Juked

by M. E. Carter

  I chuckle against her skin and move up inside her shirt. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Mm…. Better than I have in a long time.” I glide my hands over her breasts, teasing her nipples with my palms. She shivers.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” I clutch her ass and whisper in her ear, “Do you need a quick wake-me-up?”

  “What did you have in mind?” she asks as her fingers run through my hair and she leans her head to the side, giving me more access to her neck. Noted. She likes being kissed on the neck.

  I quickly lift her and sit her on the edge of the washing machine. “Spin-cycle sex.”

  She throws her head back and laughs. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course I am!”

  “Have you ever tried this before?”

  “Well, no, but theoretically, it sounds like it should be amazing.”

  She laughs again. “It does sound fun doesn’t it?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I murmur against her lips. “Can you imagine? My cock inside you while the washing machine is going around and around and around.” My hips are mimicking the motion I’m describing before I push my erection against her. She gasps.

  “Okay. I’m game,” she says.

  I stick a hand between her legs and move the satin crotch out of the way before plunging one finger deep inside her, making her gasp again.

  “Oh my god, do that again,” she says, this time with her eyes closed.

  “Let’s get these off your first.” She lifts her butt to help me slide her panties down her legs before spreading her thighs wide. I quickly drop my athletic shorts to my ankles, line my cock up, and….

  “Fuck, I don’t have a condom.”

  “When was the last time you got checked?” she asks, digging her fingernails into my shoulders as she squirms. It’s taking everything in me to hold back.

  “Two weeks ago. Clean bill of health.”

  “I’m on the pill. Get inside me.” I don’t waste any time sliding in as deep as I can get. We groan simultaneously.

  “Shit, you feel good,” she says, making me smile. I haven’t even done anything yet.

  I spend the next several minutes teasing her with different kinds of thrusts. Some short, some long, some fast, some slow. Driving her insane is starting to drive me insane.

  And then it happens.

  The washing machine starts moving, the entire unit shaking. The extra motion along with my alternating thrusts create extra sensitive sensations. I move faster, too, thrusting in time with the sound the machine makes every time it hits the back of the wall.

  “Ohmygod, harder!” she yells, clawing my back. “Daniel!” she yells, and her inner walls tighten around my cock. She comes and comes and comes until my balls tighten and the orgasm races up my spine, slamming into me.

  “Oh fuuuuuuuck.” I ride it out, thrusting as much as I can for as long as I can before slowing to a stop. We’re clinging to each other, panting heavily, when we hear a different kind of squeal. Chance, still in his ExerSaucer, is smiling at us.

  “Oh shit,” Quincy says, going pale. “I can’t believe I did that in front of him.” She looks at me. “I’m the worst aunt slash pseudo-mom ever.”

  I pull out of her with a groan. I pick up a sock off the floor and clean myself off, throwing it into the dirty clothes basket. “He’s six months old. He has absolutely no idea what just happened. And he has the attention span of the hyper-hypo.”

  “The what? Hand me a sock please.”

  “The hyper-hypo?” She gives me a blank stare. “Mike Myers on Saturday Night Live?” She shakes her head, jumps off the washing machine, and throws the sock in the basket.

  I rub my face in disappointment. “Oh geez, woman. It’s a classic skit. I will be finding that, and you will be watching it. You’ll understand what I mean about the baby when you do.”

  She pulls up her panties and puts her hands on her hips. “You sure he’ll be okay? We didn’t, like, scar him for life or anything?”

  “I have more than a dozen nieces and nephews,” I say and kiss the top of her head. “I guarantee he’ll be fine. Now if he was a year or two older, we might have a problem.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She smiles sweetly at me. “Breakfast?” she asks as she goes into the kitchen and opens the fridge. “I make a mean fried egg.”

  “Sounds perfect,” I respond. “Let me go jump in the shower real quick, and I’ll be back to help you out.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I squat next to the kid. “That, my friend, is how you do it. When you find a good woman, make sure she’s your number one priority in bed, and things like that will just happen.”

  Chance smiles at me and smacks his toy in excitement, making it light up again.

  It feels like there’s a sledgehammer in my head, and it’s trying to demolish something, although I’m not sure what. Peeling my eyes open, the single ray of sunlight coming through my blinds makes the pounding worse. But something feels off so I power through it.

  I vaguely remember falling asleep while snuggling with Daniel on the couch and then waking up in the middle of the night to throw up. But the memory is blurry. Could it have been a dream?

  I roll over and look at the clock: 2:37 p.m.

  Not only have I been asleep all day, I was asleep all night. That means Chance hasn’t eaten in… maybe as long as eighteen hours. Oh no!

  I jump out of bed, which, feeling like I do means I drag my feet over the side, try desperately not to vomit, and shuffle my way to the door. He’s not crying, which makes my heart pound even harder. Oh god. I hope he’s okay. How did I sleep so long? What is wrong with me? Maybe that blurry memory wasn’t a dream after all. It’s hard to think with my head pounding like this.

  I peek in his room and find his crib empty. Where the hell is the baby?

  I’m confused and feel feverish. Was I drugged? Did Daniel drug me and steal my baby? No, that doesn’t make sense. Did someone else drug me and steal my baby? Am I having fever hallucinations? That makes more sense.

  The only thing I know for sure is I need water or coffee or juice… something to get this terrible funky feeling out of my mouth. And maybe get rid of some of the cottonmouth in case I have to make some calls to find my child. Where is my phone?

  It takes a few minutes to locate it, but there it is, sitting on the counter next to a bottle of water, a bottle of Tylenol, some Saltine crackers, and a note. I sink down onto the bar stool and take a swig of the water, which feels really cold in my mouth. That’s strange, considering it’s probably room temperature. I swallow a couple pills and start to nibble on a cracker, hoping it settles my stomach. I need to find my baby. He’s probably hungry. I’m a terrible pseudo-mom.

  I pick up the note.

  Oh good. They’re probably feeding him.

  Dinner. Just the thought makes my stomach roll.

  Oh shit. His mother met Chance. That means his mother came over here. I look around my small apartment, wondering what she may have thought of it. It’s not the fanciest thing. Surely not as nice as where Daniel lives. But it’s clean. It’s in a decent neighborhood.

  I sigh. Definitely not the way I wanted to introduce my family to my boyfriend’s family. I’m not sure I was ready for that anyway. I don’t even know if he’s my boyfriend. Why am I trying to think through this when my head feels like it’s about to split down the middle?

  After a few minutes of sitting and staring, I feel a little less foggy, so I take stock of how the rest of me feels while I follow Daniel’s orders and drink the rest of the water.

  My head still pounds. My stomach doesn’t feel great. My throat hurts a lot, but mostly like I’ve been throwing up, which makes sense since I have some vague memories of puking several times. And I definitely have a fever. I’m clammy and sticky, and I’m sure I stink.

  I really want to lie down, but if Daniel is going to be back in a couple of hours, I need to shower first. No, first I need to make a phone call.

&nbs
p; “Thank you for calling Child Life. This is Hailey. How can I help you?” she says.

  I clear my throat. “Hi, Hailey. It’s Quincy Watson.” I clasp my head with my hand. The sound of my own voice makes me hurt worse.

  “Oh, Quincy!” she says loudly. Way too loudly. “You sound awful! How do you feel?”

  I want to laugh that she answered her own question, but I can’t. I think I might hurl again. “Pretty terrible. How’s the baby? Is he okay?”

  “He’s great!” she says. I’m holding the phone away from my ear so I don’t hear her screeching at me. I don’t think she’s actually screeching, but my poor brain can’t tell the difference. “No problems at all. Daniel said he only woke up once in the middle of the night to eat. Speaking of…. girl, you’ve been holding out on me! How did you meet Daniel Zavaro?”

  It takes a minute for her words to register. “Wait, he spent the night last night?”

  “That’s what he said. You must have had a way higher fever than you know to not realize that hunk of hotness stayed with you all night. You must have the flu. It’s brutal this year.”

  I take a deep breath. This conversation has worn me out. “Okay I’m gonna go lie down now, Hailey.”

  “Take care of yourself.” She giggles. “We’ll talk more about your new man later.”

  I try to roll my eyes, but it takes too much effort. As soon as I hang up, I text Daniel, like he asked.

  Awake. Wishing for death. :/

  I press send and lay my head down for a few minutes. The coolness of the counter feels good against my cheek. I try concentrating on my breathing, willing the nausea away. I haven’t been sick like this in years. Next year, I might actually bite the bullet and get a flu shot.

  A few minutes later, a beep causes me to raise my head. I’ve missed two phone calls and three text messages. That, and the drool spot where my head was tells me I haven’t been relaxing here for only a few minutes. It’s almost five.

  I look at Geni’s text first.

  All your clients are cancelled through tomorrow. Let me know if you need to reschedule the rest of the week. Love you!

  The missed calls are from Daniel, as are the other two texts.

  Go back to sleep. Sleep will help the death wish go away.

  The second one is from just a few minutes ago.

  Picking up Chance now. We’ll be back soon. Stay in bed.

  As I move to stand up, I catch a whiff of myself. I need a shower first.

  To get from the kitchen to my bathroom and under the water normally takes a few minutes. This time it takes days. The water feels like pins and needles on my skin, but the cool temperature is a small relief from what must be a monster fever. The effort to scrub myself with my loofa and my favorite body wash is ridiculous, and I finally give up and sit down on the floor of the tub.

  Chills overtake my body, and I get the telltale signs of overactive salivary glands. I don’t even think about getting out. I lean over and throw up all over the tub.

  “Okay, buddy, give me one second, and I’ll get you a new bottle.” I shift him on my hip as I balance his diaper bag, my gym bag, and the key to unlock the door to Quincy’s apartment. He squeals and gets hold of my nose. “Yes, I know it’s big. But it’s not a toy.” He lets go when his attention is diverted somewhere else as the door opens. “Here,” I say as I throw everything on the couch and get him situated in his ExerSaucer. “You need to get some energy out. How about you bounce up and down for a while?” Sure enough, as soon as his feet hit the floor, he starts moving them as fast as he can. It looks like he’s running without actually going anywhere. One of my nephews used to do that. It cracks me up.

  “Quincy?” I call. I check her bedroom. The shower is running so I assume she’s feeling well enough to clean up. That’s a good sign. I strip the sheets off the bed and throw them in the washer, making faces and farty noises at the baby when I walk by.

  We’re guys. I know how to entertain him.

  Once the washer is going, and I know the baby is still entertained, I check on Quincy again.

  The water is still running, but she’s still not responding to me calling her name. Yes, I’ve seen her naked, and in many, many different positions. Thinking about it even briefly gives me a hard-on.

  I also know women can be a little more modest when they’re sick, and I’ve been trying to respect that, but now that we’ve been here for a while, and she’s still not done showering, my desire to respect her modesty is over.

  “Quincy,” I say again as I push through the bathroom door. “Are you okay, babe?”

  I hear a moan from the shower and peak behind the curtain. She’s crumpled on the floor, holding her knees to her chest. The water is lukewarm, which is a good thing, but it’s obvious she’s thrown up again. Maybe more than once. That’s not a good thing.

  I quickly strip out of my clothes and climb in with her.

  “Daniel,” she says quietly as I shift her away from the spray of the water. “I don’t feel good.”

  I smile. “I know, baby. It’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”

  Despite the water temp, she’s still burning up. I thank my lucky stars flu shots are a team requirement. I don’t do sick well, and this looks worse than normal.

  I quickly make sure any remaining soap from her attempts at washing are rinsed off, and that she didn’t accidentally get vomit in her hair. Once I’m satisfied with my efforts, I shut the water off and pick her up, carrying her out of the bathroom and down the hall to the living room. Snagging a bath towel on my way past the rack, I make a mental note to clean up the water I’m dripping everywhere. Normally I would make sure not to leave water footprints on the carpet, but there’s not a lot I can do until I have her settled on the couch.

  As I lay the towel down and her on top of it, I look over at Chance. He not smiling, but he’s not frowning either. More like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on with his mom… er, aunt… er…. I really need to ask what he calls her.

  “She’s okay, buddy,” I say to him as I get a flat sheet from the linen closet to drape over her. No point in using a blanket with a fever this high. “She just doesn’t feel well. She’ll be better tomorrow.” When she doesn’t respond to him, he quickly loses interest and goes back to smacking some light-up toy.

  Ten minutes later, I’m dressed, the bathroom is cleaned up, and my mom is on her way with homemade chicken soup. She swears it’s the cure for the flu, and frankly, I’m starving, so we’ll take it.

  I sit next to her on the couch, medicine in hand. Her cheeks are flushed, and her skin looks clammy. I wish I could say she looks beautiful, but she looks more miserable than anything. “Baby, can you open up and take this for me?”

  She turns her head to look at me and opens her mouth after I help her sit up. She coughs after taking the medicine, and I encourage her to drink some Gatorade.

  “Where’s the baby?” she asks weakly as she lays back down.

  “Right there.” I nod toward Chance as I tuck the sheet in under her arms so she’s covered up but will still stay relatively cool. She looks over at him and smiles.

  “Hey, little man.” He grins widely and starts running again. Oh yeah. He misses her. “What are you doing all the way over there?”

  “Babe, did he get a flu shot? I don’t want him to get too close to you while you have a fever.”

  She swallows, eyes closed. “He got one when he got his six-month shots. I didn’t want to take my chances with day care.”

  “But you didn’t get one.”

  “I don’t go to day care.”

  I kiss her on the forehead. “Good point. I’m going to get a cool rag. You hang out here with him.” I drag the baby, still in the ExerSaucer, closer to the couch. By the time I’m done, they are already reaching for each other.

  I can’t help but feel good about how much progress they’ve made since the first time I met them. They’ve really bonded in the few months since she took custody. If I didn’
t know the situation, I would assume she’s always been his mom.

  My phone rings as I pull a washcloth from the drawer.

  I swipe my finger across the screen and bring it to my ear. “Hey, Geni.”

  “Hello, handsome,” she says in a flirty tone. If we hadn’t spoken multiple times over the past couple of days, I might be concerned she’s trying to move in on her best friend’s territory. But my gut tells me she’s a harmless flirt. “How’s our patient doing?”

  “Not well,” I admit as I get the washcloth wet. “I found her sick in the shower.”

  “Sick as in—”

  “Yep. All over the bottom of the tub.”

  “Ew,” she says. “Glad it was you there and not me.”

  I laugh. “I’m sure you are. Hopefully she’ll feel better by morning, but I can pretty much guarantee you she’s going to need the whole week off.

  “I figured as much. I already started cancelling the rest of her appointments. As long as she has a fever, I don’t want her anywhere near me!”

  I chuckle. “You didn’t get a flu shot either?”

  “Oh I did,” she says. “But you know why she didn’t, don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Apparently they guess what strain of flu is going to be active each year and make the vaccinations accordingly. She’d rather spend twenty bucks on going out than on a flu shot.”

  I pick up the now wet washcloth and make my way back over to the couch. The medicine and thermometer are still sitting on the end table where I left them this morning. “Quincy,” I gently nudge her awake. “Quincy, baby, put this under your tongue. I need to take your temperature.”

  “Awwww!” I hear coming from the other end of the phone. “You’re so cute with her! Did she do it? Did she listen to you?”

  “Yep,” I say as I hold the thermometer in one hand and put the washcloth down on her forehead with the other. “Taking her temp right now.”

  “Are you spending the night again, lover boy? Or do I need to come relieve you?”