Babysitter’s Club Noelle

by Jordan Silver

  It felt like the most natural thing in the world to move against his hand, to cry out into his mouth for more. I felt that finger pierce me and it was the sweetest feeling I’ve ever known.

  Felt its every move as he stroked it inside me, leaving me feeling full and itchy, needing more. Our mouths moved together hungrily, as if we’d been starved for each other.

  And when liquid pooled in his palm I pressed my throbbing flesh harder against his searching fingers as I rubbed my aching breasts against his hard chest.

  He left me and I cried out at the separation. Until he soothed me with his calming voice. “It’s okay Mon Cheri!” He pulled my gown off over my head and the cool air felt wonderful against my overheated flesh.

  My eyes opened slowly at his indrawn breath and I saw the look of hungry need as his face tightened. His hand reached out and he traced my breasts almost reverently.

  His fingertip teased my nipple until it stood tall and firm and I had to bite my tongue to keep from begging him to take me into his mouth.

  I wanted in a way I never have. Dream me was freer, braver, than real me. Dream me wanted and wasn’t afraid to want. She stood before him naked, proud of the way he looked at her.

  I watched now as he removed his shirt and unsnapped his trousers, my heart racing out of control. But then he stopped there and I almost moaned in protest. I wanted to see him, all of him.

  There was a look of hunger in his eyes when he lifted me in his arms and moved me to the bed. Everything seemed to move slowly again. Like time standing still.

  My every sense was heightened, to the point where I felt even the fine hairs on his arms as they brushed against my flesh. And the hardness of his chest against my side.

  It felt so real when my back hit the mattress, even realer when his body came down on top of mine, pressing me into the feather mattress beneath.

  When his fingers brushed the hair back from my face so he could look down into my eyes, when he kissed my brow so tenderly it brought tears to my eyes. It all felt so real.

  He nibbled his way along my cheek until he reached the corner of my mouth where my lips met. I felt his tongue lick me there. “Open!”

  I obeyed his command mindlessly, opening my mouth to accept his tongue. Our lips came together in a heat of passion. I have never been kissed like this before.

  There was so much hunger, so much need; so much emotion. I felt as if I were drowning, but his arms around me kept me safe and I let myself be taken under again and again.

  I felt his hardness against me through the cloth of his pants. Felt the length of his cock as it pressed between my thighs.

  He started a rocking motion, back and forth, in that age-old dance of making love and I was right there with him, spurring him on with my body’s wanton movements.

  His hand came up to cup my breast and I moaned once more. He caught it with his tongue and I spread my legs wider, begging without words for…something.

  My body was on fire as he left my lips and made his way down, down. He nibbled his way down my heated flesh. First paying homage to my nipples with his inflaming tongue.

  Too soon he left off after loving its twin, once again sucking and nibbling my flesh. He made love to every part of me until he came to rest between my thighs.

  I could feel his eyes on me as he spread me open. Right before the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt happened and I arched off the bed.

  It was his tongue, he was tasting me, licking me. I moved as if by some innate command as he teased me mercilessly with his wicked tongue.

  Outside the wind had picked up and that cry seemed to be getting louder, stronger, closer. I didn’t care, I didn’t care about anything but the amazing feelings he’d awakened in me.

  Nothing had ever felt this good. I never knew… He played me with his tongue and fingers, interchanging each time I got close, until I gripped his hair in a silent command.

  And when he lifted the plump cheeks of my ass in his hands, bringing me to his mouth like an offering, sinking his tongue deeper in me, I exploded into a million shattered pieces.

  I woke with a start, heart pounding, eyes wide, as I looked around the room. I was alone and yet, it felt as if they were eyes on me; watching me from within the dark.

  I could still feel him here, as if he’d followed me from the shadows of my dream. And for the barest of moments I questioned. Had it been a dream? Of course it was I reassured myself as I let my head drop back to the pillow.

  But my skin still tingled as if burned by his touch, and the ache, oh the sweet ache. The ache was so real. But now I felt empty. Like something had been snatched away from me.

  I wrapped my arms around myself from a sudden chill as the wind calmed down outside and the last dregs of the dream slipped away. Leaving me alone with these confusing feelings, roiling away inside me.

  I counted breaths, an old trick I’d learned whenever I felt panicked, until I felt like myself again.

  Though my body still felt strangely aroused, my head finally cleared enough for me to make out the room. It was the same as it was earlier. No magnolia blossom, no silver brush.

  I searched my body with my mind, still not sure if I were fully awake yet. Everything seemed to blend together and it was hard to separate dream from reality.

  My mouth and throat were dry and there was a wetness around my nipple where he’d licked me in the dream. And between my thighs I could still feel the lingering effects of his tongue.

  I rubbed my aching nipple for some much needed relief and pressed my thighs hard together to stop the ache, before laying back against the pillows with my eyes wide open, staring.

  Why did it feel so real? Why was my heart still beating me to death? And why can I still feel his body pressed against mine? Dreams aren’t supposed to be that real. Are they?

  I relived every second of that dreamy encounter until my whole body grew flush with embarrassment. I’d acted so unlike myself. So free, relaxed, in the arms of a man.

  I thought for sure I wouldn’t fall asleep again, but the next time I opened my eyes it was morning and the sun’s first rays of the day were streaming in through the muslin curtains that floated on the cool morning breeze.

  I hadn’t even realized the French doors had been left open the night before. I squinted as I tried to recall leaving them open. Then I remembered where I was and what I was here for and jumped out of bed.

  Isabelle was still asleep when I checked on her after throwing on some shorts and a tank, which was my usual wear on hot summer days. A look at my watch showed it was just barely six in the morning. No wonder.

  I snuck from the nursery and made my way quietly down the stairs, heading for the kitchen and a much-needed cup of coffee. I always need that first cup to clear the cobwebs from the night before.

  I came up short in the doorway when I saw Callan standing at the sink with a cup in hand as he looked out at the backyard and beyond. The night’s dream came rushing back and my whole body went up in flames.

  As if sensing my presence, he turned his head to look at me. That light was in his eyes again, but he blinked, and just that quickly it was gone. He smiled invitingly and I stepped into the room.

  “Good morning, did you sleep well?” Did his voice always have that silky quality to it? I shook my head to clear it as I made my way to the coffee pot.

  My voice sounded like I’d swallowed a family of frogs when I answered him. “Yes, thank you. But…” I looked at him as he waited for me to go on.

  “What is it? Was your mattress not comfortable? It’s an old bed. My family has this thing where they hate to get rid of anything. Most of the stuff around here has been passed down from one generation to the next.”

  “I’d say your bed is maybe a hundred and fifty years or more.” His voice was almost hypnotizing and I had to shake myself again to take me out of my stupor and keep myself from standing there looking like a boob.

  “No, it’s not that. My French doors were open this morning. I
don’t remember opening them and I’m sure they were closed when I went to bed last night.”

  “Oh that, it’s probably the latch, they do that from time to time. I’ll have a look at it later.” He rinsed his cup and placed it on the rack before turning to leave the room.

  “Don’t you want breakfast?” The words rushed from my lips before I could stop them and I was once again left feeling foolish.

  It felt like he studied me for a long time before giving me an answer. “Are you offering?” It’s true I hadn’t been hired to cook or clean, but I didn’t see why I couldn’t whip him up some eggs.

  “Sure!” I moved to the fridge and started removing stuff like I’d done it a million times before. I’ve never been this excited about cooking in my life.

  He sat silently and watched as I got everything I needed together. I felt his eyes on me as I moved from the fridge to the worktable and back. I guess my face was going to stay as red as my hair whenever he was in the same room.

  As I chopped vegetables for an omelet he told me about the housekeeper and her helpers that came in every day at eight. I guess that answers that question. It would take a whole team to keep this place in such good condition.

  I felt so comfortable moving around the room that before I knew it I was making biscuits to go with his eggs and sausage with homemade potatoes.

  I looked down at my floury hands and back at him, not quiet sure how I’d got there. He wasn’t saying anything so I figured it was okay as we kept up our running conversation about school and my plans after the summer.

  I was about to ask him where Trudy was when I pulled the biscuits from the oven, but heard her tread just then, coming down the stairs. My body started to tense but I fought it off.

  Maybe if I open a dialogue things would ease between us. “Good morning Trudy, would you like me to make you something?”

  “You’re not her servant. She can make her own breakfast.” Boy, if he dislikes her this much, why is she here again? I wish I’d paid more attention during that job interview.

  She huffed, gave me the stink eye and moved to the coffee pot. I decided not to let her mood bother me as I sat at the table where I had the night before, after serving him.

  “Another cup, of coffee?” He took my cup and refilled it along with another one for himself, even grabbing the juice I’d forgotten and bringing it to the table.

  Everything tasted amazing. In fact it was the best meal I’d ever made and I don’t remember ever making biscuits before, or even knowing how to.

  I shrugged it off as nothing more than the influence of being here in this place that felt more and more like home the longer I was here.

  Noelle

  It would be hard I imagine not to get caught up in the history that laid so heavily over the place. Almost like walking back and forth between now and then.

  That didn’t explain me knowing how to make biscuits, or the wild urge to cook something else for him to put that look of appreciation on his face.

  “Would it be okay if I cook sometimes?” He’d said that the housekeeper who’d been absent yesterday for whatever reason, usually did the cooking.

  “Whatever you want is fine.” Damn, he’s so easy! Trudy grunted from her place at the other end of the table where she was busy sipping coffee and shooting daggers at me with her eyes.

  He seems to have practice ignoring her presence, an art I’m going to have to learn soon. There is something seriously wrong with that female.

  Just then the baby’s cries came through the monitor and I got up to go see to her. I have no explanation for the rush of excitement I felt as I lifted her from her cradle.

  “Good morning sweetheart, did you sleep well? Huh pretty baby?” I nuzzled her warm cheek, inhaling her scent as she chuckled. “What a good baby!”

  I changed her soiled diaper and put it in the bin with the others to be washed later. Another one of my duties that I’d silently scoffed at during the interview.

  But now that I was here in this magical place I saw the incongruity of store bought pampers in a place like this. Of course she needs cloth nappies.

  I cooed and laughed with her, tickling her round little tummy as she kicked her legs and garbled at me. “Who’s a good girl?”

  I took her downstairs for her first bottle and she went nuts when she saw her daddy. I took her to him and wondered at the look on his face when I passed her to him.

  Then I saw the light of the monitor. He’d heard it all. I would’ve been embarrassed if not for the look of appreciation he gave me, and the silent ‘thank you’ he formed with his lips as he nuzzled his daughter’s cheek.

  Callan insisted on giving the baby her bottle before he left, but not before giving a very strange look to Trudy who seemed to understand the silent message very well as she made herself scarce the rest of the day.

  The next few days followed pretty much the same pattern. Except my cooking skills seemed to improve with the help of the recipe books in the kitchen as well as some modern tips from Ella, the housekeeper slash jack-of-all-trades.

  It was also from her that I learned a little bit more about the McCormick family and their standing in the community going back to the early nineteenth century.

  The house I was standing in now was the second one built on the spot. The first had been partially burnt in a suspicious fire, supposedly by the wife of one of the past owners.

  Her stories were fascinating and awe inspiring, especially the ones rich in the family’s history. It was Callan’s great-great-great grandfather a couple times removed, whose wife had burnt his home to the ground.

  As the story goes, he’d been in love with someone else, but the wife was more suitable and so the family made him marry her.

  Apparently the mistress had been pregnant at the time and it wasn’t clear whether he knew this or not when he walked down the aisle with his chosen bride. Sad!

  She always told these stories in a hushed voice that always seemed to transfix me, and the baby who was usually on my hip or in her highchair as I made her fresh vegetables for lunch.

  As for Callan, we seemed to move together and around each other like a well-oiled machine. There was never an uncomfortable moment in his presence, which wasn’t exactly normal for me. The girl who usually takes her time getting used to new people.

  Trudy was still a bit of a mystery to me, and not even Ella said too much about her. Sometimes at night I’d hear her climb the stairs and sneak down to his room. Only to hear her footsteps retreating seconds later followed by muffled tears.

  I find that I can’t fall asleep until I hear those footsteps at night, like a routine. Always my body would tense up as I listen to hear if he’d accept her. Their relationship was a strange one for sure.

  It was obvious he didn’t like her, not even a little bit. But still he didn’t seem to mind her being here, even though she wasn’t allowed near the baby. Weird!

  And my dreams. By the third night I found that I was rushing through the day, looking forward to nightfall. To that secret time alone in bed when he visited me in my dreams. It had become an obsession.

  It was always a struggle between sitting out on the porch with the real Callan, listening to the soothing timbre of his voice, or rushing up to bed to fall into his arms in my dreams.

  We’d fallen into the habit of spending more and more time together in the evenings after dinner. Once Trudy disappeared into the shadows and the baby was down for the night, it was just the two of us, alone.

  Outside at night became a whole other world. Under the dark blue sky blanketed with stars, the crickets singing in the grass as the frogs seemed to answer them from the pond.

  You could almost get lost in the euphoria that always seemed to descend as soon as the sun went down in the sky. I love that time of the evening, between dusk and full dark.

  When everything seemed still and eerily quiet. As if there was no other place in existence. And we were the only two people in the world. Us, and the sweet b
aby asleep upstairs.

  That’s when I’d learn all about what he’d done with his day. I never thought I’d find such pleasure in hearing about cows and sheep and the cotton and bean fields that had been part of his family since the beginning.

  He was such a great story teller I could almost see his day play out in my minds’ eye. Sometimes it was hard not to be lulled into a trance just by listening to the strong cadence of his tone. And more than once I wondered at the strange power his voice seemed to hold over me.

  It was during those moments, the two of us alone in the coolness of the coming night, that he shared more of himself with me.

  It was then I learned of his love for working on the oil rig, which as it turns out, is part of his family’s many business holdings, but that his heart was really here on his family’s land.

  The land that has been in their hands since it was first settled over two hundred years earlier. The land he wanted his daughters and sons to one day inherit.

  “Now that Belle is getting older, I think I might stick around here more often though. She needs her daddy to look after her.” I don’t know why him saying that should make my heart pitter-patter but it did.

  I love the way he loves that little girl. The way he sometimes looks at her like she’s a miracle and he’s lucky to have her. It touches my heart deeply.

  What’s more, those times alone with him has helped me to heal in a way I never expected. In fact, just being here has gone a long way in doing that.

  My days are filled with too many new wonders for me to dwell too much on the past. The old house with it’s centuries of history, with it’s hidden secrets, just waiting to be revealed, have occupied my mind completely.

  The past! Has it only been a few short days since I arrived here? Somehow it feels much longer. Like half a lifetime. That’s just one of the strange things about this place.

  It’s almost like the house has opened its arms and welcomed me. Now I feel comforted and safe. And never more so than when I’m with him.

  We were once again sitting on the two peacock feather shaped cane chairs that sat at the far end of the verandah. Sipping our evening tea, listening to the symphony of the night creatures and enjoying the cool refreshing breeze.