Unforgettable You

by Deanndra Hall

  “Yeah, but if you stop breathing, you won’t be able to fuck me. So breathe, wouldja?” There’s mirth in her voice, and her encore is a trailing of her tongue up the side of my neck until she reaches my ear and promptly rims it, then nips my earlobe. I grab her face and pull it to mine. I spend the next five minutes devouring her mouth, then maneuver us both until she’s lying on the sofa with me above her. I gaze down into those warm, gorgeous, blue eyes looking back up at me, and I’m overwhelmed by the love I feel for her. It fills me; it fills the room. It fills everything in my whole world.

  Instead of remaining inside her, I slip down until my lips can touch her chest, and I travel downward, suck first one nipple and then the other into my mouth, then kiss down her ribcage and belly until I reach her mound. There I stop, pull back, and thrust my tongue into her channel just to hear her gasp. She grabs my hair, not pulling, just for the connection, and I slip the tip of my tongue up and between her pussy lips until I find that tiny, swollen pearl. First I suck it in between my teeth, then give it a tiny nip. She yelps and I snort under my breath. Then I settle down to work, my tongue circling her bud, sucking it into my lips several times, then going back to the circling motion. She’s moaning and crying out, her back arching and hips thrusting, and she asks in a desperate whisper, “Sir, may I come?”

  I whisper back to her, “Anytime you want, sub. Anytime at all.” I grab her hips and hold on, and in just a few seconds her pelvis starts to buck as the pitch and volume of her voice travels upward in a long, frantic cry. At the apex of the onslaught she screams out, “Oh, god, Steffen, I want your cock in me. Fuck me, please, fuck me?”

  Now what fool would say no to that? Not this one, uh-uh.

  She’s hot and wet and ready, like always, and I rise up and take her with one fierce thrust just to hear her cry out and feel her claw at my shoulders. I’m hammering away at her until I suddenly just stop, buried up to my ball sack in that tight pussy, and stare down at her. “Whaaa? Why did you stop?” I almost start laughing as I feel her trying to thrust her hips upward.

  “Nah-ah-ah, little subbie. You forget who’s in charge here.” I pull back so slowly that it takes me what seems like forever, and I burrow back into her at the same languorous pace while she frets and twitches. She wants me. Yeah. I like this – I like it a lot. Stretching the length of my body out on top of her to pin her to the sofa cushions, I wrap my hands down and around her hips and grasp her ass cheeks in my hands, continuing to withdraw and recommit every stroke an inch at a time, relishing the feel of her channel pulsing around my shaft, listening to her moan and cry out. I savor it, deliberate in my movements, working the angle in which the head of my cock is stroking her g-spot, and waiting for the right moment. My mind spirals in wicked little bursts of erotic musings until I tip my face to her neck, suck on the tender spot just above her shoulder, and then let my teeth dig in just slightly but quickly, like a flash fire in a forest.

  As she explodes around me, I ramp up the pace of my thrusts until she’s crying out and begging me for more, and I give her what she wants, maybe more than she expected. Her body’s trembling and I know what’s about to happen, even if she doesn’t. My angle is intentional, and she finally begins the pleading that I knew was coming. “Oh, Steffen, oh god, oh, god. Oh, god, please, oh, god. Steffen, please? Please? Oh, god, oh, jesus, oh jesus, oh, oh, oh . . .” Her voice drops and in a deep growl, she cries out, “Oh, god, OH, GOD, STEFFEN, NOOOOO . . .”

  That’s when it happens. There’s a sudden gush of wetness that shoots down between us, soaking us and the sofa thoroughly. Now she’s screaming, “Shit! Fuck me! Oh, god, baby, stop, STOP! I can’t take any more, I can’t! I CAN’T! Oh, god . . .” I let her go on like that for, oh, about five more minutes, until she’s frantic and practically pummeling my chest to get me to cease fire. Her mound, my abs, and our thighs are wet and slick, and I drop onto her and drag my fingers up her back and into the hair at the nape of her neck, fisting a handful in both palms and pulling her head back to force her view to my face.

  I grin. “Good?”

  Her eyes go wide. “Steffen! What the hell?”

  That makes me snicker. “What? What’s wrong, baby?”

  “Are you trying to kill me?” She’s glaring up at me and I’m trying hard not to laugh. But the smirk I’m wearing is going to get me into a world of trouble, I’m pretty sure.

  “What? You didn’t like it?”

  She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t say that!” I give her a sweet little peck on the lips, and when I pull back again, she’s grinning.

  “Put you through your paces, huh, little subbie?”

  “Is that what you call it? Geez. Well, Sir, I hope you’re happy. Now I’ve got to clean everything up. What the hell am I going to do about this sofa?”

  “I’m very, very happy. My little girl’s a squirter!” With that, I unwind my hands from her hair and trail them down her sides until I can tickle her ribs. “And call the carpet cleaning guys tomorrow to come and clean the sofa. Or we’ll buy a new one.”

  “Quit! Quit! I swear, Steffen . . . cut it out!” She’s laughing and I’m laughing and we’re rolling around and she’s squealing. And then I just stop. “What? Why’d you stop? What’s wrong?”

  I look into that lovely face and I see a future that’s bright and promising. “I’m just looking at the love of my life, my wife, the mother of my children.” She smiles at me and I watch as big tears escape the outer corners of both eyes and roll down her temples into her hair. “Oh, sweetie, why are you crying?”

  “I love you, Steffen. I love you more than I thought it was possible to love somebody. I’ve never been as happy in my whole life as I am right now.”

  “Good.” I roll us to our sides so we’re more comfortable and stroke her soft cheek with my fingers. “I’m so excited about our life together. We’re going to have a home and a family and fun and laughter and people who’ll stand by us through thick and thin. And each other. Don’t forget each other.”

  She just stares at me.

  “Oh, yeah, right, sorry. I love you, Sheila. I love you to infinity and beyond. To the moon and back. Deep as the ocean, high as the sky. Until the end of time. Wait, I’m thinking – there’s got to be another cheesy, corny one in there, I’m sure.” She giggles. “But I really do, baby. I love you and I’ll love you forever.”

  “I like the last one best.”

  I smile. “Me too.” Without warning, she puts both hands on my sternum and gives me a push.

  I hit the floor in front of the sofa and all the breath is knocked right out of my lungs. But before I can gasp or sit up, she’s on top of me, tickling me and nibbling on my neck. My gasping turns to howls of laughter, and she has me screaming, “Stop! Stop! Woman, stop it!” Eventually she just slumps on top of me, shaking with laughter, and I ignore the pain in my back from the hard floor and the headache I’m about to get from where my skull smacked the hardwood. Her weight on top of me feels right, and I tighten my arms around her and kiss her forehead.

  I can’t imagine what life without her would be like. And I hope I never have to find out.

  The drive is torture. We’re both as nervous as a new dad in a maternity ward. “So, was the realtor positive?”

  I nod. “Yeah. She said she thought both places would move pretty quickly and if they don’t, she’ll help us with a bridge loan as soon as we find something we like.”

  “Is she going to start looking for something for us?”

  I nod again. “Yeah, and right now too. I told her living room, dining room, eat in kitchen, den, four bedrooms, three and a half baths, laundry room, and a good-sized yard. And preferably in the Hanover school district.”

  She nods vigorously. “That sounds perfect. Do I look okay?”

  That makes me chuckle. “Why do women always ask that in instances where their appearance has absolutely nothing to do with the outcome of things?”

  “I have no idea. We just do,” she says with a shr
ug.

  “Well, if it’s any consolation, you look amazing. But then you always do.” I can’t help but beam as I’m watching the traffic. I have a beautiful wife and I don’t mind saying so, especially to her.

  “You look amazing too, you know. You’re probably the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever met.”

  One eyebrow shoots up and I stare at her as best I can while I drive. “Me? I’m gorgeous? Seriously?”

  The sarcasm is rolling when she says, “Yes, you. You have to know that. Women are slobbering messes when you’re around.” I know I’m looking at her like she’s crazy, but I can’t help it. “Really, Steffen. I’m not kidding. Remember when we went to the Italian restaurant last week?” I nod. “I went to the restroom. While I was in there, these two women came in. One of them said, ‘Did you see that hunky blond Viking over there across the room? Oh my god, he’s gorgeous.’ And the other one said, ‘Yeah, and he’s with a ginger. I swear, I don’t get what men see in those pasty little red-haired girls.’”

  “They said that?” Now I just don’t believe her. She’s making this up.

  “They sure did.” Then she laughs. “The first one said, ‘She’s got an amazing rack. It’s gotta be the boobs.’”

  That makes me laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding. They were talking about your boobs?”

  “No, silly, they were talking about you. My boobs just happened to get mentioned. They are pretty amazing, if I do say so myself.” She slips her hands underneath her tits and hoists them up, and I start laughing right out loud. “What? They are! When you go into the restroom, aren’t the other guys talking about my boobs?”

  Now I’m gasping for breath. “No!”

  She fakes indignation. “Well. I’m disappointed. The women notice my husband, the blond Viking, but the men don’t even notice my boobs? That’s ridiculous.” I’ve gone from laughing to outright wheezing. “Maybe next time you should start the discussion. You know, ‘Hey, did you guys see the redhead out there with the amazing boobs?’”

  “Tits. Guys say tits.” I’m still laughing so hard that I’m shaking all over.

  “Ick. Tits. I don’t like that word. I’m sticking with boobs.” She turns and grins at me as soon as I’ve finished parking the car, and she’s still smiling but her face is serious. “I love you, Steffen.”

  “I love you too, Sheila Ann Cothran. Always and forever. Let’s go see a couple of kids who need parents, shall we?”

  We walk hand in hand into the office where we meet Amy and, and after they’ve verified our identities with our drivers’ licenses, they escort us to a good-sized room full of toys and books and things kids would love. The carpet has alphabet characters printed on it with a little animal incorporated into each one, and there’s a big window where the sun streams in and makes the whole place cheery and bright. The door opens and two small, anxious faces peer around until they find us. Bless their hearts, they’re holding hands. They’ve got to be terrified. “Mr. and Mrs. Cothran, meet Joey and Rachel.” The social worker pushes the children forward but they both try to hang back. I pull out one of the teeny-tiny chairs at the teeny-tiny table and drop all six feet and three inches of me into it. Maybe I won’t look so imposing if I’m sitting down. Beside me, Sheila does the same. “I’ll leave you four alone to get acquainted. Have fun.” With that, she heads out the door and closes it behind her and, glancing back at her, I see Amy standing there. I suppose she’s going to observe too. Both kids watch her go, then turn back to us, trepidation all over their faces. Bless her heart, Sheila gets the ball rolling.

  “So, I’m Sheila, and this is my husband, Steffen. And you’re Joey and Rachel, right?”

  The little boy squeezes his sister’s hand even tighter before he answers. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “So, Joey, what’s your favorite thing to eat?”

  He thinks for a minute. “Hot dogs.”

  I grin. “Mine too! Especially at the ball park. I love hot dogs from the ball park, with relish and mustard and ketchup.”

  He nods. “I’ve never been to a ball park.”

  For me, that’s hard to believe, but I’m sure, in his instance, it’s true. “Would you like to go sometime?”

  “Yes, sir.” He’s still not smiling, but he doesn’t seem quite so frightened.

  “So, missy,” I say, directing my question to Rachel, “what kind of animals do you like?”

  Very quietly, so quietly that I can barely hear her, she replies, “I. Like. Ponies. And. Dogs.”

  Sheila pipes up. “I do too. I had a dog when I was about your age. Her name was Princess. She was my best friend.” There’s a sadness in Sheila’s smile, and I wonder: Does she still miss that dog after all these years? Yeah, it’s pretty obvious she does. I make a mental note: Dog for her birthday.

  “What. Happened. To. Your. Dog?” She’s so afraid that her speech is halting. Poor kid.

  Sheila smiles. “She got old and she died. And I cried for a month.”

  “I would too,” Rachel whispers out. “Do you have a dog now?”

  “No, but I’d like one.” Sheila turns and smiles at me.

  I grin back at her. “Already duly noted.” From that, I get a big return grin out of her. About that time, Joey speaks up.

  “So how many kids do you have?”

  I smile at him. “None. We just got married. We need some kids, and we’re looking for some kids who need us.”

  My heart breaks when Rachel whispers, “I need a mom.” One glance tells me that Sheila’s biting back tears.

  “So if you could pick a mom, what would she look like?” I ask the child. She stands and thinks for a minute.

  “I’d want her to be pretty.”

  “Yeah? That would be good, huh?”

  She nods. “And have a nice smile. And nice hair.”

  “Oh yeah?” I decide to try something. “What color hair would you want her to have?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe orange?”

  “Really? She sounds pretty already. What kinds of things would you like for her to do with you?”

  “Drive me to school maybe. Make dinner. Hold my hand when we go to the store. Stuff like that. Mom stuff.”

  “Yeah, mom stuff,” Joey repeats. “Maybe pop popcorn? And show me how to make my bed?”

  This is tearing me apart. These kids are trying so hard to get us to like them. I’m trying to find a way to let them know that we already do when I decide to play another card. “Did you know we looked at a kid catalog?”

  Rachel’s little brow furrows. “A kid catalog?”

  “Yeah. One of the adoption worker ladies brought a bunch of kid catalogs to our house. You know, kind of like a big book of kids that we could choose from.”

  Joey’s eyes go wide. “Did you choose some kids?”

  Sheila jumps in. “Actually, we did. Two.”

  Rachel’s voice trembles when she asks, “What are their names?”

  I hear Sheila almost let out a sob when she says, “Oh, you might know them. They’re named Joey and Rachel.”

  Joey’s eyes go wide. “You picked us from the catalog?”

  I smile at the little boy. “Yes, we did. We looked at a lot of kids’ pictures, but we just kept coming back to yours. But we were really, really worried.”

  His eyes widen again. “Why?”

  I give him a little shrug. “We were afraid you wouldn’t like us. Like maybe you’d looked in the parents catalog and found someone you’d like better. We were hoping you’d give us a chance.”

  I watch the small boy look down at his even smaller sister, then squeeze her hand. “We could talk about it, I guess. But there’s no parents catalog. We don’t get to choose.”

  “Yes you do. If you tell us you don’t like us, we’ll leave and let you choose someone else.”

  Bless her heart, the little one begins to cry and I feel horrible until she sputters out, “Please don’t leave! We like you, honest! Don’t leave.” Then I feel like I’ve won the lottery.r />
  “Hey, we brought you something. Come here.” When Rachel steps toward me, I reach into my pocket and pull out the brightly-colored length of braided cord.

  “What is it?”

  “Hold your arm out.” When she does, I take the cord, wrap it around her wrist twice, and then tie it. “It’s a friendship bracelet. If something happens that we never see each other again, I want you to look down at it and remember that you have a friend. No matter what, I’ll always be your friend.”

  She stares at the bracelet like I’ve just given her a piece from Tiffany’s. “Thank you, Mr. Steffen. I’m your friend too.”

  “Good. Joey, I think Sheila has something for you.”

  “What? What is it?” Both of us can hear the excitement in his voice.

  Sheila opens her bag and pulls something metal out. “They’re dog tags, just like soldiers wear! And they’ve got your name on them, see?”

  “I can’t read good. What do they say?” he asks, standing beside her and trying to peek over at them in her hand without getting too close, like he’s afraid she’s going to grab him or something.

  “Well, this one says, ‘Joey is awesome!’ And this one says, ‘Always friends.’” She slips the chain over his head and the tags clink as they come to rest on his little chest. “If we don’t see you again, at least you can remember us.”

  “We’d never forget you, right, Rachel?”

  Those words. I feel Sheila tremble beside me and I know she’s about to come undone, so I reach out, wrap an arm around her, and pull her up against me. When she turns her reddened eyes up to mine, I drop a soft little kiss on her forehead and smile at her. “We’d never forget you guys either. But I hope we don’t have to worry about that. I hope we see a lot more of each other really soon.”