by KD Robichaux
Choosing the surveillance camera for Exam Room 3, I rewind through the last hour, only catching the tail end of the doctor and Mrs. Stine’s sexcapade before he helps her back into her clothes. And as she turns back around to him after he zips her into her dress, I see the exchange like I do every month—him pulling out a round packet of birth control pills from the pocket of his white coat, her taking it from him with a sly grin and bat of her fake eyelashes, and then she slips them into her expensive-looking purse. I save the clip into the file I’ve kept since I placed the microscopic hidden cameras throughout the building, stretch my arms high above my head with a groan, and spin the seat around, prancing my way into my en suite to take a blistering shower.
Chapter 2
Lizith
I lock the door of the employee bathroom blindly, keeping the light off as my eyes stay glued to my phone. Surveillance Camera 7 is pulled up on my app, and I watch as he locks the door behind him after entering the room reserved for men.
My breath catches as I take him in. So tall, so muscular. Age has done nothing to soften the hardness of his features, of his body. His thick black hair is styled atop his head effortlessly, and I nearly swoon at the gray near his temples and throughout his sideburns.
My back hits the wall as he makes a circle around the room, and I slide down until my ass hits the floor when he passes by the hidden camera and I get a close-up view of that perfect face. It hurts to look at him he’s so fucking handsome. And even though the screen is black-and-white, I swear the blue in his eyes catches the fluorescent lights perfectly and calls to me like a siren through the camera. A cluster of a million emotions, desires, and cravings crash into me. My owner has returned.
Professor Xander Stine.
My Xander.
He takes hold of the brown paper bag he picked up at the front desk before being directed to this room, and he pulls out the plastic sample cup, twisting the lid to break the seal. He places them beside him, where he now sits on the leather couch we disinfect after every patient. His demeanor makes it seem like he owns that couch, turning it into a throne with his masterful and natural authority.
I bite my lip as he undoes his belt and unfastens his flat-front khakis, pulling down the zipper and opening enough to reveal the front of his briefs. I swear I can hear the noises from his actions in this room, as if he were beside me, or better yet, as if I were the one undressing him. And when he pulls the elastic over his already erect shaft and leans back to relax against the cushion, I nearly jump out of my skin as my whimper echoes throughout the empty bathroom. My heart thumps as his head falls back against the top of the couch, and when he takes hold of his thick length, my core clenches and begins to ache. I feel his imprint even years after he left me. I remember its throb and the way it owned me, pulsing wildly as he released a thick stream of cum each time we made love.
With his first full stroke up and down his cock, the only one that’s ever been inside me, I can stand it no longer. One hand finds its way between my stomach and my scrub bottoms as I hold my phone with the other one, and as I watch him fist his long, rigid dick, his nostrils flaring as his brow furrows, his eyes closed in concentration, my fingers find my drenched heat. My panties are soaked through from watching him and remembering our time together. I can feel the wetness on the back of my knuckles, even as I circle my clit with my index finger, dipping my middle one inside my tight entrance.
He pumps his cock over and over, his hips moving ever so slightly as if on instinct. I rub the bundle of nerves faster, knowing that look on his face, the one that always told me he was close. Is he thinking of me? Is that my name dripping from his snarled lip? I think these thoughts right when he reaches to grab the sample cup, and quickly add a second finger inside my channel. I bite my lip hard to keep myself from calling out his name as we explode together. Him inside the cup, where he sits on the other side of the wall my back is pressed against, and me all over my own hand, as I pant, trying to catch my breath while my eyes never leave him on my little screen. He was thinking of me as I watched him, I just know it. I can feel it in my soul. We fucked each other mentally, and one day soon, he will fuck his little bird physically once again.
It’s not until he tucks himself away and is rebuckling his belt that I finally lumber off of the floor, my legs trembling from both my orgasm and knowing only mere inches of sheetrock separate me from the man who owns my soul.
I set my phone behind the faucet so I can keep watching him as I wash my hands in the sink while he does the same in the next room. My motions mimic his purposefully, wanting to feel close to him, feel like I’m trickling my way into his bloodstream. I see him reach out and snatch two paper towels from the metal holder attached to the wall, tossing them in the trash when he’s finished. He goes back over to the couch, twists the lid back onto the plastic cup, and places it inside the brown paper bag as instructed. Finally, he opens the metal door on the opposite wall and sets the bag inside the cubby, which opens on the other side as well, inside the lab. We keep everything discreet when it comes to semen analysis, to make the men as comfortable as possible in such an awkward situation. The only person he would’ve seen was Aria when he first checked in, where she would’ve handed him the paper bag along with a sheet of simple instructions for him to follow, which he’d sign before heading to Room 7. And he won’t have to see or speak to anyone else on his way out. His follow-up appointment will be set for the exact same time five days from now, when he will get the results.
My heart aches as I see him reach for the handle and leave, and I close my eyes and listen to his footsteps as he walks in front of the employee bathroom where I hide, on his way out the front door. And just as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone.
I gather myself, slipping my phone into my pocket and leaving the dark bathroom to hurry into the lab. I stop just inside the brightly lit room, allowing my eyes to adjust before they land on the small metal door to my right. I approach it slowly, as if there’s something inside the cubby that might suddenly jump out and bite me if I don’t tread carefully enough. I reach up, take hold of the small handle protruding from the left side, and tug, the metal squeaking as the door opens, revealing the brown paper bag. The brown paper bag my Xander was just holding.
The brown paper bag that holds the contents of all my hopes and dreams he made me believe would come true all those years ago.
And then an idea hits me so hard I can’t believe it never dawned on me before this very moment. My gut clenches at its genius.
Before all this, I had only planned to get him here so I could show him the evidence of his wife’s infidelity. I wanted to stand inside the room with Xander, Jacqueline, and Dr. Curtis, and present him with everything going on behind his deliciously muscular back. And in my mind, I imagined him leaving her right then and there, taking hold of my hand and leading me out of the office, petting me—his good, well behaved, and solicitous little bird. From there, we’d get into his car, leaving everything behind, and we’d live happily ever after. But the moment I saw him enter the clinic alone, I flew away, flew away like the wounded little bird I am, and hid in the dark bathroom. Too afraid to upset my love. He never did like surprises anyway.
But now, a different plan forms inside my head, and instead of taking the sample over to the equipment to run the usual tests, which would gage the number, shape, and motility of the sperm, I move to the sperm washing station.
“Premium wash,” I whisper, knowing it’s the best of the three techniques—basic, premium, and swim-up technique—to gather the most of the healthy and viable sperm. Professor Xander Stine would only have the best and most virile ejaculation, I’m sure. There is nothing less than perfect about the man. But I want to take no chances. I only have one shot at this.
I snatch a pair of rubber gloves from the box on the wall then sit on the rolling stool in front of the microscope, pulling the plastic sample container out of the paper bag. This bag holds the key to my happiness, the promise I wa
s given from him that was then stolen away. But now I will take it back. Gold, treasure, and any riches in this world pale to the virile man and his cum inside this cup. Even when he unloaded into the plastic container, it was perfectly done—no spills, no need for cleanup. Because Xander, my keeper, is perfect, and I will make sure that his perfection would only belong to me. I will give him a child of great worth. I will carry his life inside me and intertwine us permanently, just like he always wanted.
“Little bird, you do as I say and you only spread your wings for me. I want to own that perfection, little thing, and I promise I will take it if you don't give it. We are intertwined, and my promise is to keep you forever. So, you do best to always give me you. You are mine.”
Like a catapult, his words slam into my memory, dousing me in what I deem as the holiest of grails. I am doing exactly what he demanded. And he’s going to praise and pet my wings when he sees what I have done for us.
Regaining my bearings, I focus back on the important task at hand. I close my eyes and murmur to myself the instructions of how to do this, almost superstitiously—something I do every time, knowing it is in my hands to make a couple’s dream of having a baby come true. And that’s our dream, and I know better than to mess up my keeper’s wants.
“This method uses density gradient centrifugation to isolate and purify the motile sperm in order to obtain a sperm sample with a motility of at least 90%, depending on the initial quality of the sample.” I take a breath, forcing myself to relax my shoulders, even as the adrenaline courses through my every vein. “Different concentrations of isolate—extremely dense fluid—are layered in a test tube in an ascending order of density, the heaviest layer at the bottom.” I pull a sterile test tube from its packaging, grabbing the different bottles of fluid I will need from the temperature-regulated cabinet above my head. “When a semen sample is placed upon the uppermost isolate layer and centrifuged, any debris, round cells, non-motile and poor-quality sperm remain in the top layers. Only the motile sperm are able to get through to the bottom layer and are then concentrated for use in artificial insemination. This procedure takes one hour.”
And for the next hour, I work diligently, handling Xander’s sperm like the treasure it is. Reaching the final step, I gather all of the separated sperm into a syringe and cap the open end, slipping it down the front of my scrub top between my breasts to keep it as close to body temperature as possible. I smirk, thinking of the many times Xander’s cum had been all over my tits, marking them as his, as I clean up my work station. Moving over to the computer, I make up results for the semen analysis I never conducted, saving them to his file.
Grabbing a glass container of gonadotropin and a bottle of clomiphene citrate, I hurry into one of the exam rooms and pull open the bottom drawer where we keep all the necessary tools we use during different OBGYN appointments. I gather a packet containing a sterilized speculum, another one that holds a catheter, and some lidded syringes, then make haste toward my desk, thankfully passing no one on my way. I’m usually the first PA here every morning, the other two and the nurses usually not arriving until around 10:30 a.m. I glance at the clock. Perfect timing.
I toss everything into my bag and throw it over my shoulder, then force myself to calmly walk to the front of the office.
“Hey, Aria. I’m not feeling too well. Ginger and Lashelle should be here any minute, so I’m going to take a sick day,” I tell her, making a show of rubbing my lower stomach.
“Lizith Morrison taking a sick day? I thought the day would never come. First time in two years.” She chuckles. “Feel better, hun.”
“Thanks,” I reply, relief filling me when she doesn’t ask me a million questions as I hurry to the door.
“Hey!” she calls.
My heart stops, and then takes off at lightning speed. Fuck. Did she see the smuggled equipment in my purse? Did she see the syringe peeking out from my cleavage? Do I make a break for it and just run out the door?
I pause with my fingers wrapped around the handle, waiting to shove the door open, and peek over my shoulder at her behind the reception desk. “Yeah?”
She smiles saucily then speaks in a quiet tone. “Did you see the guy who went into the Strokin’ Room? Holy bejeezus. No wonder crazy ol’ Mrs. Stine wants to have his babies. I mean damn!”
I fight back the urge to pull the scissors out of the penholder on her desk and stab her in the throat, instead forcing a smile to my lips I hope doesn’t favor a sneer as I shake my head. “No, I must’ve been in the bathroom,” I say, and then push out the door.
Xander is mine, and the idea of any woman standing in the way of us, like his wife once did, makes me murderous. Once I’m pregnant with his child, I’ll never be able to part from my love ever again, and even a brief whisper of a joke about coming close to what I lost all those years ago will send me over the edge of my very steep, dark cliff of insanity.
My knees weaken and my skin grows hot as my heart plummets into my stomach at the memory. Red-hot and fresh in my mind, I stumble into the car, slipping back to that night.
“Little bird. Please don't cry.” He attempts to soothe me, but I can’t find a ledge to grab as I slip from his hold.
Dropping to my knees at his feet, I sob, kissing the bare skin and soaking it with my tears. “You promised me forever. You said you would leave her and make me your good little bird for forever.” I stay naked, my chest caving in on me and my spine protruding out of my back from my bent frame, begging at his feet like Judas. Tonight when we made love, it was different. It wasn't another night of promise.
It was my fucking goodbye.
“I have no choice and you must remember that. Stop crying at my feet, Lizith. You are making me angry.”
“Then get angry!” I seethe, rapidly rising to my feet, my dark hair cascading around my face with my abrupt movement. My teeth grit, my tears salting my tongue as they fall messily. He doesn't budge from my outburst and I react, slamming my closed fist down on his tight chest.
“Stop it, Lizith, or I will punish you.” Xander’s jaw flexes repeatedly, seizing my wrist in an attempt to stop me. I drop my head again, sobbing harder, my breathing coming out in short spats, leading me closer to hyperventilation.
“Oh, Xander, my love, you’re already punishing me enough. Nothing else could destroy me as badly as you leaving,” I admit, my legs and arms going numb as I drop once again to the floor in front of my fireplace. This time, I land on my side and curl up into a ball, one hand against the skin of my chest, trying to relieve the ache, as the other pets his perfect, large, masculine feet.
“I have to stay with her, little bird. I don't have an option. She is the one who has taken us apart. But don't forget, I told you this would happen. The man who destroys you, owns you. Never forget I will always own you.” He stays standing over me, his naked glory glowing over me as if I’m a fallen angel at her creator’s feet.
Peering up once more, I see he looks down on me, the lust still there as he watches me weaken at his altar, my wings burned to ash. “So you will always be mine?”
“Oh, little bird, always is not long enough. You are mine infinitely. No matter what, I will love you and always want you. But we end here. Go on and lick the wounds clean where I hurt you. But just know you will never heal completely, because I won’t let you. I am unforgettable.”
And as unforgettable as he was, he is attainable now. I licked my wounds clean, admiring the scars he left behind. Now he will be mine forever, and healing me will be his first job after I steal back what was mine.
Chapter 3
Xander
Jacqueline’s smoke permeates through our penthouse apartment on the upper side of downtown, her family’s money and ours evident all over the place. My nostrils flare as I prepare to meet her at the end of our entry hall. I suspect she will have a glass of red wine pressed against her lips, the red of her lipstick staining the glass and causing me to find one more thing that makes me detest her even more
. She’s as acrid as the dry wine she drinks nightly.
Before I make it to the end of the hall, I remember the bitterest taste she left in my mouth, the day she ripped me away from my tiny thing, my aphrodisiac, my perfect obsession—my little bird. Today I came in that plastic cup with the image of my small, dainty yet womanly little pet underneath me, and I swear my body felt her as if she were there with me. Even closer than I could imagine. But I left her broken and alone years ago, and now I am stuck with a wife who I despise and who loathes me even more.
As I step into the kitchen, her eyes penetrate me, boring into me and spewing hate before words have even left her crimson lips. She was once beautiful, young, and vibrant, the life of the party, a showstopper in her youth. Then one day, she snapped. She left me for another man, and when she came crawling back, her eyes lost their life, her hands that warm touch, and her soul was sucked dry. I went back to her, because I didn't have a choice. I was going to be with Lizith, but when Jac found out about my love affair with a student, she took me by the throat and threatened to sic her father—the dean of my university—on me and my name. She also swore she would find the one I was with and ruin her as well.
