Page 49 of Homewrecker

A pretty girl in my arms as the wind blows her hair around.

The smell of coconut surrounding me, as the tropical theater relaxes us; the wind in the palms, the crashing of waves on the shore. It’s exactly where I want to be.

I don’t need to look down to know that my pretty girl is Dylan. I can sense that it’s her.

The moment feels so real. I can practically taste the salt in the air.

But where’s the baby?

My dream-thoughts have me opening my dream-eyes, looking at the beach. There’s no one here, and when I look down at Dylan in my arms, she’s simply smiling at me.

“Where’s the boy?” I ask. How do I know she’s having a boy? Did she mention it? No, I know she didn’t mention it. She must have used ‘he’ and I just never had her elaborate on it.

“He’s playing,” my sleep Dylan tells me, as she pokes me in the stomach. If she keeps that up, I’m going to take her right here.

Sex in a hammock would be a new experience.

She pokes me again, this time it’s like she’s rubbing her hand hard over my stomach, only to do it again.

The feeling is too real, and it pulls me from my dream.

Something moves against my stomach again, and it forces me to wake up completely.

The room is cast in a blue glow from the Energy Saver mode of the projector and I look down to see Dylan is still sleeping. In my own sleep, I’d turned toward her, and she’s pressed to me in every place possible.

Again, there’s a rolling and I realize…

It’s her belly.

The baby is doing crazy acrobatics in her small stomach and I inch back, curious. My eyes shoot to Dylan’s face as I gently place my large hand over her stomach. Hell, my hand damn near covers it.

The baby stills, whatever body part pushing against the womb sticking out, so Dylan’s stomach is lopsided.

How cool…

I wish the baby would move again, but it doesn’t seem to want to.

Cautiously, I rub my hand over the bump and even though a voice in my head is telling me to move my hand, to leave Dylan in here by herself, I can’t make myself move.

“If you poke my side, he’ll roll again.” Dylan’s sleep-thickened voice startles me, and I snatch my hand back.

She opens her eyes slowly and yawns, quickly bringing her hand up to her mouth as she does. “He’s an early riser,” she finally manages. She rolls to her back before reaching for my hand. Skin connects with skin, and my already morning-hard cock jerks in my pants.

Dylan lifts her hand—did she feel the jolt too?—but then puts it back.

“Here,” she says, bringing my hand to its previous spot on her stomach. “Wait for it.” She lets go of my wrist and I’m torn between watching my hand and watching her face.

Within seconds, she has the baby moving again.

She may not look like it, but this is an actual baby—a real sized baby—inside of her. I don’t know what I’d thought, but as it moves and causes her stomach to ripple, it’s evident that this isn’t some small five-inch baby.

“Where the hell do you put the baby?” I find myself blurting and Dylan laughs lightly, even though the sound is still sleepy.

I wonder if she’s completely aware of what she’s doing right now.

God, I hope she is.

I feel like this is some important hurdle, and if she’s not completely on board, if she’s doing this is some sort of dream state, I don’t know how I’ll go on without moving back to this.

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