The Baby Connection. Dawn Atkins
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make time…” He was looking at her like that and she returned the look, full throttle. The gin, the talk, the fact she was sharing her graduation night with a man whose work she so admired made her bold. She wanted him to touch her, to kiss her. She wanted to touch and kiss him. She wanted, period. The roar of a vacuum cleaner startled her and she jumped.
Noah smiled. “We should let these folks close up.” He’d long ago paid the tab, but he laid a twenty on the table and nodded at the bartender.
When they stood, Mel swayed, surprised by how unsteady she felt.
Noah caught her elbow. “You okay?”
“Martinis are not for sissies,” she said, embarrassed to be such a lightweight. She’d been so excited she hadn’t felt the effects of the gin. “I’d better not drive. I’ll get a cab.”
“I have a better idea,” he said with a slow smile. “Stay with me, Mel. Tuck me in.”
Dios mio. That was the sexiest thing a man had ever said to her. He clasped her hand, pulled her closer and kissed her.
Pure power roared through her—like lightning or a nuclear blast, something spinning off a supercollider maybe. Her knees turned to water and her body shook so hard that her teeth bumped Noah’s.
Noah broke off the kiss, looking equally blown away. “What the hell was that?”
“I’m not sure, but I vote for more,” she managed to say.
He laughed, deep and easy. “Then it’s unanimous. Come on.” He took her arm and they headed out of the bar.
The elevator ride was a forever of agony while Mel’s body burned with desire—pure, raw, uncut—the best rush of all. When they had to stop at the door for Noah to find his key card, frustration made her groan.
“Hang on, let me get us to a bed,” he said, kissing her temple tenderly, as if to sustain her through the wait for the lock to whir and flash green.
Inside the room, they kissed in the dark. Mel held on tightly to Noah, afraid if she didn’t she’d melt to the floor. She felt the ridge of his erection against her stomach while his hands kneaded her backside. Wow. Just wow.
With a groan, he broke off. “Hang on…I need to make sure…” He bent for his backpack and unzipped a compartment, from which he tossed a toothbrush, comb, other stuff, then held up a strip of three condoms. “Let’s hope these haven’t passed their use-by date.”
She started to tell him they didn’t need condoms—pregnancy was virtually impossible for her, plus she was on birth control for irregular periods—but by then Noah had her on the bed and nothing else mattered. They tore off their clothes as though they were each other’s most-longed-for Christmas gift, tossing items left and right like so much shredded wrapping paper.
Once they were naked, though, everything slowed way, way down. Noah lay on top of her, taking her in. “You are so beautiful.”
And he was so handsome. His tousled hair framed his face, looking soft, but masculine. His eyes, a mesmerizing brown with swirls of gold, seemed to study her forever. His dimple was a hint of a dent, like a secret he shared only with people who really pleased him. And he seemed really, really pleased with her.
“I can’t believe I’m actually here.” She’d been thrilled about a ten-minute car ride with the man. Now she was in bed with him.
“If you’re not, then this is a damn fine dream.” He cupped her face with warm palms. “I hope it lasts all night.”
She lifted her hips against him, bending her knees, letting him know where she wanted him to be.
“I need more of this,” he said, casting a hungry eye over her body.
Inwardly, she groaned with impatience. Then his fingers traced her nipples and she shuddered with pleasure. Maybe he had a point. Slow could be very good….
He explored her with careful fingers—her breasts and stomach, her hips and thighs. When he finally touched her where she most burned for him, she bucked against his hand, white-hot need coursing through her.
“Be…inside…before I…come.” She could barely form the words.
He applied the condom and did what she’d been waiting for with one sweet stroke. It felt so good she nearly yelped.
He stilled there, inside her, letting the desire between them build, while their hearts pounded, their breaths came in harsh gasps, their bodies pumped out heat. Finally, they began to move together, sliding forward and back in glorious unison, like a dance they knew to their bones.
Mel’s climax came fast.
Noah watched, holding her. “Yeah…that’s it… So nice,” he said while she quivered and quaked against him, saying “Oh” over and over again.
When she stilled, he murmured, “Beautiful,” and sped his thrusts and soon pulsed inside her.
Afterward, she lay across him, recovering little by little, amazed by what had happened. She’d had sex with a man she hardly knew, except through his work, and it had been easy and natural, with none of the usual first-time awkwardness or adjustments.
This felt like a dream. It looked like one, too, with the lamplight washing them in gold, the same glowing shade that colored her best dreams—all of the sex ones, where she awoke rocking her hips against the sheets.
Noah rose on an elbow to study her, tracing her jaw with the tips of his fingers, then her cheek. “You have a great face. Like a model. The cheekbones and shape. Beautiful skin, too.”
“That’s the Indian in me. The bone structure and skin color. Some Latinos think the whiter you are, the more class you have, but my mother taught me to be proud to be mestizo—a mix of Spanish and Indian.”
“Were you born in the U.S.?”
“Just barely. When my mother fled Salvador, she was pregnant. The trauma of the crossing put her into labor.”
“She fled?”
“She’d been speaking out against the death squads, even though her family begged her not to. Others who’d protested had been killed or disappeared. The guerrillas helped her escape. Sympathetic clergy connected her with American college students who got her over the border, but the desert trek was brutal.”
“She must have been very brave.”
“She was. She was only twenty. She had a mission, too. A journalist named Xavier Sosa had taken pictures of a village massacre he wanted the rest of the world to see. She brought the film to the U.S.”
“And…?”
“And the photos did shift public opinion, but not enough to change U.S. policy, which supported the regime at the time. Her request for asylum failed as a result.” She paused. “Eventually, she applied for amnesty and got her papers.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“The tragedy was that Xavier Sosa ‘disappeared.’ Killed, like other brave reporters and dissidents, even clergy. I think about him a lot. He laid down his life for the truth.”
Noah didn’t speak, simply held her tighter.
She didn’t usually get so fervent, but this night was special.
“Did what happen to him influence your career choice?” he asked.
She returned his gaze. “Yes. He’s a good part of why I wanted to become a news photographer. I never told anyone before.” In a way, that was more intimate than the sex they’d shared. She knew he would respect her secret.
“It’s a powerful story, Mel.” He paused. “I’m curious. What about your father? Where was he during all this?”
“Chasing an earthquake probably. He was with the Red Cross and left her village before my mother even knew