Chapter 6
By the end of the first wondrous week spent in my angel’s presence, we’ve slipped into a pattern. Shayla drops by in the morning on her way to school to feed Grayson, who then goes to nursery now that I’m back at work. After school, she comes over right away with Lainey and another stash of freshly pumped milk to babysit Grayson while I finish up my work for the day.
I try not to think about what she must look like when she’s pumping since that leads to me sporting a hard-on within ten seconds flat, but it’s increasingly difficult to push them away each time I make a bottle for Grayson. What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall when she takes her pump breaks.
By the end of the first month, Shayla says her supply has increased enough that she’s able to pump enough milk for both Lainey and Grayson to get them through the day while she’s at school. Grayson tolerates his bottles much better now and is down to just nursing three times a day—once in the morning before she goes to school, once right after, and once before he goes down for the night. Shayla jokes about how unfair it is that he’s already sleeping through the night at four months old when Lainey took much longer, but I know she’s secretly pleased.
Grayson is a much happier baby overall now. A complete one-eighty from those first few days. Of course, the babies are too young to actually play with each other, but it’s cute how Lainey plays around him, sometimes handing him her toys, other times avoiding his grabby hands since he has developed a fascination with her wispy blonde hair. Totally understandable since I’m just as fascinated with her mother’s halo of hair, so tempted to rake my fingers through it whenever she wears it down where it hangs just below her shoulders.
Shayla’s eyes light up when I lead her into Grayson’s nursery, where I have a little surprise for her set up—a new travel crib for Lainey, so Shayla doesn’t have to lug hers back and forth between our houses every day.
She smiles broadly and lays her hand on my forearm. “Oh wow, James, that’s so sweet. You didn’t have to do that. Thank you.”
And then she hugs me.
It’s not just a side-hug or half-hug that friends do, but full-on from the front, her breasts smashed against my chest with her arms thrown up around my neck. I pull her in close with my arms around her back, splaying my hands one on top of the other over her spine, and rub my cheek against the soft strands of her hair.
“You don’t have to thank me, angel.” The endearment just slips out, and I clench my eyes shut, hoping she won’t think it’s weird that I called her angel.
“Yes, I do,” she hums in my ear.
I tighten my arms around her, fighting the urge to slide my hands down to cup her ass and lift her so she’ll wrap her legs around me as tight as her arms are around my neck. “This hug is all I need in thanks.”
She makes a breathy noise of surprise when my hands slip down to grip her hips, and I immediately leave the room when she pulls away so she won’t see the erection that’s sprung to life at the quick, intimate contact. I jerk my cock furiously in my bathroom and bring myself to climax in under a minute before cleaning up and rejoining her in the living room. I slump on the couch next to her while she reads a picture book to Grayson and Lainey, still high from the hug and orgasm.
It’s also become part of our routine that I cook dinner for her every night after I get done with work. I take my time with it, testing out more elaborate recipes that take longer to prep and cook so that she ends up staying later and later. It makes for good eating, and I’ve put on a few needed pounds for the first time since I gained the freshman fifteen at college, pleased to find I’m a fraction wider than the string bean I’ve been all my life.
One night, I try my hand at making a dessert, as well—a small, homemade strawberry cheesecake, which Shayla told me recently is her favorite. I have to remind myself to close my mouth and stop drooling when she moans at her first bite.
“Oh god, James, this is the best cheesecake I’ve ever had.” She moans again with her next bite, then asks for seconds once she’s finished. I have to readjust my dick before standing from the table so she won’t see my bulge, which is already leaking with pre-cum in my jeans.
She catches the way I’m staring at her, licking her spoon clean after each bite of her third slice once I refill her plate when she’s done with the second. She says with a sheepish look, “Sorry, I’m eating all your cheesecake.”
“I made it for you. Have as much as you want.”
She pushes her plate away and pats her belly. “Don’t tempt me. I need all the extra calories to keep my milk supply up, but I don’t want to eat you out of house and home.”
I’d like to eat you, I think to myself, but have the presence of mind not to say it out loud. Or worse, get down on my knees in front of her and beg her to let me eat her pussy like I’ve been fantasizing about.
And then she gives me another one of those mind-blowing hugs after we clean up our dinner dishes. I hold onto her a little longer this time, subtly backing her against the kitchen counter so she can’t pull away. I’m practically vibrating in my skin with the vision of stripping her jeans off, lifting her onto the peninsula, spreading her legs, and fucking her next to the leftover cheesecake I made for her.
I rip myself away when I unconsciously rock my swollen erection that’s pressed against her soft belly and have another fast and furious jerk-off session in my bathroom, flooding my hand with cum the way I’d love to flood her pussy.
Shayla’s cheeks are pink, and she ducks her head when I make it back to the kitchen. The high I felt after orgasming plummets, wondering if she heard me moan her name with each rope of cum I spilled. If she did, she doesn’t say anything, which I silently thank her for.
On the weekends, Shayla still comes over to nurse Grayson three times a day as well as give me a new stash of pumped milk for his bottles. Since I don’t work Saturdays and Sundays and technically don’t need her to watch Grayson between feedings, I’ve started coming up with ways to get her to hang out with us instead of going back home. Like finding DIY home projects to do that I want her input on or asking if she and Lainey would like to go out with us for breakfast or lunch since I still prefer to cook dinner for her.
The first time she took Lainey’s car seat out of her car and installed it in mine so that we wouldn’t have to take separate cars, I swear I got a little teary-eyed seeing it next to Grayson’s in the back seat. It just felt right. Then I got teary-eyed again when she took it out to put it back in her car after our trip to the hardware store to pick out a light sage green paint for Grayson’s nursery.
Now, I have another surprise for her so she won’t have to keep moving Lainey’s car seat back and forth, which is a chore. New, top-of-the-line car seats—one for Grayson to keep in her Honda and one for Lainey to keep in the black Volvo S90 I bought shortly after bringing Grayson home, uncomfortable with the idea of driving him around in the old beater I’d had since high school.
I had to check the impulse to buy her a Volvo, too, and get it custom-painted in her favorite color—pink—because that would have been too weird and creepy, right? I’m sure her parents wouldn’t be too happy with the old man across the street buying their young, teenage daughter a new car just days after meeting her.
I watch Shayla for her reaction when I show her the surprise after installing Lainey’s seat in my backseat, hoping she won’t think it’s presumptuous of me. I smile just as widely as she does when she sees it, as well as Grayson’s that’s still in the box ready to be installed in her car, and I mentally bounce on my toes with the anticipation of another one of her hugs.
She gives it to me right there in my driveway for anyone passing by to see, though it’s only with one arm around my waist instead of both arms around my neck since we each have a baby on our hips.
“Thank you so much, James. This was seriously sweet and thoughtful of you.”
“You’re welcome, angel,” I whisper, my lips accidentally-on-purpose brushing the shell of her ear, and I swear I feel her shiver. Damn, If only I had waited for the babies to go down for their nap before surprising her, I could have wrapped her up with both arms, backed her against the side of my car, and made the hug last even longer this time.
Since getting the car seats, I’ve started taking her out on dates on the weekends, though I doubt she sees them that way. We’ve already taken the babies to the zoo, the aquarium, and the children’s museum. It feels so damn good to get out of the house and watch the babies squeal in excitement at whatever family-friendly type of activity we’re doing instead of hermiting myself away. It feels even better to do all of that with my angel by my side.
Today, I’ve taken Shayla and Lainey to the nearest state park, where I used to go hiking before taking guardianship of Grayson. I nearly cum when she strips off her sweaty thin sweatshirt halfway through the beginner’s hike, leaving her in only a skin-tight pair of black leggings and a tiny white sports bra.
Thank god there’s no one else on the trails right now, or they’d see the massive hard-on tenting my athletic shorts as I walk ahead of her so she won’t see it either. We each have a baby strapped to our backs in their carriers, which makes having these thoughts even more inappropriate, and I take to counting pine cones—hundreds of them—to keep my mind off her mouth-watering tits so my cock will deflate.
At the end of our hike, we buckle the now-napping babies into their car seats, and I peel off my T-shirt, soaked through with sweat. Shayla bites her bottom lip, and I realize her widened, gorgeous gray eyes have dropped down to my middle.
“Now I know where you got the abs,” she says with a breathy whisper.
Just like that, I’m back on the verge of cumming in my shorts, more than pleased by the way she bites harder on her lip as she watches me. I flex my abs and take my time wiping my front and back with a towel I pull from the trunk, then guzzle a bottle of water.
But then she turns the tables on me when I hand her a clean towel, and she pours some of her bottled water on it, taking her own sweet time wiping herself down. I actually do cum in my shorts when she gives me her back and slowly pulls her sports bra up over her head, replacing it with one of her thin tank tops sans bra. I have to duck into the driver’s seat and pretend I’m looking for something so she doesn’t see my face when my dick fires off, and I bite my fist to muffle the sound of me moaning her name.
Her cheeks are flushed the whole way home while I keep my towel over my lap so she won’t see the wet spot on the front of my shorts. We don’t talk on the drive home, and she hurries off to her house as soon as we get back to shower and change. Part of me wishes she would do that here—what I wouldn’t give to accidentally-on-purpose walk in on her—but at least it gives me time to rub one more out in the shower before she comes back over for dinner.