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Oh Christ… I know this can’t go much further, not when someone could walk by at any moment… but I want nothing more than to lift Nora in my arms, press her back against the bookshelf, wrap her thighs around me.
“Okay.”
I pull back, just a hair. “Okay what?”
“Okay, we’ll try it your way,” she says. Her eyes lock onto mine and a shiver like nothing I’ve ever felt before runs up my spine as she adds, “Put a baby in me, Nash.”
Right here and now, if I could.
“Really?” I ask, then, not wanting to get her started second-guessing, I hurry to add, “So, uh, how’s this going to work? Do you still want to keep your appointment, have me meet you there?”
I have no idea how clinical she wants to keep things. My vote is always going to be for the old-fashioned way, but her chances might be higher at the fertility center, and if she decides she doesn’t want me involved with the baby’s life, keeping it strictly medical might be better for her.
I gotta confess that my head is starting to spin a little bit with all the details. I’ve been so taken with Nora these last couple of days, I didn’t really think of how any of it would actually work. I just made the offer because it felt right, and because I truly wanted to help her.
I still do.
But a little part of me is secretly hoping she’ll want me in her baby’s life, if only for thirty days a year.
“No,” she says. “If we’re going to do this, I may as well save my money and cancel my appointment. It’s not like we haven’t already…” She doesn’t say the words just in case someone’s around to overhear. “You know.”
I smile. “Yes, and I’m looking forward to you knowing with you again.”
I move a little closer, my cock nestling in the soft warmth between her thighs as I bring my mouth down to hers once more. God, I have got to stop kissing her or I’m gonna have to check out a book just so I can hold it in front of myself as I walk out of here.
“I’m staying with my sister,” I tell her. “But I could book us a hotel room if you like, something nice…”
“No,” Nora shakes her head. “Just come back over to my house Friday evening—I’ll be home by five-thirty. I don’t need a big, fancy hotel room making me any more nervous about this than I already will be. And it might not even work… a lot of couples have to try for months or longer to conceive the natural way…”
She’s rambling, her nerves on display. I hook a finger beneath her chin, tilting her eyes up to meet mine, and she gives me a shy smile. I say, “You’re in charge here, Miss Nora. You call the shots, I’m just here to help.”
She stands a little taller, brushing her hands down her skirt to straighten it. “Okay. Come over at six on Friday, then.” She starts to head back through the stacks, but pauses at the end of the row and turns back to me. “Thanks, Nash.”
Then she’s gone, and I grab the nearest book off the shelf. Apparently we’ve been standing in the history section because I find myself learning about the Peloponnesian War until my hard-on subsides enough to walk out of here.
9
Nora
It’s six o’clock on Friday night and I’m feeling way more nervous than I should while I wait to sleep with a man I’ve already been with once.
Would my nerves have been this bad if I kept my appointment at the fertility center? I should be feeling better because the chances of me getting pregnant after one artificial insemination or by doing things the natural way with Nash are almost equal, but I’m saving so much money this way.
All I’ve spent so far is another fifty bucks on another set of lingerie and twenty more on a bottle of wine to help me relax a little.
When the doorbell rings, I jump and pull my silk robe tighter around myself. I go downstairs and open the door, and this time Nash isn’t in a suit, and he doesn’t have another bookquet for me. Instead, his beard is freshly trimmed, he’s in a crisp button-down that hints at the rippling muscles beneath, and he holds out a small, pastel-yellow gift bag.
“For you,” he says as I let him in, and I smile, some of my nerves seeping away. His eyes are sweeping over me in my robe, hunger evident in them, and I’m really going to miss the way he looks at me when he’s gone.
I peek inside the bag and read the title of the small board book within. “Pat the Bunny.”
“Another Chelsea favorite,” he says. “For you to read to your little one when the time comes.”
