Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I stood under the spray, letting it pummel my face and chest for a solid five minutes as I relived that magical moment in my dream when Emme had removed her shirt. Had I ever wanted to touch someone so badly, even in real life? Had I ever been so frustrated that I couldn’t? Had I ever felt so guilty about wanting to know what someone’s curves felt like beneath my palms? My lips? My tongue?
I turned around and braced myself on the opposite wall, letting the water hit my back and rain down my body. I wasn’t used to feeling guilty about wanting anything. Not money, not status, not success, not women. Not even about fantasizing about Emme, which I had done plenty of times before without really thinking twice.
So why did I feel bad about it now? What was different? Was it because she was helping me? Was it because I was a father now and fathers weren’t supposed to act that way? Was it because I suddenly didn’t know who I was or how I was supposed to think or what to do with these strange feelings that were threatening to upset the careful balance of my life?
Stop it, I told myself. This kind of self-pity is beneath you. Yes, your world is different, but you are still you. Maybe this fatherhood thing wasn’t in the script you wrote for your life, but you still have control over your actions.
Control. That was the key. I wanted a measure of control.
I straightened up and took my rock hard dick in my hand, determined to feel like my fucking self, even if it was for five stolen minutes in the shower. I pictured Emme on purpose, reclaiming the dream, the way she’d looked last night sipping a martini on my couch, leaning back on the counter in my kitchen, sleeping next to me in my bed. Behind closed eyes I watched her come down the stairs this morning in my T-shirt, her legs bare, her hair messy.
But she doesn’t stop there. She comes over to where I am lying on the couch (I slept there because I’m such a gentleman, although there is no baby in this fantasy, so I’m not sure why she slept over at all but this is my fantasy dammit and I say what goes, and also I am naked) and this time, when she takes off her shirt, she stretches out above me straddling my hips with her thighs, taking me inside her, rocking her body over mine. She says my name softly, over and over again, her long hair grazing my chest, her eyes locked on mine, as she works us both into a frenzy, and gradually my name gets louder and louder and louder, her hips moving faster and faster and faster until —
“Fuck…” The orgasm hit me suddenly and ferociously, and I groaned all the way through it, my hand yanking furiously on my cock.
A few minutes later, I was toweling off and feeling much better about myself, even if I was still slightly out of breath. Clearly that was all I needed—to feel in command of my thoughts, my body, my life.
Everything was going to be fine.
Five
Emme
“Are you sure I need all this?” Nate looked suspiciously at the two full carts of baby gear we’d collected in our two hours at Babies“R”Us and shook his head. “She’s only one baby. How can one baby need so much stuff?”
“It’s not that much stuff. It’s the basics.” I pushed the cart that held Paisley and some of the smaller things, while Nate followed behind with a cart full of bigger items. He had decided on a Pack ’n Play with a detachable bedside sleeper instead of a crib, a swing, a stroller, a changing table, and a video monitor system. In my cart were bottles, formula, diapers, wipes, diaper cream, onesies and sleepers, baby shampoo, detergent and dish soap, baby wash, bottle scrubbers, burp cloths, towels, sheets for the sleeper, a few baby care books, and a sling.
“What is that?” Nate asked when I added the sling to the cart. “Some kind of backpack?”
“It’s a sling,” I explained, “so you can carry her around but still have your hands free.”
He took it out of the cart and put it back on the shelf. “No way. I am not wearing my baby. I’ve got to draw the line somewhere.”
I took it down again and put it back in. “Just get it. If you don’t want to use it, fine, but you are going to get very tired of carrying her around all the time, and there won’t always be room to push a stroller.”
He grumbled, but he let me keep it in the cart. What he did insist on was a little brush for her hair.