When he’s emptied himself and catches his breath (which, between the two, takes a moment), he removes his hand and peppers kisses on my thighs. Carefully, he carries me to the bathroom where we find the warm spray of a shower together.
We wash and talk, kiss and touch. Then we go to bed. I snuggle into him, both of us wet and sated.
It’s as I’m drifting off that I realize I’m so in love with us.
21
Beau
He says my name, and suddenly, it all makes sense.
Waking up Monday morning, I don’t know if Beck has plans or not. Her studio, while making huge progress towards a soft open, isn’t quite ready yet. We spent the rest of Saturday night fucking and all day Sunday, too.
I had to fuck her all weekend.
I wanted to understand why she went to see Dustin. I didn’t want to confront her or upset her. I was trying to be respectful of their history and the fact that Dustin is Jett’s father. But my chest hurt so bad all night that holding her seemed to be the only respite. It was like I was trying to prove to my heart, using my hands and my cock, thatshe is mine. That even though she went back to him for something, she belongs to me.
Fucking her was the only thing that allowed me to feel safe and unworried. But I refuse to bring it up even if it hurts.
There’s no silver band on her finger to tell the world to step the fuck off, that she’s mine. I am not the man who got to fill her so full of my cum that we grew a child together. Not yet, at least.
I didn’t feel like I could confront her, and I just didn’t have the energy, so I didn’t.
As I’m filling the carafe for my coffee pot with water, Jett stirs. I set the carafe inside the unit and quietly pad down the hall toward my room. We’d kept Jett in there the last two nights because it’s a new place to him, and we didn’t want him waking up in a strange room and getting scared.
The idea of Jett being frightened does shit to my heart.
His blonde hair is poking up above the railing and when I take a few steps closer, I’m met with his drooly grin and sleepy eyes.
“Bo,” he says to me, sleep thick in his gentle little voice.
I wiggle my fingers. “Wanna get up?”
I know Jett has a schedule. I also know with his teething lately that he’s been skipping usual nursing sessions and naptimes, and that Beck has been rolling with it as much as she can. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I see it’s just barely six in the morning.
“You’re on time today, Jetpack,” I tell him as I hoist him up out of his crib and onto my hip. The way his fingers feel curled against my neck as he wraps himself around me makes my heart actually throb. I turn to face him. “Good morning, buddy. Mommy’s still sleeping. Let’s let her sleep, okay?”
He drops his head against mine with a hard thunk, settling into me most uncomfortably, yethe’svery comfortable, so I don’t do anything but hold him tight and tiptoe from the room. Once in the kitchen, I keep him close to me as I pull open the fridge.
Even though Beck brought the tap, she also brought a few bottles, too. I don’t let myself think of all the naughty reasons why she thought Jett might need his backup bottled milk. Instead, I take one out and set it on the counter. Using the hand that isn't glued to Jett, I fill a bowl full of water and set it down. Then I open the microwave, grab the bowl of water and put it inside, close and start the microwave.
My pulse is working a little harder now, and we’re only a minute or two into the morning routine. The fact that Beck has done everything on her own for nearly a year blows me away. I think if I had to do what she did, I’d need two extra hands or something.
“We’re heating up water to put your bottle in so your milk is warm,” I explain to him as he hooks a wet finger into my ear. “Let’s get you in a clean diaper, and then you can drink, alright?”
“Bo!” he says more loudly, still grinning. God, I love this kid. Hell, we could learn a lot from him. Smiling and happy as much as he can be–he’s a smart cookie. That’s the way to go through life. Even though I know I’m going to have to come full circle on the fact that I know Beck went to Dustin’s, I’m not ready yet.
After getting him in a clean diaper and washing my hands, I test the milk from the bottle by squirting some directly onto my tongue.
Mistake.
The temperature was fine, but now the sweet richness of Beck’s breast milk gets me hard.
Time to feed the baby, not time to get a hard-on. Pouring myself a cup of freshly brewed dark roast, I set it on my coffee table, grab my phone, then return to my couch with Jett, who is gripping his bottle for dear life.
Draping him comfortably across my lap, I lay his head against my arm as he drinks his bottle, kicking my arm and smiling at me as he does. I begin looking up ideas for his birthday party with my free hand.
It’s less than two months away and if we’re going to give Jetpack the party he deserves, it could take us two months to plan it all. In the thirty minutes it takes for Jett to finish his bottle, I have some ideas I’d like to share with Beck. And I’m about to take little man out to my yard to pick flowers and get fresh air when my phone rings, right in my palm.