So I stepped gingerly from the stall, my pussy aching. Oh yeah, Mace did me a good one last night, and I’d taken it all. Ten inches into my pink hole, again and again, and yet after it was over, all I wanted was more.
Suddenly, a knock sounds on the front door. Shit, shit! Leonie was coming over for a quick coffee, but I’d gotten a late start to the morning. Hurriedly, I pull on a thick, terry robe and dash to the foyer before opening my door.
“Sorry,” is my hasty greeting. “You caught me in the shower.”
Leonie rolls her eyes before stepping inside.
“Mel, you know we’ve had this coffee date scheduled for ages. But it’s okay,” she says with a queenly air while sailing to my kitchen. “It’s a Saturday so I forgive you.”
I nod while rushing back into the bathroom.
“Just give me a minute to get dressed!” I call out before shutting the door. “There’re some English muffins in the fridge, and I got some special strawberry jam just for you. Help yourself!”
When I step out again with wet hair and a freshly-scrubbed face, I can see that Leonie’s made herself at home. My friend’s sitting at my rickety kitchen table, taking a big bite of English muffin with a huge pad of melting butter on top.
“Yum,” she mumbles while chewing. “Who would ever eat I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter when you can have the real thing?” she asks, taking another big bite. “It’s just not the same.”
I giggle a little, pulling out a chair and seating myself.
“Well, when you have Fabio selling that stuff, it’s pretty hard to resist,” I say drolly. “One flash of that waving blonde hair and poof! I’m a goner. I’ll buy anything he’s selling.”
Leonie rolls her eyes while taking another big bite.
“Are you still reading those romance novels?” she asks drolly. “The ones with the bare-chested pirates with women fainting at their feet? I told you that they’re just fantasy, and not like real life at all.”
My friend knows me too well, but I’m not going to apologize because everyone lives in their own world, right? And who’s to say that a little bit of romance can’t happen to us all?
“Well, I’m still reading,” I say saucily. “I mean, if you can call it reading, if you know what I mean.”
Leonie shoots me a glance.
“They are books, aren’t they? What would it be if it’s not reading? Oh my god, don’t tell me,” she says, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’ve started watching Lifetime movies non-stop. I mean, the actors are insanely gorgeous, but still, Mel. It’s Lifetime. That’s for old ladies who want to spice it up after their nightly episode of Wheel of Fortune is over.”
I giggle again because the stuff on Lifetime is so saccharine that sometimes you can feel the sugar dripping through your veins. But no, I haven’t started on those movies.
“It’s not that,” I said with a smile. “It’s just that … well, what do you call it if you’re acting out the scenes from a romance novel? Like I’m reading along … but also doing it, do you get what I mean?”
This time, the muffin falls from Leonie’s fingers altogether as her eyes grow wide.
“You’re what?” she sputters. “What do you mean?”
I nod, helping myself to some more butter.
“That’s right,” I say smugly. “Mace and I do that sometimes. We pick a passage that we want to re-enact, and then go through it detail by detail. One step at a time, hot and dirty, or slow and sinful, if you get what a mean. It’s am-a-zing.”
Leonie’s jaw is practically on the ground now and her eyes bug out.
“You must be kidding,” she breathes. “You guys do that? But it’s so dirty. And trust me, I’ve read Fifty Shades of Grey. Are you even doing that? You know, with the paddling and bondage and stuff?”
I giggle a little.
“Maybe,” is my mysterious answer.
Leonie’s eyes practically bug out now.
“You’re shitting me,” she whispers. “You, Little Miss Straight A Student, are getting it down with whips and chains and floggers? Just like in the movies? Do you let him tie you up?”
Now I have to stop her.
“Okay, not really,” I say with a laugh. “We’re not some crazy BDSM people, but yeah, we experiment. What’s wrong with having a little fun? Besides, with the right man, anything’s possible. Here, let me get you our latest book,” I say, standing up to make my way to the bookshelf. There are at least fifty dog-eared copies of various romance novels lined up in no particular order, and I seize one that has a picture of Fabio (who else?) on the cover. On this cover, he’s a cowboy with a sweet girl clutching one of his muscled thighs while looking up at him adoringly.
“Here you go,” I say, sliding the book over to her on the table. “Check out scene number two in Chapter Seven. The one where they use the lasso. We did that one last night.”
But Leonie’s staring at the cover. She doesn’t pick it up.
“Mel,” she says in a scandalized whisper. “I know you read your books over and over again which is why they’re pretty beat up. But is that a semen stain on the cover?”
I look down immediately and to my embarrassment, oh god, there’s a white splotch at the bottom left corner, right where the cover joins the spine. The paper’s buckled and wrinkly, and if I had to bet, the pages are stuck together just a teeny-weeny bit. Come to think of it, they’re probably glued solid seeing how Mace blasted last night, his roar deafening in my ears.
Because that’s how my man and I do it. We live out our fantasies with one another, always finishing with an ecstatic climax. So he’ll be my cowboy, my swashbuckling buccaneer, my gorgeous Highlander, so long as he gets to finish in one of my holes. And I’ll be his slutty princess, his doll, his plastic sex toy, so long as he fills me up until I’m moaning and creaming. You can see how most of our interactions end.
But there’s a deeper side to all of this. Because one, we want to get pregnant, and so it’s great that our sex life is off to the races. The more we do it, the better, and my man has gallons of virility to spare. Second, Mace knows he’s dying. Not dying, dying, per se, but he’s not doing serious treatment for his cancer. Instead, he’s spurned Western medicine and takes some homeopathic shit that probably does nothing. I couldn’t believe he was going down this route at first, and it was a tough talk to have.
“I can’t let you do this,” is my firm voice as I survey the box he’s brought home. My eyes squint while reading the fine print. “There’s nothing in these but some echinacea and orange blossom. That stuff’s for treating colds, not prostate problems.”
Mace takes the box from me wordlessly before opening it and popping a tan-colored pill.
“So?” he asks. “It’s been working,” he says, voice steely and determined. “Do I look like a man who’s sick?”
And I have to admit that he looks healthy as a horse. In fact, my lover’s practically bursting with vitality, his muscles rock hard and firm, standing tall and proud. And for sure, he’s virile. Mace gets it up two or three times a night, if not four or five.
But that’s the thing. There’s an element of the needy to our loving. It’s like he knows he has limited time on the Earth, and thus craves my body again and again until the grey light of morning.
“Go slower,” I’ll yawn sleepily. “Take a break.”
But Mace never listens. He wants to sate himself again and again, and often just rolls me over and puts it inside as I gasp and squeal once more.
So yeah, that’s our loving. No long, languorous walks on the beach. No comfortable afternoons where we read books sitting on different couches, our hands entangled. Instead, Mace Jackson is a man possessed. His clock’s ticking, and he’s out to make the most of his time on Earth, which in our case, includes making a baby.
And as for me? Sometimes I’m not sure how I feel about “us,” to be honest. On the one hand, of course I’m physically in his thrall. I can’t resist the alpha male’s bo
dy, and that cock keeps me up all night in the best of ways. Plus, I’m over the moon about the fact that we’re trying to get pregnant. It’s a dream come true, especially with an alpha male at my beck and call.
But at the same time, my heart’s a little sore. There’s a niggling feeling of doubt that I do my best to quash most times, but it still comes up. Because does Mace only want me because I’m available and willing? Am I the last stop on a dying man’s journey? Am I just a uterus and a set of ovaries that happened to be on offer at exactly the right time? Or is there something deeper and more real to this?
Because I shouldn’t have these doubts. I was the one who brought up pregnancy and fertility, and assured him that this was what I wanted. And it is. But at the same time, sometimes I feel insecure because although we’ve never really spoken about it, I feel something for the man. It boils in my soul. It happens when I wake up and catch him watching me as I sleep. It breaks my heart when I see him hurt, depressed or sad. I want to help him in any way possible.
So I’ll run to Mace, pressing my lips to his cheek while massaging those broad shoulders.
“It’s okay,” I’ll whisper, not even knowing what he’s upset about. “We’ll figure it out.”
And those blue eyes will flash up to meet mine, seizing my heart.
“Will it be okay, Dr. Carter?” he’ll growl. “It doesn’t seem okay sometimes, at least not for my vantage point.”
And that’s when the words catch in my throat. Because this is a man with a poor prognosis. He hasn’t gone back for more tests, but given the sky-high levels of that last bloodwork, the future’s pretty grim. My alpha male probably doesn’t have long on this Earth, and as a result, he wants to make the most of his time.
Leonie waves her hand in front of my face.
“Earth to Melissa, Earth to Melissa,” she calls. “You okay in there?”
I jolt back to reality.
“Sorry,” is my half-hearted smile. “Just got lost in my thoughts.”
Leonie nods understandingly, but I can tell she wants to say something as well.
“What is it?” I sigh. “Just spit it out.”
My friend bites her lip before looking at me again.
“You know I’m super excited to hear that you and Mace have this amazing, splendiferous sex life and all,” she says, nodding at the book. “By the way, would you mind putting that elsewhere? No offense but it’s kind of gross to have it on the breakfast table.”
Without a word, I whip it off the table and back to the bookshelf silently.
“Thanks,” Leonie says while slowly spreading jam on a second English muffin. “But what I was saying is that while you and Mace are clearly in love ….”
“What?” I ask, head jerking back and eyes snapping. “What do you mean, in love?”
Leonie sighs and just finishes buttering up her muffin.
“Well, it’s clear,” she says, her voice firm. “You talk about him all the time. You’re barely even in your apartment anymore because you’re always at his. You have crazy sex where you play out scenes from your romance novels,” she says meaningfully. “If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”
I giggle slightly despite myself.
“So pretending to be Fabio is a true sign of love?” I ask archly.
Leonie wiggles her brows.
“Well yes!” she exclaims. “I mean, seriously Mel. You have to admit that the role-play is pretty out there. And if he’s indulging you, well then, I’d say he loves you too.”
That makes my mouth snap shut. Because is it true? Is Mace showing me his love in his own way by putting up with my foibles and idiosyncrasies? He’s never said anything about love, that’s for sure. In fact, neither of us have uttered those three words. But still, there are many ways to show your adoration for someone, and maybe Leonie’s up to something.
My friend can sense she’s on a roll, and the blonde goes with it.
“If I’m honest, Mel, I’ve never seen you so happy before. You’re focused at work, but the minute you get off, it’s all about Mace. You don’t even have to say anything. It’s the way you smile with contentment, and how little things that used to aggravate you don’t seem to matter anymore. Remember how Brenda got on your nerves whenever she hummed at the front desk? Last time, I heard you humming along with her. It’s crazy, Mel, you guys were practically doing a duet. It’s like you’re a changed person.”
My cheeks flush because Leonie’s words are true. With Mace by my side, I feel like a new woman. No more the slog of endless days at the office. No more the seven cups of coffee to get me through the day. Instead, I’m light on my feet and filled with energy and laughter, anticipating my return to my lover’s embrace. Except for the niggling doubts sometimes.
But my friend doesn’t know this and Leonie nods again, taking a sip of coffee.
“You’re in love,” she states with finality. “Absolutely. The two of you guys are ga-ga over one another. But Mel,” she says slowly before raising her eyes to mind. “How are you dealing with his illness?”
I take a deep breath because this is always a sensitive topic.
“Mace is on a homeopathic regimen,” I begin.
Leonie snorts.
“Please girl. I’m a doctor too. We run the clinic together, Melly, and I’ve seen his charts. That homeopathic stuff has never worked for anyone, and isn’t going to work for him either. You can’t take a dose of St. John’s Wort and chamomile, and expect the cancer to cure itself.”
Her proclamation is hard to hear, and my heart twinges with pain. Because what Leonie’s saying is true. We’re both MDs, and medical school taught us that there’s only one way to go about this, and that’s to attack. Attack, attack, and then attack some more. Treat aggressive growth with aggressive remedies, and that means chemo and radiation until the patient’s weak and vomiting, a mere shadow of who they once were.
“I know,” I say softly. “But Mace is set in his ways. He won’t listen.”
Leonie’s silent for a moment.
“Have you talked to him as his doctor? Not at his girlfriend but as his physician?”
My heart jumps at the word “girlfriend,” but I nod.
“I have,” are my slow words. “Multiple times. But he’s a hard-headed male and what can I do? I can’t tie him up and stick a needle in his arm. I can’t drag him to the hospital and sic the radiation machine on him. He’s a full-growl adult male who makes his own decisions, and I have to respect that.”
But Leonie has my back, and that’s one of the reasons why I love her.
“Do you want me to talk to him?” she says seriously, looking my way. “I’m your medical partner, so it makes sense. He knows I can reference his charts. Plus, a second opinion is always welcome, right?”
I shake my head.
“It won’t make a difference,” are my slow words. “He is who he is, and I have to respect that.”
My heart breaks a little more, the strain making my stomach churn even as tears spring to my eyes.
“Don’t!” cries my friend, immediately slinging an arm over my shoulders. “You’re gonna be okay.”
I raise my head, eyes still weepy.
“Have you seen that episode of Grey’s Anatomy where Katherine Heigl falls in love with her doomed patient? The one who’s really cute? I think his name was Dennis?”
Leonie laughs gently.
“Of course I have. I’ve seen every episode of that series, and it’s Denny, not Dennis.”
I stifle a noise that sounds like a half-laugh, half-sob.
“Well I feel like her,” is my torn reply. “I feel like I’m in love with a man who’s got a sword over his head, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’d do anything,” is my near-whisper. “But the only thing I can give him is love.”
And to my surprise, Leonie takes my hand then.
“Then that’s what you’ll do,” she says, her voice firm, fingers gripping mine tight. “We’ve been taught that there’
s only one way to approach this as doctors, but that’s not right. Or more accurately, you’re not just his doctor. You’re also his girlfriend, his woman, his everything. And so you’ve got to do what’s best for him and you. For both of you,” she says, her voice fierce now. “Take care of yourself, Melissa, because you know how this is going to end.”
And I nod even as tears trickle down my cheeks unheeded now. They leave hot trails that drip off my chin, turning me into a sodden mess. But Leonie’s right. Because I have to do right by the man I love, but also, by myself. Because what happens when Mace is gone? What happens when I no longer have that broad chest to curl up against, his nimble fingers to make me moan? It was so easy to think about in the abstract, but as our time together draws to a close, my heart contracts with pain.
Because what happens when I no longer have that deep voice soothing me, making me laugh and cry all at once? What happens if I have a bouncy baby boy in my lap who looks just like him, toothless with sparkling blue eyes? There’s an end game to all this … and unfortunately, Mace might not be in the family picture.
His Baby: A Babycrazy Romance Page 6
