“Denial is the first sign you have a problem!” Georgia’s voice was the last thing I heard before I hung up the phone.
They were right. I had a problem, all right. I was pretty sure I’d almost kissed Wes Lancaster in my office, and I was also pretty sure the regret I felt had nothing to do with the situation, and everything to do with the interruption.
“What was that I heard about needing to check your cervix with my Supercock?” I asked Cassie as she hung up the phone. Arm extended, I handed her the glass of ice water I’d just prepared and watched the line of her throat as she chugged it.
She’d been so fucking thirsty since we found out she was pregnant—both for actual liquid and for sex. So much so that she’d been making a bid to kill me by dehydration—sperm dehydration, to be technical about it.
“He’s got a medical background,” I went on inanely, filling the silence as she drank. “It was more as a medic in the Army than as an actual, honest to goodness doctor. So he hasn’t seen much pussy in the medical sense, but he’s definitely familiarized himself with a cervix or two outside of business hours.”
She narrowed her eyes, and I laughed, surrendering with both hands raised.
“Hey, I’m just giving you his resume. I’m only a messenger sent here to help you decide whether or not you think he’d be a good fit for your cervical dilation monitoring needs. I, personally, think he fits the bill perfectly.”
Finally done with her water, she reached forward and set the glass on the coffee table with a laugh. “Will you stop fucking babbling?”
I shook my head and pulled her bare foot into my lap, putting the pressure of my thumb right into her instep. “Look at who you’re talking to.”
“Jesus fucking Christmas,” she pretended to grumble around a groan of foot-massage ecstasy. “I guess I’m going to have to let your Supercock fly into my tunnel to get you to stop talking, aren’t I?”
I smiled and tilted my head back and forth briefly. “Well, I don’t know that it’ll make me stop talking so much as it will turn everything I say exponentially dirtier.”
A full-body shiver ran from her toes to her nose, but she did her best to hide it.
This was one of her new games, pretending to be put out by the idea of chasing several orgasms in a row—a kind of role-playing, if you will—and I had to admit, I found it endlessly fascinating.
Other men might have been offended, but the way she did it was in such obvious disagreement with the desires of her body, it’d be pointless to take it personally.
Instead, I played her game, talking her into it in all the creative ways I could think up, and she rewarded me by coming twice as hard.
I’d also do just about anything to keep her happy during her pregnancy. All the books suggested happiness could do nothing but help in the quest for healthiness, and keeping her and my little girl safe was my biggest priority.
Okay, so I am speculating that it’s a little girl, but I figure the universe, knowing what it knows about me, will be out for blood. And torture. And making me spend twenty-to-life in some maximum security prison when she becomes of age for little hormone-ridden boy-men to chase her all the goddamn time, shooting their sperm out of their tiny penis guns, and doing their damnedest to make my head explode.
About twenty minutes after Cassie had thrown the positive pregnancy test at my head, my whole world had changed. Not in the obvious sense or the way I behaved, but in the way my mind prioritized tasks for the day. Number one had been forever and irreparably changed to Keep Cassie and our baby safe.
It wasn’t a conscious choice. It was an absolute. A rule that not only wouldn’t but couldn’t be broken.
“Earth to Thatcher,” Cassie called, waving a hand in front of my face. Internally, I cringed at the fact I’d taken a nice little detour into Worryville again. Unfortunately, I’d become a frequent visitor, unable to deviate from the track that led me there. Somehow, though, I’d managed to mask my worry with something else in front of Cassie. I wasn’t sure exactly how it came across—probably as stupidity—but she seemed comfortable with whatever front I managed to put on.
“I know I acted like I didn’t want to bone, but that’s our thing. I cry wolf about not wanting any pussy pleasure, and you steamroll me all the way into the bedroom, tongue my pussy for a few minutes, and then get down to business. You’re supposed to have your dick in me by now, for fuck’s sake.”
As always, she brought me right out of my head and into the room—onto the very couch where she sat, where I could smell the citrus on her skin. She was too goddamn entertaining for any moment spent with her to be unpleasant. I laughed. “I don’t know, honey. Is that how it feels to you? Because your rundown isn’t making me feel like I’m doing a good job of being memorable.”