Falling for the Babysitter

by Penny Wylder

  I take her by the hand. “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “You’ll see.”

  I pull her into her backyard. There’s a row of bushes near the fence that separate our two houses. I know that between those bushes is a little clearing where she used to hide. Once, years ago, when I’d bent down to scrub the tires while washing my car, I saw her there, watching me. That was the first time I suspected she had a crush on me. I watched her the entire time through the reflection of the car while I washed it. She never had a clue that I noticed.

  The bushes are overgrown compared to how they were back then. No one will be able to see us. Not even from a higher vantage point.

  “Remember how you used to watch me wash my car from here?” I say, teasing her.

  She blushes. “If you saw me watching you, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “I didn’t want to embarrass you.” I smile. “And I kind of liked the attention.”

  We squeeze through the space between the bushes. The small clearing is just wide enough to fit our bodies. As soon as we’re hidden, I kiss her. Her arms wrap around my neck, our tongues at war.

  I slip my hands beneath her dress, unable to restrain myself any longer. Her panty-clad ass cheeks fit perfectly into my hands. But I want to feel her skin against mine so I slip my hands beneath the fabric and massage. Those beautiful breasts press up against me. The fabric of her dress is so thin I can feel her hard nipples beneath them. I can’t take it anymore. I need her naked. In one quick motion, I’m slipping the dress up over her head. I then slip her panties off.

  Her breasts are magnificent. So perky they defy gravity, small areolas and bright pink nipples. I slip one into my mouth while I tease the other one with my fingers. Her moaning sounds drive me crazy. I fight back the animal inside of me that wants to spread her apart and pound its way inside of her. I have to keep reminding myself that up until yesterday she was still a virgin and her body might not be ready for that kind of ravishing yet.

  Instead, I take my time, making sure she feels good. I slip my fingers between her folds.

  “Damn, you’re so wet,” I say.

  “That’s because it likes you,” she says as if her pussy were a kitten I’ve cuddled up with.

  “I like it too. So does my cock.”

  When she giggles, her muscles flex against my fingers. I groan, knowing how fantastic that would feel against my dick. In due time, I remind myself. Those muscles will flex even stronger when I make her come, and to make her come I need to not rush things.

  I find the ridges of her g-spot and start to massage with the tips of my fingers, hooking them, pushing them. Watching Remy’s face as I do this, her eyes grow wide, mouth open, eyes glazed over as she stares at the sky. Her wetness builds up inside, pooling around my fingers. I move them faster.

  The little whimpers she’s making are turning into full cries. I lock my lips on to hers so she doesn’t alert anyone who might be hanging around nearby. The last thing I need is for Sam to be wandering around. It’s very possible he’s walking around the neighborhood looking for me.

  I break away from our kiss when her cries die down. “Fuck you’re tight,” I say when I try to enter a third finger but it won’t quite fit in.

  “Feels so good,” she says, breathless.

  Suddenly her body becomes rigid and she starts to spasm. That’s when I really start to pound my fingers into her. Again, my mouth clamps onto hers when she starts to scream. She becomes a puddle in my arms, her muscles spent and weakening from the orgasm. I lay her down on the sundress beneath her. When she finally comes down off her high, she looks at me, blinking as though I’m just now coming into focus.

  “Welcome back,” I say, smiling down at her. She has leaves in her hair. I pick them out.

  She looks sleepy, her eyes hooded. After the confrontation she had with Sam, she’s probably mentally drained. “That was incredible,” she says. “Why don’t orgasms ever feel like that when I give them to myself?”

  I start to think about her alone in her room, in her bed, her fingers inside of her, frantically rubbing, trying to reach that brief moment of release. The look on her face when it finally happens.

  My dick is so hard it feels as though it might explode. Yet, I still just want to make her feel good.

  “I’m not done with you yet,” I say, patting her on the thigh.

  “You better not be,” she says with a sluggish smile.

  “I want you on your hand and knees.”

  A look of nervousness briefly crosses her face. “Oh, it’s kind of bright out here and …” Her cheeks flush. The redness goes down her neck and chest. “I’m embarrassed for you to see everything.”

  I’m not used to women I meet being embarrassed about anything when it comes to their bodies. Probably because most of them used it to get whatever they want. Flashing their bare asses was a bargaining chip. And it always worked. Remy isn’t like that though. She’s not the kind of girl to manipulate a man into getting what she wants.

  “It’s okay,” I say, laying delicate kisses on her lips, nose, and chin. “You don’t have to be embarrassed in front of me ever.” I rub my hand across the soft skin of her flat belly, imagining what it would look like as it grew with my child inside. “I want to see every part of you, learn everything about you, know you inside out.”

  She sits up, kisses me deeply before turning over onto her hands and knees.

  My balls clinch when I see this stunning new view of her with her beautiful velvet round ass, and her little pussy glistening wet.

  “You’re perfect,” I tell her, not wanting her to get confused by my silence.

  I want her in my mouth. I want to taste her, so I dive right in. Lapping at her silky wet fold with my tongue, sucking her clit into my mouth. I lick my way from her clit to her asshole and back again, making sure every part of her gets enough attention.

  She tastes as sweet as fruit and smells just as good. Not too strong. Just a hint of her female musk to know she’s turned on.

  When my balls start to ache to the point of being uncomfortable, I rise and line up behind her. Holding onto her hips, I ease my way in. Her tunnel is like a warm wet fist around my cock, so tight. It feels remarkable. The satisfied sound she makes is music to my ears. She’s wet enough to where I slide right into her, and in this position, I’m able to reach all the way down to her wall.

  She lets out a breath of surprise when I bottom out. I make sure not to press too hard, just easing in and out of her slowly at first. I close my eyes, trying so hard to concentrate on not coming too soon, but this is going to be difficult. I’ve never been a two pump chump. Not even when I was younger, but Remy turns me on so much it’s hard not to.

  I find my rhythm and she starts to rock back and forth with me, like it’s a dance we’ve done a million times before. I squeeze her ass cheeks, pulling them apart. Jesus, this is one hell of a view. I move faster. Her moaning getting louder.

  This hunger inside of me takes over and I start drilling into her. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. I’m going to fuck you until you’re pregnant. Drill my seed right into your womb.” I take her by the shoulders and thrust harder. She bites her lip to keep from screaming and alerting her mom who’s right inside the house.

  “Yes,” she demands. “I want it. Blow your load in my pussy. I want your baby.”

  Her words are enough to send me over the edge. I pump into her two more times, hitting her wall, my cum filling her hot canal.

  When I’m done, she collapses on the ground, and I lay up against her, spooning. There’s a chill in the air, but after all of that, neither of us is cold.

  I wrap my arm around her waist, rubbing her belly, and kissing her shoulder. “You know I care about you, right?” I say.

  She rolls over to face me. “I was hoping you did. I don’t want to be just a convenient lay.”

  I brush my thumb over her cheek, mesmerized by that pretty face. “Never. I … I think I’ve fallen f
or you.”

  “You finally caught up.” Her smile shows every one of her perfect white teeth. “I fell for you long ago.”

  I reach up and scratch the back of my head, feeling like a kid asking a girl to be his girlfriend. “So, um, does this make us a couple?”

  “I think it does.”

  Relief rolls over me. I can finally call her mine. I begin kissing her, and press her naked body against mine. I never want to let her go.

  5

  Remy

  Two months later

  Sam is still being an ass after all this time. I thought he’d get used to Deacon’s and my relationship by now. He changed his work schedule so he and Deacon are on the same shift; that way he’s home when Deacon is and we have no time to spend with each other in the house. If Deacon and I want to spend time together, we have to leave. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it would be nice once in a while to sit on the couch with the man I love and his child whom I adore, and just watch TV without Sam’s nagging voice in our ears. I want to fall asleep in Deacon’s arms without Sam waking us up and telling me I can’t stay the night. It’s like constantly having a parent around.

  I wake up early. I’m not feeling so well. It had been a fitful night of sleep—if you can even call it sleep. Mostly just a lot of tossing and turning. I have the chills and no matter how many blankets I wrap around myself, I can’t get warm. The sun streams in through the space between my curtains, piercing my pupils. This headache won’t go away and I always feel like I’m going to puke, which, for some reason, makes me constantly yawn. It’s getting really annoying.

  All night my stomach had been feeling queasy. I don’t think it’s a stomach bug because right after I throw up, I’m hungry. Usually with a stomach bug, just the thought of food makes me want to hurl. Maybe it’s food poisoning—I have been eating some questionable things lately. It’s weird because my whole life I’ve hated olives. Only crazy people without tongues would eat such vile things, and yet now, even though the smell of them is still gross, I can’t seem to get enough of them.

  Scents are tricky too. Say, cake for example, which most people love the smell of, has become completely repulsive. So much so that I would rather spend my time in a Coachella portable outhouse than step near a bakery. Normally my mom’s strawberry shampoo is a pleasant smell, but now I have to hold my breath when I walk past her. It’s like I suddenly have the nose of a bloodhound.

  The scent of bacon wafts up from the kitchen. The greasy smell instantly turns my stomach. Springing up off the mattress, I get out of bed and I trip over some clothes on the floor, knocking everything off my dresser in my rush to the bathroom. Luckily I catch myself before I fall, but I’m not able to catch the perfume bottles before they break. Great. More new scents to make my head swim. I barely make it to the bathroom on time.

  “You okay, Remy?” my mom calls from downstairs when she hears all the noise I’m making.

  I throw up again and again. My stomach must be the size of a keg because it keeps coming. I’m choking, trying to catch my breath. It takes me a minute to reply. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, even though I feel the opposite of fine. This is what road kill would feel like if it could feel anything. That’s me. Road kill. Not only that, but I look like shit, too. I can see my refection in an open compact mirror on the countertop. My skin is pasty, dark circles around my eyes that almost look green.

  I’m leaning against the cool porcelain, hugging the toilet, when my mom comes into the room to check on me. She puts her back against the door, arms crossing her chest.

  “What?” I say, when she gives me that observant mom look.

  “You’re pregnant.”

  My stomach lurches and again I throw up. I spit into the toilet and groan. “What? No,” I say, wiping my mouth with a wad of toilet paper.

  How the hell am I so cold, and yet uncomfortably hot at the same time?

  In my head I’m trying to remember my last period. It’s difficult because I’m not one of those girls who keeps track. I’ve never needed to before now, so I haven’t made a habit of it. Now that I think about it, I realize it’s been a while since I last bought feminine hygiene products.

  “Oh my god,” I say. For some reason, even though I know it’s physically possible, I thought it would take longer than that to get pregnant. It makes sense, though. Deacon and I fuck like crazy whenever we get the chance—which isn’t nearly enough in my opinion—and he always comes inside of me. Some of our best sex revolves around him telling me he’s going to get me pregnant. It really turns him on, the thought of me carrying his child, and having a big round belly as proof of our lovemaking.

  “Come on,” my mom says with a sigh.”

  “Where are we going?” Right now I don’t feel like going anywhere. I just want to crawl back in bed and hide under my sheets until this terrible nausea goes away. If it ever does.

  “The drug store to get you a pregnancy test.”

  After changing out of my pajamas, we go downstairs. I have to keep my shirt over my nose to avoid the breakfast smells. We get into the car. Deacon and Sam are standing outside on their front porch, arguing about something. They glance at us as we drive by. Deacon waves. Sam glares at me.

  “I really don’t like that Sam guy,” my mom says, waving back.

  “No one does.”

  I want to turn in my seat and look back at Deacon. If he only knew where we were going. I could text him, I guess. But I don’t want to mention pregnancy tests until I know for sure.

  The road is too bumpy. I’m starting to think my mom is intentionally finding all the potholes. She turns the station to easy listening. It’s like she’s trying to torture me or something. Maybe she’s pissed about this pregnancy thing. There’s an awkward silence between us. It’s as if I can hear the gears turning in her head. I want to say something too, but I don’t know what.

  This is a tricky subject. She’s always had these images in her head of all the grand things I would do with my life, even though all I ever really wanted for myself was to settle down and have a family. When she was my age she wanted to travel the world, live abroad. Study other cultures and see amazing things. She never got the opportunity because she met my dad and accidently got pregnant. Her family was religious so terminating a pregnancy was out. Her mom threatened to disown her if she decided to give me up for adoption. I’m glad she didn’t and I know she’s glad about that too now. But there’s always been this void in her life, this longing to escape it. She wants things for me that she never got to experience in her own life. She can’t seem to understand why I don’t want those things for myself, too.

  I crack the window. It’s far too stuffy in here with us breathing the same air.

  “I hate this song,” she says and turns off the radio, leaving us in awkward silence.

  Her hand is draped over the steering wheel, her mouth a hard set.

  “Who’s the father?” she blurts out.

  I lean my head against the window, trying not to get sick. The last thing I want to tell her is who the father is. It won’t take her long to figure out seeing as I have no friends and the only place I ever want to be is next door.

  “Is it Deacon?” she finally asks.

  As much as I want to, it’s too late to deny it. She’ll find out eventually. I just wanted him to be the first to know.

  I nod.

  “Jesus, Remy. You were supposed to watch his kid. Not make a new one.”

  “I know,” I say. “I’m sorry.” But I’m not actually sorry. I knew what I was getting myself into when Deacon and I hadn’t used protection, and he knew too. This wasn’t an accident like when my mom got pregnant with me. I want this. So does Deacon. At least I hope he still does. It’s a little too late to back out now.

  She continues, “I was afraid your childhood crush would come back to haunt me. I’d hoped those feelings had vanished over time.”

  “How did you know about my crush on Deacon?” I ask.

  �
��You weren’t very subtle, always going outside to watch him whenever he was around—not that you were any different than the other women in the neighborhood. We were all guilty of ogling him. Me included. It was a happy day for husbands when Deacon left town.”

  Ew. That’s kind of gross. My mom crushing on the man who is now potentially the father of my child.

  I don’t know how much more I can take of this. My stomach is in knots. Not only because of the morning sickness and my mom and Sam’s judgment, but also because I need to tell Deacon. I just hope he meant what he said about filling me with his seed and watching my stomach grow. If he was just saying it in the heat of the moment, I’ll be devastated.

  “Are you mad?” I ask. I hate it when my mom is disappointed in me.

  “No. I just don’t want you to end up a single mom like me. It’s difficult raising a child on your own and at such a young age.”

  “Deacon is nothing like Dad. He’ll help me raise this child.”

  Of that I’m sure of. He’s an amazing father. Bailey is his pride and joy—oh my god, it just hit me; if I’m pregnant, Bailey and this child are going to be siblings. The thought makes me unreasonably happy even though I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up. There could be a hundred reasons for my pregnancy symptoms. Stress is one of them, and I’ve definitely been going through a lot of that lately.

  “How can you be so sure he’ll help out?” my mom asks. “He already has an infant to take care of.”

  I look down at my hands, braid my fingers together.

  “Wait,” she says. “Did you guys know this might happen? Were you not careful on purpose?”

  The hurt in her voice leaves me feeling horribly guilty. “I’m an adult, Mom. Whatever Deacon and I decide is no one’s business but our own.”

  She lets out a long sigh. “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to give you a hard time. I just want to know you and your baby will be taken care of.”

  “We will be, Mom. Deacon is a great guy. You’ll love him once you get to know him better.”