More Layers: Book Two Layers Series (20 page)

“The puppies are at the cottage with Sam and Lanie.”

“How was London?”

“A nightmare, but we managed to settle things. Sam was right about refurbishing the plant. It’s not feasible. I should have listened to her.”

“She is the project engineer.”

“Yes she is and she’s going to have to move there for a while and Lane isn’t too happy about that.”

“You do look tired, my dear.”

“I’m exhausted. I was going to try and sleep on the plane, but I ended up working.”

“Babe, you need to slow down.”

“You know that I’d planned to take the week off, but then the Sheffield plant came up and then the problem in Hong Kong.”

“Nothing is more important than you and the baby.”

“I know.”

He sits up. “You go and get undressed and I’ll run you a bath.”

“No, you sleep. I’m good.”

He gets out of bed, scoops me up and carries me to the bathroom.

“I love you, Mr. Ryan.”

“You better, Ms. Grant.”

He fills the tub while I take off my clothes, makeup and pull my hair into a knot.

When I get done he’s still filling the tub. He turns—oh my. Are we going camping?

“What’s with the tent pole, Mr. Ryan?”

He rubs his hand down the front of his boxer briefs. “Are you referring to...this little thing?” he teases.

“Yes. Your wee one.”

“Can I join you?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Ryan. I don’t think there is enough room for all ‘three’ of us.” I run my hand up and down the wee tent pole.

He moans. “That’s too bad. I really could use a soak.”

“All is not lost. I’ll make room.”

I pull down his boxers and he steps out of them. I grab a towel and place it on the tiled floor in front of him, and then kneel. I take his cock in my hand and look up at him.

“God, I love you.”

“What man doesn’t love a woman kneeling in front of him?”

“Touché.”

I wrap my hand around his wee one.

He mutters some unintelligible words as his head falls back.

I lick, suck, and nip while I gently roll his balls.

“Oh God,” he moans, “so close, baby.”

God how I love those two words—”close baby.” Almost as much as I love those other two words—”I’m coming.” When it comes to giving Jaxson his beloved BJ’s, I’m a Navy Seal. I want to get in, get the job done, and get the hell out. You might be saying to yourself, “Alexia is one lazy cock-sucking bitch.” There are times that this is true. But here’s the thing, not only do Seals like to get in and get out, they want to achieve this without any causalities. The longer it takes to get the job done, the more potential for injuries and or causalities. The same goes for BJ’s. The longer it takes for you to achieve the goal—”orgasm”—the more likely you are to sustain an injury. Another concern is the “size” of the operation. Larger operations are riskier. Larger cocks are riskier. I’m taking great risk by putting his overachieving cock in my mouth, and the longer it’s there, the more likely my uvula will become permanently detached.

I like my uvula, and I want to keep it, so I’m deploying the big guns. I massage his perineum, and then as stealthy as a bomber, I slide my finger on down to his asshole and circle it a few times. Then I drop the bomb—I push in the tip.

“Oh, God,” he moans and pushes back and down on my finger, impaling himself.

Whoa! This is new territory for me. I’ve never done a full finger—”the nuclear bomb.”

“Oh, God. Oh, God. Yes, God. Please, God. Don’t stop, don’t stop,” he chants as he pumps my finger and plunges in and out of my mouth.

He rocks back and de-plunges and then he rocks forward and plunges me hard.

“Holy cock-sucker hell!” I cry out in my head as my right eye tears up. Abort mission, I repeat, abort mission. Uvula down, I repeat, uvula down. Airway has been compromised.

“God, Lex, feels soooo fucking good.”

Not!

I try to disengage from his cock but he’s not having it. He’s got me bunkered down and there is only one-way out. If one finger can drive him to the edge— two should push him over.

I have to time this just right. The next time he rocks forward, it’s going in.

He rocks back then up and...finger number one meet finger number two.

“Oh my God. Yes, yes... I’m coming. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Mission accomplished—Hooah!

* * *

“I think she’s awake.”

“No, she’s not, you dork.”

“I’m not a dork.”

“Yes you are.”

My left eyelid is lifted.

“See, I told you she was awake,” Chase says.

“Well, I am now.”

“Mom, did you know Dad farts in his sleep?” JB asks.

I grin. “No I didn’t. But thanks for the heads up.”

Chase crawls to his dad’s side of the bed and pulls back the covers. “Look, Mom. Dad has a great big pee-pee.”

I laugh. “Yes, he does.”

“It looks swollen. I think it needs medical intention. Or maybe he has a stick up his arse, like Gram does, and it makes his pee-pee swell up like a balloon.”

“Maybe he has a peanut allergy,” JB adds, “we read about them online because Carrie’s friend, Ronny, ate a peanut and almost died. Her airway got constructed.”

“I never thought of that,” Chase says as he continues his inspect his dad’s morning hard-on.

I shake my head. Boys will be boys. “It’s medical ‘attention,’ and her airway was ‘constricted’ and your dad’s pee-pee is just fine. Big, but fine.”

Chase frowns and drops the covers. Then he crawls back to my side of the bed and kneels next to his brother.

“Do you know what today is?” JB asks me.

“Hmm. I think it’s Saturday.”

“Mom,” they both whine-pout.

“What? It’s not Saturday?”

“It’s Saturday, Mom,” Chase says, “but it’s a special Saturday.”

“A special Saturday?”

“Very special,” JB adds.

My palm makes contact with my forehead as I give it a dramatic knock. “Oh, now I remember it’s Christmas Eve—Eve.”

“Mommm,” JB moans.

“It’s the last day of work for Santa’s Elves for the year.”

“Nooo,” Chase says with whiny-pout.

“Oh, now I remember. How silly of me.” I shake my head with theatrical flair. “It’s adopt a reindeer day.”

“Can you do that?” JB asks me.

Chase frowns. “Did you really forget what today is?”

I smile and tousle his hair. “I could never ever forget what today is.”

“Isn’t it Saturday?” Jaxson asks.

“Dad!” they both scream and jump up and down, and then jump on and crawl all over him.

That should take care of his great big pee-pee.

“It’s our birthday, Dad,” Chase tells him.

“No way, dude. Are you sure?”

“Dad,” they both whine.”

“I think I know two three-year-olds that need a birthday tickle.”

They jump up and down and then fall in the center of the bed. They hoot and giggle as Jaxson and I tickle them until they are begging for mercy.

“No more! No more!” they giggle-plead.

“I think I know a mom that could uses a good tickling,” Jaxson says.

“No. No, I don’t think so,” I plead-pout.

They gang tickle me.

“Stop! I’m going to pee my panties.”

“Not until you cry ‘mercy,’“ JB says.

“All right. Mercy, mercy, please stop...oh crap.”

“What’s wrong?” Jaxson asks me.

“Too late.”

The boys giggle.

I get out of bed. “Not funny,” I say and point to them. “It’s ‘all’ of your faults, that I can’t hold my pee.”

Their laughter turns to hysteria.

Jaxson halts his hysteria. “Why is it my fault?”

I give him my “mom” look. And it’s one hell of a “mom” look. It trumps “The Brow”—any day.

He frown-pouts. “I guess I was the one who started it all.”

I nod, faux huff and walk to the bathroom. I finish what I’d started and step into the shower.

A few minutes later while I’m rinsing shampoo from my hair, I feel a warm hand between my legs, then warm lips on my belly.

I open my eyes and watch as he gifts my belly with another warm love peck.

“What are you doing?”

“Kissing my ‘girls’ good morning.”

“Where are the boys?”

“Lizbet came a knocking. Lester made birthday cinnamon rolls.”

“I see,” I say and frown. “So that means that’s the only kiss I’m going to get?”

He turns on another showerhead in our hunormous ten people shower, and steps under. “If I don’t hurry my ass, they’ll be gone.”

I finish up with my hair and turn off the water. I’d like to participate in some morning shower fun, but I can’t compete with Lester’s cinnamon rolls. Goddamn those sticky buns.

I get out and begin to dry off as Jax steps out next to me.

“That was quick.”

“I’m in a hurry,” he says as he runs a towel over his long, hot (God how I’d like to lick it dry) body and hair, and then walks into the dressing area.

I haven’t even begun to dry my (according to Phillipè) unfashionable, too long hair when he steps out, fully dressed.

“Well, I guess I know where you’re going to be for the next hour or so.”

“What are your plans for this morning?”

“I’m going to check on the party preparation, and then check in on the puppies. You’re still going to take them to lunch, aren’t you? So we can get things put together? They know about the party but I’d like some things to be a surprise.”

He gives me a quick peck on my forehead. “Yeah, I asked them what they wanted to do and they said go to a place called ‘Chuck Me Please.’“

I laugh. “It’s Chuck E. Cheese.”

“Whatever.”

“I think every kid likes that place because every parent hates it. The closest one is about an hour away, so you better plan accordingly.”

“I talked Stewart, Nick, Marco, and Henry into coming with us.”

“Those poor bastards.”

“It can’t be that bad. They do serve beer don’t they?”

“I don’t think so.”

He frowns. “We’ll survive, somehow.”

He gives me another quick kiss. “We’ll see you later then.”

“Have fun.”

* * *

“Lester, you’ve outdone yourself. The boys won’t want to eat it.”

“He’s been working on it for days,” Mary says.

“I bet he has. It’s a work of art. It doesn’t look like a cake. It looks exactly like a Matchbox car made out of Legos.

“So, you think they’ll like it?”

“Lester, they are going to love it. JB will want to take it apart and built something else and Chase will want to drive it around on the floor.”

“They might not have room for cake after all the rolls they devoured,” Mary adds.

“Don’t worry, they’ll find room.”

“The caterers are setting up and I’m going to start on the decorations.”

“Sounds good. I’m going to check on the puppies, and then I’ll come help you.”

“I can’t believe that they’re three already,” Mary says as her eyes begin to tear up.

“Mary, don’t cry.”

She bites her lip. “I’m good. I’m good.”

She is so going to cry.

I give them both a hug. “Thanks again for everything. I’ll see you two later.”

I exit stage right wanting to escape Mary’s cry-fest. Once that woman starts to cry, she can’t stop.

I look out the window. It’s been snowing for a few hours and there is a foot of new snow. I pull on some boots, grab a hat, and put on my coat. Then I make my way to the guesthouse, or what we like to call “Grant Cottage.”

Grant House, New York feels like home to me. It’s the only home I’ve owned other than the Soho loft that hasn’t been lived in by generations of ancestors. No ghosts or bad memories live here. We are going to fill it with family, friends, love and good memories.

I told Sam I wanted a large shower and tub, a comfortable home office, a heli-pad for Lane’s helicopter, stables with a riding arena, barn, a large indoor-outdoor pool for the boys, and guest cottage. She found the perfect wooded lot in upstate New York, not far from the Ryan Estate and built us a beautiful home. It’s new, but it looks like it’s been here for centuries and I hope it will be.

When I reach the cottage I walk to the back door. I am family, after all. I knock a few times and get no answer so I crack the door open. “Are you decent?” I yell.

I hear Lane laugh. “Unfortunately, yes, “ he says as he comes to meet me at the door.

I kick my boots off and hang up my coat. Then I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and a warm hug.

Lane looks out the window. “It’s really starting to stick.”

“Yeah, it’s really coming down.”

He takes my hand. “Come on in and join the fun.”

I walk into the main living area, or what was a living area. It’s been taken over by puppy paraphernalia. “Did you buy all this? It looks like a Puppies-R-Us in here.”

“Good morning to you, too, sis.”

“Sorry. Good morning.” I give her a peck on the cheek.

“And no, we didn’t buy all of this. Jules and Marco helped.”

Jules walks in from the kitchen with a puppy asleep in a...”Is that a baby carrier?”

“Good morning to you.”

“Sorry.” I walk over and give her a hug and kiss and pat the top of the puppy’s head.

“It’s not a baby carrier—it’s called a pooch pouch. See?” she says and shows me a hole near the bottom where a little cream-colored tail is poking out.

I shake my head. “What will they think of next?”

“You have no idea, girlfriend. I’m in the wrong business.”

I look round the room and spy something. What the...? “Is that a bassinet?” I ask anyone who cares to answer.

Sam laughs. “Of course not, it’s a canine cradle.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, of course it is.” I point to a playhouse-like structure. “And that’s a puppy palace, right?”

“Wrong again, sis. It’s a doggie dwelling.”

“Holy Christ.” I try one more time. I pick up something that looks like a mini-training potty. “A puppy potty?”

Sam walks over and takes it from me and lifts up the lid.

“Wipes?”

“Yes.” She points to a label.

I read it. “Holistic Hound Heiny Wipes.”

“That’s just wrong,” I say and sit down on a sofa.

Jules removes the now awakened puppy from the carrier and puts him on the floor next to his brother who has been chewing on what looks like... “Are those Chucks?!”