The Player and the Single Mom

The housekeeper dropped her gaze to the floor as she grabbed the key fob while backing up, speaking rapid-fire Spanish. The door slammed shut behind her as she left.

Cash immediately started to move inside me again, but I pulled my head back to look at him. “Seriously? Shouldn’t you go lock the door?”

“Too late for that. She already walked in. Besides, I don’t want to stop what I’m doing.” He eased halfway out of me and then thrust deep, fingers squeezing my ass.

I moaned, distracted by his movement.

“Do you want me to stop what I’m doing?” he asked.

“No,” I breathed. “Though I find it annoying that you insist on calling me ma’am but you called her miss.”

“Do you really want to have this conversation now?”

No. But I was stubborn and I’d brought it up so I had to follow through. “Yes. I do.”

Cash stopped thrusting in and out. He just rested inside me, his cock throbbing. “That girl was probably twenty years old. Miss is for young women, not women who are the mother of three children and have fourteen-year-old daughters. It’s not an insult. It’s respect. Well, and now it’s also to tease you because you’re really easy to rile up. It doesn’t mean that I don’t find you sexy as hell.”

“You do?” I asked, because I was, in fact, sorry I’d brought it up.

He started moving again. “Yes. I find you sexy as hell, I find you gorgeous, tasty, irresistible… should I keep going?”

My eyes were half-closed and I squeezed his muscular ass, overwhelmed by how full he made me feel, how raw and sensual and desperate. “Yes. Please keep going.” I meant I wanted him to move inside me again, but I didn’t object to more compliments either. I’d never been called tasty before.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and his voice was seductive, commanding, firm.

I shivered.

Then he carried me to the couch.

My tea went stone-cold by the time he was done with me.

And I decided that I loved Mexico.

That opinion was setin concrete when we spent the morning swimming in the pool, horseback riding, and taking an afternoon siesta that involved no sleeping and lots and lots of sex, including me riding him on the lounge chair on our patio. Something I would have never thought I would have the nerve to do. But there I was, all Sera the Lap Dancer, like I didn’t have a care in the world.

The freedom I felt in those minutes was fantastic. I loved the way he supported my body with his arms, his strength, but allowed me to move. To set the pace and rhythm of how I wanted to experience our bodies joined together. I found the perfect sweet spot, my hands on his shoulders, my climax building and building until I cried out, biting my lip.

A bone-deep satisfaction had settled in, and it grew stronger after each orgasm.

I was being lulled into relaxing by the power of sex and I was enjoying every second of it.

Until I shifted and his expression changed.

“Uh-oh,” Cash said after I climbed off of him and collapsed into the chair next to his.

Not what you want a man to say first thing after climax.

“It broke,” he added.

“We broke your penis?” I asked, confused. “I sincerely hope not. I’m not done with it yet.”

“The condom broke.” Cash sounded a little concerned. He was staring down at his cock.

For a brief second, my mellow mood shattered, and I felt a tremor of fear. But then I remembered the reality of my biology. I lounged in the chair on my side and looked at him. “We don’t have to worry about getting pregnant, I swear. My third pregnancy was via IVF. Three rounds of IVF, I should add. It took six years, a zillion shots in the ass, and six eggs to have one Marigold. And that was six years ago. My ovaries are probably like the Sahara desert now. Just wind blowing around in there.”

Cash looked relieved. “Wow, you went through a lot to have her. That takes commitment and sacrifice.”

I was wearing my bikini top and cover-up with no bottoms. I glanced around to see where Cash had thrown them. “Yeah, and then two years later my husband died. Sometimes I think if I had known then what I know now I wouldn’t have tried so hard, but then…”

“You wouldn’t have Marigold.”

That made me pause in the search for my bottoms. I smiled. “Exactly. I wouldn’t have Marigold. And she’s fantastic. She’s funny and brilliant and a pain in the ass, but she’s really just my whole heart.”

“She really is amazing. I like being around that kid.” Cash turned toward me and pushed my hair back off my forehead. “If you were pregnant, I’d stick around and support you, just so you know. My mother says all babies are blessings.”

If I wasn’t so confident about the improbability of it all, I’d lose all my vacation chill at his words, sweet as they were. “You must be an only child,” I said, amused.

“Nope. There are seven of us.”

“Seven? Bless her heart. Good thing I’ll never meet your mom because I’d have to tell her that.”

“You’ve already met my mom. Or at least, you were a few feet away from her. I don’t think she introduced herself.”

“I met your mom?” And why were we talking about it two seconds after I’d gone cowgirl on him?

He nodded, tossing the condom on the end table. He adjusted his trunks back into place. “Yeah, at the game in November where Toni came to talk to Miles. My parents were in the seats right next to you.”

I fished around in my memory of attending that football game and stared at him in horror. I recalled a pleasant older couple who we had inconvenienced multiple times. “Oh my God, Johnny dumped his fries in your dad’s lap. I spent half the game going in and out of the aisle too. My butt was in your father’s face repeatedly. Why didn’t you tell me when I asked for the tickets?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think about it.”

I definitely needed my bits covered to have this conversation. And that was such a man answer. Didn’t think about it. How convenient.

“I guess it's a little late to apologize to your parents. But you have six siblings? Where are you in the pecking order?”

“I am third. I have four brothers and two sisters.”

“Can you name them in order super fast?”