Once Upon a Holiday

by Burgoa, Claudia

  I let out a loud moan as his rough hand goes over my breast and pinches my nipple. My entire body heats up when his mouth tugs and bites my hardened peaks. One of his hands slides down my belly and reaches between my legs.

  His feverish eyes meet mine as his rough finger slides along my clit. That devilish smirk widens as I shiver. His gaze burns with the same desire that’s possessing me. He licks and sucks my breasts teasing me. The heat inside me roars like a beast, rising up into my throat and escaping as a cry.

  I push my hips toward his hand, needing more and wanting everything. I’ve never had this kind of need or desperation. The foreplay feels short to what I want in this moment.

  “Take me,” I order. “Don’t play, I want you inside me.”

  “Sweetheart, the appetizer is what makes this special.”

  My body is begging for him, not his words. He ignores me and his fingers continue playing along with my slit. Teasing my entrance … both of them.

  I gasp when he touches the more sensitive one.

  “Fuck, you need to explore more than missionary, Ms. Spearman.”

  “Are you going to explore me?” I ask with a throaty voice I’ve never heard before.

  He lowers his head to my breast again. He nibbles the tip, then blows some air and nibbles it again. My back arches and I try to push myself closer to him needing more. A cry escapes me. It’s pure wanton. Delight.

  I run my hands over his broad shoulders, down his arms until I find his cock. It’s just like I remember. My mind returns to our first night together and where his mouth was.

  I’m so busy fantasizing about his mouth that when he pushes two fingers inside me and his thumb brushes against my clit, I come undone. It’s explosive, hard, breathtaking. My limbs are loose, and my legs are shaking.

  He smiles down at me, satisfied.

  “Are you sure you want to continue?” The question feels like a warning.

  June

  Sterling is unexpected. Caring, quiet, and loving.

  It’s impossible to resist him but I know where we stand. We have a week, maybe a month together before we have to part ways. Maybe I shouldn’t have done it without a condom. Then I remember what I’ve read throughout the years. Miracles can happen but sometimes you have to be prepared to give up the fight and find a new path.

  I don’t regret using his computer to print the donors or using one of his notebooks. Talking with him about my future helped me. Sunday, we spend time together. I lose track of time and remain on the couch reading. Sterling has a nice collection of classics on his bookshelves. I don’t ask if they’re for decoration or if he reads them.

  Actually, I stopped asking deep questions because the more I get to know him the more I like him, and what if I finally end up falling in love with a guy who doesn’t have anything to offer?

  Thinking about my future has always mattered but now it’s essential that I act using my head and not my lust. After dinner, he sits down with me to discuss the pros and cons of some of the donors I’ve chosen until we find the right one.

  By Monday, the sun is shining and as Sterling mentioned, the streets are starting to clear. Of course, there’re big piles of snow on the sidewalks. I start the day preparing breakfast and praying that what I order online arrives before I have to go to the lab. Thank goodness I don’t have to fast for the blood tests, or I’d famish.

  There’s some noise coming from the front door, and when I turn toward it, I recognize the man from the restaurant. Beckett, Sterling’s bodyguard.

  “Good morning, Ms. Spearman,” he greets me as he sets the car keys on the counter.

  “Morning,” I answer, gifting him a smile which he doesn’t return.

  What did I do?

  “Your car is on the private level,” he announces. “When you’re ready to leave, let me know so I can give you access.”

  In other words, get the fuck out and never come back.

  “She’s staying,” Sterling says, sauntering into the kitchen. He grabs me by the waist and kisses me deeply. Then, he turns to look at Beckett. “Also, you’re driving her around today. The rental is a small sedan and only the main streets appear to have been plowed.”

  “Ahern.” Beckett’s voice is gruff, even menacing.

  Sterling waves his hand. “It’s happening. There’s nothing you can do. Actually, there is.”

  “You got to be fucking kidding me,” Beckett says when Sterling hands him over a black card. “We have a protocol and rules. Her best friend co-owns an online magazine.”

  “How do you know?” I ask, flustered, setting the spatula on the counter and glaring at him. “My family and friends are off-limits.”

  “I can’t have someone like you close to him. You can make a lot of money out of this situation.”

  My blood boils because this asshole has no idea who I am and if I could I’d punch him, I would. I don’t though. Let’s get real, he’s as solid as a wall of steel.

  “I don’t need money,” I clarify. “I’m not an opportunist. Yes, Hannah co-owns a magazine, but she focuses on self-help and all the new age movements or old-world teachings. She explores them.”

  “That’s her focus. Her magazine has an entertainment and gossip section. You can still be helping her,” he insists.

  This man is obviously not going to budge, is he? Sorry, Hannah.

  “Even if I told Hannah where I am staying, she wouldn’t say anything. If you did your homework, you’d know who she is, and she’d be the last person trying to sell anyone’s privacy.”

  Sterling looks at me, then at Beckett and shrugs.

  “Interesting,” he says. “Beck, make sure to bring her bags up to my bedroom. You’re driving her today. This weekend we’re going to Steamboat. She needs appropriate clothing for this weather and the trip. Plus, there’s that furniture store close to the mall. Make sure to take her there too.”

  “We have rules,” he repeats and I’m wondering if he is human or some advanced AI. “She has to go.”

  “I agree, we have them for a reason. However, she’s my guest.”

  “She is right here and hates when they talk about her in third person,” I protest.

  “Please excuse his manners,” Sterling apologizes.

  “I’d appreciate it if you could take me to the mall.” I take charge of the conversation. “I’m not used to driving in these kind of conditions. I’ll pay for my own clothes—not the furniture.”

  “See, she’s just a guest,” Sterling assures him.

  “Ugh, my name is June, not she,” I argue and say, “There’s plenty of food for both of you.”

  It’s a peace offering. I don’t want him to leave me stranded in the middle of nowhere starving. I plate the waffles and bacon.

  “I already had breakfast,” both say at the same time.

  “Oh,” I say and then take a good look at Sterling who seems ready to head out of the house.

  “I work out early, have breakfast, and then go to work. I should be back around nine. Please, make yourself at home,” he says dismissively.

  “Okay,” I answer and I’m not sure exactly why I’m disappointed about his last words and the way he just leaves without giving me a proper goodbye.

  * * *

  “How was today?” Sterling asks during dinner.

  Against his security team’s wishes, he takes me to dinner to a small hole in the wall close to his penthouse. It’s called Like Home. He explains to me how the menu changes every day and every meal. They have guest chefs every shift. It’s lovely and cozy.

  “We got all the furniture, but it won’t arrive until next week,” I answer, taking a full spoon of pumpkin soup.

  “The tests?”

  I sigh. “They drained all my blood. Tomorrow is the appointment. If everything goes well, next time this year I’ll be buying an ornament that says, baby’s first Christmas.”

  He smiles and squeezes my hand. “That’ll be my present to you.”

  “I thought you d
on’t celebrate the holidays.”

  “I don’t but it seems like an important gift. If you allow it, I’d like to be around. Become the godfather or something.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Sterling smiles. “Would you mind if I go with you tomorrow?”

  He’s such a considerate guy and a good friend. I wish he could see what I see in him. If I could give him a little of what he has given me in just a few days.

  * * *

  June: What if I want to write a book?

  Hannah: Can I use your existential crisis for a series of articles?

  June: No.

  June: Maybe, as long as you don’t use my name.

  June: No, don’t.

  June: You know what your problem is?

  Hannah: I’m sorry, but you’re the one having a crisis not me. I don’t have a problem.

  June: You do.

  Hannah: Enlighten me.

  June: You like to live through others.

  Hannah: Huh, have you been talking to Tess or Mom?

  June: You can use my current life but maybe you want to start fixing yours. Fall in love.

  Hannah: Nothing wrong with me. I just like to be the observer. It’s easier. Once is enough, you know.

  June: I want to at least experience it once.

  Hannah: You will. You deserve it. You just need to believe it.

  June: Who are you quoting?

  Hannah: Me, I don’t copy my shit from the interviews. A lot of the quotes you read on the magazine or social media are mine, bitch.

  June: About writing a book.

  Hannah: Why a book?

  June: Maybe it’s the stage of my life or what I’m living. I’m not sure.

  Hannah: A memoir? I’ll send you the creative writing books I’ve read along with some workshops. Don’t expect to finish your first novel today. It takes time.

  June: You should be teaching me.

  Hannah: I like you too much to agree.

  June: What are you teaching next semester?

  Hannah: Literature of American Cultures and Literature and Philosophy. I added an online class, Creative Prose.

  June: Again, teach me how to write.

  Hannah: No, I am an asshole. I like you too much to be one with you.

  June: Liar. That’s not why you have a big waitlist. Your students love you.

  Hannah: Fine, I don’t want to. Happy?

  June: Why?

  Hannah: You’re too demanding. Any new fun anecdotes for the magazine?

  June: You don’t want to teach me how to write but you like to use my material.

  Hannah: What can I say? Ethan and I think your life is … hilarious.

  June: When are you and Ethan going to get together?

  Hannah: I love him but we’re friends and he’s engaged. In case you’re about to throw something like, well, he’s not married, stop.

  June: Did I tell you I slept with the hot guy from Thanksgiving again?

  Hannah: Tell me more. Still as hot.

  June: We’ve been sleeping together … and I get to touch every tight muscle of his taut body.

  Hannah: Deep ridges?

  June: Yep.

  Hannah: How’s the package?

  June: He packs.

  Hannah: Hey, I read your fucking thirty day list. Have you done anything with the list yet? I like the do something good for a stranger.

  June: What do you suggest?

  Hannah: Let me research the area and I’ll find something for you.

  I look at the list I’ve been trying to update, and scratch write a book.

  June: Where are you spending the holidays?

  Hannah: Surprisingly in California. I convinced my family to fly to me.

  June: Go home, Hannah.

  Hannah: Love you, June, I’m on a deadline. SS.

  June: SS?

  Hannah: Speak Soon.

  June: You’re an English teacher.

  Hannah: I love language and bending it is … delicious.

  “Funny picture or something outrageous happened?”

  I look up at Sterling puzzled by his question. “What?”

  “You’re smiling and you said you’ll be sitting down here to drink your coffee and read the news. I’m wondering what you were reading.”

  “I’m chatting with Hannah,” I inform him. “She’s one of my closest friends. I …” I wave a hand. He doesn’t need to know the story.

  “The magazine owner?”

  I nod. “Co-owner. She’s also an English teacher and funny.”

  “Your appointment is in an hour. Get ready, we’re leaving in thirty. Beckett is driving us.”

  “Can we not have your entourage following us everywhere?”

  “Sorry, it’s a precaution. I’ll try to ditch them when we go to Steamboat.”

  June

  “Am I too dressed up for the occasion?” I ask Sterling as we enter the clinic.

  Suddenly the black trousers, silk blouse, and my Burberry jacket seem out of place. I should’ve worn something like what he’s wearing. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans, a black Henley shirt, and a pair of boots. According to him, it’s not cold enough to wear a jacket. It’s freezing but I won’t argue with him. He looks sexy. Tall, lean, yet muscular and powerful. His presence relaxes me.

  “There’s nothing wrong with what you’re wearing, you look hot,” he says, holding my hand.

  Not sure about hot, but I think the outfit says, look I’m ready for my next meeting. Not, let’s make a baby. Of course, there’s no dress code to create a baby, is there?

  “June Spearman,” I say. “I have an appointment with Dr. Travis.”

  The receptionist looks at her monitor, then at me and types fast.

  “You’re all checked in. The nurse will call you when she’s ready for you.”

  I nod and take a seat.

  “Do you want me to go in with you?” Sterling asks. He hasn’t released my hand since we left the apartment.

  “It’s okay, I’ll be fine.”

  “June Spearman,” the nurse calls out.

  Sterling squeezes my hand again, gives me a quick peck on the lips, and says, “I’ll be here waiting for you.”

  As I walk away, I turn to look at him. His face doesn’t say much. But I swear I feel like he wants to stop me. I wave at him. He winks at me.

  “Follow me,” the nurse orders and I do. Instead of heading to the examining room though, the nurse asks me to wait in the doctor’s office.

  The doctor comes in rather quickly. He holds a folder and when he looks at me, he frowns.

  “June, we received your lab tests earlier today,” he states. “We’d like to take another blood sample to verify the results.”

  My heart thuds hard because two months ago, when I started the hormone therapy I was doing fine. Healthy and ready to have a baby.

  “Is everything okay?”

  He shrugs. “It might be. This is good news for you. I just need to verify a few things and we might want to refer you to a different doctor. When was the date of your last period?”

  Well, that’s a weird question. I pull out my phone but answer, “Last week,” and pause, verifying my calendar. “Yes, the twenty-sixth. But it was a light spotting. It happens sometimes. One month my period is light. The next four I’m in big pain for a week or so, feeling like I’m going to bleed out. Then, I don’t have a period for a month or two.”

  “You had spotting in November?” he asks. I nod in response.

  He scratches his head. “We definitely need that test or an ultrasound. What’s the date of your previous period? The one before November twenty-fifth?”

  “Twenty-sixth,” I correct him and laugh when I check my calendar. “October thirty-first. I know, Happy Halloween.”

  I roll my eyes.

  He taps the folder, looks up to the ceiling, and says, “That’s almost six weeks of gestation.”

  Gestation? What is he talking about?

  “What?” I ask,
confused.

  “Did you have sex between October and November?” His question worries me.

  “Fucking Sterling!”

  I look at the doctor. “Do I have herpes or syphilis?”

  He laughs. “Oh, not at all. You’re pregnant.”

  “What?” I shriek. “No. I can’t just get pregnant? That’s impossible. You said it’d take more than a miracle.”

  He takes his writing pad and a pen out of his pocket. “Take this to the pharmacy. The receptionist will give you an order for a sonogram. I want to make sure the gestational age is correct. I think we should start counting from October thirty-first. That’s—”

  “Five weeks and four days,” I say, touching my belly. “This can’t be happening. I chose a good candidate. We faxed you the information yesterday. This can’t be happening. I made a very detailed plan.”

  Suddenly, I’m furious because he just destroyed my plans. I march to the waiting room where he’s expecting me. When he sees me, he grins at me. Someone should sucker punch him just like he did to me.

  “You!” I’m so fucking angry at him.

  How dare he do this to me?

  “I can’t believe it,” I say pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You ruined everything.”

  His eyes widen and he lifts his hands. “What did I do?”

  “I can’t believe it. I had a plan. We chose a candidate—together. This was foolproof. I … what the fuck, Sterling?”

  Yeah, what the fuck?

  I’m … pregnant.

  Finally, I’m pregnant.

  And suddenly, overwhelmed with a million emotions, I begin to cry. Fucking Sterling Ahern rises from his seat and hugs me tight. His hand rubs circles on my back and his voice is soothing.

  “It’s okay, whatever happened isn’t the end of the world,” he assures me. But he doesn’t understand how my world just changed—again.

  “Ms. Spearman, here’s the order for the sonogram and the prenatal vitamins. Dr. Travis printed this list for you. He would like you to see an ob-gyn to begin tracking your pregnancy. Congratulations.”

  “You’re pregnant?” Sterling asks with such joy that I cry even harder.

  “Thank you,” he says, taking the papers from the nurse. “Babe, you’re scaring me. What happened?”