“Phoebe,” I start, infusing my voice with as much sincerity as I can. I need her to believe what I’m about to say. “I don’t want to take Lincoln from you.”
She sniffles and refuses to look at me. “You don’t?”
I shake my head. “It never even crossed my mind. Why would I take my son away from a mother who clearly loves him?”
“I don’t know,” she whispers, her shoulders slumping as she draws in on herself. “I didn’t think that far into it.”
I slide closer to her, taking the full weight of Lincoln in my arm when I leave the comfort of the armrest behind. He doesn’t feel that heavy, but I imagine he would if I sat here and held him long enough. And damn, do I ever want to do that.
I reach over and take Phoebe’s chin in my hand, turning her to face me. “I didn’t either,” I admit. “But I promise we’ll figure it out. Whatever we come up with, it will be fair to both of us. And I will be paying child support.”
Her letter mentioned something about not wanting money from me, but I’ll be damned if I don’t support them both in every way possible.
“No,” she says, shaking her head before turning to face me. “That’s not why I tracked you down. I want Lincoln to know his father.”
“And he will.” I bump her with my shoulder. “He’ll just get to do it with some of my money helping to pay for his necessities.”
She shakes her head and sighs. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re stubborn?”
I shrug. “Only every person I’ve ever met.”
“Yeah, I can believe that about you.” Phoebe leans over and looks at Lincoln. “He looks like he’s done.” She takes the empty bottle from his mouth and places it on the table before standing. “Pick him up and hold him against your chest so he’s facing behind you. Let me grab a burp cloth from the bedroom and then you can burp him.”
Burp him? Oh, I’ve heard of this. I need to pat him on the back to help the gas bubbles move up. Easy. I can handle this.
“We can do this, can’t we, buddy?” I say to Lincoln while I gently pat his back with one hand. “I bet we’ll have you burping before your mom even gets—”
He lets out an enormous belch just as Phoebe yells, “Don’t start until I get there. He sometimes spits up, so you’ll want to put a cloth over your shoulder to protect your clothes.”
The wetness hits my shoulder and drenches my t-shirt before she’s done speaking. Instinctively, I lean forward to stop the liquid from dripping off me onto the couch.
“Oh. Oh no,” Phoebe comes around the front of the couch and takes Lincoln from my arms. She wipes his mouth with a cloth before gesturing for me to turn around. “I am so sorry,” she says, her voice straining with her attempt to hold back her laughter while she dabs at my shirt. “First you get peed on and now this.”
I grimace. Getting covered in bodily fluids repeatedly isn’t exactly the best way to instill Phoebe with confidence in my ability to take care of Lincoln.
“I’m sorry,” I say, grabbing the cloth from her and taking over the cleanup of my shirt. “I came over to learn how to take care of a baby, and it seems like I need someone to take care of me instead.”
She laughs. “Because you got pissed on? And then puked on? No, that’s pretty normal with babies. It happens.” A grumbling noise comes from Lincoln and Phoebe’s eyes widen. “To be on the safe side, though, I’ll take care of this diaper change. Wouldn’t want you to run screaming when you discover the sort of mess Lincoln’s truly capable of making.” Another rumble from Lincoln’s rear end punctuates her statement. “Be back in a minute.”
She carries Lincoln back to the bedroom, her ass looking even better in her jeans than the last time I allowed myself to look. I didn’t know who she was that night at the company party, and Annabelle’s appearance had made me too angry to pay attention, but there’s no denying that Phoebe’s ass is the stuff my dirty fantasies are made of. Especially after learning of her interest in the Christmas Cheer butt plug collection.
I picked up a set for her when I left work the other day, refusing to let my dad’s threats distract me from the mission I’d set for myself. When Amanda told me Phoebe had complimented the Christmas display she’d insisted on setting up on her desk, I knew I had to get it for her. It’s probably wildly inappropriate, but I’m hoping the excuse of being able to gift products because I own the company will be enough that she won’t think I’m some kind of creep.
Although, I do feel a little like a creep. Not that it stopped me from giving her the set. I’ve thought about using it with her at least a hundred times since I brought it home, and every single time it’s made me disturbingly hard. My dick can’t handle that kind of punishment for much longer. If I’m not careful, it will have an imprint of my zipper on it until the day I die.
With a sigh, I push that thought from my mind and finish cleaning my shirt as best I can before taking the burp cloth to the kitchen sink to rinse it out. It’s amazing to me how sour the milk smells after Lincoln just finished drinking it, but what do I know? Babies are a mystery.
The smell of sour milk doesn’t dissipate when the cloth is clean and I’m embarrassed to admit how long I take to figure out it’s me that smells. Or more accurately, it’s my shirt that smells.Well, that’s disgusting.Reaching back, I grab the neck of my t-shirt, pull it over my head, and drop it in the sink with a wet splat. No wonder it still smells. I missed most of the mess when I wiped it. I’ll give it a quick wash with dish soap, then run out to my car to grab the spare I keep around for workplace emergencies. It would shock you to know how much lube gets on you at a sex toy factory if you’re not careful.
When I look up, Phoebe is standing in the doorway with her mouth open wide as she stares at my naked torso. Blood rushes to my dick at the heat I imagine in her eyes. “I should have gone out and grabbed my fresh shirt before taking this one off, I guess, hey?” I release a nervous chuckle and rub the back of my neck. I’m doing an excellent job of convincing her I’m a creep. First the butt plugs and now this.
Well done, Archer. You’re such a dickhead.
“Well,hello there,handsome. Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Phoebe?” An older, dark-haired woman squeezes around Phoebe and joins me at the sink. “I’m Sheila. I’m Phoebe’s mom. You must be Archer.” She wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
“Jesus, Mom. Get off of him.” Gavin comes along behind Sheila, taking Lincoln from Phoebe and leaving her standing in the doorway. He sniffs the air like a dog might. “From the smell in here, I’m guessing he got puked on.”
Sheila lets me go and I reach out to shake the hand I’m surprised to see Gavin holding out to me. “Nice to see you again, Gavin,” I say. “And you’re absolutely right about the puke. I got too cocky and didn’t wait for Phoebe to grab the burp cloth. I was just about to go to my car and grab a shirt.”
