Falling for the Babysitter

This is our home. Our beautiful, perfect home.

It takes a couple weeks before we’re completely settled in the new house. I wanted to give my mom some time to adjust before just shipping out. Now that she’s used to the idea of me being gone, and encourages it, I’m excited to start staying with Deacon and Bailey.

Over the last week we’d been painting the nursery. We went with a mint for a neutral color since we don’t know yet if our new baby will be a boy or girl. We haven’t decided if we want to know the sex at all until the delivery. I always thought it was kind of fun when people didn’t know. The biggest surprise of one’s life. Except I don’t know how long I will hold out. I already want to go shopping for little outfits and there aren’t enough cute baby stuff in neutral colors for me to get excited about.

It’s my first night sleeping in the new house. After all the work and decorating we’ve done, this feels like my reward. My mom volunteered to keep Bailey overnight so Deacon and I could have some much needed alone time together. Once this baby comes, and since I’ll be breastfeeding, it’ll be impossible to sneak in time for just us.

After dropping Bailey off, we go inside the house. It still smells like fresh paint.

“It’s so quiet in here,” Deacon says. He walks up to me, rubs my belly. It’s sort of a new obsession with him, always touching it, rubbing it like a crystal ball that might reveal his future if he looks hard enough. His hands slip up and over my sensitive breasts. “Should we fill it with your screams of pleasure?” he says.

close my eyes and lean back against him, marveling in the feel of his touch. “I thought you’d

was incredible. I’ve heard that can happen during pregnancy, and I also heard there might be a stretch of time when I won’t feel like being touched at all. So right now, while my

my dress. It’s gotten cooler out so I’m wearing boots. Those are difficult to unzip so I take them off myself while he strips out of his clothes. We’re both far

after talk of sex. I’ve always heard older men—even men

afraid that was one of the things that would change when everything else about my body changed, but not at all. If anything, it

thing I have a big mouth and

my head, spearing himself into my stretched throat. He likes me to look him in the eyes while he fucks my mouth. Our eyes lock, tears streaming down my cheeks as my mouth

the more I tear up. Drool spills from the corners of my mouth. With him so far down my throat, it’s impossible