Concluding week one of the “Let’s Make a Baby!” triple-X game show, I’m damn near exhausted. Because Fox is a secret perfectionist (shhh, don’t tell the surfing world), we do it multiple times each day. This afternoon is the last blast for the optimal window, according to all calendars and crystal balls, so I slept in late to rest up. Despite all the sex—ahem, great sex—we still feel like the same old Fox and Sophie. We’ve been enjoying hanging out a lot more than normal. We laugh a lot and tease each other even when butt naked. I’m enjoying myself a little too much and need to keep an eye on that before this becomes a habit. The whole thing could easily blow up in my face when… I mean, if I get pregnant. This is probably the only topic I can’t broach with Fox. It’s so comfortable and casual while juiced with that honeymoon phase frenzy. Maybe that’s just me. Maybe Fox is just used to having marathons when he’s with women.
The audience whispers among themselves, throwing smirky yet hairy eyeballs at me. I’m forced to ignore them.
It’ll be fine. There’s no reason to worry, right? It’s going to work and our friendship will be stronger than ever.
“Shit, I forgot to get cash. I need money for the pizza guy. You got any?” Fox looks at me with a hand out. I stare at his open palm.
“No, I rarely carry cash anymore.”
“What is wrong with you? Cash is—”
“Spare me.” I glare. If he dares start on some “cash is king” bullshit, my pussy might sew itself shut. “Just call them and pay over the phone with your card.”
“You know I don’t feel secure about that.”
I gape at him. “You are so… ugh. I got this.”
I immediately start undressing.
“Whoa, whoa. I thought we were going to eat, Netflix, and then baby making?” He’s serious, by the way.
“Watch this,” I tell him and walk out of his bedroom topless in my favorite cut-off jean shorts. They’re not only super comfy, but make my ass look hot and my legs a mile long.
I open the door and see the pizza guy who’s no older than twenty, I’m sure. He turns to look and say hello, but nothing comes out but “guhhhh” and his mouth never closes again. Cue the drool.
“Hi there,” I say, sweet as pie. “Thank you so much!”
I take the pizza and hold the box under my boobs, which of course draws his attention. I lick my lips as I notice he’s also sporting a decent erection.
“We’re good, right?” I ask, the question covered in syrup.
“Guhhhhh.”
“Have a good night, honey,” I say with a wink, and close the door.
I turn to set the pizza down on the counter, but stop cold when I see Fox. His fists are clenched and he’s looking kind of Cro-Magnon.
“The fuck was that about?” he grinds out.
“Um, I just got you a free pizza, dumbass,” I explain.
“Naked,” he says, as if that clears things up. “You answered the door naked.”
“You think he’s going to go back and tell them we didn’t pay? Even if he does, there’s no way he’s going to tell them a chick answered the door and put her tits in his face.”
He doesn’t speak, just glares.
I pop a hand on a hip. “You could say, oh… I don’t know, thanks!”
“Seriously?”
“What?” I’m genuinely confused as to what the issue is right now. “It was just topless. It’s legal to be topless in public in a bunch of states.” Valid argument, I think.
“YOU MIGHT AS WELL HAVE BEEN TOTALLY NAKED!” he shouts. “Don’t you know there are perverts out there?”
Well, now I am utterly amused. I stare at him with eyes wide and an openmouthed grin. “Well you’re a perv and yet I’m not only your friend, but I’m sliming your banana for some pancake batter!”
He stops, possibly grossed out.
“And by pancake batter, I mean baby batter, of course.”
Still silent. More glaring.
“Jizz.”
His shoulders drop and his head tips to the side, eyes pleading.
“Semen?” I squeak out.
“YES! I got it!” He’s still really loud.
“Okay, then let’s eat,” I say and flip open the pizza box.
“Aren’t you going to put your shirt back on?” he asks.
“No.”
He takes the pizza slice out of my hand and sets it back in the box.
“Hey, why—”
I’m unable to continue, though, because he’s physically attached to me. At the mouth. And, really, the rest of me, too. He backs me against the door and kisses the hell out of me.
“I can’t believe you did that,” he grumbles, but I sense trapped amusement in his chest. “Jesus, you’re crazy.”
“Jesus is not crazy,” I say between pants.
He laughs breathily and tugs my shorts and underwear off. I magnanimously help by stepping out of them.
“First round now,” he says. “Then we eat, Netflix, and fuck. Again. Round—”
“Shut. Up,” I order before jumping and wrapping my legs around him. All the caveman snarling got me a little hot. Fresh air on the cooch is a bit chilly, indicating a highly hydrated situation down south at the Playa del Sophie.
His pants are already around his ankles, and it must be laundry day (or week) because he’s freeballing it. I’m sliding up and down, his boner boat testing the gate to my comfy slip before he parks it inside.
The thought forces an awkward guffaw, but because Fox knows me so well, he runs his lips along my chin before he asks, “What sex metaphor did you come up with now?”
I sigh, but keep my ocean motion going. “Boner boat in my comfy slip,” I manage. Barely. It was barely English, really—more like a donkey’s bray disguised as words.
He stills completely and leans his forehead on my shoulder. He emits a long, deep sigh that shakes by the middle. “I hate you,” he tells me, a smile shaping his voice into low rumbling laughter.
“Clearly,” I say.
That spurs him to move again with more pressure. The extra friction feels so goddamn good, I let out a strangled, dying-animal sound that is supposed to indicate my pleasure. Thankfully he doesn’t find this as funny as my inner audience. In fact, I feel him ease the head inside and hear him release a moan that breaks in the middle. He sounds like a horny thirteen-year-old. Or that pizza guy.
I want to laugh at him, but after the noise I just made—and let’s be real, I’ll probably make a bunch more of those soon—I don’t. Not to mention, my back slams against the door at the same time he pushes all the way.
“Oooh, oh. My. Gawd!” I declare. “Yes! Yes, please.”
He grunts and starts moving in earnest. “Fucking hell, this feels so good. I really really really like not wearing a condom.”
I cackle because he must not have realized each “really” was punctuated with a thrust. “So good.”
“Bite me,” he hisses, but I can tell he’s amused.
“Later if you want,” I tease and he growls again. Like, legit growls. For whatever reason, the sound and the vibration of his chest against mine pulls an impending orgasm on deck. That “O” is ready to crest and ride it all the way to the beach. “Oh… oh, shit. I’m, uhhhhh, goodness.”
Fox ignores whatever I start babbling and shuts me up with a kiss—and I have to say, the man is probably the best kisser I’ve tangled tongues with. So, ya know, bonus. I don’t even care that my skin is starting to rub a little raw against the door. He’s found one of my breasts with one hand and plays, twisting my nipple gently and tugging. I moan into his mouth and hook my feet together behind his back.
He takes that as a sign to let go of my hips and focus all his upper-torso attention on my boobs. His lips leave mine as his palms seal themselves to the sides of the girls, and he takes one nipple in his mouth. My head knocks back on the door.
“Is someone here?” He lifts his face and almost drops me. His voice is panicky, but laced with irritation. “Shit, is the pizza guy back?”
I lose it. For real, this time. Big, ugly laughing. “It was”—I pause, gasping for breath impossibly between words—“my head.”
The last word comes out as a squeal, it was so high pitched.
“I’m trying to make a baby here, and you freak me out like that?” he snaps, but he’s trying not to lose it. “Focus.”
“You focus,” I order and point at my chest. “Get back to the nipple twins, jackass. I was halfway to O-town!”
This time, he breaks, chuckling. He pushes his body against mine hard as I’d begun to slip down. “Dammit, Sophie,” he mumbles from between my boobs. He says something else, but it’s too muffled. Ta ta interference.
“Christ, let’s just eat the pizza,” I mutter, but Fox has other plans. His tickling murmurs in Tit Valley turn to nuzzles, and those become kisses and licks. The distraction works and I groan. “Unnng… ohhhhkay, fuck me, then.”
He makes a deep groaning sound that’s relatively territorial and partially “caveman take woman,” but I know I’m reading too much into it.
The audience rolls with a quiet whisper of discussion. I tell them to shut up.
“What?” Fox asks. Crap, I must have said shut up out loud.
“Huh? Go on, man! Do it up!” I shout, rambling. “Ride ’em, cowboy! Full speed ahead!”
The noises he makes sound distinctly like his voice cracked. Between whatever that was and the dual feeling he’s giving me on my chest and inside me, my head falls back and hits the door again.
“It was me,” I pant, worried he’ll stop again. “Keep going!”
A grunt tells me he had no intention this time. His pace increases. Sweat that has trickled down my spine gets between my ass and the door, and now we’re squeaking. The funny-er part is that it gives neither of us pause. I don’t even know what he’s doing to my left nipple right now, but it’s a direct line to my pussy pearl and I am this close.
He moans and grunts and grinds his teeth together, which tells me he’s about to come. My responding moan is loud and keening, and a precursor to a powerful orgasm ripping through me. The euphoric feeling seems to explode and disperse itself from where we’re connected, up through my chest, and outward to the tips of my fingers and toes.
I feel Fox still and press me against the door as all his muscles lock in his own release. He just breathes for a second and kisses high on my neck near the hairline while gripping my ass.
I snicker and softly say, “Perv.” My voice sounds strange to my ears.
He nudges my earlobe with his nose, breathing heavily and, from the sound of it, smiling.
I swear, I’ve had so much sex this past week that if I’m not pregnant, I’ll be convinced the egg sacs and baby cave have already crumbled to dust.
“So,” he says finally, pulling away to look at me. “You need to hang upside down now or what?”
“What are you talking about?
“To keep all the baby juice up in there.”
“Oh my God.”
“It’s not crucial, but can help. What have you got to lose?” Instead of putting me down, he walks us over toward the couch. With a legit straight face, he tells me, “Foxy doctor says lie down.”
Clearly that’s my cue to laugh. He Kermit faces. I laugh harder.
“I’m serious, Fordham! On your back with your legs in the air.” With that, I literally fall from his grip onto the cushions. I’m cracking up so hard, I can barely breathe. When I finally calm enough to speak, I remind him—my legs have remained in the air, by the way, “You’re not a doctor.”
“No, I’m better—I’m a nurse. But I play doctor sometimes.” Fox waggles his goddamn eyebrows.
As I perform an impromptu yet hella shitty upside-down ballet with my legs, I ruin my retort with snickering. “You’re so full of yourself.”
He grins, full and evil. “You’re full of me, too.”
My legs bend, wilted with disgust. “I hate you so much right now.”