Spy Games

by Cassandra Dee

  “Oh fuck baby,” Trent ground out this time, big body literally shaking. “Keep that up and I’m gonna fucking come.”

  I giggled slightly despite the fact that my face was still in his behind. Because that’s exactly what I wanted. I wanted Trent to come so hard, so fast, so furious even though I couldn’t take him in my pussy or ass at the moment. I wanted him to have the ride of his life, for that big body to give it up, to reward me with sweet, hot lashes of semen, the virile DNA that was going to make me into a mommy again.

  Because yes, the addition to our family was very much wanted, even by my son Robbie. Robbie had been shocked, sure, but not absolutely stunned, blown to the moon. And that had surprised me. We’d been in the kitchen when I broke the news that I was dating his best friend from college.

  Robbie had paused mid-swig at the milk carton. That boy was always drinking straight from the jug, he’d never learn, and I’d sighed, exasperated. But this wasn’t the time to take it up.

  “I wanted you to know,” I said firmly. “I wanted you to be the first to know that Trent and I are dating … we’re lovers,” I said with finality. There was no sense in beating around the bush, making like all we did was hold hands and giggle. Oh god no. My lover was in me every which way until Wednesday and I absolutely needed it, I needed that big body to own me, to possess me.

  Robbie paused, shooting me a glance.

  “Seriously Mom? With Trent? Are you sure?”

  I sighed, huffing a little.

  “Of course I’m sure,” I said firmly again. “Your friend. Your best friend, Trent Markham.”

  And my son rolled his eyes.

  “Of course I know who he is, it just seems a little weird to say the least. You’re my mom and you’re Trent’s what? Girlfriend?” he said incredulously.

  This was the perfect time to make my point, to push the realization home, the nail in the coffin.

  “Yes. Exactly. I’m Trent’s girlfriend. And we’re trying to get pregnant,” I added. Might as well go from the frying pan to the fire, there was no sense in holding back.

  And Robbie was surprised at that one, really shocked.

  “But aren’t you too old?” he asked, looking at me with goggly eyes. “I mean, Mom, you’re like forty and isn’t that over the hill? It’s a little late, don’t you think?”

  I sighed. Trust my son to be insulting without even meaning to. Kids these days, they don’t hold back.

  “Yes, I’m forty, but there’s still time, it’s not too late,” I said, keeping my voice even. “And Trent and I, we’ve decided we want a baby, so we’re going for it.”

  Robbie took it with surprising grace, surprising equanimity.

  “Well, if that’s what you want,” he said slowly. “I’ve wanted you to find someone, you know ever since Dad left …” his voice trailed off.

  And I shook my head.

  “Honey, this is nothing like your Dad. Trent is different, your dad and I never should have gotten married, we were nineteen when we tied the knot and I was already pregnant with you. But things are different now. I’m a woman, and Trent is a man who knows his mind, we want this baby and it’s the right thing to do.”

  Robbie showed amazing maturity then.

  “I know you and Dad didn’t expect to have me so soon, it was kinda a shotgun type thing,” he said slowly. “And I want you to be happy Mom. You always made me feel loved despite everything, you were always there for me growing up, through high school, even in college,” he said wryly. “Even when we struggled, you were always there, so if this is what you want, then I’m happy for you. But I’m still gonna ask Trent about it, this is my best friend, and you have to admit, this is weird as shit. I gotta talk to him.”

  I merely nodded, sure of myself. Because Trent is an alpha male, confident, sure of himself, and hell, he wanted a baby even more than I did. So their conversation was going to be positive, I was certain. Maybe not smooth sailing all the way, not with the tough questions and inevitable answers, but I knew my man had my back, that we were in this together, that we were lovers with a future, supporting one another, walking the path of life hand in hand.

  And I turned my attention back to Trent now. Because yeah, the conversation with my son had gone fine, and against all odds, my lover got a call from a team in Miami. It was a mix of shock and elation, like fireworks you’d hoped for, but never expected. He’d told me so many times that it was a one in a million chance, that so few guys ever made it to the big leagues from the minors. But he’d done it. He’d stuck it out, nose to the grindstone, working hard, improving his strength, speed, coordination, and agility. And now we were moving to Miami together, living in a big house, just waiting for the birth of our daughter.

  And I was so happy, I had to show him again how much I appreciated this, how much I loved our life together, everything the big man had to offer. So I pulled harder on his dick, running my hands up and down his huge shaft, loving the veiny feel, loving how there was so much pre-cum that my hand squelched a little, small sucking sounds that were so dirty yet so arousing. And the alpha grunted again, on his knees still, panting as I fisted him, hips jerking reflexively as his balls rose high and tight.

  But Trent knew what he wanted and ground out his command.

  “Rim me baby, taste my ass until I come.”

  And I obeyed, loving the dirtiness, the nastiness, wanting to give him all that I could. My pussy dripped hotly, cream smearing my thighs, but I knew Trent would take care of me after he came, he never leaves me hanging. So I pressed my head to his anus again and flicked lightly against the opening as my hands moved up and down his fuckpole faster, the hard rod twitching, beginning to spasm as a low rumble sounded from Trent’s chest.

  And as my hand blurred, pleasuring him, my tongue delving deep into his hot backside, it happened. The big body beneath me quivered then jerked, once, twice, the rod in my hands going completely still before spasming with hot lust, gust after gust of semen coating my hands, spurting hotly onto the coverlet, the evidence of his virility, the white, sticky goo everything that I wanted, the world to me.

  And I ate it all as he came hard. I burrowed my mouth even deeper into his ass, feeling his anal walls contract around my tongue as he gave it up, big body shaking, the man roaring as I tasted his ass while fisting his dick. And it was so good, so hot, that I came as well unexpectedly, without him touching me. I didn’t think it would happen, I’d thought he’d have to put his fingers in me, lick my pussy a bit to bring me to climax, but there’s always something new in our loving. We’re so attuned to one another, the least sensation triggering a reciprocal sensation in the other that giving him pleasure gives me pleasure as well, and my pussy clenched and spasmed on its own, cream gushing from my hole as I cried out into his ass, long, lusty sighs ringing out.

  “Oh!” I moaned, my body quivering as electricity made my cunt spasm hard, clenching and clamping with desire. “Oh!”

  And Trent was lost as well.

  “Fuck baby, fuck fuck fuck,” he ground out. “FUCK!”

  So we came simultaneously, our bodies moving, shaking with one another, bound together by lust, by love, and by the new addition to our family. Because nothing is perfect in life. We’d done the unthinkable, overcoming a twenty year age gap to find each other, to find one another in the darkness of the night, only to bring it into the open now. And we wanted the world to know. Trent Markham, MLB player, had a girlfriend who was his senior, and we were expecting a baby to boot. Trent Markham, who was now a star with a multi-million dollar contract and a mansion in Miami, was having a baby with the woman he loved. And the best part? It would never end. Because my lover and I are bound together, we’re halves of the same whole, he’s made me his and I’ve made him mine … and he’s not just my son’s best friend, but he’s my best friend, my lover, my man, my everything, always.

  THE END

  (Please turn the page for a sneak peek at my hot new release!)

  A SNEAK PEEK

>   SOLD AT THE AUCTION

  By Cassandra Dee

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Ellie

  “Seriously El, you can’t wear that,” said my friend Rachel.

  I looked back at her, a little miffed.

  “Why not?” I asked plaintively. The jeans I had on were nice, a dark denim wash, and I’d paired them with a long-sleeve top, crushed velvet with a scoop-neck. “Looks okay to me.”

  Rachel snorted.

  “Seriously El, we’re in Vegas for the week. We’re going clubbing at a place that doesn’t even have a name, it’s so hot. You can’t wear the stuff you usually do, now take it off,” she commanded.

  I thought about refusing flat out, putting down my foot and digging in. But the thing is my friend is the one with the fashion sense, Rachel always looks amazing, knowing exactly how to do herself up for every occasion. In comparison, I was a little frumpy, dazed and confused most times, my brown hair unfashionably curly, my curves unfashionably round. So yes, I got invited to good parties because I was Rachel’s friend, but I didn’t look like any of them, skinny minnies all.

  And frankly, it was amazing that Rachel and I are friends at all because we’re so different, she’s swan-like, thin and elegant, with a modeling portfolio, whereas I’m round and small, an A-student. So our interests are poles apart, not to mention our paths in life. But we’ve known one another since we were five, and have seen one another through thick and thin again and again. Take last year, for example, when Rachel’s parents got divorced. I was her confidante, her therapist, and her anchor when she was lost at sea, adrift on waves of sadness. And I know she’d do the same for me if our situations were reversed. So despite the fact that outwardly, it looks like we have nothing in common, in fact we have a bond that goes deep, far further than mere clothes or personalities would suggest.

  And since my body changed, my friend’s fashion advice was even more important. Because gone was the old Ellie from two years ago, an underweight mouse shaped like a broomstick, and in her place was the body of a woman, like Venus de Milo incarnate. I have big boobs now, a huge ass that sways when I walk, and generous hips making it hard to fit any type of pants. In fact, it’d been a struggle getting into my jeans tonight, I’d had to hop up and down desperately a couple times before they squeezed on, and the button was threatening to pop off any second.

  So I sighed again.

  “I don’t have anything else,” I repeated plaintively, gesturing with open palms. “There’s nothing else, look at my suitcase, nothing, nada.” And flipping open the purple travel case to reveal the interior was uninspiring. There was nothing haute couture or racy, just a couple more colored tops and a pair of grey jeans to mix things up.

  Rachel pulled a face.

  “Really, you didn’t bring a dress? Something a little slinkier?” she asked, picking through the stuff in my bag.

  I shook my head.

  “Nope, you know I don’t wear dresses that often,” I reminded her. “I’m more of a tomboy.”

  Rach pulled another face.

  “Tomboy, schmomboy, El, you’ve got a body now that’s decidedly not tomboyish anymore,” she emphasized. “Come on, you’re gonna have to wear something of mine then.” And with that she began pawing through her things, flipping through the closet where she’d hung a million outfits, each one colorful and gaudy, some even with pom-poms and sequins.

  “No, Rach, no,” I pleaded. Even if I wore something of my friend’s, we weren’t the same size, not even close. My blonde friend was your typical petite vixen, about five one and a size zero. Whereas now, I was up to a size fourteen, maybe. Possibly a sixteen, it depended on what I’d had for breakfast, or sometimes dinner the night before. There was no way I could squeeze into one of Rachel’s outfits, I’d rip it at the seams like a juicy tomato busting out.

  But my friend couldn’t be deterred.

  “How about this one?” she asked brightly, pulling a dress out of the closet.

  I groaned. It was terrible, all psychedelic colors, oranges swirling with purples, great big globs of green here and there.

  “No Rach,” I said firmly. “Absolutely not, I’m getting a headache just looking at it.”

  She sniffed, her pert nose wrinkling.

  “Just so you know El, this dress is by Missoni, they’re a famous Italian design house known for their zany patterns.”

  I shook my head still.

  “I’ve never heard of this designer, but no Rach, it’s like an acid trip,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t.”

  Rachel sighed dramatically, hanging it back up.

  “How about this one then?” she asked.

  I paused for a moment, stunned. The dress wasn’t even a dress, really. It was more like a band of cloth across the bust paired with a skirt, with the tiniest piece of material connecting the two vertically, enough to hide your belly button.

  “What is that?” I asked, horrified.

  “What you’ve never seen cut-outs before?” my friend scoffed like a grande dame. “This here is an Azzedine Alaia, I love his work,” she cooed. “So sultry, he knows a woman’s body so well.”

  I shook my head again.

  “Rach, that’s more like a swimsuit, I can’t go into a club wearing a swimsuit.”

  And my friend laughed.

  “It’s not a swimsuit, the material’s not waterproof,” she said airily. “Besides, look what I’m wearing,” she said slyly, untying her purple fur jacket. And I gasped because beneath the fur, the blonde had on something that looked like a violet handkerchief, a triangle bound around her breasts, dropping to a point that barely shielded her snatch. One flutter, and everything would be visible. I goggled, astounded.

  “Will they let you in the club like that?” I stuttered.

  “They better,” Rachel said cheerily. “Otherwise Miles will be soooo disappointed,” she cooed.

  And I shook my head again. We’d been invited to this no-name disco by a bunch of guys we’d met at the hotel pool earlier this afternoon. Miles was the one Rachel had homed in on, an overly-tan muscular dude whose swim trunks left nothing to the imagination. I didn’t want to go out with them tonight, not really, but Rach was determined to see Miles again and I was just along for the ride, the best friend slash sidekick, always the voice of reason.

  “Okay, this one then,” my friend said with finality. “Seriously El, lighten up, this would look fantastic on you.”

  And I gasped again, but for a completely different reason. The dress she was holding in her hands was absolutely gorgeous. Size XS, yes, but still stunningly beautiful, a silky slip in gold that shimmered under the lights.

  “Try it on, okay?” asked my friend, pushing it into my arms. “Come on, chop chop, we gotta go, it’ll look amazing.”

  And with slow steps, I let myself into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and gazing in the mirror. What was going on? I was boring Ellie Danes, nerd extraordinaire, who never wore things like this. I was more a jeans and a t-shirt girl, swapping out the t-shirt for a sweater when things got cold, or a velvet top when things got sexy. No way could I ever pull off a dress like this.

  But never say never, and I was transfixed by the shimmering gold fabric, the material silky and glimmery in the light. Hesitantly, I pulled off my scoopneck, then squeezed out of my jeans, holding the tiny scrap of material in front of me. Did I dare put it on? Did I dare become someone other than plain old Ellie, always the wallflower? And with a sigh, I undid the zip and stepped into the shimmery fabric, sliding it up over my hips and breasts, pulling the spaghetti straps over my shoulders.

  Looking in the mirror, I gasped at the sudden transformation. Oh my god, I was someone else now. Whereas before I was curvy, yes, but hidden and discreet, now everything was out in the limelight. The fabric hug
ged my girls just so, emphasizing their creamy fullness, the tops of my mounds revealed in the deep décolletage. And the dress skimmed my waist, showing off how narrow it was before clinging to my hips, the shimmer emphasizing every sway of my booty.

  I giggled then, humping my butt up and down a bit just for fun, letting go in the privacy of the bathroom. It jiggled and jumped under the lights, the fabric sparkling and moving on my curves like liquid gold, casting a magical sheen around me, almost like a halo of sparkles surrounding my curvy form. I loved it, absolutely loved it, and opened the bathroom door.

  “Oh my gawd, it’s puuurrr-fect!” squealed my friend, handing me a jacket. “Now put that on otherwise we’re going to be late meeting Miles.”

  I shook my head again, draping the coat over my shoulders. It was as if a magic trick had ended, the dark material shrouding the gold, giving no hint of the dazzling splendor beneath. But Rachel was right. It was time to go, time to have a good time tonight.

  “Come on,” sang my friend, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “I picked out shoes and a purse for you already, gotta roll!”

  And with another sigh, I slipped my feet into the golden pumps Rachel had laid out, complete with a matching gold handbag. Oh my god, the heels were so high, I was going to have trouble balancing and sure enough, my first step was a little wobbly. Bracing myself against the wall, I took a deep breath.

  But my friend was already halfway down the hall.

  “Come on, last one in the elevator is a rotten egg!” she sang. And I had to laugh at that. We were still kids, even though it was our senior year in high school, even though we were in Vegas on our first unsupervised trip, without parents, siblings, or any type of chaperone. It was our last vacation before school applications started, the whole college race that was going to suck up every last minute of free time.