In a rage, I crumple the paper in one big fist before turning my wrath on the poor woman.
“What the fuck?” is my snarl. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Melissa doesn’t get intimidated, nor does she back down. Instead, the curvy BBW holds her ground with her arms crossed against those plump tits, a defiant light in those eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” she says again evenly. “But the tests are clear. Of course, we can re-do them if you like.”
I shake my head, gazing at blank space of the white exam room wall. Images seem to appear and disappear before my eyes, black and gray squiggles that are the product of a stunned mind. Because it’s really happening. This was the first step down the cancer road that led to Uncle Robbie’s funeral, and as a result, I feel like I’ve been handed a death sentence.
“Fuck,” I curse again under my breath, still staring at the wall like an enraged bull. “Fuck this shit.”
Melissa sits slowly.
“Mr. Jackson, we can do the tests again,” she says. “You know they’re not a hundred percent right all the time, and last week … well, you know what happened. I didn’t get a definitive reading during the digital exam.”
“You mean during our finger fuck?” I ask harshly, turning her way with dark streaks blazing across my cheekbones. “Was that before or after you sucked me off?”
She maintains her composure admirably.
“I didn’t get a good reading,” she repeats again. “And I’m happy to repeat the exam. As well as the blood test. We’ll do them both,” she says firmly.
Rage fills me, coursing through my blood like hot lava. And in two seconds, I’ve done it. I’ve ripped off my clothes, standing before the beautiful woman in nothing but skin, my cock jutting out and proud.
“Suck it,” I rasp harshly. “Do the exam and then I’m gonna fuck you.”
Not exactly the words of a kind and caring lover, but Melissa understands me on a subconscious level, and slowly, the woman drops to her knees before me. But I want it different this time.
“Nude,” I rasp, eyes boring into her. “Take everything off and suck me. Now. I’m pumping you full of my babies.”
Those caramel eyes flutter upwards to gaze into mine, but somehow she understands. The brunette knows how important this ist to me, and slowly, she obeys. Rising gracefully from her crouching position, the woman dispenses with her lab coat and dress, letting the silky material slip off her curves. And shit, but I almost come then because she’s so beautiful. The girl’s got huge tits that overflow her bra, and there’s a tell-tale sodden splotch at the crotch of her panties. Oh yeah, she’s drenched as all fuck and wants it just as bad as me.
Slowly, the woman peels off her lingerie, leaving her in nothing but those sexy black heels.
“Down,” I grunt, pointing to the floor. “Suck.”
Her brown eyes flare a bit but she drops gracefully to the floor, and it happens once again. My girl has the skills of a python and she downs my cock in one heavenly swallow, taking me to the hilt like a circus acrobat. I let out a bellow, uncaring of who hears.
“Fuck!” is my hoarse gasp, burying my hands in her hair. “Fuck fuck fuck!”
And I wish I could say that was the end of it. But it wasn’t. Melissa did her anal exam on me again, even more slow and thorough this time. Her finger probed carefully, stretching out my canal as she sucked my dick, semen pumping down her throat as she fingered my most private spot. But this time, it didn’t stop there because I’ve got gallons to give and I wasn’t letting that creamy pussy get away.
So after depositing my first load, I lifted the woman onto the exam table, spreading her legs wide.
“Ummm,” she moaned, leaning back as her pussy visibly leaked warm fluids, gushing in anticipation. “Yes, right there.”
“Your hole’s beautiful,” I growled, eyes glued to her sweetest spot as my thumbs pulled her open. “So pink and tight.”
And I did it then. In one swift stroke, I impaled the woman on my shaft, burying my cock deep into those puffy folds.
“Unnnh!” was her helpless mewl, pussy clasping me like a velvet vise. “Deeper, Mace!”
“Shit you’re small,” was my breathless gasp, cock already beginning to pulse again.
And the fucking was so rancid and ravenous that it’s surprising that we didn’t bring the building down. Because chairs skidded across the floor, scraping to a halt when the hit the wall. The exam table shook and pounded, practically coming off its solid steel base. Moans, mewls and cries of ecstasy rang in the small room at maximum volume as flesh slapped obscenely against flesh.
“Unnnh Mace!” Mel shrieked again. “I’m comiiiing!”
And just like that, we burst simultaneously in a gush of seed, cunt juices, and pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Because fuck those exam results. Fuck my genetic history which was dooming me to a gory finish. Fuck the world, come to think of it. All that I cared about was owning this beautiful woman and making babies with her … even if we only had limited time together.
Chapter 8
Melissa
My man kisses me long and slow.
“Stop,” I giggle. “There are people watching.”
Because we’re at the library together to do research, and a couple of old ladies are already casting scandalized looks our way.
“There are kids here,” I breathe. “Don’t go crazy!”
But Mace is Mace and he merely kisses me again before turning back to the volume in front of him.
“Shit this print is so small I need a magnifying glass,” he grumbles. “What the hell? How can anyone read this?”
I merely giggle.
“See?” I reply. “I’m lucky I came out of medical school with my vision intact. Most of my friends had glasses that were like coke bottles by the end.”
He merely shakes his head, squinting this time.
“Man. What does this say here?” he asks, pointing at something.
I frown. Because we’re not in a regular library. We’re at the Science Library on the Hudson Medical School premises. But suddenly, I can’t take anymore.
“It says you’re going to be fine,” I say. “Come on. I know everything there is to know about prostate cancer already. This is my business after all. I trained to do this for years and years, and have seen hundreds of patients. You’re going to be fine, Mace.”
I’m not even sure why I’m saying these words. After all, my man’s PSA levels were elevated and that’s an indicator, for sure. And yet on this bright, sunny Saturday, I can’t bear to talk about it. I want to live life with my man, and discuss what’s on my mind.
Fortunately, the alpha male lets me pull him up by the hand and lead him to the outdoor café.
“Pretty day, isn’t it?” he asks with a grin, ordering us a latte to share. When they ask if he wants whole milk or skim, he orders skim out of deference to me.
“Thank you,” is my pretty smile. “I appreciate it especially since I know you really want to get chocolate milk.”
“I do,” he says devilishly. “I don’t need the caffeine. I just need some chocolate and a good dose of you.”
I sigh while sitting down at a small iron-wrought table. Mace brings over our drink, setting it down carefully so that the foam doesn’t spill over.
“So tell me what’s on your mind,” he invites in a low growl. “What’s got you so worked up?”
I sigh a little. A million things to be honest. How amazing and gorgeous he looks, sitting there with his shoulders so broad and blue eyes discerning. How I’m over the moon now that we’re dating like regular people. But also serious issues too, like how much I want to have his babies. And I take a deep breath then because there’s no sense in holding it in anymore. He and I are in a somewhat different position than most couples. He has disease looming over his head, and there’s no one who knows it better than me, his doctor.
So I go for gold in one fell swoop.
“Mace,” I say quietly. “Do you
want children? I know this is such a weird thing to ask especially since we only started dating,” the words come out garbled and hurried, my cheeks flushing. “But I have to ask because I really want kids, and … and ….”
It’s impossible to finish because I’m too embarrassed. Oh my god, who does this after knowing someone for only a few weeks? But again, there’s a sword hanging over his head, and there’s no sense in ignoring it. It’s the elephant in the room that I have to acknowledge.
He grins, teasing me a bit.
“Why are you so interested?” he growls. “Something on your mind?”
I blush even more red.
“Well yes,” is my stammer. “I mean, you’re potentially sick, and I have ovaries that are expiring, and I’ve been dating in the city for years now with no result. I’m getting old,” is my explanation, even as my cheeks feel like they’re about to overheat from embarrassment. “And as a doctor, I know better than anyone that women’s fertility peaks at age twenty-three.”
“Really? I heard female fertility peaks at seventeen,” he quips, waggling his eyebrows.
On the one hand, it makes me mad that he’s joking around, but on the other, I appreciate it too. Because this is a hard talk to have, and I’m glad that my man has a sense of humor about it.
“Oh you,” I say, swatting his arm playfully with one small hand. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” he says thoughtfully, taking a sip of the coffee. “But tell me more,” he invites. “You’re gorgeous, sweetheart. Absolutely ravishing, so it’s weird to hear you say that you desperately want a baby.”
I cringe a little. I’d been hoping to stay away from the word “desperate,” but now that it’s out there, fine. Because it’s an accurate description, and I go with it.
“Well,” I say taking a deep breath before trying again. “I’m getting older. You know I’m thirty,” is my sentence, pausing a little on the word thirty, “and that’s not exactly young anymore. I’m no spring chicken so I was hoping to maybe get pregnant? What are your thoughts? Plus we’ve never used protection,” I say in a rush. “So maybe you’re okay with it?”
Again, I cringe internally. How could my phrasing be any worse? “Spring chicken”? Oh god, I might have well have said big fat whale.
But Mace’s expression remains thoughtful, his blue eyes calm.
“You’re no spring chicken but you’re a juicy chicken,” he quips.
“Oh you!” I squeal again, swatting him once more. “You know what I mean.”
He grins, making me melt, and nods seriously then.
“I do, sweetheart. And I appreciate your honesty because yeah, we’re not exactly in the most normal position. Most couples don’t talk about this kind of stuff until they’ve been dating months, if not years. Meanwhile, I met you what … two weeks ago? But we’re already a couple?”
“Some people start trying the moment they meet,” I say primly. “My friend Marlene was like that, and she and her husband Bob have five kids now.”
Mace waggles his brows at me again.
“Is that what you want? Five kids?”
My breath seizes because I’d love to have five children. Maybe two boys and three girls. Or three boys and two girls, of all different sizes. I’d love for Mace to pump me full again and again as I spit out babies left and right.
But that’s the thing. I’m thirty right now, so if I want to have five kids, I have to start crackin’ immediately. If I get pregnant this very second, that means I’d give birth to my first one at thirty-one. And then if I have one child every two years after that, that means I’ll have number two at thirty-three, number three at thirty-five, number four at thirty-seven, and number five at thirty-nine. Whew! That’s cutting it close to the big four-oh, which is supposedly when fertility hits the skids.
So I look at my man seriously again.
“I do want five kids,” is my low voice. “If you’re okay with starting immediately.”
And to my surprise, Mace doesn’t laugh it off this time. Instead, he takes my hand in his, that big square palm swallowing my small one.
“I’d love to have children,” he growls. “And you’re right, we haven’t used protection a single time we’ve been together. I’ve been spurting in you hot and virile. I guess I just assumed you were on the pill.”
My cheeks flame red.
“I’m not,” is my low murmur. “So I might actually be pregnant already.”
His eyes take on a gleam.
“That’d be amazing honey. But I have to ask. Are you okay with having a babydaddy who’s sick? What if I have cancer? What if I die after six months, leaving you alone and pregnant?”
The air evaporates from my lungs, leaving me gasping for oxygen. Because of course, that could definitely happen. Prostate issues are treatable, but there’s no surefire way to attack the disease. I’ve had patients die just like any other doctor, and although I’d say Mason’s prognosis is good as a healthy forty year-old, you never know.
“I don’t know,” is my soft reply. “I don’t want you to die. I want you to stay alive so we can have five kids together. I want three girls and two boys, didn’t I tell you?”
His eyes flare as he grips my hand tighter.
“Well, I want at least one set of twins,” he growls hoarsely. “So how do we do that? Do I bang you twice in a row to get twins? Identical sweetheart, not fraternal.”
I laugh softly.
“No, no one exactly knows how or why identical twins come about. There are some old wives’ tales about eating sesame and castor oil together, but there’s no scientific basis for that. But you raise a good point,” I say softly. “I want to try even if we don’t have a lot of time together. In fact, I want to try more because we might not have decades together. It’s that much more important to me.”
Harsh streaks decorate those sharp cheekbones then, that blue gaze becoming intent.
“Really, sweetheart?” he rasps. “Would you do that for a sick man? For me?”
I nod thoughtfully.
“Yes, and you’re not sick Mason. Not really. Not in any definitive way yet. You have elevated PSA levels, but that’s not a surefire diagnosis. It’s just a screening test. And you take good care of yourself, what with eating right, working out, and avoiding stress. We talked about that, remember? And you’ve done a good job cutting back on your work schedule.”
Because when the alpha male and I started dating, I was shocked at how much he worked. I thought I worked a lot as a physician, but with Mace, it was on a whole different level. He’s up at five a.m. to get to the gym, and into the office at six. Then he works straight through until six p.m., grabbing a bite for dinner before heading to some type of after-work business function. I guess that’s how construction is. As a builder / developer, you have to hobnob with the right people to find out about opportunities and to get contracts. So Mace’s schedule was jam-packed to the gills, and the man doesn’t get home until midnight most nights.
But that couldn’t keep happening. Not with his health on the line, and after we talked, Mace cut back and handed over some of his responsibilities to trusted lieutenants. It’s impossible to say how it’s going to work out, but so far, it seems that he has good people in his employ and they know what they’re doing.
So I smiled at him.
“You’re not sick so far and we’re going to be okay,” I say, squeezing his hand. “But I want a baby, big guy. I want five babies, minimum, so what do you say? Should we get started?”
Those blue eyes flared as he stood up abruptly, sending the chair over onto its back. It clattered onto the stone floor, loud and startling, but Mace’s eyes were fixed on mine.
“You bet I want to get started,” he says hoarsely. “Now sweetheart. I want that pretty pussy to be filled with my cream again and again and again. And if you’re not pregnant yet, then you’re going to be very soon.”
And with that, we made our way to his penthouse. Because yes, I only just met him.
Yes, the alpha male may be sick. But the thing is that we’re both baby crazy, and when two adults want the same result? There’s no way to stop it, especially not when love begins to bloom. Because that’s how I feel about Mace Jackson. He’s dominating and controlling, with an iron grip on his business. And yet he has a soft touch when it comes to me. He treats me well and coddles me, pulling me against that hard chest whenever I need comfort. He dries my tears and nuzzles my cheek, answering the call within my soul for a mate. So yes, what we’re doing may seem insane. It may seem like the rantings and ravings of lunatics in the asylum. But for us it’s right … and only time will tell what happens next.
Chapter 9
Melissa
Six months later …
I step out of the shower, sore as all get out. But it’s a good kind of sore because as usual, Mace owned my body again last night and it was pure heaven. I came again and again as the man barreled into my holes, spurting his seed in hot, virile gusts.
Because I’ve been riding the sex train non-stop recently. It should be different. Mace is technically a cancer patient, even if he’s going the homeopathic route. I can’t blame him. After witnessing the demise of his Uncle Robbie, the alpha male made it clear that he wasn’t doing the regular courses of chemo and radiation. He was gonna beat it by eating right, working out like a maniac, and having so much sex that his semen leaks from my holes 24/7. After all, we’re trying for a baby so it makes sense that I spend a lot of time on my back with my legs spread. And the alpha male owns me every which way, making me squeal and come even as my fertile body soaks up his seed.
His Baby: A Babycrazy Romance Page 5
