Chapter 17
Gabe
I’ve never seen this happen before outside of porn. I wasn’t even sure it was real. I always kind of thought it was a prank, girls peeing themselves to get more views.
I am awestruck. I can’t believe I made Joss come this hard. Even when she stops, her body keeps popping, like when I try to keep up with the guys while we’re doing laps and my thighs end up spasming for the next day, practically crippling me. And I wouldn’t say Joss is crippled, but she’s definitely incapacitated.
I need more. I need to feel this.
I scramble to get my pants down enough to free my cock. With her leggings still tangled around her knees, I have no choice but to straddle her calves and spread her thighs apart to make room for my cock to slide in. I notch the head on her rim, spread her cheeks wide, and slam into her.
“Oh fuck, ma’am,” I groan. Oh fuck. I can feel it inside her. I can feel her entire body quivering around my cock as her legs kick within their confines and her hands tear at the pretty quilt on her bed.
Mattress. Not sure if this counts as a bed since I deconstructed it.
“Gabe, Gabe, Gabe, Gabe!” she mewls, going wild beneath me, every inch of her begging me to use her.
I do my best not to hurt her as I pound into her with the energy she demands of me. The harder I go, the more she begs, until I’m sweating like crazy and so worked up I’ve managed to edge myself. My entire body feels locked up by the need to consume her, to impale her, to merge into her. To fill her in every way I can.
I hate the position we’re in. I’m fucking her with everything I’ve got, but I’m not touching her, not the way I need to. We’re not just a cock and a pussy, two hands and this soft, lush ass of hers. I need all of her.
There’s a strange sense of claustrophobia that sets my teeth grinding when I realize her stupid fucking leggings have doomed us. I manage to keep pounding into her hard enough she starts making that crazy warbling sound and then soaks my pants while I reach behind and grab her leggings by the crotch, pulling so hard I hear a ripping sound.
Not sure if I actually tore them in half, don’t care. Suddenly her legs are no longer bound together, and in two quick moves, I grab her by the knees, lifting them off the mattress and pushing them up to her chest so I can get her feet around my legs to straddle me.
Finally, she’s split as wide as I need her to be.
I lay my body over hers, mindful to not crush her with my weight as I anchor my hands on either side of her head. I lean down and bite her shoulder.
She throws her head back so fast I have to dodge her to keep from getting my nose broken and screams my name. She’s leaking so much that it’s heating up, a strange new friction that feels like a fire that can only be put out by pushing harder. I’m starting to feel like a wild animal, too, and I’m loving every second of it. Our sweat and voices mingle together, the sounds and smells of sex filling the room, a haze cloaking the rest of the world from us. It’s just me and Joss forever. Nothing else matters.
She’s my everything.
The L word almost pops out of my mouth, but I have enough brain cell left to hold it back. I need to save it for the right moment. The big moment. But I love her. Fuck. I love her so much. She’s my other half. She’s my whole.
“I can’t,” she whimpers as another orgasm crushes my cock. “Please, Gabe, I—I—”
“I’ve got you,” I moan as the familiar tension in my balls finally reaches its cusp and I lose myself within her, pumping my seed into her, making another attempt at filling her with my baby, locking her down, ensuring she’s mine forever.
I love her too fucking much to let her go.
I collapse to my elbows when it all hits me, and Joss curls as much as she can beneath me, grabbing my biceps in her tiny hands, hugging me close.
She loves me too. I know she does.
My brain is as groggy as my body, but I finally muster what I need to dig my hand under her stomach and roll us to the dry side of the bed. I ask, “Have you done that before?” but my voice is so hoarse from excursion I’m shocked she understands me.
“Hmm? Yeah. It’s been years, but it’s happened a couple times before. Sorry.”
“Why the hell are you apologizing?”
She sighs and snuggles in more, pushing my softening cock deeper inside her, locking me in the way I like, making sure nothing leaks out. “That mess. It got everywhere, didn’t it?”
“Ma’am, I don’t know how you didn’t notice this already, but you always make a mess. We’ll just have to start putting two towels down. Because that was not the last time I’m making you squirt.”
It’s at least an hour before I get my ass in gear to actually do the necessary clean-up. Joss is passed out cold. It takes some effort moving her around without waking her, but I get us both cleaned up, toss the towel in the hamper, wiggle the quilt out from beneath her, and find another quilt to tuck her in with.
I’m awake after that. Not unusual for me. I’ve always had weird sleeping habits, and usually I push them on Joss, waking her up in the wee hours to make love again, but not tonight. I kiss the top of her head, tuck an extra pillow between her arms so she doesn’t feel so alone, and pad out to the kitchen to see if I can scare up a cup of coffee.
I’m planning on going back to sleep, but this is part of the process. Some people need a cigarette; I need coffee.
Technically, I prefer hot cocoa, but that feels like a big ask right now.
I find a standard, bargain brand single-cup coffee maker, make a mental note to replace it with something fancier because nothing in my life is single-serving, and set it to brew. While I let it do its thing, I peek out the windows.
This isn’t the north side of the house. I can’t see that trail where the mums randomly died on her. I’m curious about that and have only my thoughts to entertain me, and I know it’s way too dark to get a sense of what happened — I don’t know if even broad daylight would help, but there could be something obvious — but I need to look. And there are tons of rooms on the north side of the apartment I could look out. Plenty close to where I stand.
But she was weird about that storage room. Something about it hit me strangely, just like those mums, and now it’s in my brain.
She’s keeping secrets from me. That’s nothing unusual. Not knowing things about her, like whatever the hell her former husband did, assuages the guilt I have over knowing I’ll be lying to her about one critical thing for the rest of our lives. It’s no way to start a relationship. I know this. But because of that, this little voice in my head says I should go into that storage room and learn her secret. I’ll keep it to myself, but I’ll hold it as a reminder that this is normal. Even good people keep secrets.
I half expect an alarm to go off when I turn the knob and push the door open. It doesn’t even squeak. I swear it’s the only thing in the apartment that doesn’t need a WD-40 bath. I peek over my shoulder to make sure Joss isn’t behind me, but her place is so quiet that I can hear her breathing from across the hall. I take a big breath and push the door open.
There’s a moment of confusion. The room is too dark to see much with just the kitchen light from down the hall, but I was expecting it to be some form of storage, either a hoarding nightmare or a fabric stash to rival the shop itself or shelves of doomsday prep. My imagination went wild on what might have been stored here when she stumbled over her words and quickly pivoted to her bedroom.
Nothing’s stored here. Or, that’s certainly not the primary function of the room. It’s a bedroom. A dresser, a stocked bookshelf, a table with a lamp on it.
A crib.
It’s a nursery.
Her friend is pregnant. Tilly. Joss is worried about her. What I know of the woman, I get it. I’ve only met her the one time in person because she works in the film industry. If what she does requires her to be there, if her skill set doesn’t translate to something she can do here, that could be a big problem.
When I met her, I didn’t suspect she was pregnant. She was wearing a snug tank and leggings, and nothing about her shape made me think about it. That was a month ago, so I doubt she’s far along, but now I’m wondering if Joss is adopting the baby. Or taking some sort of guardianship so when Tilly is traveling, the baby can stay here?
It wouldn’t surprise me. I can see why she wouldn’t want to tell me or show me this room. But thinking about how far off it is, this looks like a lot of work has already gone into it.
I close the door behind me and turn the light on.
Tilly’s expecting a boy, that much is obvious. Everything’s blue and masculine, pushing a vehicular theme. I like cars and trucks and bulldozers. I’ve been to a Monster Truck rally and spent more money than I should have on a truck bigger than I need. But this is surprising to me, too. Watching Joss’s streams has given me unique insights about her. She doesn’t usually push the hard gender stuff. When viewers ask for suggestions for baby quilts, she goes for more neutral themes. When they ask for recommendations on specifically pink or blue fabrics, she offers soft patterns over anything princess or sports themed. She likes animals.
There’s nothing animal here.
It all rubs me the wrong way. I don’t know Joss as well as I want to, but either I don’t know her as well as I think or this is all wrong.
Maybe I’m thinking too hard on it. There are all kinds of explanations. But then, as I wander around, checking out the changing table and the books, the small vase on the dresser, the art on the wall and the mobile, there’s a stagnation that hits me. It doesn’t quite click until I accidentally scuff up the corner of the rug and see the carpet beneath it. The room is carpeted in a pale, somewhat off-putting shade between seafoam and cornflower, but beneath the rug is a distinct baby blue.
The carpet’s sun-faded, which means it’s been here in this spot for years. And it’s got a bunch of bubbly, childish cars on it, so it’s not like it just happened to be here already. This nursery wasn’t recently set up. Joss has had this nursery for years. Probably from a time when she did go for gendered stuff and for whatever crazy reason assumed she’d have a boy. Hell, the pageant life may have done such a number on her she didn’t care what the baby would be, she’d push traditionally boy stuff on them. She’s legit crazy.
Baby crazy.
Thank fuck for that.