Unforgettable You (29 page)

The corners of her mouth turn down and her eyes are suddenly tired. “Thousands. Tens of thousands. More than we’ll ever find homes for. Thousands of people get on social media and in cars every day and do hours of volunteer work to save animals, but there are only a handful of people on this planet helping these kids. They’ll get on a plane and go to China to adopt a child when there’s a whole houseful twenty blocks away who don’t have homes. Hell, the state pays for almost everything related to the adoptions and offers a huge stipend, plus pays for their college educations. Right now, the stipend is,” she says, looking at a paper in the back of her notebook, “eleven thousand eight hundred and fifty dollars per child. The idea is to give you the money so you can do whatever you need to do to offer them a suitable home. Buy another place, knock out a wall and enlarge your home, whatever you need to do. Those numbers change constantly, based on inflation and cost of living per government standards, but they hover in that range.”

I turn to my wife. “Putting both places on the market tomorrow?”

She nods. “Absolutely. First thing. We’ll get a realtor out here and over there and get the process started.” Her eyes lock with mine. “Steffen, is this what you want to do?”

“There’s something about their little faces. I feel like I’ve connected with them somehow. I didn’t get that from the other pictures, but these two, yeah. What about you?”

She nods. “I feel the same way.”

“I’ve spent time with both of them,” Amy offers. “They’re adorable kids. Smart, funny, polite. We’ve almost decided Joey’s learning disability is due to some vision problems, and he needs a good ophthalmologist to look into that. As for Rachel, she’s doing well in school, makes friends easily, and she’s a very affectionate child.” She closes the binder. “What about childcare?”

“I can drop them off at school, and Sheila’s employer has made it clear that her hours are flexible, so she can go in earlier and leave earlier to pick them up from school. And once we can find a babysitter, that won’t be an issue anymore anyway.”

Amy sits with her head down for about twenty seconds as Sheila and I glance back and forth at each other. Then she sighs, raises her head, and turns to us. “I can make arrangements for you to meet them tomorrow. Is that what you want?”

Sheila smiles at me, and I turn and smile at Amy. “Yes. Absolutely. We’d love that. We’ll talk about it for the rest of the evening and if we change our minds or have any misgivings, I’ll give you a call, but I’m sure this is the direction we want to go in.”

“Well then, that’s that.” She closes the binder and loads all three of the thick vinyl tomes back into her bag. “I have every reason to believe that you’ll make fine parents, and I have no qualms whatsoever about recommending you as adopters. I will warn you, however, that until we get absolute dissolution of parental rights, consider them your foster children who may be removed from your home at any time. That will be best for everyone involved.”

“We understand. How long will the dissolution take?”

“Hard to say, but I’m guessing under six weeks. If I’m not mistaken, this time the mother was involved in a bank robbery and she’s not getting out until after they’re grown, so she has no reason to hang onto custody. And so far, none of the relatives have shown any interest at all in them. So I don’t foresee a problem.” She stands, and we both rise too. “All right then – tomorrow, if nothing goes wrong, we’ll set up a meeting for the four of you at about four thirty at the child protective services office downtown. You’re welcome to bring small gifts with you, nothing elaborate, maybe a comic book or coloring book and crayons, some cute little barrettes for her hair, maybe an inexpensive watch for him, something like that. This is not about giving them something to win them over. Trust me, if they could come home with you tomorrow night, they would; they’d jump at the chance. In the meantime, I’d suggest you do whatever you need to do to get two bedrooms ready, because social services will not let you adopt them unless they have a bedroom apiece.”

“Got it. I’ll get on that tomorrow,” I promise her.

“Good. Listen, it’s been great meeting the two of you. I wish you a lot of luck and I’ll be with you every step of the way. And call me if you have any questions or concerns. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure this goes smoothly.”

I shake her hand as she stands in the open doorway. “Thank you, Amy. Thanks so much. We’ll be looking forward to your call tomorrow.”

Sheila echoes with, “Yes, thanks, Amy. We really appreciate it.”

To my surprise and delight, Amy reaches to hug Sheila. “I’m a mom too. I know how anxious you must be. Trust me, it’s all going to work out. Big smiles and fingers crossed,” she grins as she heads down the steps. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am! Thanks again!” I call out as she gets into her car. When I close the door, I lean against it and blow out a ragged breath. “Oh my god, I was nervous, but she’s so nice.”

“She sure is. I like her a lot.” Sheila sits back down on the sofa, perching on the front edge with her elbows on her thighs, leaning forward and rocking to and fro. “Oh, god, Steffen, we’re about to get two kids.”

“Yeah, but Winstead’s been doing it alone for years, so how hard can it be?” I snicker.

“You’re awful!” she giggles.

“I know. I give him so much shit.” About that time her phone rings, and I recognize the ringtone. “Yep, Trish. She wants a blow-by-blow. Talk to her. And no squealing. You know how I hate that,” I grin.

“Hello? Yeah! It went great!” I watch her walk down the hallway toward the bedroom, and I know what she’s doing. When she and Trish get on the phone, she lies down across the bed on her stomach, props up on her elbows, and kicks her legs up and down, ankles crossed. They’re like a pair of teenagers gushing over a boy in the latest edition of a fashion magazine. I do the smart thing and just go into the kitchen to order Chinese delivery. That’ll keep us from starving. She won’t be able to concentrate long enough to cook tonight without catching the house on fire anyway.

By about nine we’ve both calmed down. I’m sitting on the sofa reading an article in an architectural magazine when she saunters into the room. Kneeling in front of me, she unbuttons and unzips my chinos, and I lift my hips enough for her to pull down my slacks and my boxer briefs to free my cock. Not a word is said as she leans in and pulls the head of my manhood into her lips, and I take a deep breath and blow it out as she begins to suck. Five minutes in, she stands, slips off her panties, and mounts me, her dress fanning out and over my lap as she slides down over my shaft with that hot, slick cunt that somehow always makes me insane with need. Leaning in, she kisses the hollow at the base of my neck, and I breathe in the scent of her hair. I’m the first to speak when I groan out, “Damn, girl, you turn me on. I’d rather fuck you than breathe.”

“Yeah, but if you stop breathing, you won’t be able to fuck me. So breathe, wouldja?” There’s mirth in her voice, and her encore is a trailing of her tongue up the side of my neck until she reaches my ear and promptly rims it, then nips my earlobe. I grab her face and pull it to mine. I spend the next five minutes devouring her mouth, then maneuver us both until she’s lying on the sofa with me above her. I gaze down into those warm, gorgeous, blue eyes looking back up at me, and I’m overwhelmed by the love I feel for her. It fills me; it fills the room. It fills everything in my whole world.

Instead of remaining inside her, I slip down until my lips can touch her chest, and I travel downward, suck first one nipple and then the other into my mouth, then kiss down her ribcage and belly until I reach her mound. There I stop, pull back, and thrust my tongue into her channel just to hear her gasp. She grabs my hair, not pulling, just for the connection, and I slip the tip of my tongue up and between her pussy lips until I find that tiny, swollen pearl. First I suck it in between my teeth, then give it a tiny nip. She yelps and I snort under my breath. Then I settle down to work, my tongue circling her bud, sucking it into my lips several times, then going back to the circling motion. She’s moaning and crying out, her back arching and hips thrusting, and she asks in a desperate whisper, “Sir, may I come?”

I whisper back to her, “Anytime you want, sub. Anytime at all.” I grab her hips and hold on, and in just a few seconds her pelvis starts to buck as the pitch and volume of her voice travels upward in a long, frantic cry. At the apex of the onslaught she screams out, “Oh, god, Steffen, I want your cock in me. Fuck me, please, fuck me?”

Now what fool would say no to that? Not this one, uh-uh.

She’s hot and wet and ready, like always, and I rise up and take her with one fierce thrust just to hear her cry out and feel her claw at my shoulders. I’m hammering away at her until I suddenly just stop, buried up to my ball sack in that tight pussy, and stare down at her. “Whaaa? Why did you stop?” I almost start laughing as I feel her trying to thrust her hips upward.

“Nah-ah-ah, little subbie. You forget who’s in charge here.” I pull back so slowly that it takes me what seems like forever, and I burrow back into her at the same languorous pace while she frets and twitches. She wants me. Yeah. I like this – I like it a lot. Stretching the length of my body out on top of her to pin her to the sofa cushions, I wrap my hands down and around her hips and grasp her ass cheeks in my hands, continuing to withdraw and recommit every stroke an inch at a time, relishing the feel of her channel pulsing around my shaft, listening to her moan and cry out. I savor it, deliberate in my movements, working the angle in which the head of my cock is stroking her g-spot, and waiting for the right moment. My mind spirals in wicked little bursts of erotic musings until I tip my face to her neck, suck on the tender spot just above her shoulder, and then let my teeth dig in just slightly but quickly, like a flash fire in a forest.

As she explodes around me, I ramp up the pace of my thrusts until she’s crying out and begging me for more, and I give her what she wants, maybe more than she expected. Her body’s trembling and I know what’s about to happen, even if she doesn’t. My angle is intentional, and she finally begins the pleading that I knew was coming. “Oh, Steffen, oh god, oh, god. Oh, god, please, oh, god. Steffen, please? Please? Oh, god, oh, jesus, oh jesus, oh, oh, oh . . .” Her voice drops and in a deep growl, she cries out, “Oh, god, OH, GOD, STEFFEN, NOOOOO . . .”

That’s when it happens. There’s a sudden gush of wetness that shoots down between us, soaking us and the sofa thoroughly. Now she’s screaming, “Shit! Fuck me! Oh, god, baby, stop, STOP! I can’t take any more, I can’t! I CAN’T! Oh, god . . .” I let her go on like that for, oh, about five more minutes, until she’s frantic and practically pummeling my chest to get me to cease fire. Her mound, my abs, and our thighs are wet and slick, and I drop onto her and drag my fingers up her back and into the hair at the nape of her neck, fisting a handful in both palms and pulling her head back to force her view to my face.

I grin. “Good?”

Her eyes go wide. “Steffen! What the hell?”

That makes me snicker. “What? What’s wrong, baby?”

“Are you trying to kill me?” She’s glaring up at me and I’m trying hard not to laugh. But the smirk I’m wearing is going to get me into a world of trouble, I’m pretty sure.

“What? You didn’t like it?”

She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t
say
that!” I give her a sweet little peck on the lips, and when I pull back again, she’s grinning.

“Put you through your paces, huh, little subbie?”

“Is that what you call it? Geez. Well, Sir, I hope you’re happy. Now I’ve got to clean everything up. What the hell am I going to do about this sofa?”

“I’m very, very happy. My little girl’s a squirter!” With that, I unwind my hands from her hair and trail them down her sides until I can tickle her ribs. “And call the carpet cleaning guys tomorrow to come and clean the sofa. Or we’ll buy a new one.”

“Quit! Quit! I swear, Steffen . . . cut it out!” She’s laughing and I’m laughing and we’re rolling around and she’s squealing. And then I just stop. “What? Why’d you stop? What’s wrong?”

I look into that lovely face and I see a future that’s bright and promising. “I’m just looking at the love of my life, my wife, the mother of my children.” She smiles at me and I watch as big tears escape the outer corners of both eyes and roll down her temples into her hair. “Oh, sweetie, why are you crying?”

“I love you, Steffen. I love you more than I thought it was possible to love somebody. I’ve never been as happy in my whole life as I am right now.”

“Good.” I roll us to our sides so we’re more comfortable and stroke her soft cheek with my fingers. “I’m so excited about our life together. We’re going to have a home and a family and fun and laughter and people who’ll stand by us through thick and thin. And each other. Don’t forget each other.”

She just stares at me.

“Oh, yeah, right, sorry. I love you, Sheila. I love you to infinity and beyond. To the moon and back. Deep as the ocean, high as the sky. Until the end of time. Wait, I’m thinking – there’s got to be another cheesy, corny one in there, I’m sure.” She giggles. “But I really do, baby. I love you and I’ll love you forever.”

“I like the last one best.”

I smile. “Me too.” Without warning, she puts both hands on my sternum and gives me a push.

I hit the floor in front of the sofa and all the breath is knocked right out of my lungs. But before I can gasp or sit up, she’s on top of me, tickling me and nibbling on my neck. My gasping turns to howls of laughter, and she has me screaming, “Stop! Stop! Woman, stop it!” Eventually she just slumps on top of me, shaking with laughter, and I ignore the pain in my back from the hard floor and the headache I’m about to get from where my skull smacked the hardwood. Her weight on top of me feels right, and I tighten my arms around her and kiss her forehead.

I can’t imagine what life without her would be like. And I hope I never have to find out.