Afternoon Delight Scrivener

by Piper Rayne

  I do as instructed, playing with my clit and then putting my fingers back in. Moans fall from my lips and my breathing rushes and then slows.

  “I’m so fucking hard,” Dean grates out and I can tell he’s trying to hold back.

  “I’m so fucking wet.”

  “I wish I could grab you and plow into you right now.”

  “I wish your fingers could dig into my hips and you ram in and out of me.”

  Our breathing labors over the line and if it wasn’t for the headphones, I would’ve dropped the phone.

  “Next time, I promise baby.”

  “Oh, Dean, it’s coming.”

  “Don’t fight it.”

  My mind blanks and sails over the finish line with a cry out of his name as my body pulses with pleasure. Afterward, my hand falls from between my legs as I lay limp on the mattress, tired and sated.

  “Fuck baby, that noise you make.”

  And then I hear nothing except some panting and grunting as he finishes himself off. I don’t look at a clock, but it isn’t until we’re both breathing even again that one of us cuts the silence.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way. I love having sex with you any way I can get it, but I really wish you were next to me right now,” he says.

  A smile comes to my lips. “To snuggle?”

  “To lick up my cum, but I guess to snuggle, too.”

  “If you were in front of me, I’d punch you in the gut.”

  He laughs. Not the steamy rougher chuckle from before. This time it’s his honest and true laugh.

  “I gotta clean myself up.”

  “I don’t want to hang up,” I say.

  “Me either, but you need your sleep. Sweet dreams, Chelsea.”

  “Good night.”

  “Love you,” he whispers.

  “Love you.”

  The line dies, and I pull the earplugs out of my ears and roll to my side, wishing the other side of my bed wasn’t empty.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The next day at three o’clock on the dot, I sit in a waiting room filling out papers with pregnant women all around me.

  Some are glowing, and some look like they could murder someone. Others are trying to control their young kids and some are rubbing their stomachs smiling at nothing.

  Shaking my head, I concentrate on my family history. Why do I have to fill this out every year? I answer the yes and no questions to every disease imaginable, sign the privacy form and put my insurance card on the clipboard.

  The receptionist handles everything and gives me back my insurance card, leaving me again in a waiting room.

  “Did you just find out?” The woman with a swollen belly glances at my flat stomach.

  I stare down at it to make sure it’s actually not showing a bump. I had a big lunch but other than that I’d bet the largest casino’s vault I’m not pregnant.

  “Oh, no, I’m not pregnant.”

  She smiles and waves me off. “I always forget that women don’t only come to an OB because they’re pregnant. Are you trying? I hope I didn’t offend or upset you.”

  I smile although it’s not genuine because if I were trying, I wouldn’t discuss it with a stranger. A stranger who is pregnant. “I’m not trying either.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes fall over me, taking in my dress and heels.

  Digging my phone out of my purse, I decide to lose myself in anything but conversation with this lady. I’m not sure if she thinks I’m some woman who never wants to have kids or what, but frankly, it’s none of her business. I don’t even talk about this stuff with the people I’m closest to.

  Women come and go and I look at the clock on my phone. A half hour since my scheduled appointment.

  Finally, my name is called by a nice nurse with red hair pinned into a bun. We do the whole dreaded weighing and blood pressure routine. Once I’m in the exam room, I explain my problem. She smiles nicely and leaves the room.

  Twenty minutes later, my panties are hidden under my dress folded up on a chair with my shoes neatly tucked underneath. The paper gown scratches my skin as I double check I’m not flashing my ass. Not that it should matter, I’m going to spread-eagle any minute.

  Would it kill them to turn down the air conditioning in here? I have goose bumps all over my body now.

  A knock sounds on the door.

  “Come in.”

  “Miss Walsh, I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.” My doctor, a woman in her forties or so walks in wearing scrubs. “I apologize for the wait, but I just got back from delivery.”

  “No problem.” My stomach twists in nervous anticipation. I just want to get this over and done with.

  She sits down on the stool, her laptop poised in her lap.

  “You think your IUD came out?” she asks. “When did we put that in again?” Her fingers scroll on the mouse, never looking up at me.

  “A few months ago. My old one had expired. I never had a problem with the old one.”

  She sets the laptop down. “It says February we gave you the new one. I bet the strings are just shorter this time and you just can’t get as good of a feel.” She slides forward putting up the stir-ups. “I’ll check and we’ll make sure you’re okay. It’s rare that it comes out or dislodges, but I can’t say it doesn’t ever happen.”

  Gently she moves my feet into the stir-ups. “Scoot down to the edge of the table for me. Just like that. Good.”

  I lay down on my back, staring at the ceiling tiles that so many women before me have seen as well. They should put motivational messages up there or something. My hands grip the edge of the bed in preparation for the medieval torture device to open me up.

  “So, how have you been?” She begins the awkward small talk like I’ll forget she’s looking into my honey pot. Meanwhile, I’m praying she sees two strings coming out of my uterus.

  “Okay. Busy with work.”

  Not that my busy work is equal to hers. I mean she probably gets woken up to deliver babies on the daily.

  “I hear that. Any one special guy in your life these days?”

  Why is she asking me that? Because there are no damn strings, I bet. My breathing becomes labored and I mentally will myself to calm down, doing some deep breathing exercises.

  The instrument closes and I finally can breathe.

  “Um, too early to tell.”

  Yeah, yeah, I lied. So what?

  She takes off her gloves and puts them on the table and I wait for her to hold her hand out to help me up, but she doesn’t. And she doesn’t try to get me out of the stir-ups.

  Shit, shit, Shit! Dean and his giant cock.

  Her hand finally outstretches, and she helps me up. “Stay undressed below the belt for right now. I can’t locate the strings to the IUD. There are so many variables that I don’t want to tell you anything until I can get you in for an ultrasound.”

  My face must pale because she doesn’t wait for me to respond.

  “Don’t assume anything. If you’re worried about pregnancy, I guess we don’t really know how long it’s been missing. Have you been sexually active?”

  I swallow.

  “Yes, but—”

  She stands up, rolling the chair back to the desk area. “Let’s just wait and see where we are before we start talking crazy. Let’s handle the ultrasound first. I’ll be right back.”

  I’m silent as she walks out the door. Once alone the despair wraps around me like a straight jacket.

  This cannot be happening. Not now. We aren’t ready to face something like that. It will ruin us. Again.

  Lucky for me she knocks a minute or so later but leaves the door open.

  “I know this isn’t the best, but I was able to secure an ultrasound between two patients to have a look really quick. Would you like another sheet?”

  I hop down. Let’s get this over with. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Okay, it shouldn’t take but a few minutes. If it’s okay, I’ll grab your clothes so you can change in th
ere. I’m sure it just got dislodged and maybe came out. Nothing too serious.”

  I follow her two doors down into a dark room with the only light inside emanating from the machine.

  “Have a seat.”

  I weave my body through the stir-ups and lay down, looking at the wand. Memories flood back to me as she puts the latex over the top and squirts lube on the tip.

  “Okay, you ready?” she asks, holding the dildo looking device in her hand.

  My hands grip the side of the table. “Yep.” I blow out a shaky breath.

  The pressure between my folds eases when she’s in and her eyes focus on the screen. Her free hand clicking buttons. She rotates it around and I try to see something, anything, but she has the screen turned away from me.

  “Okay, Chelsea, the IUD must have fallen out because I don’t see it. My guess is when we put it in that it wasn’t placed properly. Sometimes they slip out during a bowel movement or maybe during your period and go unnoticed.”

  I’m silent for a moment, taking in her words. “Then we can just pop in a new one?”

  I hear a noise and then she pulls the wand out of me, slipping off the condom and throwing it away while sanitizing the instrument. Her hand reaches out to help me up, but I don’t want to.

  As soon as I’m sitting up, I see her face and I know she’s about to tell me the one thing that will destroy Dean and me.

  She tears off something down below the ultrasound machine and holds it in her hand. “We can’t do another IUD yet.” Her expression is pensive.

  “Oh, do I have to wait a certain amount of time or something?” I ask, grasping at straws. “Weird since they literally took out my first one after five years and popped in another, but whatever.”

  “Under normal circumstances, we could but, Chelsea—”

  “Nope. Don’t say it.” I shake my head.

  “Chelsea, please, I know your history, but there are things—” She passes me the paper and I don’t even bother to look down at it.

  “How far along am I?” I whisper.

  She smiles. “You’re six weeks.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “That’s impossible.” I jump down from the chair, pulling my phone out to check. “I had my period.” I find it on my app. “A-ha, I had it three weeks ago.”

  The doctor’s lips fall. “You can have your period when you’re pregnant, especially in the beginning. Was it a lighter period?”

  “My periods are always light.”

  She releases a breath. “I understand being scared.” She steps forward as I’m already fumbling and putting my underwear on. Fucking lube.

  “Wait here for one second, okay?” she asks.

  I don’t agree or disagree. I just need to get out of this office.

  I step into my dress, finding the zipper and pulling it up as I slip into my heels. When I open the door, a nurse stops and stares at me.

  “I think the doctor is coming right back.”

  I walk by her without a word.

  “Miss Walsh?” she asks, but I head through the maze of their office to find an escape. I feel like a rat caught in a maze as I go down one row only to end up at an emergency exit.

  “Chelsea.”

  I turn around to find my doctor there with a bag in her hands. “I just need to absorb the news.”

  “Please, come into my office.” She opens up the door next to her.

  Of course, I end up cornered by her office.

  I walk in, taking the seat in front of her desk, inhaling a deep breath.

  I am strong. I can do this.

  She rounds the desk and places the bag down. “First of all, I know you’re worried, and we’re going to be super cautious with you.”

  “I can’t. I just can’t.” One tear slips down my cheek.

  “I wasn’t your doctor before, so I can’t speak to that, but with your medical history we can try to stay on top of this.” She stands, rounds her desk and takes the seat next to me, her hands grabbing hold of mine. “I can’t promise everything will go smoothly, but I can’t promise any of my pregnant patients that. The pills I have in the bag are your prenatal vitamins and the extra folate you need to take.”

  It feels like a vise is constricting my chest and I can’t speak for a moment past the lump in my throat. After what feels like forever, I voice the secret I’ve kept to myself for the past five years.

  “I thought there was no way I could carry a baby?” I practically whisper.

  Her hands squeeze mine. “We’re going to stay on top of it. Give you the extra folate your body needs.”

  I want to believe her. I really do. Could the thing that destroyed us, solidify us five years later? I’m just not sure.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Dean: Okay, I need the live version of my girl tonight. I’ll order Chinese.

  I flip the phone over so it’s upside down on my couch and I can ignore it a little longer. The ultrasound picture lay next to it. The little bean. My hand falls to my stomach. The only plus is I don’t have to tell him that we have to use protection. That ship has sailed. A while later my phone pings with another text and I reluctantly reach for it.

  Dean: I’m coming over.

  Shit, I knew he wouldn’t keep his distance.

  Me: Sorry, I’m with Skylar. A week before the wedding is a hectic time for a bride.

  Dean: That’s why we made the right decision to do it in Vegas.

  I shake my head and smile.

  Me: Well, we were drunk. I’ll call you when I’m done with her.

  Dean: No need to call. Just come over. No matter the time.

  My gut tells me to trust him with the news. No way it will turn out like it did before. He has changed. But still, that small amount of doubt inside is spreading like a bad rash.

  “Not yet.” I touch my stomach. “We’ll tell him when it’s safer. Stay strong little one.”

  I rise from the couch, grabbing my computer and search up statistics of successful pregnancies with the MTHFR Mutation. For the rest of the night, I read as much information as I can. I read about women who suffered numerous miscarriages before finally successfully carrying a baby. I read about women who never even knew they had a problem until their second pregnancy. I’m obsessed with getting as much information as I can about my situation. At the end of the tearful, hopeful, and devastating stories it looks like I’ve got a fifty-fifty shot of being able to carry this child to term.

  A knock lands on my door and I slam my laptop lid down like the person can see through my door and I’ve been caught watching porn. Standing up, I head to the door and glance at the time on my entertainment center, finding it after ten already.

  Through the peephole I see Dean, his hand already positioned to knock again.

  “Dean?”

  I look around my apartment seeing the ultrasound picture on the couch. Running over, I shove it into the first thing I find, my purse.

  “Chelsea,” he says, knocking once more.

  “I’m coming.” I take the bag of pills from my doctor and drop them behind my couch.

  When I open the door, Dean walks in without an invitation—like usual—his gaze taking in every inch of the room.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, staring at the pile of Kleenex on my end table.

  Shit, I forgot about that.

  “Yeah, just reading a sad article online.”

  Not a complete lie.

  He nears closer to me, his hands running down my arms. “What’s going on with you? I feel like you’re dodging me.”

  I shake my head.

  Tell him. Just tell him.

  “I think I know what this is about.” He smiles like he’s the most brilliant detective there is.

  “You do?”

  No way he does.

  “I know you want your family to like me and with it being Skylar’s wedding it makes you remember us and how horrible it was after we announced our marriage.” He pulls me into his arms, his hands holding my head to his
chest. “Don’t worry baby, eventually it will all turn out okay. They’ll accept me. It might be fifty years from now, but it will happen.”

  I say nothing, letting him think the assumption he’s made is correct. My mom’s approval can stay shoved up her ass.

  My arms tighten around his middle, needing the comfort of his arms. I pray things turn out differently this time around.

  “Come on, you look exhausted.” He shelters my hand in his, locks my front door and guides me down the hall. “I’ll even keep my hands to myself tonight.”

  We enter my bedroom.

  “What about Grover?” I ask.

  “He can stay by himself and I’ll run back home before work.” He strips down to his sweatpants, leaving him stark naked.

  “Are you going to be able to keep that thing away from me tonight, too?”

  He slides under the covers. “I’ll try, but you know he’s got a mind of his own.” He winks, and the news sits at the tip of my tongue.

  “Come.” He pats the bed next to him, his hand propped under his chin and holding his head up.

  “You didn’t have to come,” I say.

  I take off my clothes and pull back the covers. When I slide in, his arm drapes over my stomach, pulling me flush to his chest. “I’m not going to let you hide from me. We face this together.”

  My body loses the fight and I sink into his hold, his one hand flat on my belly.

  He should know. I should tell him.

  Somehow, I just can’t get the words out.

  His other hand grabs hold of my breast and I flinch.

  “What’s the matter?” he asks. He massages it with his hand and I resist the urge to pull away. “Were you too hard on yourself last night?”

  “What?” I ask.

  “When I told you to pinch yourself? Are you super sore today?” His voice is low like he doesn’t want to disturb someone else in the apartment.

  “A little.” Another lie slips out and more guilt piles on top of me.

  His hand falls down and releases my breast. “Sleep baby,” he whispers, his thumb running a small circle around my stomach as though he knows our little bean is in there and he’s soothing it to sleep, too.