by Teagan Kade
In front of us, Vanessa Junior stumbles over a toy block and goes face first into the ground. She stops and picks herself up, looking to Ethan for how to react. I’m waiting for the waterworks, but when none of us react she simply shrugs and smiles, running off.
“I don’t know where she gets her energy,” Vanessa Senior remarks.
I eye Ethan, the incredible father he’s become given what was a largely unplanned pregnancy—well, the first was. I look at him and can’t imagine life with anyone else. It’s inconceivable. “I think I do,” I reply, smiling at the man who never seems to be short of energy, even when I look like an Indian elephant.
Sex by the fire, sex outside in the woods with the animals calling… You don’t get that in a big city.
Ethan was a bit more open to the idea of moving out here. I think he was already looking for a change of pace, a move away from the constant noise and hustle of the city. He’s still a paramedic, though his shifts are shorter and tend to focus around dehydrated hikers and idiot hunters shooting each other these days—yes, really. I didn’t think it was possible for him to be any fitter, but he’s so sculpted and cut now I’m not sure if he’s actually more rock than man.
Better still, we go for walks as a family, go down to the lake… Little Vanessa loves animals, including Dodger the husky who came with the house. It’s no Montello mansion, but there’s more love and caring here in a single square inch than anything I’ve known.
Ethan scoops Vanessa Junior up, bringing her over in a squirming bundle of laughter and giggles. Her bright blonde ringlets were a surprise to us both, but those big blue eyes are all Ethan.
“What are you ladies conspiring at over here?” Ethan asks, handing Vanessa over to Vanessa, who pulls her tight to her chest, kissing the side of her head.
“Nothing.” I smile, my hands on my belly and the new life growing there.
Ethan spots the large yellow envelope on top of the pile, picking it up. “What’s this?”
I shrug, but we both know it’s been forwarded from the FBI, sent under a pseudonym. “No idea. Open it up if you like.”
He opens the larger envelope and takes out a smaller one, opening it and reading, his expression darkening.
I sit upright, which is kind of difficult when you’re carrying another human being. No one mentioned that at pre-natal or the, you know, must-pee-every-minute-because-my-bladder-is-now-a-trampoline thing.
Even Vanessa stops.
“Ethan?” I ask.
“It’s a letter from the parole office. Your father’s appeal has been denied. He won’t be eligible for another five years.”
I relax, exhaling, another weight lifted from my shoulders. I don’t think my father’s ever getting out of prison, and that’s what I want… in some ways.
Ethan places the letter down, sitting beside me, his giant hand spanning out over my belly. I never feel as reassured as when he touches me, when I know I’m safe in his arms. “Has he responded to the letter you sent him a couple of months ago, when Lynna told you he was first up for parole?”
I shake my head. “No.”
That was disappointing, but not surprising. Making peace doesn’t seem like it’s high on my father’s agenda. If I’m brutally honest with myself, I still love him. I remember the good times, the times he was that doting dad, but having him in prison is safest for everyone. I know how he holds grudges. It’s built into him, deep in his programming. He won’t change and I doubt he’ll ever be part of our lives again. I’ve made peace with that, just like I’ve made peace with no longer having any contact with Ally.
Ethan scoops Vanessa Junior up, holding her upside down and heading inside. “Well, Pumpkin, how about we get these burgers on the grill, yeah?”
She squeals. “Burgers! Burgers!” pronouncing it ‘bu-gas, bu-gas!’
I watch them go.
“Everything okay?” asks Vanessa.
I smile back at her. “Couldn’t be better.”
And it couldn’t. The whole amnesia thing seems like a million years ago. The helicopter took us that day to Washington, what Lynna assured us was a safe place to hide out while the dust from my father’s arrest settled. We were bounced from safehouse to safehouse for weeks, forced to stay indoors and, well, make our own entertainment, which wasn’t hard. Not a single square of those safehouses was safe from our sexual adventures.
We’re far from Montello territory here, but there’s always that lingering fear, small as it is, we’re not beyond their reach.
That woman I once was? So concerned with designer fashion and looking good, so superficial in many ways, I left her behind too. That was no mean feat, but I didn’t want any of that life. I wanted to scrub it clean and start fresh.
Ethan’s been here the whole time easing me through it, even when I’d wake up screaming, reaching for my head, trying to escape my past. He was there, always, watching me—my own personal guardian angel.
*
We say goodbye to Vanessa, promising we’ll meet up again soon.
I read Vanessa Junior her favorite book—Where’s the Green Sheep?—before tucking in Belle, one of those squeaky dog toys she’s become oddly attached to. It goes everywhere with her.
I let Ethan tuck her into bed, have his special one-on-one time with her. He doesn’t have a shift tomorrow, which means tonight is all ours once the kid’s asleep.
Another thing they don’t tell you about pregnancy? It makes you insanely horny.
I hear Ethan cut the water off in the shower and emerge out into the bedroom. I’m already waiting, naked, wet, beneath the covers.
He stands there with his hands on his hips, his cock growing, levitating before my eyes. “I take it I’m going to get lucky tonight?”
I nod slowly, smirking. “Oh, you’re going to get more than lucky, mister. You’re going to get the full package.”
He lifts the covers and slides in beside me, pulling me close, the hard length of his cock hot against the side of my leg. “The full wax and shine, huh?”
“Uh-huh,” I reply, leaning in to kiss him, relishing his soapy, clean body, the minty scent of his aftershave.
His hand runs down between my legs. “Are you we—” He stops. “Jesus.”
I grind up against his cock. “What can I say? You turn me on, even in this… condition.”
His free hand falls on my belly. “You’ve never looked more beautiful, baby.”
It takes some effort, but I manage to roll over on top of him, sinking over his length.
He groans with satisfaction and laughs, hands behind his head. “Perfect end to a perfect day.”
I draw all the way up, letting just the tip of him sit inside me. “It’s not over yet.”
I let my weight fall, taking him to the hilt and relishing the way his cock always seems to fit me just right. He shifts his hips up, doing his best to fuck from below, but I push him back down. “Ah-ah, mister, I’m driving here.”
He reaches up to grab my ass instead, levering himself from the bed to draw a nipple into his mouth. In this ‘condition,’ my nipples have become almost as sensitive as my clit.
I moan and throw my hair back, bearing down on him as best I can.
It doesn’t take us long to come, the lazy kind of sex that’s sometimes the best of all.
I roll off, onto my back. “That’s a start. How long before you’re good to go again?”
He looks down at his cock, still hard. “Just say the word.”
“Let me clean up first.”
I head to the bathroom and clean up, getting about five steps back into the bedroom before freezing on the spot.
Ethan gets up onto his elbows. “Sof?”
I look down between my legs, the wet spot on the carpet below I know isn’t from our little lovemaking sesh.
He sits up and looks down to the carpet. “It’s happening, isn’t it? Number two.”
I smile. “I think so.”
He gets out of bed and walks over, taking my
face in both hands and planting a kiss on my lips. “Are you ready?”
I don’t think I’ve got much choice in the matter, but I nod and take his hand squeezing and there, in that moment, I remember his voice bringing me back from the deep, his silent vigil by my beside and I know, with all my heart, I’ve made the right choice. Ethan’s more than my husband, more than a father. He’s filled a part of my life I never knew was empty. My life may not have gone where I intended it to go, but I’m pretty sure it’s ended up exactly where it needs to be.
“With you by my side?” I reply. “I’m ready for anything.”
He smiles back. “Challenge accepted.”
HOT PANTS
Teagan Kade
* * * * *
Published by Teagan Kade
Edited by Sennah Tate
Copyright © 2019 by Teagan Kade
CHAPTER ONE
DEREK
A nudge, a giggle, and the smell of Love’s Baby Soft is in the air.
It’s morning, I think to myself.
Rubbing my eyes, I clear the last bit of sleep from them and try to focus on the two blurry figures before me.
Certainly, I can feel them, considering one is jerking on my cock, and the other is sucking on my nipples.
I focus my eyes in time to see the blonde—long, poker-straight hair; tiny, wasp-like waist; fake tits for days—unlock her jaw and wrap her bloated DSLs around the entirety of my cock and balls.
Impressive, I think, while scrambling through my mind to remember her name. Jenny? Janey?
Whatever. It doesn’t matter.
I look to my right and see the brunette—short, thick, curly hair, full hips, aquiline features—position her pussy on my fingers, and using them as a dildo, rub them on her clit until her warm release coats them completely.
Most impressive, I think again, remembering—for some reason—that the brunette’s name is Claudia, and that I picked the two of them up at Brady’s Bar last night when they were having a 2-for-1 special.
Apparently, the liquor wasn’t the only thing that was 2-for-1.
Such is my life—a fucking Buzzfeed article come to life.
But when you’re a firefighter, and have been for many years, it’s hard to get used to any other life, not that I’d want to.
I come from a long line of them. My grandfather, father, two uncles, and most of my cousins are all on the job—I’m expected to follow in some pretty remarkable footsteps accordingly.
Being on the job, helping people, playing the hero… That’s all well and good, but what I really love are all the added perks. Namely, the prime-cut tenderloin pussy I’m enjoying right now.
Prepped and ready for round two with Sugar and Spice—spitting on my long, thick cock; flipping Claudia over and spreading her wide; tying back Janey’s hair so she can take my load on her face—the fire alarm blares, loudly, in my ears.
Total clamoring and chaos are all around me as the boys run out of the station and onto the truck. Complementing the chaos is the booming sound of Chief McAllister’s voice as he hollers for the crew to get on the truck.
“Let’s fucking go!” McAllister roars. “Up ’n’ at ’em! Get your panties on! We’ve got a real emergency here, girls!”
I leap to my feet and start sliding my uniform on to the coos of disappointment from my two devils in disguise.
“Are you coming back, Derek?” Claudia asks in that simpering, babyish tone only those bar broads seem to know.
I hesitate, keep my back to the bed so neither she nor Jane can see my eyes rolling all the way to the back of my fucking head.
Few things annoy me more than that voice, especially on these hose chasers.
She repeats the question, this time with a more insistent tone, and I gruffly answer, “Yeah, eventually… if these people don’t burn to fucking death.”
Jane sighs. “When can we expect you?”
Jesus.
I glare at her intently. “I don’t know. Just don’t be here when I get back,” I grumble as I grab my jacket and fly down the stairs, convinced I’m going to be the last one on the truck, and, thus, the butt of countless jokes from my brothers-in-arms.
Sure enough, I am the last to get on the truck, the snorts of derision, and the Chief muttering, “How swell of you to show up today, Derek,” under his breath greet me as I take my seat.
Mike decides he’s going to kick off the shit-talk. “Ya did it again, Ricky,” he says in his thick Brooklyn accent that’s one of a kind in the Los Angeles Fire Department. “How da fuck did ya get two broads in the house, man? And how did you convince them to smell ya ass and everyone else’s?”
Tim, a Sacramento native, snorts in agreement. “You need to share your conquests, brother,” he says, “since you have so fuckin’ many.”
I brush it off and focus on the task at hand. “Where’s the heat?” I ask.
“I dunno. Somewhere in this town called Whittier,” says Mike.
“We should really come up with a game plan,” adds Tim.
I shrug, knowing no matter what the circumstance, I’ll be able to handle whatever comes my way. I always do.
“Aye? Aye! Wassamatta, Ricky? You gone mute or something?” asks Mike, ready to goad me on. “Whaddaya think, you know everything? Mr. Legacy Kid got a promotion here that he still didn’t accept, and now he knows it all?”
Tim looks at me incredulously. “You got a promotion, dude?”
I shrug again. “It’s just an offer, man,” I say, correcting him. “I don’t know if I’m going to take it or not.”
We pull up to the house—a small ranch amid other similarly styled ranches, so it doesn’t particularly stand out save for the fact a corner of it’s on fire.
One by one we jump out of the truck. I take a look at the fire, and I realize that while there’s a car in front—an equally-modest minivan–there’s no one standing outside or near the house.
People are trapped inside, I think to myself, the familiar pull of panic tugging at my chest.
A second later my head kicks into action. “Tim, get the hose off the truck and start tackling it from the front. Mikey, concentrate your efforts on that spot next to the windows. All right?”
I barely have a chance to finish my sentence before I sprint to the back of the house to find a back door. I hear Mike caterwauling about how “fuckin’ nuts” I am, but hey, he’s from New York. He thinks everybody’s nuts.
I get the back door open with a single flying kick, and dart full speed into the house, hoping to find someone, anyone, alive, because the alternative is far too shitty to consider.
Smoke is billowing through the air, making it impossible to see more than a few inches in front of me. I stumble from room to room, squinting through the thick, graying air.
“Fire Department, call out!” I shout, coughing and wheezing—and cursing myself for making the rookie mistake of leaving my breathing apparatus behind—soldiering on, peering into every nook and cranny.
But each bed and chair turns up empty.
I hear the loud whooshing sound of water hitting the side of the house and realize my men are hard at work outside, fighting to contain the flames. Mikey is whooping and hollering in his thick Brooklyn accent, Tim is calling out names like a quarterback, and McAllister is putting the men in position to fight the fire effectively and quickly, with as little damage as possible.
I’m patting myself on the back for what a slick unit we’ve become.
Then I see her.
She’s curled up in the fetal position under a coffee table, her face ashen and fast turning blue. Her hair is mussed and sweaty, and sticking to her face, her eyes are closed, her pallid eyelids nearly translucent.
“Fuck!” I scream and run to her, hurling her up in my arms, racing through the rest of the house, desperate to make sure nothing and no one is left behind in this smoky death trap.
Satisfied she’s the first, and only, form of life in the house, I focus on getting us the fuck ou
t of Dodge.
She doesn’t stir until I get all the way out of the house, and even then, she’s delirious, nearly delusional.
“What happened?” she murmurs, her eyes shifting below their lids.
“Fire,” I shout to be heard over the commotion. “But it’s alright. You’re gonna be okay. I got you. What’s your name?”
“Beth,” she murmurs drowsily.
“Alright, Beth. I’m Derek. I’m a firefighter and I’m getting you out of here. We’re gonna get you some help,” I say, my voice raising by several octaves.
Beth struggles, slightly, before speaking again. “No,” she says, “I don’t need a hospital. I’m fine. Please don’t send me to the hospital.”
I look at her curiously, deducing this is just a side effect of the oxygen deprivation. “Okay, I won’t send you to the hospital,” I say, playing along, “but I’m going to hand you over to some of my friends, okay? They’re going to take a look at you, make sure you’re okay, alright? Simple.”
I sprint to the front of the house, where the fire has largely been contained.
Beth looks at her house and, without another word, begins to sob softly.
“It’s okay,” I say gruffly. “You’re gonna be all right. You’re out, yeah? You can always get another house.”
McAllister, finally coming to the realization I need of a bit of assistance, radios for help. “I need a bus. West Wilson Lane in Whittier. Put some grease on it.”
Beth, sniffling and snorting from crying so hard, suddenly looks up at me. “Did you get the letter?” She reaches to a pocket on her blouse, but there’s nothing there.
Sure, she’s still delirious, I decide to entertain her, if briefly. “What letter’s that?”
I can hear sirens already.
Beth, realizing what’s coming, begins wailing furiously. “What the fuck? I said I don’t need to go to the hospital. Where’s the letter? Get the letter!” She’s hysterical now, slapping away at her pants, her top
I take her by the shoulders. “Calm down now, Beth. It’s going to be fine. You’re good.”
“I am not fucking good!” she yells, eyes wide and panicked.
