Due Date_A Baby Contract Romance

by Emily Bishop

  My hands run down his chiseled abdomen, like they have their own minds, and then grasp the wide base of his cock. I can’t see perfectly in the darkness but this thing feels like it belongs to a beast. Then again… Isaac does kind of fill the bed.

  He pumps himself back and forth in my two fists and my fingers slip with his pre-cum. I want this masterpiece inside me. My brain feels empty except for one clawing, desperate thought.

  “Fuck me, Isaac,” I moan.

  “Baby, I’ll fucking marry you at this point,” Isaac rasps against my ear.

  His mushroom tip glides to my opening, and he squeezes into me inch by glorious inch. I press my lips together to keep from crying out. My eyes cloud with tears of intense pleasure so unbearably sweet. He allows my body the barest second to adjust to the girth, then he pulls out, completely removing his penis from me. I almost whimper, almost protest, when he penetrates me entirely again. He does this slowly, over and over, savoring me. Almost testing me.

  I’m past the point of speaking. My entire body trembles and shimmers and I can’t feel my face. “Faster,” I call out, even though I might not be able to take it. “Oh, god, yes…”

  Isaac grunts like a warrior, slamming into me, fucking me hard enough to send the bedpost clacking loudly against the wall. Orgasm builds like a hurricane inside me, and my walls tighten against his member. He pumps into me. I can’t keep my moans quiet as he pulls my ass cheeks apart, opening me further.

  It’s enough to send me over the edge. I cry out as my body pulses around him, and he roars over top of me, “Fuck! Fuck! FUUUCK!”

  His hips slam into mine. His dick squeezes in me, emptying himself deep.

  I want it. I want his cum inside me.

  But as soon as he cries out that final time, as soon as his cock gives its final spurt, I know why he was yelling fuck. He was yelling fuck the way someone barreling toward an unavoidable accident would yell it. Because he couldn’t stop. And neither could I.

  “That was stupid,” I grumble to myself. Why didn’t I even ask if he had a condom? Why didn’t he ask if I was on the pill? What am I thinking?

  “You’re crazy,” Isaac disagrees. Still on top of me, he spreads my legs again, his calloused middle finger toggling over my swollen clit again. My thigh muscles jolt. I can instantly feel my second orgasm on the way.

  “Isaac…” I moan, like this shouldn’t be happening. We’re so stupid. But it’s so good.

  “I hope you do get pregnant,” he whispers against my ear, forcing me closer and closer to my second orgasm. Third… third orgasm. Fourth? “Come all over my cum, Scarlett,” he commands roughly, riding my clit hard now. And I’m so sensitive, I can’t help but shatter around his hard touch, giving him exactly what he wants.

  I explode and drench his hand again, this juice a combination of us.

  I pant and stare up at him in complete amazement. “We’re so dumb,” I reiterate.

  “And hot,” Isaac adds.

  Bedraggled by orgasm and beyond exhausted, I nestle happy, sweaty, and nude against the crook of his body, feeling warm and safe. My body hums as I drift off to sleep, unwilling to think of anything outside of this sensation. This window of peace.

  The light from the morning sun penetrates my eyelids, and I roll over, breathing in the scent of my pillow.

  Except it doesn’t smell like my pillow. It carries the light, clean scent of a masculine soap. I inhale, releasing the breath as I open my eyes and take in my surroundings.

  Isaac’s bedroom is well kept but sparse. It’s masculine in that way but it also feels transient, like he doesn’t feel the need to decorate because he never spends any time there. A bedside table and wood dresser are the only furnishings. There is no art on the wall. There are no drapes on the windows. It makes me feel sad, for some reason. I want to bring some warmth to his home.

  Grinning, I sink back into the mattress. It’s definitely warm.

  And I’m definitely naked.

  The sound of quiet grunting comes from the living room, and, being me, I can’t not investigate the source. I slide out of his bed and pick up my rumpled sweats and tank top, slipping back into them without bothering to touch my hair or glance in a mirror.

  Buster is curled up on a tan dog bed in the corner and he lifts his head as I walk by. His shaggy tail flies from side to side as he hopes to be petted. I can’t resist him — he’s far too adorable. I kneel down and give him my full attention for a minute, scratching the sides of his face and behind his ears with my nails, smiling at his blissful expression.

  I’ve always wanted a dog.

  Maybe someday I’ll get one, once I figure out who wants me dead and all that.

  Another grunt comes from the living room, and it reminds me of the sounds Isaac made last night, like a fucking caveman.

  I stand and dust my hands on my tank top, smiling in a whole new way at the thought of how his hands ground so hard and firm over my skin, purifying me. Rescuing the shit out of me.

  My pussy clenches, and I saunter toward that sound.

  And that boy knocked me out. I’ve never had a sleep so black. I’m renewed… spiked with a strong desire to figure out what the fuck happened to me.

  I sidle up to the doorway and peek down the hall to the living room but I still can’t see him. Slowly I pad down the hall, feeling sneaky as I lean around the corner to see what Mister Muscles is up to.

  His back is to me, and it gleams with sweat. He grasps a pull-up bar set in another doorway, and I watch as his body rises and falls, his muscles surging back and forth beneath that golden skin. Am I drooling? I don’t care. I can’t help it. His blond hair is slick with sweat, wild. His thick ass and thigh muscles bunch even tighter to keep his feet from touching the floor.

  Delicious.

  Buster barks behind me, and I jump, glaring down at him for giving my position away. I thought we were friends!

  Isaac turns around, flashing me his chiseled chest, each abdominal perfect. I could play tic-tac-toe on his tummy. I force myself to look up into his eyes, hazelnut in the morning light. He smiles, and his whole face brightens.

  “Hey,” I breathe, feeling naked. “Good morning.”

  “Morning, gorgeous. How are you feeling?”

  His eyes are intense on mine, even though his question is so simple, and my stomach erupts with butterflies. I remember liking this guy a lot before last night, too.

  “Like a new woman,” I say, ogling him shamelessly. “In so many ways.”

  Isaac flashes me more smile for one instant but then wipes it off and tries to talk to me regularly, no big smile. It’s still in his eyes, though. “Me, too,” he says, and then blinks. “I mean… no. I stand by it.” He winks at me. “I feel like a new woman.”

  I giggle, and he continues, getting serious again, “That doesn’t mean you’re at a hundred percent, though. It would be a good idea to take it easy for a few days while you finish recovering.”

  I can’t help it. I smirk at him, crossing my arms as I lean against the doorway. Am I flirting? Do I now have cathartic one-night-stands with sexy heroes and then flirt with them in the morning like I do it all the time? Who am I, really?

  Jeez, maybe a part of me did die in that fire.

  “And here I thought you were starting to get me. I’ve got to get to work.”

  He frowns, and I want to run my finger along his perfect mouth. Instead, I stay right where I am, waiting for his argument. The man is a goliath. He could keep me from doing anything he didn’t want me to do. That’s a part of what makes him unfathomably sexy.

  “And what is it that you do? What’s so important you can’t take a break for a little attempted murder?”

  “I’m a journalist,” I say, proud as hell.

  I love what I do. I love who I am, even if I can’t fathom all of my pieces at the moment.

  He nods, as though that explains everything. “So, there’s literally no one in Boston who can provide the news for the next couple days. I
t has to be you.”

  “I won’t be providing the news. I’ll be investigating my own crime. And I’m going to solve it.”

  He steps forward, and the sweat glistens on his chest. I bore my eyes into his, determined not to stare at him like he’s a piece of meat. He steps closer until he towers above me, and yet in spite of his menacing height, I’ve never felt safer.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re stubborn?” he asks, and his voice is like warm honey.

  I beam up at him, determined not to be distracted.

  “Once or twice.”

  “Hmm,” he says, disapproval dripping from that one sound.

  I watch him have an internal battle for whether or not he should still try and convince me to rest. Finally logic wins out, and he steps back. An emptiness follows.

  What was Isaac to me? Was he nothing more than a neighbor? More importantly, can I trust him? Why was he by my side at the hospital, if we’re only distant acquaintances? He didn’t have to stay. He has his own life. It doesn’t add up but I was made for solving puzzles.

  “At least allow me to walk you home,” he says, and there’s a gleam in his eye. “The cops called earlier. You’re good to go.”

  “Are you sure? It’s a pretty far walk.”

  He places his hands on my shoulders and turns me toward the front door.

  “Indulge me. I could use some cardio.”

  I smile, even as my mind darkens at the thought of what is facing me downstairs. An unsolved mystery, and the feeling of being completely and totally invaded. I open his front door, turning when I realize that he’s not behind me. He jogs back from the direction of his bedroom, and he slides on a pair of faded jeans and a black t-shirt. The shirt is tight but I miss the sight of his bare skin.

  “Hey, you again,” he greets me. I’m staring but I can’t stop. “Come here often?” he jokes, and I laugh.

  My voice is still hoarse, and I sound like a frog. How long will it take to sound like me again? Somewhere in that laugh, I heard her.

  “When will we see each other again?” I reach the bottom step. I turn and look up at that gold-and-caramel giant, who fills the damn stairwell. “At the mailboxes, I guess?”

  A sexy grin fixes on his face, and the thwack of something falling behind us rings out.

  I turn and see a familiar man stooped in front of my apartment door, picking up a to-go cup dribbling espresso. My eyes light up at the sight of my friend. What’s he doing here? “Gareth!”

  He looks exactly the same: a round, teddy bear face overgrown by chestnut stubble. Smart, cool gray eyes and rumpled brown hair. I’m grateful that I remember him. We’ve known each other for a couple years now. Gareth’s desk has always been near mine at The Tribune, and we became each other’s sanity in the crazy work day. Margaritas after work. Friday night trivia. That was us.

  The comfort overwhelms me. I rush to him and wrap my arms around him.

  When I pull away, his gray eyes are curious—I can’t read his expression. He glances down at my outfit, his eyes taking me in before they dart over to Isaac, who stands tall and hunky as ever behind me, waiting to protect at the slightest need. A different kind of warmth spreads in my belly.

  I feel the need to explain myself, but why?

  Probably because I look like I took the walk of shame with my upstairs neighbor.

  “This is Isaac,” I explain, only a little bit awkward. “What are you doing here?” I redirect to Gareth.

  Gareth’s stormy gaze darts from Isaac back to me, sticking to my face like glue as he cups my cheek with his palm, cradling it as he stares at me, hard. He pulls me back in again for a hug, and I reach my arms around him, confusion blossoming through me.

  “I’m so sorry, Scarlett,” he breathes against my hair.

  The gesture is a little too intimate, and I twitch away.

  “For what?” I ask.

  Gareth inhales, still caressing my face with his eyes. There’s something I’m missing here. I can feel it.

  He finally breaks eye contact long enough to glance at my tattered apartment, his expression morose.

  “That this happened to you. I can’t believe it. Our line of work is so dangerous sometimes.”

  “I knew the risks,” I say, feeling defensive. “Probably.”

  As a woman, I’ve always been forced to defend my tenacity and ambition. Being defensive is a second nature to me but I relax as Gareth places a placating hand on my shoulder.

  “Still. I’m worried about you.”

  He stares down at me affectionately, like a friend would. He looks back at Isaac. Oh, wow, he’s waiting for me to dismiss the other man.

  Instead, I step out from beneath Gareth’s touch.

  “You don’t have to worry about me. Isaac saved me from the fire,” I explain. “If it wasn’t for him… you could worry. But everything’s fine.”

  Gareth’s jaw works beneath his stubble as he stares. After a pause, he holds out his hand for Isaac to shake.

  “The world owes you a great debt of gratitude. We would have been lost without this beautiful lady.”

  Isaac’s stare is hard, and I watch their knuckles turn white as they shake hands, which is more like a prolonged squeezing match before Gareth releases Isaac’s fingers.

  I’m stunned.

  Did Gareth always act this way, or is this something that started in the void that I no longer remember? I repress another sigh, a wave of frustration washing over me at the phantom limb that is my own mind. My brain tingles with questions.

  I hate unanswered questions.

  “Are you okay to go in, Scarlett?” Isaac asks me. His eyes dart to Gareth before he looks back at me.

  I nod, letting him know I’m all right. “Yes, thank you…” My eyes take on a softer shine as I recall last night. He put me back together when I was in pieces. He glued me back together with his love. “For everything. I’ll never be able to repay you for what you’ve done.”

  “You already have, and then some,” Isaac promises me. “I think I’m the one who owes you now.”

  My cheeks flame.

  “Just check in with me when you get back from work,” he adds. “I’d like to know that you didn’t get kidnapped or pass out or anything fun like that.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I feel safer at work right now than I do here.”

  “Fair enough,” he conceded, glancing at my destroyed apartment. “I can give you a ride to work if you’d like.”

  “We have a carpool,” Gareth chimes in, and I look at him.

  I want to ask whether or not that’s true but I don’t want to give too much away. I don’t want him to know how much I don’t remember, even if he seems to suspect something’s off already.

  I look back to Isaac and shrug. “We have a carpool. Thanks for the offer, though.”

  He nods, seeing that it’s time for him to make an exit. “I’ll check in on you later.”

  It’s a promise, and one I’m happy for him to keep. If anything, I could use those muscular arms to help me put my apartment back together so I can actually live in it again. He nods a farewell to Gareth, who stares at him with a cold expression. Gareth and I watch Isaac’s retreating back together, though I doubt Gareth sees that sculpted beauty quite the way I do. The hallway door opens and closes, Buster’s bark echoing down the stairwell.

  I turn back to face Gareth, aware of my appearance.

  “Let me take a shower and get dressed, and I’ll be ready. Ten minutes.”

  “Take fifteen. We have time.”

  “How generous of you,” I tease, my lip curling in a smile as I glance back at him.

  When I turn back to my apartment, my smile disappears.

  I wind my way through the rubble, feeling violated. I don’t even know what they were looking for, if they were looking for anything at all. Given the state of things, it appears their goal was simply to destroy. I make my way to my bedroom, where my bedding is on the floor, crumpled in a pile. I shower quic
kly – at least the bathroom is relatively neat – then hop out and towel off.

  My closet is open, clothing strewn about, but I’m able to find a pair of dark denim jeans and a cream-colored blouse. When I look in the mirror, I’m horrified at the vison before me.

  My hair is wild and unkempt. I brush my curls out and separate them with my finger, blessed with biddable hair today. A pair of matching cream shoes finishes out my ensemble, and Gareth and I are stepping into his car outside before I know it, the cold air still shocking to me.

  We pull up to the Tribune, which is familiar as ever. As I walk inside, Gareth stays right by me, though he remains silent. I reach my desk, actively avoiding weird stares. I sit down, and Gareth is still there, hovering over me. I’m annoyed now. And curious.

  “What am I, your girlfriend or something?”

  He frowns down at me. “Yeah, kind of, smartass. You were.”

  This is news to me, and a wave of guilt besets me.

  “Gareth, I’m sorry,” I breathe.

  I explain to him my amnesia, that I haven’t been able to recall anything since summer. I don’t mention the one exception to that: Isaac. Somehow, I don’t think it would help.

  “I’m going to go talk to Preston now and give him the update. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  I slide my hand into my side drawer looking for a pen to write with and feel a piece of paper there. It’s gibberish, a mangled grouping of words that makes no sense.

  Wait. It’s not gibberish.

  It’s code. One that looks distantly familiar...

  Amnesia fucking sucks.

  “What is that?” Gareth asks, and I grab another piece of paper and my pen from behind it, not wanting to share yet.

  “Nothing,” I lie.

  Gareth may be a good friend, and was apparently once a nice boyfriend, but I don’t trust anyone in my life right now… even Isaac.

  If this code has something to do with my assassination attempt, I’m sure as hell not releasing it to anyone until I know what it means first.

  I stand and tell him, “Just grabbing some paper to take notes. You know me.”

  Gareth nods. He does know me. He finally leaves my side when I enter our Editor in Chief’s office. Preston cuts straight to the chase.