Dr. Chase Hudson (The Surrogate Book 2)

by Gadziala, Jessica

  “I'm not always serious you know,” I said, turning my head on my pillow to look at her. I found myself wanting her to know about the me that I was outside of the office, outside of the mask I had to wear for the sake of professionalism.

  “Good to know,” she said, moving herself upward as her hand hovered over my skin for an excruciatingly long moment before lowering down onto my chest. Her hand shifted to the center of my chest, moving downward and I heard my breath hiss out of my mouth. The sound apparently emboldened her as her palm moved over my skin greedily, hungrily.

  “So my nudity is okay,” I observed, needing to take some of my focus off what her hand was doing to me.

  “I guess,” she said and her hand stilled.

  “Okay,” I said, kicking the covers off my body, letting myself be completely exposed, watching her face for a reaction. Expecting hesitation. Fear. Anxiety. But, no. What I saw was pure... heat.

  “Can I see more of you now?” I asked, pushing up onto my elbow on my side so I could look at her.

  There was a long hesitation before, “Okay.”

  I took a deep breath, trying to calm the urgency I felt, forcing myself to go slow. My hand went down to her feet, slowly exposing her long legs. “These are great legs,” I said, stroking my hand over them.

  “Thank you.”

  There wasn't even a pause. “You're getting better at that.”

  “Well you won't stop feeding compliments to me,” she shrugged, trying to brush it off.

  “Hey,” I said, my tone a little too rough. “I don't want you thinking I am just saying shit to say it. When I tell you how beautiful you are, I mean it. I want you to know that. And I want you to start believing it too.” Shit. That was a little harsh. A little too... demanding. She didn't need me to be an alpha asshole when she was trying to trip her way through gaining some confidence.

  “I... believe you,” she mumbled.

  “Do you believe it?” I pressed.

  “I'm getting there,” she allowed.

  “Progress,” I said, smiling a little.

  “Yeah,” she agreed.

  My hand went to the sheets and pulled them, exposing her fully from the waist down. Immediately, her thighs snapped together, blocking her pussy from view. “Your choice?” I asked, my hand pressing down at the lowest point of her belly, forcing myself to keep it a safe distance from her heat. “Or what you thought I wanted?” I asked.

  Her brows scrunched up. “What?”

  “Completely shaving,” I supplied, looking at the pale, flawless skin, but not able to see anything really.

  “What? Did you expect everything to be all... unruly?” she asked, sounding amused.

  “Yes, actually. I figured you would find any way you could to hide.”

  “Just a personal preference,” she said, watching as my hand moved up to the blanket that was just barely hiding her breasts from view.

  I still hadn't gotten to see them. When she had removed her bra, her hair had been in the way. And I hadn't even thought to look when she was freaking out.

  I flicked the material away.

  “Fuck me.” Perfect. Every inch. From her toes (the second one on her left foot turning just ever so slightly in toward the big one) to her shapely legs, to the small pinpoint of a birth mark on her ribs, to the dusty pink nipples on her breasts. Just... perfect.

  My hand pressed down onto her ribs. “Ava, breathe,” I told her and watched as her chest shook when she finally inhaled. My hand slid upward, the edge of my finger just barely brushing the underside of her breast. “Babe, you're perfect,” I told her what I had been thinking. In my eyes, she was. “I can't wait to touch these,” I admitted, my thumb stroking the soft underside of her breast. Her whole body shivered. “So sensitive,” I murmured, thinking of all the ways I could exploit that, show her how wonderful that was. I forced my hand away before I crossed a line, letting it slide down her belly and making her back arch up off the mattress. Fuck. Yeah. “Okay,” I said on a sigh, trying to control myself. “Why don't you roll onto your stomach sweetheart.”

  “Why?”

  “Please,” I said, the word tense. I was fucking struggling. That was new for me. I needed a few minutes to pull myself together.

  She looked at me, then down my body before moving to turn. My hand grabbed her hip, sinking in for a second before I forced myself to let her go so she could roll over.

  My hands moved over her soft skin as I tried to ignore the way she shifted and shivered and sucked in her breath.

  Unable to help myself, my hands moved over the plump roundness of her ass, shaking my head at myself. I was never so lost before, so at the mercy of my own sex drive. Because the next second, my hand shifted to the underside of her ass, hovering over the juncture of her thighs, feeling the heat from her pussy. A pussy that I would bet my last dollar was wet.

  “Are you wet for me, Ava?” Her head nodded slightly. “I can't wait to touch and taste and feel that.” All I could comfort myself with was... soon. I would be able to run my fingers up her slick heat, stroke her clit until she was straining, push my finger inside her until she came, crying out my name. Then I could bury my face between her thighs, letting her sweetness coat my tongue as I drove her up, her legs closing around my head, her hands holding me to her. Fuck, then I could ease my throbbing cock inside her and make us both fall apart.

  Soon.

  My hands drifted down her thighs before I moved away. “Okay,” I said, getting onto my back and patting my chest. Don't ask me why, but I needed her there. “Come over here.”

  She practically flew at me, resting her head on my chest and sinking into me easily. Like we had done it a thousand times before. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  We stayed like that for a long time, her nestled against me, my hands lazily moving up her back, through her hair, over her hip.

  Until I heard her stomach growl angrily.

  I chuckled and spoke before I thought it through. It came out naturally. Like it would have if we were just any two people- just a man and a woman, not patient and doctor.

  “Your belly is growling. Let's go get you some food.”

  And with that, I crossed yet another professional line.

  But there was already no going back.

  After the Session

  I did something I had never done before.

  I dressed her.

  And it was slow. And sensual. And almost as intimate as holding her.

  Then she, very timidly but with steady hands, buttoned my shirt.

  And I took her to a restaurant.

  Like we were a normal couple on a date.

  “Come on,” I said, offering her my hand to help her out of the car. “Get your pretty little ass out here,” I said, grinning.

  “Well if you're going to put it that way,” she laughed, taking my hand, moving to pull it away as soon as she was on her feet, but I held it tighter, interlocking our fingers as I led her inside.

  I knew I lost her by the time I walked up to the hostess podium. She was there, walking with me, her hand in mine, but she was a million miles away. You could practically feel the wall between us. “Ava where are you?” I asked as the hostess placed the menus.

  “Nowhere important,” she said, shaking her head as if to clear it as she scooted into the booth and picked up her menu. She was very carefully, but also very pointedly avoiding my eye contact.

  When I moved in beside her, she moved her body away. It was subtle, but it was poignant. I sighed inwardly, looking at my menu. “Doesn't matter what you order, I guarantee it will be the best Italian you've ever had.”

  Then she told me about her little mom and pop Italian place by her apartment, her eyes bright, her speech more open and friendly than it usually was. Inclusive. That's what it was. It was Ava, the whole package. Just the barest hint of it. Because then we were tasting the wine and she was shutting herself back away again.
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  “What's the matter?”

  Her back immediately straightened, her entire demeanor changing. Shifting. “Nothing,” she said simply.

  “Don't lie, Ava,” I said. My tone sounded defeated even to my own ears. “If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. But don't lie.”

  “Fine,” she snapped. Snapped. Like she was angry. “I don't want to talk about it.” Hell, she even punctuated her point with a glare in my direction. I couldn't help it. I laughed. “What?” she said, her eyes getting small.

  “Kitty has claws,” I said quietly as the waiter came to take our order.

  The silence hung for a few minutes before I broke it. “What happened?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her tone guarded.

  “Well, each step you took from the car to the booth, you got more and more tense. And then, sitting here, staring at your menu but not actually reading it, you got positively ramrod straight. Something was going on in that head of yours.”

  Her tone was cold, hell, practically frigid when she spoke. “Are we on my time right now?”

  “Your time?” I asked, not understanding. Not her question, but also not her tone.

  “Yes, my time. Like... is this part of the whole... experience?”

  The restaurant. The small talk. She wanted to know if it was part of her therapy. Shit. God damn it. “What? No,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Then maybe you shouldn't be trying to analyze me,” she barked at me.

  I felt my brow rise. “I'm not trying to analyze you, Ava. I am trying to understand why you are looking at me like I am suddenly a different person,” I started. She opened her mouth to interrupt, to object, but I cut her off, “A person you hate.”

  “I don't hate you,” she said too quickly for it to be anything other than the truth. I watched as something happened to her face. A tightness in her jaw. A gritting of her teeth. A hardening of her eyes.

  “There. Right there. What are you thinking to make you look at me like that?”

  “Maybe it's just my face,” she brushed it off, smirking.

  “No. Your face is soft and sweet and gorgeous enough to launch a thousand god damn ships.” I paused, taking a breath. “Why won't you talk to me?”

  “Do you do this to everyone?”

  “Do what?”

  “Try to browbeat them into telling you what they are thinking. Not all our thoughts are meant to be shared you know.”

  “I'm not...” I started to object, but she had a point. She was right. I was browbeating her. I was pushing where it wasn't my place. Which was not okay both professionally or personally. No matter how pure my motives. I exhaled a frustrated breath. “Okay. We are just going to let that go. All of it. Time for a subject change.”

  There was a long pause and I knew she was struggling with her social anxiety but I was honestly just in no place to be carrying the conversation so I couldn't help her out. “Do you have any siblings?”

  I felt myself smile. “Ten or fifteen close ones.”

  I didn't tell everyone the foster care story. It wasn't a happy one. It wasn't even a neutral one. It was a giant sore spot full of nights crying in unfamiliar bedrooms surrounded by kids who I had never met who let me have my privacy to mourn over what I had lost. Because they had no comfort to offer. Because they were just giant gaping wounds like I was too.

  I wasn't sure why I told her. Because she was so exposed to me? Because I wanted to even the playing field? Somehow, I didn't think that was it. I was pretty sure there was a part of me, a part of me I didn't quite understand because it didn't quite make sense, that just... wanted her to know me. Not as her doctor. Not as her surrogate. Just... as a person.

  Her big brown eyes got sad when I told her, to the point of glistening for me and the little kid I used to be. Helpless. Dragged away from the only person I knew and tossed with strangers. She knew. She had tried working at child services. She couldn't stomach it. All the crying. The pain. The families torn apart. It was heartbreaking to be on the outside of it, but she knew how much worse it was to be on the inside.

  Then she reached down, took my hand, and laced it with mine. When she looked up at me, I swear to Christ... her heart was in her eyes.

  It was a moment I wanted to sear into my memory so I could never forget it.

  But it was a moment ended to soon with the sound of our meal arriving.

  “Are you going to eat or just keep pushing the lettuce around?” I asked after watching her for a minute.

  And damn if she didn't stab a fork full, shove it into her mouth until it was almost too full to talk around and glowered at me. “Happy?”

  I threw my head back and laughed, caught off guard yet again by another unexpected look at the real Ava.

  I shook my head, reaching out and rubbing my thumb across her lip where some dressing was and brought it to my lips and licked it off. Her eyes went from teasing to downright hot. Turned on. Completely. “Having some dirty thoughts, huh?” I teased, not able to help myself.

  “You wish,” she said, her gaze falling from mine.

  We both knew she was lying. But I was going to let it slide. “Damn straight I do.”

  I caught her eyeing my ziti and we ended up sharing. Well, by 'sharing' I mean she ate more of my food than I did. And she surprised me (and likely herself) by steering the conversation without needing to be prompted to. She asked me about college. Where I went. What was it like? The topics stayed safe, tame. She didn't ask about how I got into surrogacy. Not that I expected her to. That wasn't her style. She was too shy. Too worried about crossing a socially unacceptable line.

  She told me more about her family who seemed like they had been overbearing as she grew up and that she had to move away from them as an adult to finally learn how to keep them at a metaphorical distance.

  Too soon, the check arrived. I paid. We got into my car and we drove back to the parking garage by my office.

  I got out and walked her to her car, both of us having words that we needed to say. And both of us keeping them to ourselves for our own reasons. My hand raised, wanting to stroke down her cheek. Wanting her to look at me with warmth in her eyes. But I had already crossed too many lines. My hand dropped numbly by my side. “Monday. Seven,” I said, then got in my car. I waited for her to get into hers and get it started, then pulled away.

  What the fuck had I gotten myself into?

  I parked in front of my apartment building, nodding at the concierge as I made my way to the elevator, riding in it in a surly kind of silence. I was mad at both myself and what seemed to be an impossible situation.

  The doors dinged as they opened and I moved out only to stop short.

  “Chase, man,” a man's voice reached me, making my head snap to search for it. Then there he was. Eddie. A year older than me. Sitting beside my apartment door like he had been there a while, a silver flask halfway to his mouth as if he wasn't fucked up enough to begin with.

  “Eddie,” I said, feeling resignation replace everything else inside. “What are you doing here?”

  “Can't a man come see his foster brother?” he slurred, pushing himself up off the ground.

  I moved to help him up, wincing when he wavered on his feet. Eddie was one of the ten or fifteen that I told Ava I kept close. Why... I wasn't sure. Maybe because of the one time when I was eight and trying to walk home from school when two kids two grades older than me started pushing me around and Eddie came out from nowhere, only a year older but street smart and scrappy, and let out a slew of curses and threats that I hardly even understood, but the kids threw up their hands and walked away. They never messed with me again.

  Or maybe it was the time when we had both reconnected in a group home when I was sixteen and he came in bloodied and bruised from getting caught trying to pick someone's pocket... but he came in smiling and he treated me to pizza.

  Maybe it was just because he was so damaged. So broken from
a hard life that gave him nothing but memories he wanted to drown in bottles or in needles. Guilt because I had gotten out, made a good life for myself while my savior from when I was eight and helpless had turned out to be someone who so completely needed saving himself.

  “Sure, man,” I said, letting him into my apartment, but took his flask. It was

  something that was so common between us that he didn't even bother to fight it anymore. He knew he wouldn't win, not if he wanted a place to crash. “Have you eaten?”

  “Not hungry,” he said, shrugging out of his jacket. It took him three tries to get it on the hook by the door.

  Eddie worked construction. Mostly it paid well enough. It didn't require education. The foreman didn't have much to say when he showed up hungover every morning. He was, therefore, built like a construction worker- tall, broad, strong. Shaggy blonde hair and tan with almost unsettling hazel eyes.

  “How have you been?” I asked, shrugging out of my jacket and watching him walk over to my windows and look out.

  “Same ole',” he said, shrugging.

  “You need a place to stay for a few days?”

  “Yeah. Just 'till Monday or Tuesday. I have a place lined up.” He paused, moving toward the stereo and clicking through the playlists. “Want to go to a gig on Saturday?” he asked, meaning there was one of his local bands playing. Music, the only thing that kept him halfway sane. He was the one who created all the play lists on my stereo at the office.

  “I have to go to the group home,” I reminded him, like I always had to remind him. He winced at the mention of that place. Like he always did. Like I always used to. Until I got my degree and decided to use it to turn an awful memory into one I could live with- working there on Saturdays offering up my time for any of the kids who wanted someone to talk to. Someone who had been where they were. “But if it's after six, sure.”

  “Knew I could count on you, brother,” he said, lowering himself onto the couch. Before the first song could come to an end, he was asleep.

  I sighed, grabbing the alcohol off the sidebar and locking it up. He would respect my wishes when I was around to see him. But all bets were off if he found himself alone with a bottle. And I wanted a morning with him where he wasn't drunk off his ass.