A Xmas Gift: The Sperm Donor (9 page)

“Elise,” he murmurs against her mouth, and she has no doubt that it’s her he wants.

But does she want him? Does she want him to do this when he’s probably half-conscious, more motivated by vulnerability and need than any real desire of her?

“Justin, wake up, please.”

He pauses, his hands still on her shoulders.

“Elise?”

She can feel his ragged breath against her cheek.

“Justin, what are you doing?”

He freezes. “I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t be.” She can’t quite believe she is saying this, but right now, she wants him badly. So badly that it’s literally a visceral clenching in her core. “I just wanted to be sure that you knew . . . what you were doing.”

She knows that he’s in a bad place right now. He’s filled with emotional need – a hollowness in his soul that begs to be stoppered before it expands any further. He’s confused and needy and pretty much a mess right now. She doesn’t want to take advantage of him, and yet the selfish ‘Id’ part of her wants to.

He strokes her arm gently in the dark.

“I want to,” he says hesitantly, “if you want me to.”

She’s not made of stone. And her entire body is responding to him. Gravitating towards him, earnestly yearning for him to part her legs and put his cock where it belongs – inside her.

She waits for a long while – until the cobwebs in her brain are swept away by the tide of molten desire – and whispers, “Yes.”

“I don’t have a condom on me.”

“There’s no need.” She clutches at him. “You can do a direct deposit.”

She can hear the sharp intake of his breath. He has almost forgotten the contract.

“Are you sure?” His voice wavers.

“Yes.”

He waits just a moment before lowering his mouth onto hers to kiss her again. This time, his urgency is palpable. His hands stray beneath her body to unclasp her bra, and she shifts a little to help him. As soon as her breasts are free, he grabs them in his large hands.

“God, I miss these,” he whispers in the dark.

They are operating on tactile sense alone, and somehow, that is even more exhilarating. He plumps her right breast and circles her upright nipple with his mouth. He sucks and sucks with such vigor that she can feel her womb contract with each pull. Her toes are curling all the way down in her extremities. She gasps and claws his hair.

Don’t stop.

At the same time, his other hand brushes down her midline. Sensuously down, down, down the smooth expanse of her belly, to stop at her panty line. She knows what he wants. He starts to rip her panties off. She raises her hips to help him. Her long legs kick them off the side of the bed, and she’s naked to his need.

In the dark, somehow, he has taken off his underwear as well. They are both naked. She can feel his long, smooth cock – diamond hard against her thigh. Oh, how she longs to enclose her lips around it. To suck him off like she used to. But she senses his omnipresent need to be inside her. He is almost shivering with desire.

“Elise,” he whispers, kissing her neck even as he spreads her thighs.

She can feel his cock straining against her opening. She is already so moist down there, wet with anticipation for him. How long has it been for her? She can’t even count the months that have gone by since she last had someone in her bed.

Oh, her need. Her need for him is so great. She realizes that she wants only him and there’s no other man she would rather have here beside her.

Abigail was right to fear their union.

He seems to pause for permission, and she readily gives it.

“Do it,” she bids him.

With a deep breath, he penetrates her swiftly and urgently. She cries out with the sudden pain. It has been so long, and her walls have long closed and her passage contracted with scant use. His cock is as huge as she remembers it.

“Ssssh,” he assures her. “Relax. Lie back. It’ll get better.”

He allows her to get used to his girth. Her pussy juices begin to form and run down her funnel, oiling his cock in the way of natural lube. Her flesh comes alive, and swarms of indescribable ecstasy begin to churn all over her body in crazy zigzags – in the pit of her belly, in her chest, in her pelvic cavity, up and down her spine.

“You OK?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“I’ll take it slow. Don’t worry.”

But oh, he’s such a tender, wonderful lover. How could she have forgotten that? But he’s different now. More sure of himself. In command of his own body . . . and of hers. The awkward boy she once knew has been replaced with this confident, sophisticated, highly sexual being. But he has lost none of his warmth, his charm and his loving, caring demeanor.

Oh, she remembers that so well.

He begins to move slowly inside her snug canal. Her passage has seemingly shrunk, out of practice, and he feels very, very large. Her walls are pushed back to the maximum so that she can feel every nuance of his flesh.

Ohhhhh.

“Justin,” she whimpers as the familiar pleasurable friction of having a penis in her vagina after so long commences.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No. It feels . . . so right.”

“I know,” he says wistfully, and he bends down to kiss her mouth.

As he pumps against her hips, he kisses her mouth over and over, like he really means it. He’s a passionate kisser – all tongue and moist lips and the merging of warm fluids. She grinds her hips upwards to meet him, and he responds by thrusting himself deeper within her. He angles himself to probe different sections of her pussy. His pubis grazes her clit, and paeans of sensation fritter delightfully from her sensitive little nub.

She doesn’t remember feeling so loved and cherished for a long time.

He rocks and rocks his hips as they gyrate to a rhythm that is part memory and part experimentation. He’s close to coming, and she gazes at his dark shadow hovering above her as he hisses, and breathes raggedly, and thrusts and rams and impales her . . . until he gives a hoarse cry and she can feel his hot spurt jettison inside her.

Her muscles clench with agonized pleasure as she gives in to her own orgasm. She can lie there forever and let his sperm – his precious, precious sperm – flood every nook and crevice of her pussy. She visualizes his wriggling little life-givers traversing the expanse of her womb, swimming up the tide and into her Fallopian Tubes, engaging with the floating ovum there.

Giving life.

Making life.

She shudders as her fingernails dig into his back.

Justin. I think I love you all over again.

She thinks he whispers “I love you” in her ear, but she can’t be sure. After all, he’s in the throes of a climax and men seldom mean what they say during an orgasm.

*

The next morning, he wakes up with a groan.

“Oh my God,” he says, “my head is splitting apart like a quashed melon.” He squints in the sunlight that filters through the gap in the curtains. “Elise?”

“Ssssh.” She fingers his bare chest. “You’ve got a hangover. Just lie back. I’ll get you some room service coffee.”

He sinks back into the pillows and looks visibly relieved. She will spare him the agony of a drawn curtain.

“Did we really do it?” he says in wonder.

“Yes.”

“Without a condom? So it wasn’t a dream?”

She strokes her lower belly.

“I still feel you inside me,” she confesses.

He smiles in the half-light. He’s so beautiful, she thinks. His amazing profile turns to gaze at her.

“I hope we made a baby,” he says softly.

“I hope so too.”

His hand reaches for hers and clasps it. He brings her fist to his chest.

“This feels right, Elise. Us together again.”

She squeezes his fingers. She doesn’t dare say anything. Her gut tells her that he’s right. The two of them are meant to be together. But her brain revolts against the very thought of being entangled with someone emotionally again.

He goes on, “I hadn’t realized how much I missed you until I saw you again.”

Likewise. She still doesn’t trust herself to say anything she can’t take back.

He goes silent for a long while. Then he says, “I hope you get what you want, Elise.”

“I hope so too.”

And there you have it. The two of them at a crossroads. Neither daring to express how they are really feeling for fear of getting hurt or hurting the other down the line. It’s sad, really, their timing. They are forever doomed to be out of sync – neither being ready emotionally for the other at any moment in their time space continuum.

He groans again. “It feels like a contingent of dwarves is hammering to get out of my head.”

She laughs.

“Ow,” he complains, “that was loud.”

His cellphone rings.

“Shall I get it?” she asks.

“No. Leave it.” He holds his heads to his head. “Owwww.”

His cellphone stops, and then starts insistently again.

“Is it Abby?” she says.

“No, the ringtone I have for her is different. This is some general line.” He curses again. “Remind me to tone the volume down for next time.”

The phone stops, but starts up immediately again. Elise hands it to him.

“I think it’s important,” she says uneasily.

He reluctantly takes the mobile from her.

“Hello?”

Pause.

“Yes, this is he. What? Where?”

Justin’s face turns ashen. Elise’s heart skips a beat.

“What is it?” she asks with dread.

16

Justin hurriedly pushes the swing doors of the Accident and Emergency department. It is crowded at this time of morning with nurses, patients being wheeled in on gurneys, accident victims from the night before, distraught relatives. Various chatter and beeping sounds from medical equipment fill the bustling area. The whole place is redolent with antiseptic, but the unmistakable metallic scent of blood permeates the upper air.

He runs to the reception.

“I’m Justin Morgan. I’m the one you called,” he says tersely.

The receptionist peers at him. “Ah yes, Mr. Morgan. We found your name and number in her wallet as a contact for emergencies.”

Justin clutches at the edge of the counter. “What happened?”

He is aware that he is in yesterday’s grimy clothes and he is unshaven and disheveled. He has not taken a shower and he reeks of sex. He wonders if the receptionist can smell it.

“A man found her car crashed into a tree somewhere out in Acton. She was passed out at the wheel but she had no external injuries. He called an ambulance. Oh wait, here’s the doctor.”

A harried-looking, copper-haired woman in green scrubs exits a cubicle. A stethoscope is slung around her shoulders.

“Dr. Killeney?” the receptionist says. “This is Mr. Morgan, the emergency contact for Abigail Morton.”

“Ah yes.” Dr. Killeney turns to Justin. He can see blood stains on her scrubs.

“Is she all right?”

“She wasn’t hurt in the accident, but she took an overdose of sleeping pills.”

Justin is stunned.

Shit, shit, shit, shit
keeps running in his head like a mantra. But why is he surprised? He should have seen it coming.

“What’s your relationship to her?”

He swallows. “I’m her . . . ex-boyfriend. We, uh, broke up last night.”

The doctor’s eyes glaze over with some unfathomable emotion.

“I see,” she says without inflection. “A psychologist has been dispatched to speak to her. Do you want to see her, Mr. Morgan?”

Justin pauses. Does he want to see her? Will his presence render her hysterical and make things worse than they already are?

“Yes, I do,” he says. “Will she be all right?”

“We pumped her stomach out and nullified everything we can. She hadn’t taken enough sleeping pills to do herself permanent damage. We consider this case a parasuicide. It means the patient has no intention of killing herself. You can consider it more a cry for help.”

Justin feels the dread settle into the marrow of his bones.

This is my fault. I did this to her.

An overwhelming sense of helplessness suddenly washes through him. He’s in over his head and he knows it.

I never should have gotten involved with her.

No, don’t ever say that, you coward. This is your mess and you clean it up.

I should have read the signs when she became too possessive. I should have known something like this would have happened.

You couldn’t have known. Shut up. This is not about you. Abby’s life is hanging by a thread and you should focus only on that.

Dr. Killeney hesitates, and then continues.