Chapter 8
Lainey and I have been spending practically every spare minute of our free time at James’s house for the past two months. It’s not exactly easy taking care of two babies under the age of one, but it’s many times better than the chaos of being at home. Though I love the idea of having a large family and understand that having more children equals more noise and chaos, I don’t think I want my future home to be a free-for-all when it comes to all the extra people. James’s house provides a peace that I haven’t found anywhere else.
Some nights, after I finish my homework, we’ll find a TV show to binge-watch until I’m forced to go home after nodding off on James’s couch. Other nights, we’ll each grab one of the books we checked out after taking Lainey and Grayson to Baby Story Time at the library, curl up on opposite sides of the couch together, and read in comfortable silence—which is unheard of at my house. I think I like those nights best.
Not that I’m necessarily unhappy at home. I love my parents and my siblings to the moon and back. But sharing a bedroom with my tween sisters, who fight like cats and dogs, plus Lainey and her crib squeezed in next to my small bed, is exhausting in a whole different way than caring for two babies. My impromptu naps at James’s house are often more restful than a full night’s sleep in my own bed simply because of the silence.
For the most part, Mom has been quiet with her opinions about how much time we have been spending with James. At least she was up until I started putting Lainey to bed there most nights, including weekends, when she knows James has off from work and doesn’t need me to babysit.
It’s just that Lainey sleeps so much better there. Although it isn’t ideal having to carefully scoop her up from the travel crib in Grayson’s nursery and transfer her to her crib at home after everyone else has gone to bed, at least she can fall asleep and stay asleep here as opposed to startling awake at every noise my sisters make in our shared bedroom.
Mom also knows she can’t put up too much of a fuss about it now that I’m eighteen, but I know she’s starting to get uneasy with how close James and I have become, which I understand to a point. He’s twenty-eight, has his own house and career, and he keeps to himself. It doesn’t matter how often she tries to pull him into a conversation when they cross paths. As friendly as he is, he just doesn’t share much of himself with her.
That’s not the case with me, though. He’s been so open and honest about what it was like growing up with his family, one that is even larger than mine but not nearly as happy or tight-knit. He’s also told me about his friends, who he says he’s going to introduce me to soon when it’s his turn to host game night again, which I’m looking forward to.
I wonder how he’ll introduce me. With the way I catch him staring at me—and the way I, subconsciously at first, get a little thrill doing things to get him to stare—I wonder if he’s starting to see me as more than just his neighbor’s kid and Grayson’s babysitter. I’d like to think so since we genuinely enjoy taking the babies out to do fun things together, and he’s more than encouraging when it comes to spending my time at his house.
He asks me about school each day, and I ask about his work day. He gets as excited as I do when Lainey hits a new milestone, and he’s as distressed as I am when she takes a spill and gets hurt or when she cries in pain when she cuts a new tooth. Watching him sway with her in his arms to soothe her is just about the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. He treats her as special as he does Grayson, which I love.
There’s a lot to love about him.
And I can’t forget the little surprises he springs on me, though sometimes it feels like I’m taking advantage of his kind nature and generosity. That’s why I try to give back to him in my own little ways. I can’t spend the same kind of money on gifts when it comes to surprising him, so I’ve taken to fixing him breakfast or lunch on school holidays and the weekends if we don’t go out to eat, which he always pays for, and I always hug him to thank him. Those hugs are always my favorite part of the day.
He’s also given me a crash course on what he does for work. I knew absolutely zip about coding or programming, but since he’s started showing me the basics, I find myself thinking about possibly getting my degree in computer science, which could be very lucrative. It’s an exciting future to think about, though the idea that I wouldn’t get to see him and Grayson every day if I moved away for school isn’t one I like to think about.
It’s Thursday night and the start of a three-day holiday weekend, which means Lainey and I can stay even later tonight since I don’t have to get up early for school tomorrow. James gets a call during dinner, and he excuses himself to his home office without finishing his plate. Once I have both babies bathed and asleep in the nursery, I go to the kitchen to finish cleaning up and find the rest of his dinner has remained untouched. I re-heat it, then quietly knock on his office door with his plate in hand.
His office blew my mind when he first gave me a tour of it. A custom-made black desk spans the entire length of the wall opposite the door. He has more computer screens in one room than we do in my whole house, plus two large black and red gaming chairs that are comfier than any other chair I’ve sat in.
On the wall to the right of the door is a black upholstered couch with a black coffee table in front of it. I have had more than my fair share of naps on said couch, lulled to sleep by the surprisingly soothing sounds of his keyboard strokes when I should have been studying.
He usually keeps the overhead light off when I’m not in here studying and turns on the neon-colored LED strips that line the edges of the ceiling on all four walls with a strip that runs the border of the window that looks out to the front yard. I can see my house from here when the blackout curtains are pulled aside.
Tonight, though, he has the overhead light turned on, and he doesn’t look up when I enter. Very unusual. He’s focused on the screen in front of him, still on the phone with whoever called him during dinner.
I set his plate and fork down on the desk to the right side of his keyboard, and my brows bunch with confusion at what’s on the screen. He has an airliner’s website pulled up, and it looks like he’s booking plane tickets, though I know he hates flying and prefers to roadtrip whenever he travels back home to Virginia.
He mumbles out a goodbye and ends the call, then drops his head into his hands with his elbows on the desk. His dark hair is mussed like it gets when he repeatedly runs his hands through it. When his shoulders start to shake, and I hear him sniffle, I know the caller must have been relaying terrible news, and my heart sinks.
I squeeze his shoulder, then smooth my hand up and down his long back. “What’s wrong?” I ask with a whisper, hoping I’m not intruding on a private moment he’d rather I not see.
My breath catches when he looks up, his pale blue eyes red-rimmed and glossy with tears. I’ve seen this man stressed, panicked, laughing, and relaxed, but I’ve never seen him like this. I take a step closer to his side and comb his dark hair back from his forehead with my fingertips. I’ve wanted to know what it feels like for so long, to replace his hands with mine every time he runs them through his hair, and I delight in the feel of the thick strands slipping through my fingers. I find myself lightly scraping my fingernails over his scalp, and he sucks in a shuddery breath.
“My dad—” His voice cracks, and he drops his head again. I bend to hug his side, then return to rubbing circles over his back. He tilts his head onto my shoulder and doesn’t hold back his tears. I don’t say anything, giving him time to gather himself so he can finish telling me what’s going on.
We’ve touched each other before, of course. Our epic hugs, his hand on the small of my back when he ushers me through an open door ahead of him, my hand on his forearm or skimming his shoulder when I need to get his attention, our hands touching when we pass a baby or bottle to each other. But we’ve never held each other quite this intimately or for this long, though I have been tempted to do so more than once. I press myself closer to his side and turn my head just enough to brush a kiss on his forehead, silently lending him support, a literal shoulder to cry on.
After nearly ten quiet minutes of holding him, he finally tips his head back against the chair’s headrest. I scoot back when he swivels his chair to face me. He scrubs a hand over his face, then drops his arms, mentally and physically drained.
“That was my mom on the phone. She said my dad had a stroke and passed away on Tuesday.”
“Oh my god, James. I’m so, so sorry.” I hug him again with my arms around his neck, enjoying his closeness and intimacy. It’s a shame that it’s due to something so awful. I can only imagine how devastating it is to lose a parent so suddenly, especially after recently losing his sister. Tears gather at the corners of my eyes, my heart breaking for him.
He speaks softly, his face pressed to the crook of my neck, his voice clogged with emotion. “Two days. Sh-She didn’t tell me he died for two whole days. Said she forgot.” He chokes back a sob, and I squeeze him tighter.
“That’s beyond horrible. I’m so sorry she did that.” I’m not only heartbroken for him, I’m angry, too, and a part of me hates his mom a little more for not calling him as soon as possible. From what he’s told me about her before, I know she’s pretty cold and uncaring about his feelings, but this is a whole new level of ugly behavior.
“My dad…We were never…”
“Never what?” I say softly, biting back my anger as I drag my fingers through his hair, hoping to soothe him in some small way. He sighs, his breath warming the sensitive skin of my neck.
“Never close. We didn’t have anything in common, even though he is—was—a good man. Distant but kind. And now, he’s just…gone. And Grayson—he’ll never know his grandpa, and fuck, this is so hard.”
I just keep holding him while he breaks down and cries harder. When his tears finally start to slow, then turn to sniffles, he whispers, “Thank you,” before leaning back in his chair.
His eyes shift away from me, and I step back, though I keep one hand on his shoulder. He spins his chair back to face his computer. He wipes under his eyes, his cheeks and the tip of his nose red from crying.
“I need to buy plane tickets. Do you think you could help me pack up Grayson’s things?” he asks without looking at me.
I wish he would look at me again, but I think he might be embarrassed about crying in front of me. I want to tell him that there’s no need to be embarrassed, but it might make him feel worse if I bring attention to it, so I leave it be.
“Of course. Anything you need.” I mean it. I’ll do anything I can to help him through this. “How long will you be gone?” With a baby so young, there’s going to be a lot he will have to travel with. “I need to figure out how much milk you’ll need to take with you and also look up the rules for bringing it on an airplane.”
“Mom wants us to come up tomorrow and stay the weekend. They’re having Dad’s funeral on Saturday, and then we’ll fly back Sunday night.”
“Ok, wow, that’s really quick. The airport is going to be crazy busy with the holidays, too.”
“I know.” He sighs, sagging under the weight of his grief, and I know he has to be thinking about how stressful traveling will be.
I have an idea, though I don’t know if I’m overstepping, especially since this will be a really hard time with his family.
“Do you-would you want me to come with you?” I ask hesitantly. “To help with Grayson on the plane and during the funeral?”
He looks at me with surprise. “You’d do that for me? I mean for Grayson?”
“Of course, I would. I told you, anything you need.” I let that hang in the air so he knows I mean it, but then a thought occurs to me that might be a dealbreaker. “Um, would you be ok with me bringing Lainey? I know my mom wouldn’t mind watching her, but I don’t want to leave her for that long.”
“I wouldn’t want to leave her either. Wherever you go, she goes.”
My stomach flutters at the thought that he doesn’t like the idea of leaving her behind any more than I do. He’s always been so sweet with her, never put out or annoyed by her, even when she fusses or has rough days.
“Ok. How much are the tickets?” I pull out my phone and tap on my banking app. James pays me much more than I originally asked for—a hell of a lot more than the ice cream shop paid me—but I try to save as much of it as possible since my college fund won’t cover childcare if I move away. “I need to double-check how much I can take out of my account.”
He takes my phone and turns the screen off, setting it face down on the desk. “Don’t worry about that. I’m paying since you’re doing me a huge favor.” He hits the back button on his computer and starts clicking around, adding two more tickets to his total, which is an astronomical sum. My stomach flutters again.
Right before he clicks the checkout button, he asks me, “Do you need to ask your parents if you can go?” His eyebrows are pinched, and his hand hovers over the mouse.
“I’m eighteen, remember? I’ll let them know we’re leaving, but I don’t need to ask their permission.”
Something in his eyes flashes, and he quickly turns back to the screen, hiding his expression as he finishes paying for our plane tickets. He was able to pick our seats, and my brows arch when I realize why the total is so high. He’s picked two first-class seats next to each other, and we can take turns holding the babies on our laps. I’ve only flown on a plane once before, but it was economy, so this will be a new experience.
Once he’s saved the ticket confirmations, he turns off the screen and slumps in his chair, slowly swiveling it back to face me. I hadn’t stopped rubbing his back or running my fingers through his hair the whole time, and for some reason, it now feels even more intimate.
When a fresh tear slides down his cheek, I step as close as I can, nudging his knees with mine. He parts them, and I step between them, stopping when my knees bump against the edge of his chair. His lips part, and he exhales sharply when I swipe my thumb across his cheek, wiping the tear away. I do the same to the next tear that falls, cupping his cheeks with my palms.
“Shayla…” he whispers my name on a breath so low I would have missed it if I weren’t looking right at him.
My eyes dance between his, and my breath catches when he settles his large hands gently on my hips, then slides them up my sides to my ribs. His touch is so soft, and my heart beats faster. I don’t know what’s happening, but I know I don’t want whatever this is to stop.
“Is there anything else I can do to help? To…comfort you?” Oh god, my heart is pounding double-time now, unsure what it is exactly that I’m offering or why I asked him that way.
He makes a strangled gulping sound in his throat as his eyes dip to my chest and back up again. His jaw goes slack, and he nods once.
I’ve known from day one that he’s had an infatuation with my breasts. He always tries to be respectful and averts his eyes when I nurse, other than the first few times when he was in too much shock to do so. He usually leaves the room to give me privacy when he has nothing to occupy himself. But when I’m not nursing, I catch him staring at my chest all the time, though he tries to hide it.
I think I know how I can comfort him.
His fingers flex around my ribs while his eyes follow my shaky hand to thumb the left strap of my white nursing tank top. He sucks in a breath when I unclip it and slowly pull the fabric down, exposing my breast to him.
I’m trembling with adrenaline, and my blood rushes in my veins when his eyes zero in on my nipple. His tongue slips out to lick his bottom lip, and my breasts jiggle slightly as my chest rises and falls faster and faster as my breathing accelerates.
I palm the back of his head and pull him forward at the same time as I lean closer. He doesn’t do anything but dig his fingers into my ribs, holding me in place when my nipple brushes his bottom lip, and I think I’ve made a terrible mistake. That I’ve done something so crazy and disgusting that he’s going to push me away and tell me to leave.
But then he licks the underside of my nipple and pulls me closer. I arch my back slightly to press my breast against his mouth until my nipple is between his parted lips. His panting breaths match mine and warm my skin. I shiver as goosebumps pepper my arms. I cup his chin, lifting it until his lips close around my nipple, and I moan when he takes a tentative suck.
There’s a tingling in my lower belly when he holds my gaze without blinking, opens his mouth wider, and draws my nipple deeper. His lips suction around it, and he takes a longer suck. I squeeze my thighs together and drape my free arm around his neck at the same time as he moves his hands from my ribs to my back. We’re both pulling each other closer until there’s no space between my belly and his firm chest.
His eyes roll back in his head, and he moans when my breast milk lets down, the first stream of milk hitting his tongue that hasn’t stopped moving on the underside of my breast. The tingling I feel in my core builds along with desire at the knowledge that James is drinking my breast milk.
This should feel so wrong. What he’s doing—what we’re doing—should fill me with revulsion. But it is night and day different from nursing a child, which is strictly biological. This is nothing like that. It’s intimate and erotic, and it’s because of who I’m doing it with.
“James. Oh god, that feels so good.” When he draws on my nipple harder and another stream of milk jets into his mouth, I tip my head back and moan louder. Arousal gathers between my thighs, and my clit pulses. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, and I rub my thighs together, searching for friction.
His hands haven’t stopped moving over my back, dropping low until the sides of his pinkies brush along the top of my ass, then make their way up again. He moans each time he swallows, and he opens his lips wider to draw more of my breast in his mouth as he increases the suction.
I place one knee on his chair to the side of his thigh, then the other, straddling his lap. James’s hands finally drift all the way down to palm my ass. Electric sparks dance up and down my spine when his fingers flex over my cheeks, and he pulls my lower half closer, dragging my core over his thighs and directly on top of a large, hard bulge trapped beneath the zipper of his jeans.
“Shayla. Angel. Oh fuck,” he moans when his bulge twitches beneath me.
I gasp when he drags me back and forth harder over his bulge and moans so deeply that I feel it vibrate in my chest. He becomes insatiable as he greedily suckles my breast, and his bulge swells even larger. I instinctively rock my hips against it, the fire in my core building and building until it’s an inferno of need.
“Oh god, James. What…?” I can’t finish asking What are we doing? as my words are cut off by a throaty moan when he lifts a hand to unclip the right side of my top and tugs the fabric down. He switches to suckling my right breast, which is already leaking from my let-down. He swallows every jet of milk, all while holding onto my ass cheek, using his hand to jerk my hips back and forth roughly.
I claw at his hair as I pick up the pace, flexing my hips and grinding down as hard as I can. The friction is delicious, even with my leggings and panties on, pleasure rocketing through me. I know I’m being too loud, but I can’t bite back my moans as I rock harder and harder, adding a slight bounce to the movements of my hips.
“James, oh god, James!” I cry out with intense pleasure when he starts lifting his hips beneath me, grinding up against my core. I’m half delirious with desire, and without thought, I slip my hand between us, then down under the waistband of my leggings and panties, and press the tip of my middle finger against my clit.
I don’t know what I’m doing, having never done anything so brazen before. All I know is that it feels so good, so right, and I rub circles over my clit as he continues pumping up under me. His hands are all over me now, sliding over my waist, my hips, my ass, and up to squeeze my breasts, forcing more milk out of them.
From out of nowhere, lighting strikes my core, and waves of heat wash over me. I moan James’s name over and over again as my lower body convulses with my orgasm. I watch with hooded eyes as James detaches from my swollen nipple, a little milk dribbling from his bottom lip and down his chin.
“Oh fuck, angel, did you just cum?” I can’t speak yet, so I nod my head, and he groans. “You’re so beautiful. So unbelievably sexy. You’re gonna make me cum.”
His eyes roll in the back of his head when he tips it back against his chair. My name comes out strangled in his throat when he grabs my hips and slams my ass down over his lap. The vein on the side of his bared neck pulses wildly, and I impulsively lick a line from the base of his throat to his chin and whisper with a sultriness I’ve never used before, “Cum for me, James.”
“Angel, angel, I’m cumming.” I bounce my hips twice more, drawing more groans of pleasure from him as I feel his swollen bulge jerk beneath me multiple times.
When he slumps in his seat, and his hands drop to my thighs, I don’t know what to do. He just gave me my first orgasm, which had warmth blooming all over my skin. But now that it’s fading, I shiver, feeling cold with my top open and my breasts wet with his saliva and my leaking milk. My eyes drop to my chest while he recovers his breath. My nipples are swollen and dark from the intensity of his suckling.
All of a sudden, I’m unsure about what I’ve just done. I exposed myself to a man who was in pain and somehow turned my offer of comfort into all about me and my pleasure. Did I take advantage of him while he was hurting? Taken it too far with him? This went beyond a little comforting and support to something I’ve never done or even just thought of before, and I’m left reeling with conflicting emotions.
When I hear one of the babies cry from the nursery, I’m saved from having to make a decision about what I should do. I hastily climb off his lap and clip my top back in place. I’m out of his office and into the nursery within seconds.
I exhale in relief that it’s just Lainey moving around in her travel crib to get more comfortable and not that either of them has woken up hungry. My breasts are drained of milk, the thought of which makes my eyelids flutter and my breath hitch, though I try to push thoughts of why they’re drained out of my head.
I slowly back out of the room and close the door. When I turn, I bump into James, who has been standing silently in the hallway behind me. I catch myself with a hand on his chest so I don’t fall, and he steadies me with his hands on my hips.
“Oh, James. Um…”
“Thank you, angel,” he whispers and brushes a quick, light kiss against my cheek. “For comforting me.”
Heat fills my cheeks, though I’m sure he can’t see how fiercely I must be blushing in the dark. I shift on my feet, and he drops his hands when I don’t respond. He takes a step back, adjusts his jeans, then turns and walks into his bedroom, closing the door softly behind him.
I take a few moments to clean myself up in the hall bathroom. I look half wild with my cheeks burning red, and my breath is still a little shaky. I splash water on my face, inhale deeply through my nose, and release it slowly out of my mouth while trying to forget the incredibly sexy noises James made when he orgasmed.
Once I’ve calmed down and my breathing is under control, I pull on a sweater over my tank top, shoulder Lainey’s diaper bag, and then tiptoe into the nursery to pick her up and take her home.
James appears just as I’m about to close the front door behind me. His hair is wet from taking a shower, and he’s changed out of his jeans and T-shirt into a gray sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. His movements are relaxed, totally at odds with the uncertainty I see on his face, and I know it’s my fault. I may have…satisfied him…physically, but I still ran out of the room before we could discuss what happened, probably leaving him feeling as confused as I do.
We’re silent as he locks up, the baby monitor tucked into his pants pocket, and he walks us across the street. When I unlock my front door and step inside, he flattens his hand against the door like he’s preventing me from slamming it closed on him, which I would never do. There’s no trace of the euphoria I saw on his face when he suckled at my breast and came in his pants. Instead, his eyebrows are pinched with concern.
“Are you still planning on coming with us tomorrow?” He sounds almost pleading like maybe he thinks I’m going to back out after what we just did.
“Yeah. We’ll be there.” I try for a small smile, wanting to put him at ease.
He nods his head, drops his hand from the door, and blows out a breath in what I think is relief. He gives me one last searching look, says goodnight, and then silently makes his way back home.