I’m married to this man.
“If you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’m never going to get to work,” he warns without having to meet my gaze to know I’m staring.
“Oh? What are you going to do?” My eyes descend over his chiseled body to his girth, admiring the thick, hard presence between his legs. He could definitely prove his point.
He rounds the bed, slow and calculated to throw my heartrate off the charts, pinning me with a look of lust, with barely restrained desire. My limbs sink into the bed in intimidation. He bends and wraps his fingers around the nape of my neck, urging me to his mouth. My jaw slacks as he tugs on the swollen skin suggestively.
“I’ll fuck you against the shower door.”
I reach out and wrap my hand around his cock, daring him to do more. My stomach flips when his eyes close and his teeth sink into his bottom lip at my healthy grip.
“Then do it,” I dare him.
Always one to rise to a challenge, he heaves me out of bed.
He does good by his vow, devoting his morning to my pleasure. Somewhere along the way his motions soften, his touches becoming sweet caresses. My forehead cools against the glass of the shower, and I’m able to remember a time where we did this, after our first night together. The desire, the need, hasn’t changed under the confines of marriage. In fact, it’s thrived.
We’ve found a high ground, one we can love each other freely upon.
One that succeeds partnership and melds our souls into one.
***
My nerves are shot by the time Doctor Trigiani enters her office, her hands grasping her clipboard. The clipboard with my information, my test results. My flustered brain made me late to the appointment, so I’ve had to wait in her office for her to finish up with another patient.
“Darcy, it’s a pleasure to see you again. How are you feeling? You’re looking pale.”
“I’m okay,” I say, wringing my hands in my lap. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“It’s quite all right. Now tell me, how has the morning sickness been? Have the nausea meds helped?”
“I’ve been sick a lot less.”
“Good…good. And strength? Still weak? Fatigued? Dizzy?”
I want to lie, but I know she’ll see past it. “It comes and goes. I’ve been taking the pills religiously, and have changed my diet.”
Her phone rings on her desk, and she apologizes to me, answering it briskly. “I’m with a patient.” Someone speaks to her on the other end, and she nods. “By all means, Stacey.”
She’s barely put the phone back into the receiver when the door opens and her assistant enters, holding the door open for someone else. My heart lurches to a complete stop.
“B-Ben,” I choke out as my husband enters the office, instantly taking all the available air in the small room. His forehead is creased, his mouth set firmly into a line. He’s not happy, and rightly so. I realize how badly I’ve fucked up. I’m rising out of my chair, caught up in my own panic.
“Your doctor was worried you hadn’t made it. She called me about your appointment twenty minutes ago,” he divulges crossly. He flattens his hand against my spine, urging me to sit. I do it without question.
“Mr. Scott, I’m glad you could make it. Support is necessary with instances such as this.”
Oh, Christ. I’m about to be killed.
Ben doesn’t comment, probably too confused to understand her wording. I’m eying the door, contemplating a diversion to escape.
“Severe anemia is pretty rare, usually 1 in 100 pregnancies. Your wife is going to need rest, especially going into the second and third trimester.”
Benjamin sits forward, and my blood flow ceases altogether. “I’m sorry? Severe anemia?”
The doctor regards us in confusion. “Yes, Mr. Scott. Your wife is anemic.”
Fuck.
