Lucifer's Game

by Rachael Tamayo

  “Make sure it doesn’t. Tell me you have a plan.”

  I look back down at her. Running a hand down her cheek, she shivers.

  “I think it’s time to play doctor.” I pull a card out of the air and hand it to him. “She has fertility problems, right? Isn’t that why they broke up?”

  “Yes, he got tired of her not paying attention to him and told her she was obsessed.” He takes the card. “It’s brilliant. And here I thought you were just a pretty face.” He smiles, pocketing it.

  “I’ll get started tonight.”

  I climb into bed, straddling her hips. She shifts under me and moans as I lean over her body, breathing on her skin.

  Time for some pleasant dreams.

  “Good. Don’t disappoint me.”

  I bend further, sliding my tongue between her breasts. She groans, reaching for me dreamily.

  “Can’t wait. This one is going to be yummy.”

  Chapter Two

  Cora

  I wake with a start. Gasping after one of the most erotic dreams I’ve ever been blessed with. My body still alive with sensations that felt so real in my dream. It’s a welcome change from the nightmares that I usually have.

  Glancing down, I find that I’ve kicked my covers to the end of the bed, almost to the floor. My feet sink into the plush carpet as I put my feet on the floor, still buzzing from the dream.

  Checking my reflection briefly, I find my skin flushed. I can’t remember the last time I had an orgasm in my sleep.

  Hell, I can’t remember the last time I had one while awake. It’s not like me and Andrew were all over each other. We only ever had sex anymore in hopes of pregnancy. Then that stopped because he was paranoid about me getting pregnant and feared what losing baby after baby might be doing to my body. I refused birth control, he refused to touch me without it with the exception of moments we just needed it so badly we didn’t care.

  I guess I was fooling myself on that point; I was having sex for pregnancy. He was probably dying for more and never told me, despite his withdrawal from me. I suppose he just got fed up one day and it all blew up in my face.

  I should have paid attention I guess. All these stupid, random temper tantrums that made me wonder what was going on with him. He wouldn’t offer, I never asked.

  I crawl back into bed having lost my high from the sex dream, saddened by thoughts of my husband. Even harder to take when I’m crawling into an empty bed.

  His pillow has lost his scent. I shove it into my face, searching for that familiar smell, it’s gone.

  Maybe Marilyn is right. Would it be so bad if I got on with my life? Maybe he will notice. Perhaps the pathetic, lonely wife isn’t doing it for him.

  I settle back under the covers, closing my eyes. I let the dream replay in my head, struggling to remember the face of the man that I dreamed of. Flashes of long blonde hair, large hands, and curious tongue. I let the dream push out the other thoughts plaguing me, drifting back into slumber.

  The next day I knock on her apartment door after work. It flies open in my face, a smiling, raven haired beauty.

  “I’m ready to get on with my life,” I blurt out.

  She grabs me, along with her purse, and we head to dinner.

  ***

  “…I’m sure it will all work out,” Marilyn is saying, as she sips her second margarita.

  I glance down. “Did you drop this?” I pick up a black business card with silver lettering that I didn’t see before.

  She shakes her head. I’m ready to toss it away, until I see what it says.

  Provasi Fertility Center

  Dr. Devin Zwicke

  Reproductive Endocrinologist

  Specializing in recurrent miscarriage.

  Fax: 555-723-9078 Phone: 555-723-9088

  “What?” She snatches the card from my hand, taking a moment to read it. “Wow, maybe it’s a sign. You should call.”

  I take the card back, reading it again.

  “I don’t believe in signs, but that is strange.” Looking over the card, I meet her smiling eyes. “It can’t hurt, right? Maybe they are the ones that can help me. There is a website here for appointments.”

  She nods. “For sure. When was the last time you went to a doctor for all this?”

  I sip my tea. “Months ago. They couldn’t find anything.”

  “Ah, but they didn’t specialize in miscarriage did they?”

  I look down at the card, chewing on my lip, almost hating to hope, but a smile finds its way to my lips just the same.

  “They were all fertility specialists. No one found anything.”

  “But what about you and Andrew? He left over this crap, so won’t he be mad if he finds out you’re still going?” She raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Does it matter? He’s gone. I still need closure. I need to know what’s wrong. Maybe if I get an answer all this mess will finally end and things will be normal again.” I type the site into my phone’s web browser as I speak.

  “That’s what I need to hear more of. Do it for yourself, and no one else. He can come back if he wants… when you want. Who knows, by the time he comes around you might not want him.”

  I doubt that. I can’t imagine not wanting him. But I scroll and click, filling out the forms on my phone as I nod.

  “Maybe. They have an opening for an appointment tomorrow, I can’t believe it. Maybe it is a sign.” I click accept and immediately my phone notifies me that I have a new email confirming the appointment.

  “Wow. Well, let me know how it goes.”

  I pick up my drink with a flash of new hope springing up inside me like a flower bud reaching for the sunshine.

  “I will.”

  ***

  This is my seventh fertility doctor. I am past the point of hoping, being excited, and day dreaming about this being “the one” that will fix whatever is wrong with me.

  Of course, this office is just as beautifully decorated, sterile, and uninviting as every other that I’ve been to. I check in and a smiling receptionist offers me a coffee, to which I politely decline. After filling out forms on a tablet, I settle in for what I expect to be a long wait.

  I shift in the buttery, leather chair ready to shoot off a text to Andrew when a young woman steps out holding a tablet and calls my name. I toss my phone into my bag and follow her, abandoning the message.

  I’m weighed, questioned, placed in a little exam room that’s freezing cold, and left in the silence to wait for the doctor. Nothing new yet.

  The silence leaves me thinking about Andrew and wondering if I should text him. With a huff, I mutter a swear word and decide against it. If he cared, he’d text me.

  I picture this Doctor Zwicke, I imagine an elderly, German man with ice cold hands. I pop my gum nervously, a bad habit I picked up as a teen. I chew gum when I’m stressed, it keeps me from over eating.

  The door behind me opens and I turn in my seat, expecting the old codger to walk in. However, what I get causes me to inhale a breath so sharp that my gum goes down my throat. I collapse into a coughing fit as I sit on the paper-covered exam table.

  The good doctor tosses his tablet into a chair and rushes to me, patting me on the back until I’m able to force the offender down my throat and blink away tears, gasping. My cheeks flame as I suck in a breath and force my eyes up.

  Holy God.

  Not the image of any doctor I’ve ever seen. He looks close to thirty, with white blonde hair almost to his ass. A face sculpted by God himself, or so it would seem. Startling blue eyes smile down at me, towering above at well over six feet.

  Never have I laid eyes on such a specimen.

  “Are you alright?” His voice vibrates down into my bones, into the core of me.

  I force a breath, willing my mouth to open and speak. Anything intelligent. Something so I don’t look like a gaping moron staring at the most epically gorgeous man that ever graced the planet.

  And did I mention how big he is? Like freaking huge, built
. You can see the outline of his muscles through his shirt, and the thigh muscles in through his jeans.

  “Yeah, I think so. I’m so embarrassed,” I blurt out.

  He grins slowly at me, holding my eyes. Butterflies take flight in my gut. My stomach starts to curl and uncurl, the way it does when arousal hits you suddenly.

  “Sweetheart, you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  He picks up his previously abandoned tablet and gives me a sideways glance.

  Damn. It’s getting hot in here.

  “So, Cora, tell me what you’ve got going on.” His voice is rough around my name as he looks down at his tablet and scrolls through what I assume is my chart.

  Goodness, I hope he doesn’t need to examine me. The thought of getting naked for this guy is almost enough to make me pass right out. Images that cause a full, body flush run through my head, thankful he can’t read my mind. I’ve never had a reaction like this to anyone in my life.

  He looks up and meets my eyes. As soon as eye contact is made, I feel lightheaded. I grip the edge of the table, staring into bright blue eyes. Eyes that are giving me chills, and his slow smile makes me warm in places that I’m embarrassed to admit.

  “You’re eyes… I’ve never seen anything like them,” I exclaim. Immediately, my hand slaps itself over my mouth.

  God, what’s come over me?

  His grin only makes it worse. Leaning back on the counter, he cocks his head and crosses his arms over a thick chest.

  “Thanks, my father gave them to me.” He winks.

  My mind is blank as I sit here realizing that I’m staring at him for way too long without speaking. My stomach drops into my shoes as I squirm on the table.

  “Um… well…,” I start, then swallow, forcing myself to look away. “I’ve had five miscarriages in two years. Doctors haven’t been able to give me a diagnosis. Takes me a while to get pregnant and I only lose them.”

  “Taking a while to get pregnant can be pretty normal. What’s a while?”

  “Months. I ovulate, I’ve kept track of it.”

  “Any issues with sex?”

  The question pulls my eyes up. “Pardon?” Why did he have to say sex?

  He smiles at me. “Sex, is it painful? Anything like that?”

  I swallow. Sex. This man said sex to me. Images of him rested deep between my widespread legs in a tangle of sheets dances in my head.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  He nods. “Good. I’ve looked over your records. Tell me, how far along have you been with these losses?”

  “Between eight weeks and twelve. All in the first trimester. Three missed miscarriages and two regular ones.”

  He nods again. “That’s awful. We are going to find out what’s causing this for you, okay? You up for it?”

  I laugh. “That’s why I’m here.”

  There’s that smile again.

  “Good. I see here what you’ve already been tested for. We aren’t going to make you go through that again. The ultrasounds of your uterus look perfect. Nothing going on there. The records from your past doctors show that your husband is fine, too. There are a couple of things we can test you for that are rare. MTHFR, Antiphospholipid Syndrome, and Anti-Paternal Cytotoxic Antibody Test.”

  I stare at him, baffled by all the words he’s just thrown at me. He moves, sitting beside me on the table. “Likely, it’s the first one. It’s just a blood test. We are going to start there, okay?”

  “What is… whatever you said?”

  “MTHFR, Methylene Tetrahydrofolate Reductase. It’s a genetic mutation. Putting it simply, people that have this are normally free of symptoms until something like this comes along. People that have this can’t process folate vitamins. You’d be completely devoid of folic acid, therefore the babies aren’t getting any, and they died.”

  “Wow. Never heard of that. So wouldn’t I just have to take extra vitamins?”

  “Yes and no. Normal vitamins won’t work. You’d need a special kind for the rest of your life. Maybe vitamin B-12 shots for a while to catch you up on the deficiency. Have you had any trouble with depression or fatigue?”

  “Yeah, I think so. I thought it was just stress.”

  “Well, if I’m right, it’s the vitamin deficiency. Low B vitamins cause depression. I’ll give you a shot before you go and I bet you’ll feel better.” He puts an arm around me.

  Damn, he’s so huge he could crush me with his one arm, and so damn hot I’d totally let him do it just to be pressed up against his body.

  Where the hell did that thought come from? Lusting after strange men isn’t me. Sure, I notice a nice looking man like anyone else does, but this is crazy.

  “Cora,” the way he says my name forces me to turn my head and look up into a face that’s too close for a doctor. His eyes have flecks of gold in them framed by long eyelashes. “Honey I’m going to solve all your problems. How are things for you at home after all this?”

  He’s going to solve all my problems. We’ll see. Funny, somehow I kind of think he wants me to believe it.

  “How are things at home?” I echo.

  “Yeah, at home. It takes a toll sometimes. I notice you came here alone.”

  I look away from his freaky eyes and inhale the scent of some unknown cologne. His fingertips graze my arm where my sleeve ends and something like an electric current shoots through me. I ignore it.

  “Um… well….”

  “You can talk to me.”

  Glancing over, I meet those eyes one more time. “We haven’t been doing well at all. Fighting for a long time. He thinks I’m obsessed. We’ve been separated for weeks.” Why in the hell did I just say that?

  “Do you think you’re obsessed?”

  The question catches me off guard.

  “Me? I don’t think so. I need to see what’s wrong with me. He doesn’t get it. I don’t know how to make him understand and frankly, I just give up.”

  There I go again. Why am I telling him all this?

  “Well, Cora. Here is what I think of that.” He takes his arm off me and slaps his thighs lightly. “Screw him. You’re here for you, not him. If you work it out, great, if not… that’s great too. And I bet it’s been a while since you had fun without having to answer to someone.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” It’s true. It has been a long time.

  “So go out. Have some fun. Who cares what he might think. Seize the day, right? Tomorrow will take care of itself. All we have is today.”

  “He’s just so… thick-headed. It’s like he doesn’t care.” I grumble to the floor.

  “Maybe he doesn’t. Some people just don’t realize that they don’t care. I think it’s time for you to have some fun of your own. Let’s take some blood, get that shot for you. Then, you call a friend and make some plans to go out and forget about all this stress.”

  I look up and he is watching me. I get a chill again and smile. Sounds like a great prescription, and long overdue.

  Chapter Three

  Devin

  I sit cross-legged on Cora’s bed as she and her friend get dressed for their night out. Xander paces, watching them intently.

  “She was turned on when I met her in in the doctor’s office,” I point out. “But she’s really hung up on him.”

  I watch her pull a short, red dress over her head.

  Xander looks at me. “Humans are so oblivious. Like animals, they think they understand, but all they know is how they feel at the moment. Take this obsession for example. Clueless as to what it’s doing to her relationships, her body, her soul. All she knows is she wants to be a mother, and if it destroys everything she is, she doesn’t care. The same goes for you. You know how to make them all want you. A look, a whisper, a touch. Get her wet and gaze at her like some love sick puppy and she will have her legs wrapped around you in no time.”

  I smile.

  “This I want it, I have to have it, I deserve it mentality that everyone has makes it all so damn e
asy. If we apply ourselves, we can stop this. Prophesy isn’t set in stone…”

  I stop listening to him, pacing, ranting. I watch her bend over, skirt so short that I can see that she has on a thong. I lick my lips, scooting off the bed. I move behind her, catch her scent, and breathe deep.

  The smell of her skin does something to me, draws me in, and makes me want to touch her. Unfortunately, I can’t touch her while she’s awake, not when I’m invisible. When she’s dreaming, anything goes.

  Tonight promises to be fun. I can’t wait to see her face when I touch her.

  ***

  Cora

  “My ass hangs out of this dress.” I turn in the mirror in my bedroom as Marilyn spins me. It’s been two weeks since my appointment. I finally got my blood test done that he ordered. I’m not sure why I put it off for so long. I guess just too much going on to think about what might be wrong with me, on top of everything else.

  The doctor’s words have been echoing in my head. That, and being prodded by Marilyn to get out and have some fun, I finally gave in. She talked me into this. I’m still not sure it’s a good idea.

  “Shut up, it does not. You look hot.”

  I look, once more, at my reflection. Red dress, short as hell, with a bit of sparkle. My shoulder length black hair freshly straightened and highlighted at the salon today after my haircut. The dress barely covers my ass, at least that’s how it feels. It’s hers, she brought it over just for our outing tonight.

  “I feel like a hooker.” I laugh. “I can only imagine what Andrew would say if he saw me.”

  He would never let me out of the house in a dress like this, I thought to myself.

  She raises an eyebrow. “He would love it and you know it.”

  “Probably, but not for everyone’s eyes. Just for his.”

  “Why are we still talking about him?”

  “I can’t help it, Marilyn.” She says it won’t always hurt like this. I almost dread that day. It means that it’s really over, and I don’t want that. I can’t admit to myself that it’s a real possibility.

  She heads into my closet for shoes and my phone rings. Glancing, I see it’s Andrew. I hold my breath for a moment. It’s been ages since we talked.