Free The Real Soccer Moms of Beaver County by H.J. Bellus, Magan Vernon

his face down until our lips meet. I match each one of his thrusts with my mouth. Moaning and kissing harder as he speeds up, my hips grind up to meet the base of his cock, creating the perfect amount of friction to tease my release.
    “Hold on, Blanche.” Clancy’s fingers dig into my hips and then he rolls us over.
    My head spins with the quick movement, my hands dig into his chest trying to steady myself.
    “Show me if you want this? If you want us?”
    In the oddest of moments, tears begin to roll down my cheeks, and the last thing I want to do is send Clancy the wrong message. I begin to slowly roll my hips back and forth, slow at first then picking up speed. My nails dig into the flesh on his chest as I quicken my pace and feel him expand in me.
    “I need you, Clancy,” I moan out while riding him.
    He grunts and sinks his teeth into his lower lip. His adorable blush colors both of his cheeks while his eyes are glazed over with an emotion I can’t pinpoint. When his fingers dip into my hips, I fall over the edge calling out his name with each wave of my orgasm. In a needy fashion, I ride out the very last ounce of my release until I shiver everywhere.
    “Blanche. Blanche.” Clancy grits out and begins bucking up underneath me. It’s not tender, but hungry and ravenous. I push my hips down as far as they can go to meet each of his thrusts up into me. His cock pulses and grows inside me and I know he’s close which sets off another wave of pleasure in me.
    “Clancy, I’m falling.”
    “Fall, Blanche,” he grits out, then lets out a satisfying growl as he releases into me.
    “Are you sure about this?” I ask, collapsing down on his chest with my chestnut waves enveloping us.
    “Welcome home, Blanche Morningwood.”

Chapter Seven
    L una
    Tiny Love

    O leander’s wails echoed through the tiny guesthouse, though that wasn’t hard to do when four of us lived in a four-hundred square foot structure.
    “Brady, can you put Ole on my boob? I promise I’ll get up in a bit,” I groaned, turning to my side with my boob popping out of my tank top.
    With the first kid, I was always covered up when breastfeeding and now that we were down to the fourth, I didn’t care who saw my tits as long as my kid wasn’t screaming.
    Brady didn’t answer and the only sound, underneath the shrill screams, was my four-year-old, Cypress, snoring from either the floor or the bed. God only knows where he ended up. Him, Willow, and Saige had some mattresses up in the loft, but they always ended up in our bed or sleeping at grandma and grandpa’s, who lived above the funeral home literally ten feet away from our front door.
    I opened one eye then the other, staring at the sleeping, half-naked kid and over him at the waving arms hanging out of the bassinet.
    “Fuck,” I muttered, slowly sitting up then walking over to the bassinet.
    Like on autopilot, I changed Oleander’s diaper then put him to my nipple where he greedily attacked it and finally stopped screaming.
    I glanced around the small bedroom and Brady was nowhere to be found.
    He was either up all night at his parents, watching SportsCenter or he had a new business idea and I would have to deal with him being obsessed with a new project for a few weeks before he gave up.
    We still had two chairs in our bedroom that were painted with some homemade chalk paint and another seven sitting behind the house from his last brilliant idea to become a furniture painter.
    That ended when he realized he sucked at painting and no one was buying the furniture on Ebay or Facebook sale sites.
    We also had a closet full of homemade paper, wire jewelry, and half-made Adirondack chairs that he thought he could make into different businesses. Eight years together and probably eighty different businesses, while I popped out four kids and worked at his parent’s funeral home.
    While Oleander sucked his breakfast down, I made my way out of the bedroom and to the small living area that also