Her Swedish Billionaire's Baby(33)

 

Samara could feel Bjorn nodding, auburn hair tickling her forehead.

 

“Samara,” Bjorn whispered, and Samara sat up, dizzy spell hitting her once more. She mewled in distress, seeking Bjorn’s neck out again, and she heard Bjorn’s pained groan.

 

“Ah, baby, I’m so sorry. Baby, you gotta sit up. You could sit on my lap, okay?”

 

Samara scoured herself for a fuck to give about the indisputable fact that she was clinging to Bjorn like a monkey, smelling him and generally acting like a weak-willed bitch, but she was fucking sick and nothing but Bjorn made her feel even halfway decent. So she would suck it up, for now. Samara nodded listlessly, allowed Bjorn to manhandle her into a forward facing position, which he did with ease, and he used his chest to keep Samara’s head upright and facing the doctor.

 

“Samara, I’m extremely sorry that you’re in so much pain right now. I’m trying to figure out why, but I’m going to have to run some tests. Is that alright with you?” Samara hummed in her throat, head becoming too heavy to respond.

 

“Mr. Fredriksen,” Dr. Lee glanced up at Bjorn as he tugged on latex gloves. “I’ll need you to be my witness, when I fill out the necessary paperwork, that your wife accepted and complied with the testing.” He said. Bjorn nodded, holding Samara at the waist tightly.

 

Dr. Lee looked as if he was going to ask Samara something, and Samara whined slowly. “Please, Doc, if you could ask Bjorn, that’d be great, cause, I feel like shit right now.”

 

The Doctor smiled at her, genuine amusement, and Samara could hear laughter rumbling in Bjorn’s chest. “Mr. Fredriksen, could you hold out your wife’s arm so that I could get this sample?”

 

Bjorn curved his hand over Samara’s thinner one, avoiding the crease of her elbow where the doctor would indubitably seek out a vein. Samara could hear Bjorn murmuring to her, and she angled her neck so she could better make out the words.

 

“It’s gonna be fine, sweetheart. I promised I’d take care of you and our kid, right?” Samara nodded, even though she knew Dr. Lee couldn’t hear anything, he was probably a bit taken aback. Samara felt the slight prick of the needle, tremors at the sting, couldn’t understand why, when she’s had worse injuries tended to in some makeshift shack because her dad hadn’t wanted to take her to the hospital, and hadn’t even winced.

 

Dr. Lee grinned. “That’ll probably already be healed by the time we check it again, alright?” Bjorn smiled down at Samara.

 

“Okay, Dr. Lee, what do you need next?” Doc smiled, rising from his chair to seal and package the test tube containing Samara’s blood. He peeled his gloves off, one inside out in the other, and deposited them in a biohazard bag.

 

Samara snorted at the sight. The medical community would have a collective heart attack if they saw how Alison and Samara had routinely handled their potential blood borne pathogens.

 

“I need a urine sample, and then we’re about done for the day. I’ll schedule an appointment for when I’ll have the results returned.”

 

Bjorn hummed in his throat. “Thank you so much, Dr. Lee. I’ll make sure Samara and I are both here, next time.” Samara tried to hiss at Bjorn, but she was sure that came out as a whimper too, like the rest of her butchered vocabulary.

 

“I’ll take her to the bathroom--is that one, right there?” Samara turned her head brittle and soft, to see the door on the far side of the room.

 

Dr. Lee nodded. “Yes, we have it, just for this purpose.” Bjorn stood, Samara once again enthroned in his arms, and Samara made her first noise of protest of the day.

 

“You can’t walk, Samara. I’m not gonna let you fall and hurt yourself and the kid, just cause you wanna play independent bitch.”

 

Samara hunched in on herself, appropriately chastised. Bjorn didn’t usually control her, he insisted on being kept informed about everything but generally left her to it; but Bjorn was the father of her child. Samara thought it was at the point where she’d better get used to it. Bjorn was an Alpha male and more importantly, he was her baby daddy, and he was going to be possessive and domineering.

 

That’s just how it was.

 

Bjorn sat Samara on the toilet, as he closed the door, and his face crumpled, just like that. “Samara. Samara. When you weren’t there, when Amy and Alison came back and they couldn’t find you; I thought you--Jesus Christ, Samara, I thought you decided to run away, were too damned angry about what I’ve--what I’ve been doing.”