by Amber Burns
I flatter in my steps when Holly calls me back. “Could you check on the extra snack table if you’re headed that way?”
“Which one?” there had to be at least three different snacking areas in the party-cordoned areas.
“The one in the kitchen. Please and thanks,” and then she’s overwhelmed by Dan on one side and Jesse on the other. Thank God I don’t have to vie with anyone else for Astra’s attention and affections.
I do pass the kitchen so I make a detour on my hunt for my fiery-headed, cool-tempered girlfriend.
The open kitchen is huge – closer to the stuff you see in a large establishment, a hotel or a larger restaurant. There is a second, smaller party of guests in the den it overlooks.
I spy the punchbowl on the counter over the heads of five boys, about four wearing hoods and coats like they’d just come from outside. My boot narrowly dodges a small puddle and I frown...or they did come from outside.
“So I guess one of you knows where the mop is,” I drawl. The boys turning in unison, and each looking guiltier than the last, I recognize one face and he pales when I single him out with my drawn brows and frown.
Lola’s kid brother, Tony, is standing by the punch bowl with a group of his friends. Suspicious as hell the lot of them, but I promised Holly I’d check it out for her. They break their little circle apart for me.
“Hey, little man,” I step up and rub his head, mussing his hair to his plain horror. Or maybe it’s the fact that his friends are watching on? “Haven’t seen you around all that much.”
“I’ve been out at my cousin’s new place in the city,” he says, his cheeks growing ruddy as he shoves his wind-chapped hands in the pockets of his oversized jacket. “Besides I’m not a kid. I don’t need to be monitored.”
My brows hike up; first at the fact Custodio and TzaTza can let him go off to New York alone, cousin or not – and I’m pretty sure he’s talking about that cousin of his, the 19-year-old college dropout who looked hopped the few times I’d met him, and then secondly because Tony’s starting to sound like his sister...which by proxy makes him sound like his parents.
“You’re thirteen.”
He raises his shoulders, eyes flashing. “So what?”
“So, step away from the punch. The same goes for the rest of you,” I breeze a cool look over his four friends. They do as I say though, so I decide to turn away and leave it at that with this parting advice, “Want to stay at the party, then listen closely: Watch it ‘cause I’m watching you and being on my shit list isn’t going to go well for you, not tonight...or ever.”
See with 13-year-olds you could get away with saying something creepy like that and get the same scuttling reaction and not feel an ounce of guilt for breaking up their numbskull idea to spice the drinks.
They follow each other out in single file, mumbling curses my way likely, but I could care less of what a bunch of pre-teens are saying or not saying about Tony’s uncool 30-something faux uncle.
As I check for Astra in the smaller crowd lounging around the extra den, I turn back in the hall and head for the floor-to-ceiling windows separating the house from the frozen garden and immense backyard outside.
The outdoor pool is covered for the winter, and the tarp isn’t visible under the layer of snow from the snowstorm a week and a bit ago, the storm that had followed me into Orange Compass.
She’s not other there – no soul is out there, at least no soul who can read the printed sign warning guests to ‘Keep Out’.
I pass the kitchen and go by the family room on my way to access other parts of the house. It hits me to try Astra’s cell. I don’t get an answer there, which reminds me she likely has her purse up in Jesse’s room where she had been helping Holly choose between two dresses before the party’s start.
The irony of the indecisive party planner isn’t lost on me.
After a quick check upstairs, I return to the foyer with my coat and let myself out past the bored door guards. I look around at the cars snaking up and down the two lane driveway, stepping down the front porch to squint into the dark winter night.
By chance I spy a spray of curly red from the side of white pickup. I close in and speed up, my heart lifting as easy as my steps through the thick, sticky snow.
Astra has her back facing me and she’s standing still, head slightly tilted to the cloudless, starry heavens.
My worry takes a back seat when I see the perfect opportunity for a sneak attack. She doesn’t anticipate my hands coming around and settling over her belly, my chin resting on her right shoulder and, because I can’t resist, I’m bringing her ass to my cock, thrilling at the soft pressure.
“I missed you,” I say at her gasp, demystifying her curiosity. “Were you expecting someone else to meet you out here in the cold?”
Astra’s laugh is throaty, her hands falling over mine on her belly. “I suddenly needed fresh air.”
“It is getting a little stuffy in there. You’d think there would be a fire hazard or something.”
“You played wonderfully, for what I stayed of it, which was the first two songs and the toss of the favors,” she leans to the side and cranes her neck as much as she can to flash her smile. “You’re caught the personality.”
“That sounds a gazillion times better coming from you, not critics, wannabes or professionals.” I meet her lips and glide my lips across hers. “Mhm, had a little punch did you?”
“I did. I was really thirsty, and then,” she trails off and I give her a squeeze at the silence and scrunching of her features. Her downturned mouth frightens me.
Yes, because she’s going to break up with you, dumbass. Relax.
And give me a break, we’ve been, what, officially dating for a whopping eight hours. I think my paranoia is justified, if a little excessive.
That’s why I’m pretty damn proud when I keep my voice even, asking, “What’s the matter, babe?”
She sucks in a deep breath and breathes deeply, the air in front of her clouding up with the blow. “Promise you won’t laugh?”
It’s not what I expect, but I solemnly promise nevertheless. I also kiss her cheek to comfort us both, really. The contact with her puts me at peace.
At this rate I might not be able to wait all of March, April, May and June for the school year to close for her to consider resigning and moving to L.A., at least until the band pulls out its latest CD and we officially announce our hiatus after the tour later this year.
“I think I’m not me,” and then she shakes her head and the frown deepens. “What I mean is, there have been some things I’ve noticed that have changed. Little changes.”
“Like?” I ask, trying to keep my questions succinct as to not interrupt her word flow. It’s something else I’m learning about us. I gotta process all my questions. Think before I talk, or whatever. At least around Astra – I love her too much to fuck this up, fuck us up again.
“Like I’m not hungry, but I am. Yesterday I couldn’t eat the rest of the omelet I made for breakfast and I had this craving for the steak, you know the juicy one from that Italian restaurant in Newark.” She sighs when I press my lips to her cheek again, dropping down a fraction to touch her jawline.
“I’ll get you all the steak you want, I promise,” I graze my teeth over her upper jaw, giving her another peck and absorbing her shiver.
“It’s not only that though. Certain smells are bothering me. And then I’ve been feeling super dizzy.”
“Dan had some bad vertigo before he worked with his physiotherapist. It got pretty bad especially during and after shows, the lights and sound don’t exactly help. But don’t tell him I told you; he has this stupid idea that it makes him look weak.” I chuckle.
“Maybe it’s that, I don’t know,” she sounds sure one second, but just as uncertain the next. And her worry has me freaked out.
Just when I planned to ride off into the sunset with her…
“Oh, and one more thing,” her voice has dropped and I have to
lean in closer when her gaze shifts to her boots. I swear her cheeks are redder. “I missed my period.”
I’m quiet, processing what she says, and then I blurt, “You’re pregnant.”
“Shh, Ryker,” she whispers, the volume increasing when she says, “Don’t say it so loud.” Astra shifts and I let her turn around in my hold; there are some things that are better said face-to-face.
“Sorry.” I mutter and then I bring our faces so close, my cold nose brushes the tip of hers. “Are you, though?”
“I don’t know,” her exclamation shuts me up for like a second, and then I’m asking, “Did you get tested? I mean, they have early response things – I’ve seen those commercials.”
“I thought about it. But even if I was, am…” she cuts off and sticks her lower lip between her teeth. I reach up and press down on her jaw, forcing her lip free and then swooping down, holding her jaw still for my plundering mouth.
I scour her tongue and taste more of the teen-appropriate fruit punch, and the distinct Astra flavor that’s purely her. Her tongue isn’t sitting still either. She comes alive under me and before I know it I break our lips and whisper, “The car, now.”
My key fob out, I unlock the van before us, my arm keeping Astra tight to my side.
I lead her in ahead of me, slapping her ass and getting a delightful ‘oh’ for my action.
“Back seat,” I declare, and she slides through the small alley between the middle seats, taking one corner of the van while I drop down beside her and then haul her onto my lap.
Our mouths move hot and fast, and we keep the suction save for taking breaths and when she has to stretch back on a semi-stand to slide her dress down her shapely legs and I have to draw my long-sleeved shirt over my head.
She drags her nails over my chest, her fingers pausing in their painfully pleasurable combo to circle my areolas and pinch and lightly tug my nipples. “Fuck, babe,” I groan out of the kiss. “Is that what it feels like when I touch these beautiful tits?”
I squeeze her breasts through the lacey pale orange bra, my fingers following the arch of ribbon design to the cute little bow front and center covering the front clip.
One pop and she’s falling out into my itching grasp.
“Oh, Ryker,” she arches into my palms, filling my palms, the hard nubs of her nipple indenting a pattern, a memory I’d relive over and over again. Definitely in the shower once I left for the City of Angels tomorrow.
“Let’s stop playing. I want you now.” Astra searches out my shaft, stroking me over my jeans. “Out of these, now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I drop the jeans around my legs and pull the boxers down, gritting my teeth when my pre-cum soaked tip hits the air...and then hissing when Astra sweeps down and takes me into her mouth, deep-throating me before I fully form her name.
“Y-Yes, baby. A-aah, y-y-yeah.”
She takes me down and then comes back up to suck just my head, and then down again, and up. It goes on until my balls tighten and signal nearing release.
As much as I’d love to fill her with my jizz, I wrench my hands from her now pin-free, falling red waves, to her shapely, pale shoulders.
“Babe,” I replace my cock with my mouth, tasting myself, the fruit punch and Astra on her lips and tongue. “I want to come inside of you. And I can’t do that with this talented mouth all over me, ready to make me blow.” I thumb her lower lip and kiss her quickly, ready to get her around me.
Together we pull down her matching light orange panties and then I settle her over me, angling my throbbing, red head against her cunt. “Ready when you are?” I groan up to her, waiting for her mark.
She hooks her hands around my neck and kisses me from atop, and I have to force my head back to get more of her. Astra sinks down and I’m shooting out of the car, heading to heaven.
Her pussy is squelching and our thighs are slapping and we’re moaning and panting and groaning. I grip her ass and massage her cheeks, spreading her apart and then pushing her ass together.
“C-Come with me?” I ask and she nods. I reach between us and find her clit after a couple of tries – she gives me a big hint when she tenses for a second and groans.
I work her and it’s only intensifying the pleasure of being buried in that pretty glove of a body of hers, tight and oh so right.
“I’m c-coming,” I warn her seconds before I blast her, my seed jerking out of me, filling her womb. I keep flapping her clit until she wails her release, my name caught in the longest two syllables.
She falls into my arms, and I’m right there to catch her, fastening her to my chest, never wanting to let go. “Now we can scratch off the car-sex.” I kiss her temple and rouse her with a chuckle, basking in the glow that is everything Astra.
Her hair tickles my whole face as I rub my face in the down-like, citrus-scented waves. “New shampoo?”
She murmurs what I presume is a ‘yes’.
Then there’s the rest of her. Her soft, warm body, her trim waist but wider hips, her breasts flat against my chest and her cute little puffs of air. I love that I have that effect on her: The ability to make her breathless.
Ditto, babe. Ditto.
Eventually her breathing evens along with mine, and it’s a perfect time to pick up where we left off...chat-wise. Although I’m starting to harden just knowing she’s in my arms, ready for the taking.
“What if you are pregnant?”
She shifts and then in that same soft, but even tone she says, “Then I’m going to have a baby.”
Is it me or did she just stiffen at that?
No. She definitely tensed, and now she’s struggling to sit up, using my chest as leverage. I help her out, keeping a steady hold on her arms.
Her eyes are bright in the dark, fired up the way her voice is, and the determination behind her words. “I’ll be a mother.”
“And I’ll be a father,” I say, jaw tight in response to her. “Did you think I’d let you go in it alone?”
She’s quiet and then she says, “I don’t know.”
This is the fork in the road, one of those moments where I have to think before I talk. Putting myself in her shoes, um, heels help; we’ve known each other for almost two weeks, and we’ve fucked like rabbits in most of that time, and spending less than a day admitting our other feelings.
Naturally she shouldn’t expect I’ll help.
Not preening my feathers here or anything, but, hello, celebrity rock star. Reliability doesn’t exactly come along with the job title. So I’m not hurt when she hesitantly asks, “You’d help? That is if I am…”
“I would.” I say firmly, adding, “And just to let you know, I’d love if we were...that is, pregnant. Oh, and I call dibs on the girl names.”
Her laugh is better than any music I could create – but I’ve created it too, because that smile spreading across her face faster than the break of dawn is my doing.
That, and the chemistry…the love zapping between us.
“Ryker,” she wraps her arms around me and brings her head to rest over my shoulder, her lips touching my jumping pulse. “I love you.”
Somehow we’d figure it all out: The long distance thing, her job, my career, marriage and our maybe-baby.
Odd angle or not, my hand finds her womb and I picture the days and nights melding and the swelling flesh, the light foot kicking and the growing heart deep inside of her.
Another kind of love all together.
I tilt my head to the side and no words are needed to get at what I want, her lips.
Our minds and hearts are in synch, and nothing, I realize, not even Tense Finger and my almost rags-to-riches past can compare. But I have to say it anyways, because I want to hear it more than Astra, to know it’s real.
It’s soft against her lips, from my breath to hers: “I love you, too, babe.”
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“People. Oh, they were there. They watched me pull your thong down around your legs, one hand on your breast, my other hand slipped down your belly, down to plunge one finger in your tight, wet cunt,” I blow the last words into her ear, catching her ear lobe with my teeth, my nibbling earning a shuddery long-drawn moan.
