Skin To Skin Ch 03

Author's Note: Hello everybody!

I'm sorry for the delays!

I should have been leaving more frequent posts, but I have been busy. Apparently, my family thinks that I should not stay "coop up inside of my apartment" and I should spend weekends doing "fun" things.

Apparently for a lot of people, shopping at Home Depot, flea markets and IKEA is fun...

This is the second chapter of "Skin To Skin". In this chapter, it is not a lemon, even though there is a mention of sex.

By the way, there is a few more chapters to this story, because this story just happens to be a mogwai that was wet.

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"MOMMY!"

The sound of Rashida's voice had frightened me from my slumber. I thought she was hurt and then I thought that one of the other kids were injured. I sat upright in my bed. I was so alarmed that I didn't know that my daughter was straddling my hips. My baby girl let out a squeal of fright as she fell backwards. I managed to snag one of my baby's forearms and held on tightly. Her descent had come to a stop when she was a few inches away from the mattress.

"Wwwwwhhhhoooaaaa," she squealed as she floated above my blanket-covered legs. Her big, adorable brown eyes were wide while the corners of her pouty mouth was curved upwards into a smile.

"Are you okay?" I asked my six year-old daughter, who was the youngest out of my nine children.

Rashida chuckled and smiled. She displayed the gap in her mouth that was caused by the lack of her front two teeth. "Yeah," she laughed.

I pulled my baby into an upright position. I wrapped my arms around her small frame and I gave her a tight hug. I buried my face into the curve of her neck and I inhaled her scent. My nose picked up the scent of maple syrup and pancake batter. I listened to my daughter's squeals and coos. She was ticklish. I removed my face from its resting place and then I proceeded on placing several kisses on her forehead. Rashida squirmed and squealed.

"Mommy!" she squealed. "Mommy, stop it!"

I stopped and stared down at my child. "Aaaaaalllllllll righty then," I announced with a chuckle. My bedroom was saturated with her laughter. I released her. She was free for a few seconds before she spoke.

"Okay, do it again!" she demanded.

I grabbed onto her again and did the same thing, which was frantically kiss her face. Like before, Rashida laughed, squealed and fidgeted throughout my act of silliness.

"Mommy, stop it!"

I complied with her request. A few seconds later, she asked me to do it again. With a smile on my face and a sense of glee in my spirit, I kissed her face but I tickled her sides as well. We ended up doing this exchange four more times. By the time we were finished, we were both winded. I had returned to my original prone position in my bed. My daughter, on the other hand, ended up lying in her daddy's part of the bed. I watched my little cherub roll onto her right side and then prop her head, neck and shoulders up with the help of her right hand. She stared up at me with her big, round eyes that displayed feistiness and curiosity.

"Mommy, are you going to ask me why I am here?"

I already knew why she was here, in my bedroom. It was my birthday. For every year, my husband and my oldest children make me a pancake breakfast and later on, in the evening, I will be presented with a birthday cake after our supper. It was a tradition that was formed when my oldest child, Gail, was a toddler. At that particular time, we were living in a one-bedroom apartment. I was pregnant with our second child, our first son and I was also the breadwinner of the family. Malachi was unemployed and he played the role of 'stay-at-home dad'. My birthday had rolled around and he felt bad that he couldn't afford to buy me a nice gift. So, he decided to make me a birthday gift, which was breakfast.

I rolled onto my left side. I propped my head into my left hand and I stared down at my baby, my little Baby Sweetheart. "Tell me why you are here."

Rashida brushed a lock of her hair from out of her view. "Cause Daddy is making you breakfast. And I am here to make sure that you don't ruin the surprise," she informed me.

"Oh," I gasped. "I gotcha, so did Daddy tell you when I should come downstairs?"

"Daddy said..." Her little left hand scratched her right wrist. "On the clock, when the big hand is on the eleven number and the little hand is on the ten number."

I turned around slightly and glanced at the electronic alarm clock that was on my nightstand. The face of the clock read '11:00 AM'.

'All right, I have ten minutes before we go.'

I rolled back around and stared at my daughter. My eyes drifted to my youngest child and I noticed her head, in particular, her hair. I knew that my eyes bulged in mild amazement and full-blown amusement. I knew that her current hairstyle was the end result of her father's follicle handiwork. Rahsida's copper-colored hair looked like an absolute mess. Her shoulder-length, kinky hair was styled with an array of ponytails. Each of the ten ponytails varied in size and was adorned various decorations. Malachi placed some ponytails with plastic barrettes and others with silk ribbons. Some of her ponytails held braids and the other ones were loose. The ponytails that were braided were sticking straight out.

"Baby Sweetheart, did Daddy do your hair today?"

Rashida sighed as if I just asked her to tell me about her heavy burdens. Her doe-shaped eyes became downcast. "Yup," she said to me, sounding forlorn. I laughed so much that my face grew hot and my cheeks were sore. It was so adorable and funny.

My daughter and I cuddled with each other for another eight minutes.

"All right baby, we have to go downstairs now," I announced to my daughter as I pulled back the layers of bed linen from my legs.

"Okay Mommy," she said to me as she crawled to the foot of my king-sized canopy bed.

I climbed out of my bed and I walked over to the other side of the bedroom. As I walked to the dresser, I noticed my reflection was in the mirror. My eyes focused on the bare, chocolate thighs and then the large shirt that I wore. I silently thanked the Lord for having the common sense to dress in my pajamas again, after my husband gave me my first birthday gift, a few hours ago. I walked over to the dresser and approached a drawer that contained my pajamas.

"Ooooh Mommy, you have waves on your thighs!" Rashida said to me. I looked at my daughter. She pointed at my legs. I knew that she was referring to the cellulite that decorated my thighs.

'Great,' my brain groaned. 'Today I turned forty-eight years old and now my baby just pointed out my cellulite.'

"Yes, I have waves on my thighs, Baby Sweetheart," I told her with a broad smile. I turned back to the drawer and pulled out a pair of baggy, Sponge-Bob Square Pants pajama bottoms. I shut the drawer closed and then stood up straight. I slipped the pajama pants on. I turned to face my child. "I have waves on my legs baby because I am old."

"Mommy, you're not old," Rashida informed me.

"Awww," I moaned as I gushed from her act of flattery. I walked up to the foot of the bed. I stood in front of my daughter. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Mommy."

I cupped her small, round face in my hands. She stared up at me. In her dark brown, doe-shaped eyes, I saw her admiration for me. Abruptly, I felt a sensation that was overwhelming. A thrill ran through my body and it caused my stomach to tremble. My cheeks flushed and my heart beaten with a great ferocity. I thought that my esophagus tightened up. My eyes watered as I gazed down at my child's face. Unbeknownst to her, she gifted me with one of the great gifts that a parent can receive from a child.

A few minutes later, we both headed for the first level of the house, for the kitchen. As soon as I exited the bedroom and entered the hallway, I was greeted by the usual sounds of nature. For me, 'the sounds of nature' consisted of the television playing along with the stereo system in the living room, the kids shouting at each other, the sounds of the dog barking or the cat screeching, my husband's voice, the crazy sound effects of a random child's toy and the usual declaration of "I'm gonna tell Mom!"

I sighed a deep breath. 'Boy, I remember when this house used to be quiet all of the time. But then, we decided to have seven more children because we thought that they were going to be easy rearing just like the first two kids. Ha, how silly were we?'

Two minutes later, Rashida and I entered the gladiator ring that used to be my kitchen. I called it the 'gladiator ring' because my sons Ian and Nicholas tend to play-fight inside of there. In fact, my twelve year-old and my ten year-old sons were grappling, when I entered the kitchen. They were fighting in the space that was in between the refrigerator and the kitchen counter space.

"Hey, hey, hey..." I walked over to where my two children were fighting while I still carried my five year-old in my arms. I gave each of their limbs a nudge with my left foot. "Both of you stop it right now! If you want to play fight, go in the basement!"

I listened to my boys laugh in response before I watched them untangle themselves from each other. They stood up from the scuffed-up, green linoleum floor and then ran towards the door that led into the basement. A few seconds later, I listened to their pairs of feet scramble down the stairs into the sublevel of the house. Once I was assured that they were downstairs, I turned my attention to my other kids, who sat on the opposite side of the kitchen. My kids were sitting at the dining table and eating their breakfast which consisted of bowls of cold cereal. It was then, when I noticed the odor of burnt pancake batter floating through the air.

"Hey," I said to the kids. I noticed six pairs of eyes focused on me. My children stopped chatting with each other and eating just to stare at me. "Where's my birthday breakfast?"

My oldest son, M.J. said to me "Dad burned the pancakes." I stared at the younger, spitting image of my husband and I smirked at him. "What?" He asked me with his gray eyes wide and with a mouthful of Cheerios. "Dad burned your food—

"And we don't have any more pancake mix!" Dahlia reported to me as she kneeled on the wooden bar stool that was in front of the island countertop. She was my seven year-old daughter.

I asked the small tribe that was my progeny, "So where is your dad now?" I gave Rashida a kiss on her forehead before I placed her down. "Did he go to the store?"

"Ma, you sound like you really want those pancakes," my oldest child, Gail told me with a smirk on her face.

"Well damn it, I do want my pancakes," I told them all. My voice sounded whiny. I knew that I sounded like a spoiled brat that was about to have a temper tantrum, but I didn't care. It was my birthday and I believed that I could act like an idiot if I wanted to. "It's important to me."

"AAAAAAWWWWW," all four of my oldest smart-assed kids said to me. My face contorted into a snarl which caused the kids to laugh. I wanted to flip them the bird, but I knew that Dahlia and Rashida was still in the room. Yes, I am one of those parents.

"So, if he didn't go to the store to buy more pancake mix, where is he?" I asked after the laughter died down.

"He's outside," Gail informed me. She stood up from the table and waddled over to where I was standing, which was on the other side of the counter. "Happy birthday, Mama." We embraced each other. I brushed a lock of her sandy brown, curly hair away from her pretty face. I gave my daughter a kiss on her forehead and then greeted my unborn grandson with a gentle pat.

"Thank you baby," I told her.

"Daddy's outside cleaning up after Chainsaw!" my seven year-old son Liam told me.

Rashida laughed. "Daddy's outside picking up dog poop!" she said, cheerfully. Then Liam and my youngest both laughed together. Apparently, the subject of dog poop was very hilarious for young children.

"So Ma, what do you have plan for your birthday?" M.J. asked me.

I shrugged my shoulders. I gazed at Dahlia and gave her nose a gentle pinch. She giggled. I stared at Malachi Junior. "I have no idea, you're going to have to ask your father about that one," I told him.

"Have fun," my fifteen year-old daughter Leila said to me. "Just as long as you don't bring another baby into this house." The oldest four began to cackle.

"Excuse me?" I said to the four of them while I wondered why they were laughing.

"Mmmmmmmmmooooommmmmm..." Leila announced as she re-adjusted her stance in the wicker chair that was in front of the dining table. She sat side-straddle so she could stare at me. Her hazel eyes gazed at me with amusement.

"Wwwwwwhhhhhhhhaaaaaatttttt?" I said to her, mimicking her. Leila rolled her eyes while Dahlia, Liam and Rashida laughed.

"You know what happens around this time of the year and around daddy's birthday," she said to me.

We both stared at each other for a moment. I was trying to figure out what she meant while she was staring at me and hoping that I knew what she meant. My other children was staring at me while snickering.

"Come on Mom, you know what I am talking about," Leila stated.

"No, I don't Leila."

"Mom, come on," M.J. said to me while running his fingers through his shoulder-length, curly red hair.

"If you keep running your fingers through your—

"Mom, don't start about my hair," my son warned me. "Now, have you ever noticed that we were born in the same months, which is coincidentally nine months after your and dad's birthdays?"

."Yeah Ma," Gail said to me as she stood behind me, in front of the sink. She was washing the soiled dishes in the sink. "You never noticed the pattern?"

'What pattern?' I wondered.

"Mama, tell us our birthdays," my other fifteen year-old daughter Delilah asked me.

"Oh... Kay," I mumbled. "Gail..." I glanced at my daughter from over my left shoulder. "Your birthday is April 3rd..." I turned my focus on the other children. I pointed my right index finger at Dahlia. "Dahlia, your birthday is April 4th..." I glanced over her head and I stared at the other children, who sat at the table. I pointed my index finger at M.J. "M.J., your birthday is on August 22nd..." I pointed at Delilah and then at Leila, who sat closest to Malachi Junior. "... You girls' birthdays are on August 12th..." I pointed at my son, Liam. "Liam, your birthday is on April 1st..." I pointed to Rashida who was sharing the same chair as Liam. "Baby Sweetheart..." She giggled. "... Your birthday is on August 10th...."

My sense of hearing had picked up the sounds of the backdoor's locks unfastening. Suddenly, my heart began to beat heavily and my stomach began to tremble with excitement.

"Nicholas' birthday is on August 13th and Ian's birthday..."

I heard the door opened and I listened to the sound of the metal storm door striking against the doorframe.

"...is on August 18th. So—

"Ssssssooooo, what I am trying to say is..." Leila started out saying. "You and Daddy tend to make babies on the nights of your birthdays."

"Yeah," M.J. confirmed with a nod of his head. "We're the gifts that keep on giving!"

I scoffed, rolled my eyes and then chuckled.

"It's true, Mom!" Delilah pointed out.

"Uh-huh," I grunted as if I didn't believe them, which was false. I did believed in Leila's claim but I wasn't going to admit that one to her. If I would admit to my daughter that she was right and I was wrong, she would hold that shit over my head for forever.

"Kids, is your mom up yet?"

The inquiry had come from inside of the pantry room, the little area that led to the back exit for the house and was the room next to the kitchen. I listened to the gruff voice and I felt my arousal increased. Even though we have been married for over twenty years, my lust and attraction for my husband never waned. My heart felt like it was trying to break free from my chest. There was a tingle that coated my flesh and it caused my limbs to feel numb. I also felt excited as if I was about to reunite with my husband, who I haven't seen in a long time. The last time I felt like that was when Gail was a three month-old and we waited for her daddy's arrival, after his release from prison.

"Yeah Daddy," Gail told him. "She's in the kitchen with us."

My husband entered the kitchen, a few seconds later. His tall and broad frame had filled up the room. He garnered everybody's attention inside of the kitchen. At first, I didn't see his face. He entered the kitchen while he surveyed the contents on his coat. His thick fingers were unfastening the buttons. His red and gray-streaked, chin-length hair covered his face's profile. I smelled the fragrance of his favorite cologne. My eyes watered and a lump sat in the middle of my throat. I was surprised that I felt this way. This man was my partner and he had been by my side for twenty-three years. I thought I was used to the experience of seeing him return to the house after he finished cleaning up after our Great Dane.

Once his coat was loose, he glanced at me and I thought that my heart had stopped beating. I saw his gray eyes sparkled with joy. Then I noticed the smile on his face. "Good morning baby. Happy Birthday," he greeted.

I sighed. "Thank you and good morning to you too."

Malachi slipped out of his coat and then hung the item up on a coat rack that was mounted on the wall that was behind the pantry's door.

"Daddy!" Rashida screamed in joy.

The older children and I watched the baby of the group jump off out of her seat. She quickly ran over to where Malachi stood. Then, she jumped into the air and towards her father, as if she was a 6'7 point guard about to make a slam dunk. Malachi managed to turn around to see her just in the nick of time. He used his keen sense of reflex and he caught her.

"Oomph," he grunted as his knees and calves absorbed the gravity's weight. I watched his strong body make a slight adjustment.

'Only he can make some things look effortless,' I thought. 'Except for that hair though!' I let out a chuckle.

He gathered Rashida in his arms as if she was an infant. She laughed and chirped in glee. He stared down at our daughter. "Baby Sweetheart, did you do what Daddy asked you to do?"

She giggled. "Yes Daddy, I stayed with Mommy until you told me to bring her down..." Our child stared at me. "Right, Mommy?"

"Yes baby," I told her while confirming with my husband that she did what she was told. I eyed my husband. "She did a great job."

Malachi chuckled and then gave our daughter a kiss on her forehead. "Good," he hummed. "Rashida, go and finish your breakfast baby." He bent down and allowed our youngest child to get down. She climbed out of her daddy's arms and frolicked back to her seat, so she could finish eating her meal.

Malachi walked over to Dahlia and gave her a kiss on the back of her skull. Then he walked around to the other side of the counter island. He strolled up to me. His hands sought out my not-so-girlish hips. He pulled me closer to him. Once I was close enough, I grabbed a hold of the lapels of his shirt. I gazed into his eyes and I saw the heavy dose of lust inside of them. I also felt evidence of his arousal pressing against my upper stomach.

"Mmmm," I moaned while my bottom lip was tucked inside of my mouth. I was mindful of the noise because of the kids. In response, Malachi's face drew closer to mine and he gave my forehead a gentle kiss. Once again, I moaned. 'Got-damned, the forehead kiss always get me in trouble.'

"Good morning," he groaned.

"Morning," I moaned.

"For your breakfast, things didn't go as plan."

"I know," I grunted, making my disappointment evident. "The kids told me what happened."

I watched his face contort into a mask of disappointment. "I'm sorry baby. I managed to ruin your pancakes."