Chapter 9
Garrett
We make it farther into her apartment this time, before our clothes come off.
But not much farther.
This time, between kisses, I shed my jacket, socks, and boots in the entryway, and she slips off her heels. Then, she leads me directly into the bedroom. As soon as we enter her room, she pulls off her top and shimmies out of her pants.
Her ass swishes side to side as she undresses, and I get the sense that she’s giving me a show. I’ve already taken off my belt, and now, I pull off my shirt. Our eyes lock, and I’m moving towards her. I can’t stay away.
I kiss her, wrapping my hands around her and running them up and down her nearly bare back. I can feel the thin fabric of her bra, and my hands pause over the clasp that holds the garment on her. But I hesitate, not wanting to take it off just yet.
I step back.
“On the bed,” I order.
I want to see her lying on her bed in her bra and panties. It’s an image I’ve conjured up so many times, a fantasy I need to fulfill.
She does as I ask and walks to her bed. As she climbs up on it, again, she gives me a show, moving her ass side to side as she crawls on hands and knees to the middle of the mattress. Damn, this girl is sexy. Beneath her reserved exterior, she’s a sex kitten, ready to play.
I fight the urge to move onto the bed behind her. As much as I want to touch the fine, voluptuous curves of her ass cheeks, barely covered by her lacy red panties, my desire to look at her is stronger.
I want to take it all in, just for a moment.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this—this, right here,” I say. My voice is raspy and deep. I feel my whole body tense with desire.
“You have?” she asks innocently.
As she speaks these words, her right hand drifts to her chest. She runs her fingertips over the plump curve of her breasts, which strain against her bra. Her fingers drift down, over her navel. I’m getting rock-hard, just watching her touch herself like this.
“Yes,” I say. “How about you, sweetheart? Did you ever think about me?”
Her hand is moving lower over her abdomen. Now, she lets it slide over her mound, above her panties. My dick is straining against my jeans, so I undo my fly and pull my jeans and briefs down at the same time. My erection springs free, and I watch her eyes go to it.
“Mmmm…” she says softly.
“You did, didn’t you?” I ask. I want to hear her say it.
Her hand slips beneath her panties, and I feel my dick jump. God, this is just like what I’ve imagined, only better.
“Yes,” she admits.
“And you touched yourself?” I ask.
She takes her hand away from her mound and puts it behind her head. Her breasts move and her stomach grows taunt. She parts her legs slightly, bending her knees so that I have the perfect visual.
“Yes,” she says. Her voice is breathy, inviting.
Though I’ve fantasized about this exact scenario so many times, never in my mind was it this tantalizing, this perfect, this inviting.
I walk to the bed and climb up. I move on top of her, my hard dick brushing against her thigh as I position myself over her.
“I hope you’re not wanting gentle or slow tonight…right now, at least,” I say. My voice sounds more like a growl than a whisper. “Because I can’t give you that.”
She doesn’t answer, just pants out a sharp exhale.
I move my hand to her mound, and feel that her lace panties are already drenched with her own juices.
I lick my lips. “But right now, I want to fuck you hard, until you scream.”
“Oh…” she moans. Her body contracts beneath me.
I move my hand beneath her panties, and my fingers tease her clit. She moans again. I push my fingers into her and feel how wet and ready she is. Then, I move to the edge of the bed and grab a condom out of my pants’ pocket. I roll it over my throbbing dick. As I do this, she peels her panties down, and by the time I’m over her again, she’s ready for me. I push myself into her, and immediately exhale a breath of relief.
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper.
It feels too good. Her pussy is perfect. Warm. Wet. Her legs wrap around me.
I deliver what I’ve promised; soon, the headboard of her bed is slamming against the wall of her bedroom, and she’s screaming out my name. We come at the same time; I feel her falling over the edge of ecstasy just as spasms of my own orgasm take over my body.
When I lie down at her side, she’s limp and relaxed. I am, too. I feel completely blissful.
I wrap my arms around her and everything feels right. Absolutely, completely, exactly how it is supposed to be.
It’s dark in the room, and I feel fatigue hitting me. It’s been a long day, and now that my body is finally relaxed, I feel myself slipping towards sleep. I run my hand up and down her arm. She’s lying partially over me; her head is on my chest.
I move my fingers to her head and stroke her hair. “Good night, sweetheart,” I whisper.
She squeezes me tight for a moment, before relaxing again.
It feels so good to have her in my arms. In that moment, I never want to let her go.
I awake with a start. Morning light filters through my vision. Something woke me up, but I’m not sure what. The light is bright; not the silvery light of dawn. Instead, it’s the warmer light of late morning.
I’ve slept in.
I turn, taking in the emptiness of the bed to my side. Valerie must already be up.
Just then, I hear a thumping sound. It’s someone knocking on the door. This must have been the sound that woke me.
I shift in the bed and am about to swing my legs over the side, when I hear more noises. Two voices, both female.
“Thanks a bunch,” Valerie says.
“My pleasure, honey, anytime. I already gave him breakfast…he was such a good little eater this morning—weren’t you?” a second voice coos. The second voice sounds more mature; it must be Valerie’s mother.
I wonder if the two are talking about Valerie’s cat. That might make sense.
Her mother continues. “The pack ’n’ play is still out in my car, but I’ll just keep it till Monday. You’ll be over at the usual time?”
“I plan on it!” Valerie says. “I really appreciate your help.”
“We had a wonderful time,” her mother says. “I have to run if I’m going to make it to service in time.”
“Okay! Bye, Mom. Thanks again.”
There’s a pause, and I guess that the two are hugging goodbye. Next, I hear the door closing.
Faint footsteps move through the apartment.
I begin moving again, swinging my legs over the bed and looking around for my clothing. I run my hand through my hair as I survey the room: my jeans lie in a pile by the doorway; my T-shirt is draped over a small wooden chair by the door. I don’t see my jacket, but I vaguely remember taking it off in the entryway.
I stand. The bedroom’s worn floorboards creak beneath my weight.
“Garrett?” Valerie calls out.
“Yeah,” I say. My voice is deep with morning sleepiness.
“Could you come out here? I have something to show you.”
This gets me moving faster. I swoop down, gather my jeans and briefs, and pull them on like a firefighter getting geared-up for a call. I pull my T-shirt over my head.
My heart is hammering in my chest. I’ve never really liked surprises, and Valerie’s words have me on edge. What in the world could she want to show me, just after her mother’s visit like this? Nothing that I can think of quite makes sense.
Maybe it’s a sexy surprise—maybe I’ll walk out there to find her in a little white apron, heels, and nothing else…she wants to surprise me by cooking me breakfast. But I have the feeling I’m being overly optimistic. Her voice sounded tight, nervous…not playful, like the sex kitten I experienced the night before.
What could it be?
As I step out into the living room, I see Valerie. She’s standing with her back to me, facing the room’s only window. Sunlight is pouring in all around her, creating a halo of light. This makes her look even more like a goddess than usual.
She’s dressed in leggings and a T-shirt; her blond hair is pulled up in a loose ponytail, at the top of her head. Despite the casual attire, she looks breathtakingly beautiful. I’ve only seen her at night, before. Never in the bright light of day.
Good lord, this woman is stunning.
I step into the living room, and as I do, Valerie begins to turn. I see that she’s holding something in her arms.
Before becoming a SEAL, I spent years training for any scenario. None of my training could have ever prepared me for this.
There’s a baby in Valerie’s arms.
And the baby looks like…me.
It’s the craziest, trippiest feeling I’ve ever had, and I’ve been through psychological training where I had to go through sensory and sleep deprivation for thirty-six hours.
I feel my jaw drop. I can’t take my eyes off of the bundle in Valerie’s arms. It’s like staring at a tiny version of me. He has my olive skin complexion…my dark eyes…even a shock of dark hair on his little head.
He has Valerie’s nose. Her lips.
Other than that, he’s all Lawson.
“His name is Dylan,” Valerie says.
“What—how did—?” I stop short.
Suddenly, it’s all clicking into place. The infant looks only a few months old, and we had sex last summer, meaning the timeline would fit…
I’m overcome with shock. My feet seem to be glued to the carpet. My body is frozen.
“He’s yours,” Valerie says softly. “I didn’t know how to tell you…so I decided to show you.”
She steps forward.
My feet come unglued. I step back.
Though the facts line up, my mind is in rebellion. No. This can’t be happening. I can’t be a father. I’m not ready to be a father.
Valerie is smiling, but as I step back, her smile fades. A shadow crosses over her face. I see fear in her eyes.
“Do you want to say hello?” she asks tentatively.
“No,” I say. It comes out harshly. I’m overwhelmed. This has caught me entirely off guard. To be honest, I’m scared.
The child gives a little gurgle and a coo. His hand reaches out from under the soft, blue blanket that he’s wrapped in.
His hand is impossibly small. He sticks it into the air, and opens and shuts his palm. He moves his teeny, tiny fingers awkwardly, as if he’s just learning to control them.
“Garrett…” Valerie says. Her voice is soft, but rises above the baby’s cooing noises. “I should have said something last night. I’m sorry. I was—”
“Valerie,” I say, interrupting her mid-apology. I’m shaking my head. “This is crazy. This doesn’t make sense. I can’t be a father.”
She’s quiet. Again, she steps towards me, and again, I step back. I’m backing right out of the living room, towards the entryway. I see my jacket on a wooden bench beneath her coat rack. I reach for it.
“You should order a paternity test,” I say.
She shelters the infant in her arms, hugging him to her chest and turning her body slightly away from me, as if shielding him from me.
“A paternity test?” she asks, her voice hushed but clearly upset. “Garrett, are you kidding me? He’s your spitting image. Plus, I haven’t been with anyone since you, or for more than a year before you. I told you—I’m not that kind of girl. I don’t sleep around and I haven’t dated anyone in ages.”
“I’m supposed to just believe you? Just take your word for it?”
She stares at me in shock.
“Yes,” she says. “Yes, Garrett, you are.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. I pull my jacket on quickly, shaking my head while I do.
I need to get out of here. The entryway is too small—too tight. I need to get outside, away from Valerie, and away from the little boy with my dark brown eyes.
I need to think.
I push my feet into my boots, then kneel down to yank the laces tight.
“How can I just take your word on this, Valerie? I barely know you.”
She recoils as if I’ve slapped her in the face. Her head jerks back and her eyes—which have been soft pools of concern—now harden.
She opens her mouth, and I brace myself for what she has to say next.
Chapter 10
Valerie
Garrett is kneeling down, messing with his boots. He won’t look at me. He looks everywhere but into my eyes—at the door handle, mostly.
He wants to leave.
The weight of Dylan in my arms comforts me and gives me strength. He gurgles happily, unaware that his father is practically running from him. I don’t want my child to know that his parents are fighting. I don’t want this to be Dylan’s first memory of us, even if it’s just a dim, subconscious one.
I hug my son tighter, and keep my voice quiet and even.
“Fine. I’ll get the test,” I say. “But you know as well as I do that this baby is yours, Garrett. Whether you like it or not, you're a father now.”
I glare at him. He finishes with his laces and stands. His hand reaches for the door handle. I can’t believe he’s going to walk out without at least touching his son—stroking his cheek or feeling Dylan’s tentative grip around a finger.
“I need time to think,” Garrett says. He opens the door.
I imagined that Garrett would fall in love instantly, the way that I did when I saw Dylan’s ultrasound image, all those months ago. I was excited for Garrett to experience that all-consuming love. I guess I thought it might make him happy—as happy as it’s made me.
I hoped it would alleviate some of the pain that I feel Garrett carries. I still don’t know that much about him, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that his life hasn’t been an easy one. It’s written all over his face. It’s in every look he gives me.
Our child is a miracle. Dylan has brought me so much joy over the past four months since he was born, that sometimes, I think if my heart grows any bigger, it will simply burst. I didn’t know I could feel this much love until I looked into my son’s eyes. Doesn't Garrett want that?
Apparently not, because he’s backing out of the open door, onto my front step.
“Okay,” I say from inside my apartment. “Take all the time you need.” I shake my head, showing him my disappointment. “Just…don’t come back until you’re ready to act like a father. Dylan doesn’t deserve to feel rejected,” I say.
And neither do I, I think to myself.
I clutch Dylan to me. For the first time since he saw the baby, Garrett meets my eyes.
“Just give me some time,” he says. His voice is slightly softer. Some of his edge is gone.
I’m too hurt to respond right away. I look into his eyes, press my lips together, and nod.
He turns to walk to the steps.
As he reaches the first step, I call out. “Wait, Garrett—” I step out of the apartment, onto the front step. “I need your number. For the test.”
“Oh…right.”
He pauses and reaches into his pocket for a phone. I’m surprised at how little the phone is. It looks like one of those small, disposable phones that people used to carry around when they didn’t want to sign a contract.
He rattles off the number, and I fumble to reach inside the apartment and grab my own phone, which is sitting on the counter. I enter in the number with one hand while holding Dylan with the other.
“I’ll contact you when the test comes in,” I say flatly, once I have his digits stored.
“Okay, Valerie,” he says.
Our words are clumsy, formal—so far from the wordless communication we enjoyed just last night. We’re not speaking in our lan
guage; our bodies are out of sync and the words coming through our lips sound foreign.
He descends another step and turns to me. “I’ll think about all this…I just—I just need time.”
Why does he need time? I didn’t need time to figure out that I was head-over-heels in love with Dylan, and thrilled that Garrett was the father.
But he doesn’t feel the same way—about his son, or about me. I watch him hurry down the steps and then disappear around the corner. As I step back inside and close the door, I sing softly to my son. It’s a sweet, love-filled lullaby, and I hope that it will negate the tension and sadness that he just experienced.
Though I’m trying to put up a good front for my son, inside, I’m crushed. And a few hours later, when Dylan sinks into a peaceful slumber, I sit down on the couch and finally allow myself to cry.
I never thought that Garrett would turn away from us. Because of my own happiness over the pregnancy, I just assumed that he would feel the same. I’ve never been so wrong in my life! And I’ve never felt like such a fool.
I was always the smart and sensible one, growing up. I pride myself in consistently having my life in order. As a teacher, my students look up to me for the answers. And I never disappoint. There’s always something I can say or do to fix the situation—or at least make it better.
Now, for the first time, I feel like my life is falling apart, and I don’t know how to put it back together. I can’t control how Garrett acts or feels, and that’s killing me. I desperately wish that he’d embraced us with as much love and affection as he showed me last night.
Instead, he ran.
Eventually, my tears dry, and I’m left in a sort of numb state. Dylan is still sleeping soundly, so I pull out my laptop and start searching for DNA testing centers in the San Antonio area. I arbitrarily pick one and dial the number.
A woman answers, introducing herself as the receptionist.
“Yes, umm…” I bite my lip, furrowing my brow as I scan the center’s website. “I’d like to book a paternity test, please.”
Secret Daddy Surprise - A Secret Baby Romance (Once a SEAL, Always a SEAL Book 4) Page 7
