I won’t,” I say sweetly, kissing his forehead.

  After dinner and once daytime has become night, we put Mason Jr. to bed. We tuck him in and watch him sleep for a while as he peacefully dreams.

  “I never get tired of watching him sleep,” I whisper.

  “He’s perfect,” says Mason. “Our child is something else.”

  Mason Jr. whines quietly, encouraging us to step out of his bedroom and into the hallway. We close his door without making a sound.

  “Is the baby monitor on in both rooms?” Mason asks.

  “They should be,” I answer. “Unless the one in our room died. The batteries were low in it.”

  “I should clean up the kitchen, but it’s already getting kind of late,” he says.

  “Well, FYI, I’m able to have sex again,” I say and wink. “Just so you know.”

  He instantly changes. It’s apparent that he’s been awakened.

  “I’m on birth control,” I say. “And it’s been more than a month. I know you’ve had an active day, and you’re probably tired.”

  He grabs hold of my hand and takes us straight to the bedroom. He is excited, overjoyed by the news I’ve given him. We shut the door but keep it open a crack just in case.

  First, we take a shower together, lathering up our bodies and letting the water hit us like a torrential downpour. We take our time and get clean before we jump in and get back to being dirty. It’s so hot, and not just the temperature of the water.

  He pins me to the shower wall, kissing my lips and sucking on my neck. I squeeze his ass, feeling the water trickle down my hands. I can feel him pressed against me. His girth is thick, but he isn’t as hard as he could be. He is taking his time and enjoying me.

  He turns me around and presses me face-first against the wall. He pulls my hair hard, tilting my head back.

  “Fuck, yeah,” I say, turning and spitting shower water in his face.

  He subtly humps me from behind, grinding his dick up against my ass so that I know he holds a desire for me, ready to release it. I try and grind back on him, but he tightens his hold on my reins, keeping me steady while he has his way with me. I desperately want him to fuck me.

  After our shower, he takes us to bed, not allowing me to fully dry myself like I usually do. He puts me on the edge of the bed, right where I am hoping he will. I expect him to plow into my cunt and obliterate me, but like usual, he surprises me with the unexpected.

  He gets down on his knees and licks my pussy good and long. He just had a good dinner, and now, it is time for his dessert. I’m hungry for his tasty treat, but I don’t want to fill up on an appetizer before I have a chance to enjoy the entrée.

  The entrée arrives shortly after he’s gotten me to cum—in less than one minute because I am so excited to fuck him again. He makes love to me standing on the edge of the bed, with my legs over his shoulders and our bodies finally becoming one. I am loving every second of it. I’ve missed his dick so much.

  “You’re so good, baby,” I moan.

  “You’re so tight.”

  “I’ve been without you for too long. Keep fucking me and stretch me out, lover.”

  He does just that, pounding and thrusting with such good speed and rhythm that I am able to achieve another climax. His dick is giving me the best sensations I’ve felt since months before Junior was born.

  He replaces me on the edge of the bed. He has me sit down on him, ass facing him and body rocking. I ride him reverse cowgirl hard and fast, reveling in my ecstasy with every movement.

  We both are wanting to scream and call out to each other, but we don’t want to wake up the baby. However, we find out how hot it is when we have to keep our voices down. We have rules, and it is tempting to break those rules. He covers her mouth with his hands, and I lick or bite them as a playful rebellion.

  Staying attached to me, he sits up in bed with me, bends me over, and sticks my ass out for him to gander at. He is in complete control. He won’t stop until we can try almost all of our favorite positions, and he is deliberate with each move he makes. He’s imagined this night for a while.

  I’ve imagined it, too. By midnight, I’ve come so many times that I lose count. He comes deep inside of me and on my perky breasts—he comes hard and thick for me, nearly overflowing me.

  We lie in bed together and talk more about the future. Meanwhile, I look at the baby monitor, listening for any sounds the baby might make in the night.

  “Have you decided on a name for your café yet?” I ask.

  “We could go for a triple threat and call the place ‘Mason’s,’” he ponders.

  “That’s actually not a bad idea,” I say.

  “I’m kidding,” says Mason. “I’ll bet it gets closed in a month if I name it after myself.”

  “You could name it after your son,” I recommend. “No one’s going to attack you if you tell them you named it after your firstborn child.”

  “True.”

  “Am I still beautiful after giving birth?” she asks.

  “Darling, you were beautiful to me every day during your pregnancy.”

  “I know. You have to say that, but—”

  “You were breathtaking,” he says. “You’ll be breathtaking until the end of time.”

  I give him one last kiss goodnight and drift off to sleep. I am cozy living in a house with my new family. I’m not sure what adventures await us, but I know I can get through anything with both of my Masons. That night, along with many other nights for years to come, I have pleasant dreams that include both of my boys.

  The End

  Keep reading! There’s another book in this collection for your reading pleasure.

  Single Biker Daddy

  A Single Dad Biker Romance

  By S.C. Adams

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  About This Book

  In Single Biker Daddy, we discover that love, politics, and warfare are mingled together. There’s love, fighting, friendship, rivalry, and fun to be had.

  Dustin Walker is a member of a biker gang and a single dad who is looking for retribution for the death of his wife. Along the way, he meets Megan, a beautiful woman who happens to work for Dustin’s enemy…

  Dustin and Megan quickly come together, hoping t
o discover what it is they’re really looking for. Are they seeking romance, sex, or could it be motivated by the turbulence between gangs?

  Regardless of what they’re looking for, what they find is the answer to their lives. But will they live long enough to discover the truth? In a world where gangs rule the streets and gunfire is an all too common occurrence, it’s anyone’s guess. Single Biker Daddy is an offer you can’t refuse.

  No cheating, no cliffhangers, and always an HEA.

  39

  Dustin

  I’ve owned my own bike shop in Reno for over five years now. Well, I’ve co-owned a bike shop in Reno for over five years.

  My name is Dustin Walker; I’m thirty, a single father, and a biker. I’m the Vice-President of a local biker club, the Crimson Wheels, and it goes without saying, but I’ve seen a lot of shit.

  The Crimson Wheels is publicly referred to as a club, but everyone knows what we’re really about. The club was founded by my best friend Cody and myself. We started things up almost ten years ago after we fell in love with our bikes and found ourselves always involved in unseemly things.

  In order to get eyes off us whenever we were up to “business,” primarily eyes belonging to the law, Cody and I started up our specialty bike shop that we run and operate six days a week downtown, called Dual Wheel Duo. Owning a legitimate business is a great way for us to keep the heat off ourselves and a great way to make a living, if you know how to do it.

  We had built up our business over the years, and things were going great, and then one day, another bike shop opened downtown and started taking away good chunks of our clients. Whenever we would try and sway those clients back, it wouldn’t work. Then, as weeks passed and we tried offering new deals and lower prices to all our regulars, we watched even more of our regulars going over to the new rival shop. It was like no matter what we did, these unknown newcomers always outdid us.