The Sailor's Secret Baby Page 3

  She takes off her panties, turning so that her ass is in my face as she bends over nice and slow. It’s so round and perfect.

  "You better be careful with that thing," I tell her.

  She giggles, looking over her shoulder, and when her eyes meet mine, neither of us can look away. I stride toward her and draw her naked body against my naked body, and I push her hand to my cock.

  "Feel that, feel how hard I am for you?" I ask her.

  She nods, licking her lips. "I have to suck you again, I have to suck you hard," she says dropping to her knees.

  I groan, running my hands through my hair as she begins to lick my tip. She's only done this once, but already I know she's a pro.

  Her mouth suctions around my length nice and warm and she begins to bob her head up and down. Damn, I love it when she sucks me. My balls tighten as she rolls her hands over them, then she reaches behind and squeezes one of my ass cheeks as if needing her mouth buried tighter against my cock.

  I press my hands to her head as she moves her mouth up and down, up and down as she sucks me.

  "I'm so fucking close," I tell her.

  She moans, looking up at me with her mouth nice and full of my thickness, her lips stretched around my girth, her eyes so wide and innocent. The sight makes my release rush out.

  "Oh, oh," she moans as my ribbons of come fill her mouth. She pulls me from her, telling me she wants my come to spray on her tits, and I do what my girl wants.

  She keeps stroking me until every last drop of come coats those pretty little tits, and she massages them together, licking my tip one last time, wanting every drop of my come to slide down her throat.

  "Fuck, you look so beautiful," I tell her, picking her up from the ground and setting her on the counter. "Now let me see that pink pussy again, Sweetie." I bend down, pressing my mouth to her cunt, my tongue swirling over her swollen clit. She's so wet and juicy, and I plunge two of my fingers into her warmth, needing to stretch her tight little cunt out before I fill it up with my massive cock.

  I know it's gonna hurt her, and it kills me, but also makes me want her all the more.

  "Don't make me wait, don't make me wait anymore," she begs.

  "You don't want to be patient any longer?"

  She shakes her head, licking her lips. "I need you to fuck me," she says. "Hard."

  I give her a smile. "You dirty, dirty girl."

  "Your dirty girl," she tells me playfully. I know it's the truth. When she looks at me, I'm the only one she sees.

  I pull her to the edge of the counter, lifting her legs over my shoulders, and ease my cock into her warm pussy.

  "It's gonna hurt," I tell her.

  "I know," she says, her hands squeezing my biceps, holding on.

  Oh, I'll give her something to hold onto all right.

  "I'll go nice and slow," I tell her.

  She shakes her head. "No--I said hard. Make me scream. Make me beg."

  "Oh, Sweetie, if I start making you scream you'll never want to stop."

  "I don't want to stop, I just want this. Me. You."

  "You don't even know my name," I tell her with a grin as I begin to slide my cock into her creamy cunt.

  "You're my sailor."

  "And you're my sweetie," I tell her.

  "Oh God," she moans as my cock starts filling her up. "It's so big. So tight... I... ohhh..." She closes her eyes and I cradle her face in my hand, hating that I'm putting her in any sort of pain.

  "It's okay, baby, it's okay, Sweetie," I tell her. And she nods, whimpering, her little chin quivering. It kills me that I'm doing this to her.

  But then, we push through, her virginity gone, our bodies hot, our hearts found.

  All in that one moment.

  My attraction to her was instant. But now, with her cunt sinking deep around my shaft, I know it's more than attraction.

  It's a need. A desire. A fucking dream come true.

  I pull her from the counter, holding her ass in my hands as I begin to fuck her nice and hard. She wraps her arms around me, her legs tight around my waist, I bounce her pretty little ass in my hands as I fuck her, thrusting in and out, up and down until she's screaming my name, her head falling back, her pretty throat mine to kiss, to lick, to devour.

  "I love fucking you," I whisper in her ear.

  Her pussy pulses against me and I love the way she's opening up.

  "Then it's time you came inside of me, Sailor."

  Chapter Seven

  Sweetie

  I hold on to him for dear life as he thrusts deeper inside my pussy.

  I never knew it would like this. So full. So complete.

  So absolutely intense.

  Every inch of my skin is on fire. It's like, as I hold onto him, I am consumed. I love it--the way his body seems to melt against mine as we rock. He pushes me against the door, his fingers on my ass cheeks as I bounce up and down for him, knowing I am so close to a different kind of orgasm than I have ever had before. I can make myself gush, make myself drip-- but this is deeper. More vibrant, full of color.

  He kisses me as we fuck, hard, just like I asked. His mouth is so hot and needy, and he slams me against the door as an orgasm floods my body, starting at my toes and winding its way through my pussy and ending in my heart. It pounds for him, beating so damn fast, and I feel a hot wave of tears fill my eyes, and I don't know why I'm crying except my body is alive in a way it's never been before.

  I try to catch my breath, watching Sailor as he comes deep inside me, my pussy throbbing as it happens, as his seed fills me up, making me full and warm and his.

  I bury my face in his chest as he finishes, and then ever so gently, he sets me down, pushing the hair back from my face. "Oh, Sweetie, you are everything."

  "I'm just a girl crying in your arms."

  "No," he whispers. "You are a woman who is making a man out of me."

  His words spark another rush of want through me, and I whimper as the pleasure seeps out of my pussy. I stroke his cock, silently begging him to stay.

  He gets a needy look in his eyes that slices through any doubt. He spins me around, my hands flying to grab the edge of the counter, and he runs his big hands over my back, massaging my ass, then pressing his cock into my pussy from behind. He thrusts deep inside of me.

  "You wanted it, hard, Sweetie? I'll make you cry tears of fucking joy."

  "Yes, please," I beg him. "Make me weep for you."

  He begins to pound against me, my newly tapped cunt wide awake and his for the taking. He holds onto my hips, pleasuring me with each thrust, hitting my g-spot in a way that makes me start gushing for him this time as we fuck. I feel every hair on my body stand on end as he takes me as his own.

  "Let me be your fuck toy," I moan. "Mark me as your little whore." I know the filthy words sound wrong on my lips, forbidden and taboo, but when I say them to him it makes me feel beautiful and sexy and so, so wet.

  His balls slap against my swollen pussy and as he pounds against me, I can't hold back anymore. I cry out in pleasure as the orgasm rushes through me, my hands gripping the counter so hard my knuckles are white. He releases inside me, deep to my core just as someone swings open the backroom door.

  "What the fuck!" Porter is here, screaming, and Sailor's hands hold onto my hips as his come still pours into my cunt.

  "You think you can fuck my sister?" Smith yells, pulling Sailor away from me, knocking him in the jaw with a solid punch.

  "Stop," I scream, my pussy already aching to be filled again, hating that my time was stolen by my asshole brothers. "Don't hurt him!"

  But it's no use. Nixon pins him to the table and they begin punching him one after the next. Sailor fights back, for a second, but then his eyes meet mine and all I see is regret.

  I gasp, reeling at the thought that this didn't mean to him what it means to me. Something real and permanent and strong.

  He just told me he wanted to leave, to set sail.

  I'm a fool.

 
Still, my brothers are beating him up.

  "Please," I beg. "Stop punching him!"

  They don't listen, they keep hitting him, three on one, until his face is bloody, until his eyes are swollen shut and his body has been pummeled within an inch of his life. Then they grab him and his pile of clothes and push him outside the shop. I rush after him, desperate to hold him in my arms, to call an ambulance--but my brothers hold me back.

  "You're not going after that piece of shit," Nixon warns.

  I scream for him, begging him to turn around, but if he does I don't get a chance to see.

  Because my brothers are pushing me in the backroom, telling me I'm a slut, to get dressed, to get to work. They shame me, ridicule me, and I try to leave. I struggle to get to the door again, but it's no use.

  By the time I finally get them off my back, I go outside where it's dark.

  Sobbing, I'm forced to accept the cold, hard truth.

  He's gone.

  And after what my family did to him, he'd be a fool to ever come back.

  Chapter Eight

  Sampson

  It isn't supposed to go this way.

  Me, pushed to the curb, bloody and broken--the girl of my dreams screaming from behind the door.

  I'm not letting Sweetie's brothers beat me down, but as I pull on my jeans, the captain of my ship just so happens to pull down the road in his car.

  Give me a motherfucking break.

  I look like shit, and now there will be hell to pay.

  "Samp, is that you?"

  I lower my eyes, trying to pull on my goddamn shirt. It hurts too much, though.

  "What the hell is going on, son?"

  I clench my jaw, wincing-- my teeth are damn near rattling in my mouth.

  I look over my shoulder the tattoo shop, the lights are out. "The guys in there, they--"

  "You telling me you got your ass handed to you in broad daylight? What are you doing here anyway? You are supposed to report to duty in an hour."

  "I was headed that way, Sir."

  "I bet you were. Get in the goddamn car."

  After I'm checked out in the infirmary, I'm put on duty right away. I thought I might get a chance to make a few calls, to go back to Sweetie's house, but it's a no go. I'm not leaving the base as far as my superiors are concerned until I board the ship later today.

  I've been in the Navy for two fucking years and never got in a single fight and look at me now. A goddamn mess. Bloody lip and bruised jaw and an eye clipped so badly I look like Rocky goddamn Balboa.

  "You weren't expecting to get shipped out now, were you?" the Captain asks.

  "I was supposed to stay here for another three months."

  "Sorry son, but you're headed out for six months."

  "Will I be coming here when the tour is over?"

  He nods. "Looks like it. But after what those boys did to you, I'm not sure I understand why you wanna come back here."

  I close my eyes. It’s no use explaining that I fell in love with a woman I hardly know to this man who is not my family. He's the captain, and the last thing he wants to hear is my sob story about the one who got away.

  "You better not throw any punches like that again, understood?" he says, standing to leave me alone in the sterile hospital room.

  "With all due respect, sir, I wasn't the one throwing the punches."

  He frowns but then gives me a stern nod. "The sea will be good for you. Clear your head. If this girl matters to you, you can tell her when you get back."

  I narrow my eyes. "How did you know there was a girl?"

  He laughs. "I've been doing this for nearly forty years, Samp. It's always about a girl."

  It's long hours, but it's a job and a helluva lot better than following in my father's footsteps.

  As a gunner's mate, I'm responsible for the operation and maintenance of guided missile launching systems. I like it, working with electronic circuitry: mechanical hydraulic systems. I know eventually, it’ll lead to me getting a decent job as a civilian if I want.

  But now, being out on the water, I can't really imagine wanting that any time soon.

  I love this work, being a part of a team--something bigger than myself. I'm proud of my job, of my country. And sure, there are problems with it, but I choose to believe I am giving my life to be a part of the solution. Nothing's perfect-- I sure as hell am not--but I can do my best, one day at a time.

  It doesn't take long to get back to 100%, but I still feel the slight ache in my ribs when I move. On the ship, I'm back to the daily grind, sleeping as much as I can after pulling sixteen-hour days. My shipmates like to BS, but I can't play games anymore. I find my mind wandering.

  Well, drifting to one thing in particular.

  Sweetie.

  Always Sweetie.

  Is that even her name?

  I Google the tattoo parlor, looking for some last name mentioned somewhere, but that shop is nowhere on the Internet, except an address on a Google map. Not surprised. It's a hole in the wall, full of greasy dudes and sketchy motherfuckers. But damn, I wish there was more to go on. Not even a Yelp review page.

  I want to email her, but there isn't anywhere to send it.

  But I can write her.

  So, I do.

  I wish I knew her life story, but it sounds like it was bitter and cold and lonely as hell.

  I regret so much. That I didn't fight harder the day her brothers tried to bash in my skull. I didn't want to kill the only family she had, so I held back, never realizing it would mean I would lose her.

  Now, though, I can't help but replay our conversations, the way she looked into my eyes and saw my soul. Her body, so pure and innocent, was made for me--I know that with all that I am.

  So, I tell her, addressing the letter to the My Sweetheart, care of the Grim Reaper Tattoo Shop.

  And I hope like hell she answers me because right now, this sailor is lost at sea.

  Chapter Nine

  Sweetie

  After the shock of the fistfight wears off, I can't shake the feeling that everything has been ruined.

  After leaving Grim Reaper in Porter's car that night, I shower, hating the idea of washing the sailor's scent from my body. If I close my eyes, I can imagine his ocean bright eyes under his dark brown brows. I can almost feel his strong hands holding my hips tightly.

  I can almost hear the sound of his heart beating against mine.

  In the kitchen the next morning, my brothers won't even look at me. It's not fair, they get to sleep with whomever they want, whenever they want, and I don't judge them. Well, at least I don't mention it out loud. It's a double standard and I hate it.

  I feel so trapped, so stuck, and I'm done living this way. Being under their thumb like this. And I'm an adult, I'm twenty-one years old for God's sake. I don't owe them anything.

  Especially not after today.

  "You get coffee made?" Nixon asks.

  I look at the clock on the microwave; it's after eleven in the morning. The hours at a tattoo parlor are different than most gigs, we open at one in the afternoon, and usually stay open until twelve at night, or later.

  "I'm not making your coffee," I tell him.

  He snorts. "Oh what, now that you've been fucked you decide to have a spine?"

  "Don't talk to me like that."

  "Or what?"

  "Or..." I shake my head, refusing to cry. "You know what? Never mind. It doesn't matter how you talk to me. I'm leaving no matter what."

  "Oh yeah? You think your little Navy ass boyfriend is gonna take care of you?"

  I clench my jaw, not giving in to the worry in the back of my mind. I told Sailor I wanted to be tied down, but not to this. To them. I want to be anchored to someone who will look out for me, protect me, keep me safe in any storm.

  "Well, he won’t," Smith grunts, pushing away from the kitchen table and headed to the coffee pot.

  "How do you know?" I ask.

  "I heard on the news that the ship has left town."<
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  I cover my face and stifle a sob. This is why I wasn't going to date a man in the Navy. How can I rely on someone who isn't here?

  I don't even know his name.

  Porter gives me a pouty face, fake and mocking, and I hate it. Hate him.

  "I'm moving out," I tell them.

  Nixon laughs. "Okay, Sweetie. We get it. You got screwed and dumped all in a day. It's a tough break for a weak girl like you."

  I spin around on my toes. "You know nothing about me. I'm stronger than I look."

  "Sure," Smith says, holding up the coffee pot in confusion. "As strong as the coffee you're about to make."

  I push away from him, knocking the coffee carafe from his hands, it falls to the floor, shattering in a hundred pieces.

  Just like my heart.

  "I quit, too," I say, and then I leave, ready to start the first day of the rest of my life.

  The studio apartment I find the next morning is tiny. But it's big enough for me. I sell my mother's wedding ring and get enough cash to cover first and last month’s rent. Then I go on Craigslist, asking for help to haul my belongings to my new place.

  I'm scared to hire a stranger, knowing they will know where I live, but it's an older man name Bernie who answers the ad and agrees to help me move. He's in his seventies, wears a straw hat and big grin, like every day is a miracle.

  And it is.

  My brothers are at the parlor, and Bernie and I set to work.

  He helps me with my twin-sized bed, my boxes of clothes, my small dresser, and nightstand. I never had much. My book collection is on my Kindle and I've never been into fashion. It doesn't take long for the two of us to move my meager belongings into his pickup truck.

  "You been living here alone?" he asks, looking at the rundown house I've shared with my brothers since we were kids.

  "No, lived here with my brothers. They own the Grim Reapers Tattoo Shop." I drop the information for a reason. I want him to know I have backup in case he does anything sketchy, not that my brothers will be helping me out. To say they're pissed, would be the understatement of the century.