by Clara Reese
Charlotte keeps pleasuring me until I’m on the edge.
“I’m close,” I warn her through gasping breaths.
She switches position and straddles over my head. Her pussy is waiting alluringly, just a few inches away. She bends forward over my stomach and starts to eat me out as well.
I decide to take her open invitation and return the favor. I lick her, wanting to taste every inch of her. It’s hard to concentrate with her mouth on me, but I do my best to give her as much pleasure as she’s giving me.
Being so close to the edge already, I finish first. I hear a satisfied chuckle from Charlotte when I do. She kisses both of my thighs and props herself up while I work on her. I focus all of my attention on her, and it isn’t long before she’s coming undone as well. I grip her hips as she orgasms.
When she’s regained herself, she gets off of me and lays next to me. She pulls me close to her, spooning me. Her fingers run through my hair and I feel the occasional kiss on my cheek.
I smile and sigh contentedly. I’ve never felt this way before.
Here in her arms, I feel so safe.
16
Charlotte
I wake up with Katrina still in my arms from the night before. We’re both naked and cuddling each other. I cuddle closer to her, loving the warmth and softness of her body. Then, everything comes crashing down around me. I realize that I have my baby’s surrogate naked in bed with me. And I had amazing sex with my baby’s surrogate last night.
Oh shit. What have I done?
I carefully get out of bed without waking Katrina. This is a process, as we’re pretty tangled up together. I unwind my legs from hers and start to slowly slip my arm out from under her head. The process is long and arduous, but eventually I manage to free my limb from underneath her. She continues to sleep. I sneak out of the room and into the bathroom.
I immediately turn the shower on and step into the warm flow of water. I’m still not sure if last night was a mistake or not. It’s hard to regret something that felt that good. I try to push the guilt and anxiety out of my mind, but it’s difficult. I don’t want to ruin this.
I know that I made demands for whoever the surrogate would be. But I really didn’t expect this to happen. It’s honestly the first time I’ve felt like this since I lost Addison. I try not to think about what she would think of this situation. She always called me out on my bullshit. Is this bullshit though? I really did feel everything fully. I wasn’t trying to manipulate Katrina. But she also isn’t in the best decision to say ‘no’. I’m paying for some space in her uterus for nine months. This wasn’t part of the deal. I don’t want to hurt her.
I get out of the shower after washing myself. I dry off with a towel and wrap myself up in a robe. I tie my hair up and head for my home office.
I’m not ready to go anywhere just yet, but I am ready to work. I turn on my computer and start to work in my robe. I want to get my mind off of everything. And I don’t want to leave Katrina just yet. I feel a pang of guilt as I think that. I don’t want to put all of my eggs in this basket. What if she wakes up and thinks that she’s been manipulated? I don’t want her to think that. I want us to have a good relationship. We’ll just have to talk about it, awkward as that may be.
I work for a while before powering off the computer. If she wants to talk, she’ll find me here, at home.
My mind drifts to the scars on her back as I analyze the situation. They looked like they were the result of something painful. I wince thinking about it. She’s so beautiful and sweet. The scars don’t take away from those qualities, but it makes me want to hurt the person who hurt her. I wanted to ask her about them, but the throes of passion seemed like an inopportune time. It kills me that someone could do that to someone else, especially her.
It’s probably related to that bastard ex of hers. God, I could throttle that guy just thinking about it. I like to play around and dominate, but I would never do the things he clearly did. It makes me feel guilty that I saw that before she was ready to open up. I briefly consider asking her about what happened, but I quickly push the thought out of my mind. Katrina will come to me when she’s ready. I know from experience that you can’t push someone to talk about something traumatic.
But still, I want to be there for her. I wish she would talk to me about what happened. I know I can’t push it. It would be inappropriate to pry when I’m giving her this much money. But I still want to be there for her. It’s so much more than curiosity at this point. I really do care about her.
I decide that I want to show her how much I care about her. I head to the kitchen, determined to do something nice for her.
The kitchen has always been a place that intimidates me. Before Addison, I used to order in all the time. Addison tried in vain to teach me a few times to no avail. I just can’t wrap my head around it for some reason. I’m a successful woman capable of anything except boiling water, I guess.
So it surprised me when my heart was set on doing this for Katrina. I’m sure she’ll realize how much I really care about her when I destroy my kitchen. I go through the cabinets and pick out a pan. How hard can an omelet be? I bet it’s hard to mess up eggs. And, since I have to turn the stove on, it’s more of a gesture than pouring her a bowl of cereal.
I put the pan on the stove and turn it on. I add a bit of butter so the eggs won’t stick. I pull out my ingredients. I figure eggs and cheese will be simple and good. I can make her some toast as well if she’s still hungry.
I crack a few eggs into the pan and use a spatula to mix them up. The eggs get mixed, but they also separate into clumps. It doesn’t stay nice and together like an omelet should be. I try to think what I did wrong. I walk over to the trash can to dump out my first attempt.
That’s okay. Rome wasn’t built in a day. I pull out my phone and look up an omelet recipe. I see where the problem came. I’m supposed to beat the eggs before putting them into the pan. Okay. That’s fine. I’ll try again.
I can practically hear Addison laughing at me as I start my second attempt. The only thing I was ever able to accomplish with my cooking was making her laugh. She had to fend for herself for a long time, and along the way, she picked up quite a few tricks. I called it magic, but she disagreed. She just knew how to do things, like cooking. She was brilliant. I feel my mood dampen as I’m reminded again that our baby will never meet her. I guess that cooking lessons will have to come from someone else. Maybe they still teach home economics in schools.
I pour the eggs into the pan for the second try and do my best to follow exactly what the recipe says. I see the eggs bubble as they cook and I figure that’s a good thing. I don’t want them to be undercooked. However, when I add the cheese and go to fold it, I see that the underside is practically blackened. I sigh and toss this attempt out as well. Maybe it’s the pan.
I pull out a different pan and try yet again to make this stupid omelet.
17
Katrina
I wake up slowly, then all at once. I stare up at the ceiling with what I know to be a stupid grin on my face. My body is still tingling and relaxed from the night before.
God…Last night. When I close my eyes I can still feel Charlotte's hands on me. I can see the way her pupils dilated as she leaned over me. Can still hear the sweet noises we both made as we climaxed.
I stretch out and enjoy the feeling of the cool sheets on my still warm skin. The thread count must be through the roof for them to be so soft and comfortable. Another perk of being a billionaire, I suppose, but I’m not complaining.
Rolling over, I let out a soft sigh and slide my hand over Charlotte's side of the bed. It’s cold. Which means she woke up some time ago.
That’s not surprising. She probably woke in a fit, if she ever went to sleep at all, and got out of bed to go work it off.
I wish she would calm down. There is nothing wrong with what we’re doing. Though I don’t even know what we’re doing.
I’m carrying her child. The c
hild that she wanted to have with her dead wife. Maybe I’m being too harsh and a tad critical of the whole situation but the woman needs to let go.
Charlotte needs to just let things happen. She gets tense and distant every time we get close. I’m still shocked that we even had sex last night. I’ll hold on to those memories for a bit, just in case it never happens again.
I don’t know if she feels like she’s tainting the memory of her wife but she isn’t going to get very far in life if she stays so attached to the past. It’s not healthy. Maybe I’m the pot calling the kettle black, but I know far too well about unhealthy coping mechanisms, and Charlotte is internalizing a lot of them.
I squint my eyes at the ceiling. I don’t know what I’m trying to figure out at the moment. I don’t fit anywhere into her life, aside from the fact that I am her surrogate.
If that’s all I am to her then at least when my nine months are up I won’t have to worry about anything for a while. I can sleep easy knowing that I’m financially stable while I take my time to find a better job. I don’t think surrogacy is a permanent position.
I can smell smoke and faintly hear the smoke detector going off downstairs. The house is so huge that it almost buries even that siren-like screech. Curious, I decide I should probably go and check on Charlotte.
I reluctantly slip out of the bed and pull on a silk housecoat. The lavish comforts never seem to end around here. It’s probably what I will miss the most when I go back to my shitty little apartment.
Even the slippers are plush and feel like I’m walking on a cloud down the wooden floors.
The stairs make no noise as I walk down them. My hand sliding on the handrail and I pretend for a minute that I’m gracefully walking down the stairs for some important event. A princess in her nightgown. I can dream.
“Fuck!”
I blink. The loud curse, as well as a small billow of smoke, comes from the kitchen as a window is opened and it’s waved out.
The smoke detector finally quiets down as I step into the room, raising an eyebrow at the scene. The kitchen is a mess. There are egg shells and milk cartons, chopped up vegetables and tipped over bottles of spices.
Janet looks over at me as I step up to her. Her arms are crossed and she has an amused smirk on her lips. She tilts her head to the side as she says, “We’re going on omelette number six.”
“Six?” I choke out in a soft laugh.
Charlotte turns to face us and waves the spatula in the air wildly, splattering pieces of egg over the walls and ceiling,
“Shut up. Both of you.”
I’ve never seen Charlotte cook before. The kitchen is sleek and modern but also looks like it hasn’t been used in months. It probably hasn’t.
I carefully make my way over to the stove and stand beside her. I place my hand on her arm and give it a gentle squeeze,
“Why don’t you take a break?”
“No! No...” Charlotte sighs and sets the spatula down before rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand, “I want to do this. I can do this.”
Her determination is adorable. The way her brows furrow in concentration and her eyes shine stubbornly. Never a woman to back down from a challenge.
“Well, let me help you then.” I have to bite back a giggle when she shakes her head and pieces of previous attempts fly out of her hair.
“That defeats the purpose of me making you breakfast.”
“It can also give it a new purpose. The two of us making breakfast together, for each other.”
Charlotte pauses and looks over at me. A small smile is tugging at the corner of her lips and she finally nods and sighs softly. “All right then. Let’s see what you can do.”
I look around and take stock of what ingredients are left. The answer is: not a lot. Though there are enough peppers and mushrooms left over from the previous attempts, the main ingredient is lacking.
“Janet,” I turn my torso to look over at the silent and amused woman leaning against the fridge, “Would you be a dear and run out for another carton of eggs?”
“Sure thing, Katrina.” Janet laughs and shakes her head as she steps out of the kitchen. It won’t take her long. There’s a store a few blocks away from the estate. As closed off as it feels when I’m inside, Charlotte’s home is close to everything.
“While Janet is out,” I start again, turning back to face Charlotte with a smile, “We can clean up this mess.”
Charlotte rolls her eyes but she is fully smiling now as she reaches over and turns the burner off. No point in having it on until we’re ready to use it again. “This mess...” She sighs, then laughs. “I never really was all that good in the kitchen. It was Add-”
She cuts herself off and her eyes fall, along with her smile. I reach up and cup her face. Brushing bits of egg off of her shirt, I try to reassure her.
“It’s all right, Char, really. The effort is noted and appreciated.”
That brings back her smile. Her gorgeous smile. She brings a hand up and slides it through my hair.
I don’t know who moved in first but suddenly we’re close in each others’ space. My eyes slip closed as she presses a soft kiss to my forehead. Not what I was hoping for but I will take it.
There’s just something about this woman that makes me feel comfortable. I can breathe easy around her knowing that there’s nothing untoward she would do to me. Even if it’s only for the sake of the baby.
“We should clean up, before the egg gets too cold and sticks to everything.”
“Like the ceiling?” I tease as I tilt my head back to look up. Sure enough there are small smatterings of yellow still clinging to the white paint.
Charlotte lets out a pained groan before dropping her head against my shoulder and her arms slide around my waist.
“I don’t know how we’ll clean that...”
“I’m sure it’ll fall down on its own. Let’s just focus on the surfaces we can reach.”
“Right.” Her shoulders shake with a soft laugh as she takes a step backwards and looks around, maintaining our embrace. It’s nice. When Charlotte holds me close without tensing, I have a sinking feeling I’m getting much too used to these fleeting moments.
Working together, it doesn’t take very long to scrape the egg off the counter and out of the frying pan. In mere moments the counters are clean and everything that we don’t need is put away.
Janet comes back shortly after with the new carton of eggs. I take them from her and step over to the counter to get everything ready. Charlotte is hovering over my shoulder the entire time. It’s adorable.
“Ta-da! Two omelettes.” I smile and slide one on to a plate and hand it to her.
Charlotte takes it and steps over to the breakfast bar. She pours two glasses of orange juice and sets the cutlery at our spots.
I walk over with my own plate and sit beside her. “Dig in.”
18
Charlotte
Taking my seat at the breakfast bar, I watch as Katrina pads around the stove for a few more minutes. She gathers the dirty dishes, placing them in the sink to be rinsed, then later put into the dishwasher. She gets a glass and fills it with orange juice before picking up her plate and coming to sit next to me.
Janet pours herself a glass of juice as well, then leaves the room with a smile and a nod. There is no doubt in my mind that she is one of the best hires I have made in a while. She is cool, efficient, and professional. And most importantly, she makes Katrina feel safe.
A pleasant silence overtakes us for a moment. A soft transition from cooking breakfast and the playful banter into the soothing peace of the early morning and a wonderful meal.
The omelettes came out perfect. Smooth and fluffy, the vegetables have just the right amount of crunch and the cheese is like melted velvet. I think I might make a habit of fucking up breakfast foods if it means getting Katrina to cook again.
I look over at her. Her expression is soft and happy. Katrina lets out a pleasant little hum with the f
irst bite of her omelette and does a little wiggle in her seat. I can’t help but laugh.
“What’s so funny?” She asks, her fork hovering halfway between her mouth and the plate.
“Nothing is funny. You’re just adorable.”
Katrina snorts and rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling brightly as she takes another bite.
A few more mouthfuls go down and I can’t take the quiet anymore.
“So...” I start, breaking the silence and getting her attention as she looks at me over the rim of her glass, “Do you have any plans for afterwards?”
Katrina blinks, “After what, breakfast?”
I shake my head, “No…Well, yes, but,” I let out a chuckle, “I meant after the pregnancy.”
“Oh...” She looks back at her plate, and swirls a bit of egg around in a pool of melted cheese, “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
Katrina shrugs a shoulder. “I mean, I’ve always wanted to be a nurse. I was in school for it, doing really well, but...” she hesitates, “I had to drop out and get a full-time job to help my mother. There was just a lot going on at the time and…and when everything settled down, I figured it was too late.”
I nod along, listening and wondering what happened that would have been a large enough burden that she would have needed to drop out of school. Surely finishing and landing a job in her field would have been a bigger help to her family. I keep that thought to myself, though. It won’t help anyone now.
Reaching over I put my hand on her knee and give it a gentle squeeze. “Nursing is an admirable profession, Katrina.”
She blushes lightly. “It’s always been a dream of mine. I used to wrap my Barbies up in toilet paper and pretend they were bandages. Always saving them from the brink.”
