by Penny Wylder
Twisting her, I press her shoulders forward. The locker echoes as her hands slap the outside of the door, causing it to shake. Her ass pops up as I dig my fingers into her hips, pressing my hard cock against her skin.
Looking back at me over her shoulder, her eyes hood, glazing over in desire. Curling my fingers into the side of her pants, I tear them down her hips. Fumbling with the drawstring on my shorts, I wriggle my hips free, and my cock bounces out.
I'm rock hard, my crown swollen, glistening in precum. Pushing my hips forward, I spread her lips and sink in slowly. She's soaked, her pussy dripping in arousal. I stay still for a moment, letting her body adjust to my thickness.
Her pussy pulses around my length, walls tight, gripping me hard. Arching her back, she pushes herself down the last inch of my cock with a quiet moan. Slipping my hand around her chest and up under her neck, I lift her off the wall.
Sylvia wraps her arm around my neck as I splay an open palm on her chest. Moving my hips slowly, I begin to rock back and forth. I don't want to move fast, I don't want to rush through this. I want to feel every breath she takes in and lets out. I want to see her body writhe beneath me. I want to enjoy every single second until the orgasm crashes over her, and all that's left is a shivering shell.
Pulling out to the ridge of my crown, I drive back in hard. Her eyes roll back in her head, and a tremor runs through her body as she moans. Pistoning my hips, I thrust in and out with vigor. I can't control it anymore. And I don't want to. I take her like she's gift, made just for me.
Holding her throat, I drive myself in deeper, harder. I can feel her voice catching in the back of her throat, but I don't let the sound escape. My fingers dig into her warm skin, biting the soft, red flesh like the teeth of a snake.
Raking her nails across my scalp, she grinds her ass back against the base of my dick, rolling her hips. Slipping my hand down her chest and between her tits, I palm her cunt. With two fingers I circle her clit, flicking the swollen bud.
Faster and faster, I fuck her as I massage her pussy. The back of her head is pressing against my collarbone as her pussy milks my length, refusing to let it go. I feel the muscles in her stomach as they clench and a shiver, all along the length of her body.
Sylvia's mouth falls open and a soft, erotic moan escapes her lips. The sound she's making is so intense, it's music to my ears. With one final thrust, I come, and her pussy greedily accepts.
Letting out the breath I was holding in, I release her body, and she falls forward, catching the wall with open hands.
“Wow,” she says, turning and laying her back against the wall. “Like, wow.” Smiling, she runs the pads of her fingers across her lips and down the center of her chest. “That was incredible.”
“This is just the beginning. We have our entire lives in front of us, and there's plenty of that where we're going.”
“Our entire lives?” she asks, biting on her bottom lip and tugging it in. “What are you saying?”
“Well, I know I'm not going anywhere. And with the baby, I kind of figured you aren't going anywhere either. We love each other, and I thought. . .” Pausing, I adjust my pants, letting my eyes do some of the talking.
“Is this some type of proposal?” she smirks, slipping her hands behind her ass as she leans against the wall. “Are you asking me what I think you're asking me?”
Shrugging a shoulder, I run both my hands over my head. Holding up a finger, I unzip my bag and dig around inside.
I can see her from the corner of my eyes. She's fidgety, bouncing back and forth on her feet, rubbing her hands together. Her breathing picks up. Her mouth forms the cutest little O as she tries to slow down her breaths.
Pulling out a small red box, I turn to face her, sitting on one knee and holding it up toward her. “I don't know if this is the perfect time, and I'm sure you didn't picture it happening this way, here in a locker room. But I can't wait. I had this whole thing planned out in my head, where I was going—”
“Phade,” she says, cutting me off. “Just shut up and ask me already.”
Pulling back the lid, I take in a deep breath, and as I let it out, the words quickly follow. “Sylvia Fontain, will you really marry me?”
Shaking her head yes, I pull off the old ring and slip on the new one. Climbing to my feet, I take her in my arms. Tears are streaming down her face, happy, beautiful tears. Tears that can only be cried while wearing a smile.
I can feel her heart in her chest as it thumps, and her breath on my skin as she presses her face against my cheek. And in that moment, something inside me changes. My heart stops for a single beat, restarting to a new rhythm. I'm not living for me anymore. . .
It beats for her, it beats for the baby, and it beats for the family that somehow found me in the chaos of life.
I have a family. And I'll never take that for granted.
Epilogue
Sylvia
The bristles of the brush sweep across my cheeks, painting them pink. There's a woman bending over me, staring at my face like it's a canvas and not skin at all.
She's focused, her eyes darting around my features, tapping her tray of paint and moving back in to highlight, brighten, and cover the contours of my face.
Claudia steps up beside me and is peering at me through the mirror. “Here, something to calm your nerves.” Handing me a tall flute filled with bubbly liquid, she smiles.
Taking it, I lift it to my nose, and smell it. “I can't drink—”
“Don't worry, it's sparkling white grape juice.” Giggling, she sucks down her glass. “Mine, on the other hand, is not.” Resting the glass on the small table at my side, she gives herself a refill, and sets a bottle of champagne beside it.
I sip the juice, closing my eyes as the girl doing my makeup applies thick bronze eye-shadow. “Have you seen Phade?” I ask, my stomach tumbling with butterflies.
Today is the day. The first day of the rest of our lives. We're getting married. It's a small wedding, nothing huge. We really want to get married before the baby comes, so keeping it simple was the best plan.
My only request was to get married with my toes in the sand. The rest didn't matter, so long as Phade is by my side.
“I have, and no, I won't tell you how handsome he looks in his suit.” She lets out a breath, and I feel a rush of air wash across my face as she plops down in the chair beside me. “But I will tell you, the alter is gorgeous. Oh my God, Syl, it took my breath away, leaving me speechless.”
“That's a tough thing to do,” I say with a smile. “You always have something to say.” I wink at her playfully, giving her another smile.
Claudia meets my eyes and tilts her head, thinning her lids. Sticking her tongue out at me, she laughs. “Yeah, you're one to talk.”
We both start laughing. I reach up to rub my eyes, and the woman slaps my hand away with annoyance. “Don't rub. We're done,” the woman says.
Smiling, I lean in closer to the mirror. “I love it.”
“Syl, you look beautiful.” Standing, she grabs my shoulders and leans over so our faces are side by side. “I hope he knows how lucky he is.” Hugging me gently, her eyes start to tear up. Shaking her head, she inhales a quick breath. “Now, enough of this.” Fanning her face, she dries her eyes. “Are you ready to go get married?”
Nodding, I'm trying so hard not to cry. It isn't working. The tears are coming and there's nothing I can do to stop it. My hands are at my face, flapping with the hopes I won't ruin my makeup.
Hormones from the pregnancy, and the gravity of marrying the man that owns my heart, is too overpowering. I can't win this battle.
Blinking, the bubbles over my eyes pop free, cascading down my cheeks. Passing me a tissue, Claudia takes one for herself. I dab my face, sniffling and doing my best to not rub the my eyes.
Claudia holds out her hand, and I take it. Helping me to my feet, she passes me my bouquet. I freeze for an instant as I look at us in the mirror.
My dress is long, the
fabric light and flowy around my ever growing belly. The lace bodice wraps my torso and down my arms, with a sparkling crystal belt that sits just above my stomach.
Pinning the veil in my hair, my stylist opens it up and pulls it around the front, letting the veil blanket me in frosty silk. There's a thin trail of flowers embroidered down the seam. The train of the veil opens on the floor, and the same flowers spill at the base like the seamstress had dropped the basket of flowers and left them there.
I feel beautiful.
Claudia's dress is a strapless green chiffon that stops at her calves. There are layers in the skirt, so the dress dances across her legs whenever she moves.
Her bouquet is a cluster of three Picasso Calla lilies. The heart is purple, the opening a shade of cream. Long purple ribbons wrap the stems, draping over her wrists as she holds it up.
“Let's go get you hitched,” she says, wagging her brows. “Unless you're having second thoughts. You can hop on my back right now and I'll save you.”
“Ha!” Laughing loudly, I look down at my huge stomach. “You ain't carrying me anywhere like this.”
Eight and a half months in, with two weeks to go. I no longer have feet, and I honestly don't even remember what my vagina looks like anymore. I tried to use a mirror the other day to do some landscaping, it didn't work out.
The past couple of weeks have been the hardest. My ankles are swelling, my boobs have doubled in size, and I'm pretty sure the baby is using one of my kidneys as a punching bag.
I have the most unrelenting cravings for those little snack cakes, the chocolate ones filled with cream. I can't get enough of them.
Claudia giggles with me and nods in agreement. “You might be right, but I'd still try if you wanted me to.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I'm ready, I'm very ready.”
Smiling, Claudia's eyes twinkle with excitement. “Well, no more waiting, let's go get your husband.”
There's no music, just the sound of the ocean, and seagulls singing in the sky. Claudia starts down the beach, following a trail of purple rose petals. She disappears around the corner, out of my view.
A woman from the hotel waves me forward with a pleasant smile. “Right this way, sweetheart.”
Stepping out onto the sand, I let my toes adjust to the cool grains. I'm barefoot, crunching my toes up and letting the sand bury my feet. It feels good, calming my nerves a little.
Closing my eyes, I tip my head up toward the sky and let the sun warm my face. I'm not nervous, not anymore. The waves crashing, the sun on my skin, the birds overhead, it's settling.
The baby kicks, so I place a hand on my belly. Impatient, just like Daddy. Looking down at my stomach, I whisper. “All right, I'm going.”
Following the petals, I take the corner, and my breath hitches. Phade is standing at the end with the justice of the peace, his hands folded in front of his waist.
He isn't smiling, but the way his eyes freeze on mine, it's enough to turn my blood hot as fire. Slowly, I walk through the sand, seeing Phade, and only Phade. Everything else around us turns fuzzy and purple, disappearing as if we're the only two people in the world.
Phade holds out his hand, I reach out for him, and our fingers tangle together easily. The man in front of us starts to speak, but his words blend in the with ocean like white noise.
Phade looks so amazing. The charcoal black suit hugs every muscle on his chest and arms. A calla lily is pinned to his breast pocket, and the jacket hangs open, revealing a tie-less green button-up. His hair isn't soaked in hairspray or product, the wind blows it effortlessly, causing strands to flip and dance against his eyes.
He doesn't seem to care. He just keeps his eyes on me. The corner of his lip itches into a smile, and his gaze is so intense it hits me in the chest, knocking the air out of my lungs.
“Do you, Phade Manson, take this woman to be your wife?”
“I do.”
“And do you, Sylvia Fontain, take this man to be your husband?”
“I do.”
“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
There are cheers all around us. Claudia is screaming, Stone is clapping and whistling. Random people on the beach are hooting and yelping. Phade takes me in his arms, pressing our bodies together as he kisses me.
His lips are wet, soft, and taste like forever.
“Ah,” I say, pulling back suddenly, and grabbing my stomach.
“What is it? Did the baby give you a good kick?” He holds my stomach with both hands, feeling it with open palms.
“I. . . I don't know.” A warm sensation starts to seep down my inner thighs. I'm shocked, afraid, confused. “I'm not sure what's happening. Ah!” I call out as another cramping sensation causes my stomach to tense up.
Keeling over, I'm holding my knees with both hands, and trying to make sense of this.
Claudia is at my side, rubbing my back. “What's wrong?” she asks, looking between Phade and myself. “What happened?”
“I don't know,” he says, dropping to his knees so he can look in my eyes. “What's wrong, Syl?”
The warmth between my legs is flowing like a full stream. Lifting the bottom of my dress slightly, there's a puddle forming beneath me.
“I think the baby is coming.”
Everything happens so fast, like a flash of lightening. A wave of pain surges through my belly, turning it to stone. I want to stand, but no one is letting me up. I'm on the ground, sitting in wet sand.
I can hear the sirens growing closer, but each cramp is worse than the last and I'm not sure if I'm going to make it to the hospital before I have the right baby right here.
“Ahh! Son of a bitch!” Clutching my stomach, I try to keep my breathing even. In slow, out slow, in slow, out slow.
Phade is cradling my body from behind, telling me the ambulance is almost here. He sounds panicked, his voice keeps wavering between strong and weak, between hard and frantic.
Paramedics reach us on the beach, moving me to the stretcher. They're asking me questions; my name, how far along I am, when I'm due, all the usual stuff. The labor pains keep intensifying, and I'm having trouble focusing on them.
Closing my eyes and grunting as the next crushing contraction leaves me without a voice, I can hear Phade taking over, answering the questions for me.
A woman grabs my knees, lifting them onto the stretcher. Dropping down, I can feel her examining me with her fingers. “Sylvia, you're already ten centimeters dilated. I can see the head, you're delivering this baby now.”
“What?” I ask, my eyes frantically moving around the back of the ambulance. “Right now?”
“Yup, right now.” She yells to the man driving as she grabs some bright white towels. “Jim, pull over, this baby is coming.”
The ambulance slows to a stop, and the driver is in the back within seconds. He's tugging on clean gloves, listening as the woman gives him instructions. Gripping one knee, he holds my foot.
“Sir,” she says, pointing at Phade, “I need you to grab her other leg.”
Phade looks white as a ghost, but listens, holding my leg the same as Jim the driver.
Another contraction steals me away, crippling my body with pain. “I can't do this here, I need the hospital, I need a doctor, I need—Ah!” The contraction claws its way through my belly.
“You don't have a choice; this baby is coming now. Ready, Sylvia? When I tell you to push, you push. Understand?”
Sweat is trickling down my forehead, and my heart is racing as I reluctantly agree. This isn't how I pictured the birth of our child. I imagined a hospital room, with a tub for the water birth, and the option for the epidural if I decided I needed it.
This isn't anything close to that.
I can hear the sounds of other cars passing fast, so I know we must be on the side of the highway. Phade looks like he might throw up, and these two strangers, two people who I have never met, are about to deliver my baby.
Another wave of cramping and burning stabs my gut and suddenly I don't care how this baby comes out, I just want it out.
“Give me a good push, Sylvia.” Baring down, I grip the arms of the stretcher and push. “One, two, three. . .” she counts out for me.
Letting out a loud rush of air, I'm already out of breath and I've hardly done a thing.
“Again, push!” she screams.
So I push. I push and I push and I push for what feels like eternity. I'm not even sure this baby is ever going to come out. My insides are tearing in every direction, the pain too much to take.
“I don't think I can do this! I can't do this!” I say between giant gulps of air.
“Yes you can, you can do this,” Phade says, reaching his hand up and running his fingers across my forehead. “You got this.”
“Almost there. One more good push, just one.”
Sucking in a huge breath of air, I hold it in and push.
I feel the pressure as the baby's head breaks free and the body slips out next. The woman disappears for a second, leaning over her lap. I can only see the top of her head. Phade's eyes are open wide, tears streaming down as he watches her.
“What's going on? How's the baby? Is our baby okay?”
No one is answering me.
Then it happens. My baby cries, loud and long and full of volume.
The woman stands up, passing the baby to me. “Congratulations, it's a boy.”
Phade drops to my side, laying his face on my chest, and stares at our son. He's crying, I'm crying, I've never felt so much emotion in my life before.
He runs his fingers through my hair and kisses me softly on the cheek. “Our son, Syl, he's here.”
Smiling, I coddle our baby. “He's just like you too, impatient and a fighter. He couldn't wait to be born.”
Maxwell Phade Manson, a perfect seven pounds eight ounces, was the best wedding gift ever.
And as we drive to the hospital in silence, I know. . .
Life is perfect.
Can her fake husband become the real deal?
