Chapter 54: Tommy

(18 minutes)

I woke before Cheryl and just lay there, watching her sleep, lost in thought. What we’d done the night before was wrong as hell, but staring at the naked angel beside me, I couldn’t dredge up a single ounce of guilt. My only fear was doing it again. One weak moment and we’d be fused forever, body and soul.

Cheryl’s eyes fluttered open and pinned me. “Tell me that look means you’re deciding whether to eat my pussy again ... or finally shove that gorgeous cock inside me and pump me full of cum.”

“You trying to get pregnant?” I asked, half-sarcastic. “You’re not on the pill, and there isn’t a single condom in this house.”

“I can think of worse things than carrying our baby,” she said softly.

“I’ll remind you of that when some kid’s screaming for milk every two hours, Miss Crack-of-Noon,” I teased.

“On the plus side, these would get even bigger,” she said with a grin, yanking the sheet down and cupping her bare tits. “You could nurse on one while the baby takes the other.”

“Then definitely not my kid,” I shot back. “Mom always said I was a healthy eater and could drain her and a bottle at every overnight feeding. So to share, it would have to be somebody else’s child.”

“Then the baby just gets bottles,” she laughed, swinging a leg over me and pressing a hard nipple to my lips. “Wanna practice now?”

I bench-pressed her off me by the ribs and dumped her on the mattress. “No. Up. You’ve got camp, and I’ve got work.”

A second later, her naked body was plastered on me again. But something in her knew better than to deliberately grind against my morning hard-on. “But I’d rather stay in bed with you all day, doing what we did last night, and more,” she teased. “Oh, morning, Daddy,” then she kissed me deeply.

I liked this playful version of her a hell of a lot more than the usual grumpy teen, and we both knew why. “Good morning, sweet girl,” I said.

Before I could finish, she cut in, eyes sparkling. “God, I love that. Say it every morning? Or maybe ‘my sweet little future wife’?”

“My sweet girl it is,” I said firmly, killing the wife talk cold. “And so you know, I don’t regret last night, and I won’t promise it’ll never happen again. But I’ll fight like hell to keep it from happening while you’re still jailbait.” I continued, “But right now, sweet means getting your ass out of this bed.”

Cheryl’s whole face lit up the second she heard the loophole. She knew exactly how to play it. “Yeah, yeah, I’m getting up,” she sighed theatrically, sliding off me and giving my erection the lightest little pat through the sheet. “Too bad someone’s already up and ready for round two.”

She fished her pajamas out of the tangled sheet and let them dangle from her hand, making no move to put them on, just slow-rolling that tight little ass for my benefit. She was letting me know what I’d turned down by making her get up. She added an extra sway when she hit the creaking floorboard. “Leave that squeak alone,” she said over her shoulder. “Perfect early-warning system next time you’ve got Helen over.”

Half an hour later, she bounced out, dressed for camp and dragging a tiny suitcase. I eyed the bag. “Two weeks of clothes and makeup in that thing?”

She replied, “They said there won’t be time for makeup. Plus, we’d just sweat it off. And we’ll be given time to do laundry. The itinerary said bring only four days’ worth of clothes and one set of pajamas. The clothes should be shorts we can exercise and do cheer routines in.”

“Fine by me. Cereal?” I was already moving to the kitchen. “Faster cleanup.”

“Works for me. Bacon and eggs would just come back up on the first sprint,” she laughed, grabbing bowls.

“Pour heavy on the milk. We’re both gone for two weeks.” The bowls ended up half cereal, half milk.

When she finished, she tipped the bowl to her lips like always, but this time let a thick white stream escape the corner of her mouth and slide down her chin. She put the bowl down and, before wiping the white stream with the back of her hand, smirked. “Remind you of anything you want me to do later?”

“Not funny,” I warned, voice low. “That is not to be even joked about. The wrong person hears the joke, and then we’re both in a lot of trouble.”

“Fine,” she huffed, but got up, rinsed the bowls, and helped me load her bag into the station wagon. I double-checked the shed was locked tight, then secured the house once she was out.

It was a short drive to the school drop-off. Six cheerleaders were already milling around. Cheryl went around to each of the girls and gave them hugs. She did the same to a couple of the football players, as they were using the same mustering point for their camp. Cheryl looked happy enough, until Helen appeared. Then she lit up like a Christmas tree.

Dorothy materialized the second the girls vanished. “Kids are gone,” she purred, sliding a hand over my crotch. “Maybe we can get our freak on before your flight?”

“Too late, I’ve got a plane to catch and barely enough time if I floor it,” I said, killing her hopes flat.

“Damn, you sure you can’t spare five minutes?” she whispered, fingers rubbing me through my jeans. “I’m soaked, and it won’t take long.”

“Sorry, not even that’s happening,” I told her, stepping back. “But when I’m back, we’ll make time.”

“Good, maybe by then I won’t feel so nauseous all the time,” she said, giving me one last teasing pat before walking off to find the girls. Cheryl and I had already said goodbye in the car. She’d tried to turn it into a full-on tongue battle, but I kept it to a quick married-couple peck.

I climbed in and pointed the wagon toward Malmstrom Air Force Base. A Lockheed C-5 Galaxy was hopping from Malmstrom to Donaldson AFB (really a joint civilian-military field these days). The surplus bird was being handed off to the South Carolina Air National Guard. It brought back memories of other flights where the real briefing only came after we landed.

This time, the briefing came before wheels-up. It was anice change. Cheryl being gone two weeks gave me the window I needed for a government-sanctioned job, hence the free ride on a military transport. Reagan’s CIA wanted quiet payback for the hostage crisis. An Ayatollah’s grandson needed to disappear into a black site outside Kingstree, South Carolina.

So I lined everything up while the girls were obsessed with tanning. When they weren’t slathered in Helen’s god-awful coconut-oil mix and laid out in those dental-floss bikinis, they were jogging, or taking turns on their knees for me. Their obsession left me free to set up a month-long mailbox at Mike’s Mailboxes in Greenville. Twenty bucks, and Mike mailed me a key. I told him to hold the packages, I’d swing by in a week to pick up the two cases I was shipping myself.