by Cerys du Lys
But, no. Asher remained in control of himself and pulled out of me. I tried to stop him, held him tight with my hands, but he managed to loosen my fingers enough to free himself. Just barely, almost not enough, and as soon as his cock slipped free of my pussy his own orgasm flared up. I looked down, captivated by his thick, bulging erection trapped between my thighs. His cockhead seemed to strain against itself, growing and flexing, and then he let loose a stream of cum. His sticky seed splashed against my pink panties, leaving a line of white goo. Then another, and one more, and a final, tiny amount that clung to the head of his quivering cock.
My orgasm matched his rhythm, tensing and growing with every shot of his cream. The scene in front of me, the naughtiness of what we'd just done, it fueled my fantasies. I shivered and spasmed on the table, and while I wanted him inside of me, filling me, some vague part of me knew he was right. The doctor would need to do some preliminary exams, and most likely that involved scoping out my lower region. No matter how much cleaning up we did after the fact, she'd probably suspect something if she saw the remnants of a recent sexual encounter. And would she tell Beatrice?
Asher finished spurting, but apparently he wasn't finished with me. Grabbing my panties again, catching me off guard, he pulled them aside and thrust himself inside of me. Once, twice, again. My orgasm soared back to life, caught up in his need, and I clenched against him. No one had ever done this with me before. Granted, every man I'd been with before now had always worn a condom, too.
I bucked my hips against Asher, riding him to another peak of pleasure. He slammed into me, hard and urgent, fighting against the clock and trying to force me to orgasm again. I felt him flex inside of me, straining to keep his cock hard enough to satisfy me. He could have remained perfectly still and let me bask in the feel of him inside me for all I cared; it probably would have done the same thing.
Still, his cock was softening, which was kind of exciting in its own way. This man, this desirous, aloof man who had no reason to even look at me twice, was doing everything in his power to please me. I could not stop him and he refused to accept anything else from me. The idea of it, the heady, drunken feeling it gave me, flung me over the edge.
I could still feel him inside me, pushing, his cock returning to normal, but it was a more subtle feeling now. Not that it mattered, though, because I was in the full throes of climax once again. I pulled at him and he didn't move away this time, merely kept himself inside me. The wall of my pussy squeezed and hugged against his cock while he embraced me. I rode through my pleasure, eyes closed, languishing in the delightful sensation of it.
As I was coming down, indulging in the afterglow, Asher's cock still tucked neatly inside me, someone knocked on the door.
"Asher?" a woman asked. "Are you in there?"
Beatrice. His wife.
"Shit," he said. Pulling away from me, he bent down and wrenched his pants up. His fingers, seemingly ungainly and thick all of a sudden, barely managed to button his pants and buckle his belt before Beatrice knocked again.
"Hello? I'm coming in."
Beatrice tried to turn the handle, but the door was locked. I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful for the doctor's office doors; they locked automatically whenever anyone closed them fully, to prevent inopportune entrances during potentially awkward examinations. Asher and I might have benefited from this in a less legitimate way, but it worked out nonetheless.
I hopped up and grabbed a handful of paper towels from above a hand washing sink and rubbed them against the fabric of my panties trying to scrub away Asher's seed.
"Sorry, Beatrice," Asher said. "These doors lock on their own. Jessika and I were just discussing the procedure. Hold on, let me figure this door out."
"It's just a lock," she said. "How hard can it be? Let me in."
He looked at me, his expression full of panic. I shrugged and flailed my hands to the side, a sort of "I don't know!" gesture. Somewhat satisfied with my progress in cleaning up our mess, I threw the paper towels into a trash basket, fixed my panties and skirt, and jumped back onto the cushioned table.
"The locks can be tricky sometimes," I said, overly loud and nervous. I said it for Asher's benefit, but as soon as I did I felt like it sounded like something a bad actor might say.
Asher toyed with the door handle and the lock. Confused, he looked at me and whispered, "I really don't know how to open this. Help?"
Oh God, oh God, this was getting worse by the minute. I rushed over to the door and stared at the handle. Asher pulled on it and poked something. The door handle had a switch and a button, but neither of them looked ready to do anything but stay in place.
"Is everything alright?" our doctor asked from far away down the hall.
"The door is stuck," Beatrice said. "What kind of shoddy facility is this?"
If the doctor was annoyed, she didn't sound it. "It's a security measure," she said.
"Do you think my husband is going to steal from you? He makes more in a day than everyone in this office combined makes in a year."
The doctor ignored her. "If you'll allow me, I can unlock the door with this key. It's not that we don't trust anyone, but it's the type of door we have. I told your husband and Jessika to page me through the in-room intercom system when they were ready. There's no need to worry, Mrs. Landseer."
"Hurry," Beatrice said. "Right now."
The doctor put the key into the keyhole and the button on our side of the door popped out. A twist of the handle later and the door opened. A very angry looking Beatrice and a slightly irritated looking doctor stood on the other side.
"Well," Beatrice said, stomping inside. "That's a first. No one has ever mistaken me for a thief before. I'm quite surprised to say the least."
I wanted to say something, primarily to correct her and mention that no one had mistaken her for a thief, but I suppressed my urge. This was probably a good time to let Beatrice think whatever she wanted, because it saved Asher and I the need to explain anything. Because, really, I didn't even know how to begin to explain any of it.
Beatrice sniffed at the air, wrinkling her nose. The smell of sex was extremely obvious to me, and I knew at that moment that she'd figure it out. Everything, all at once, no more hiding, and...
"I despise the smell of hospitals," she said. "Even here. Ugh. It has a distinct stale smell. Far too crisp and pervasive, like someone's gone through the entire room with four different kinds of disinfectant spray."
"You're welcome to wait in the waiting room, Mrs. Landseer," the doctor said with a smile.
"I'll pass." Beatrice put her nose up at the very thought. "I would rather not wait with the huddled masses."
Huddled masses? I thought maybe she was being a bit over the top with that one, or maybe it was a joke? But, no, Beatrice looked completely serious. In fact, after she said it, I could've sworn she peered at me out of the corner of her eye. Then she looked away—if she'd even looked at me in the first place—and settled into one of the chairs in the room.
"I think Jessika and I went over most concerns we might have with the procedure and the consent papers," Asher said. "Is there another room where Beatrice and I can talk while you do the examination, or...?"
The doctor put on a saccharine sweet smile and shook her head. Clearly she didn't want to put up with this. "Oh, no, you two stay here. I can take Ms. Fevrier to another room. I'll have someone clear out the huddled masses beforehand, so don't you worry."
With that, the doctor stepped into the hallway and beckoned for me to follow. Asher refrained from laughing, but Beatrice looked completely astounded.
"Did she really just say that?" Beatrice asked Asher as I walked out of the room and followed the doctor. "What kind of place is this, Asher? I don't think we should be consorting with these types of people. They seem unsafe."
I stifled a laugh. "I'm sorry about that," I said. "I think she's always like that. It's probably nothing personal."
"Oh, I'm sure she is," the doctor s
aid. "I don't really care. I don't have to deal with her."
...
Asher was, perhaps, the luckiest man in the world. Or the unluckiest, depending on how someone saw it.
Why had he done what he did with Jessika? And, especially, why had he done it in the patient room at the in vitro center? Impulse, probably, pure and animalistic. My God, those panties! He didn't want to come across as crude, but a woman like Jessika in panties like that could make even a steadfast priest rescind his vows. The lace and frills, a cute and tantalizing facade for the sexiness beneath. He was, perhaps, a complete sucker for the illusion of innocence. Jessika was anything but that, though.
Or, more precisely, she was innocent, but not in a usual way. She was curious and insightful and interesting. He loved that about her. She didn't just want to know, she needed to know. And he was fairly certain that she'd done all of that on purpose. That didn't forgive him for what he did, but he accepted it for what it was. She wanted to know what happened if she tempted him? Well, for any other person he could resist temptation, but there was something about Jessika that ruined his resolve.
It hurt, though. Afterwards, talking with Beatrice in the patient room, he felt a distinct pang of regret. And arousal. Just a few minutes earlier he'd taken Jessika upon the very table on which he now sat. His imagination created evidence out of nothing, concocting an obvious wet spot on the table and convincing him that Beatrice was spending far too much time staring at the trash can. He didn't actually think she looked at the trash can more than once, and only with vague disinterest, but...
"Asher," Beatrice said. "I really think we should find another doctor. I don't think this place has the right amount of prestige for our liking."
He sighed. "There's no place better. Doctor Fairheart is one of the best, too. She has a very high success rate with this and she knows what she's doing. I did my research and she answered my questions satisfactorily when I spoke with her on the phone the other day. It was just a fluke with the lock. It's nothing to worry about."
"But her tone," Beatrice said. "She's so... so... uncouth!"
Asher laughed. "I'm sure you'd like her if you got to know her. Shall I invite her to dinner? That might be nice, don't you think? Jeremy can join us, and Jessika, of course."
"Ugh. Please don't even joke about that. The next thing you're going to suggest is we all gather in the living room and watch a movie together while eating pizza."
"That would be nice," Asher said, thinking back to when he'd done that exact thing with Jessika just a few nights past.
"Why can't you be serious?" Beatrice asked. She furrowed her brow and glared at him. "Maybe I'm overexaggerating a tiny bit, but I still don't know if we can trust her. I just wish you'd be more serious, though. This is a very serious procedure and a life-changing event. Do you want to have some child with severe deformities? I don't know about you, but I couldn't handle it. I just couldn't."
...
With the doctor's visit behind me, and Beatrice apparently calmed down enough to have a normal conversation, the rest of the day passed uneventfully. I went back with Jeremy to Asher's guest house. Beatrice and Asher went to the main house, presumably to talk or something. How should I know? I was glad to be away from her, since it gave me time to think and it made me less nervous.
"So, sounds like you had a great time," Jeremy said.
I rolled my eyes while he grinned at me. "Why is she like that?"
"Couldn't say." Jeremy shrugged. "I guess she's always been that way? She's the kind of rich person that you can tell is a rich person, because she won't let you think otherwise. Asher's kind of obvious when he suits up, trying to look nice for business, but otherwise you probably couldn't tell. Like when he plays basketball he just looks regular, you know? Beatrice never wants to even consider being regular, let alone looking it. That's just how she is."
"I guess I can understand," I said. "I mean, I don't really understand it, but maybe if I were rich I'd understand better. I suppose when you have the money, you can do whatever you like. Not that it's right, but why should she care? She's rich."
"Right. Yeah, that might be it."
I sighed and fell onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. "I want some cheesecake," I said, completely out of the blue.
"Oh yeah?" Jeremy asked.
"Yes. Caramel pecan turtle cheesecake like they have at The Cheesecake Factory sometimes. Mmmmm..."
"You want to go?"
"...with the chocolate icing swirls on the edge and the lines of caramel drizzled on the top and..."
"Look, lady, you want to go get some food or what? I'm starving over here after driving some chick around all day and I could go for a bite to eat."
"Did you just call me a chick?" I asked.
"If the shoe fits."
"What kind of shoe does a chick even wear? Are we talking about a baby chicken or are you being some chauvinist pig?" I couldn't help but grin, even though I tried to say everything as serious as possible.
Jeremy smirked. "If you were a chicken, this might be easier. You could just lay an egg for Asher and let Beatrice sit on it."
"That wouldn't be nearly as fun as having sex with him," I blurted out.
Jeremy nearly died laughing. "You really need a boyfriend or something. Pining after a married billionaire is probably not the best use of your time. You know it's never going to work out, right?"
I frowned a bit. It was true, but... "Probably. I know."
"Ah, well, they used to say the world was flat, too. You never know?" Then, holding out his hand to help me off the couch, he said, "So, food?"
"Can we have the cheesecake first?" I asked. "And then our meal. Then more cheesecake, maybe."
Jeremy lifted me off the couch. "Are you pregnant already? Should I get you some pickles and ice cream, too?"
"Ugh, no." I jumped up and ran to the door. "Actually, do you think they make pickle cheesecake? I bet they do somewhere. I don't want any, but I think that'd be interesting to try. At least once, you know? To say you did it."
"I think I'd rather never say I tried pickle cheesecake," Jeremy said as he opened the door for me. "Let's stick with the caramel pecan turtle variety."
...
Dinner was nice. Jeremy and I talked about this and that while we ate. I relented and accepted the fact that dessert should come after dinner, but not without a bit of a fight. Not much of one, but a little. It didn't matter too much, since my Santa Fe salad and grilled chicken and avocado club sandwich more than made up for the lack of a cheesecake appetizer. The cheesecake was delicious, though; I ordered a piece to go.
And then Jeremy paid for dinner with one of Asher's credit cards. I felt bad and I wanted to pay, but I didn't have a lot of spare money at the moment.
"Eh, don't worry about it," Jeremy said. "As long as we bring back something for Asher, he won't mind. He's a cheesesteak and apple crisp sort of guy, so I'm sure he'll be happy."
"I guess," I said. Still, that didn't make me feel better about it.
We left. In the car, Jeremy said, "I feel bad sometimes, too, but that's how Asher likes it. I mean, what are we supposed to do? He gets upset if he finds out that I paid for something like this on my own. And then what? I feel bad all over again. It makes him happy to pay for food and stuff like that, so why not?"
I sighed and tried not to frown, tried to think of it from Asher's point of view. "I suppose. It is nice to treat friends sometimes. Me and my friends do that. We don't go anywhere fancy, though. To the movies or whatever, that kind of thing."
"Yeah," Jeremy said. "It's almost the same, I think. Kind of."
Once we arrived back at the Landseer estate, Jeremy tossed me a key. "There you go, lady. Your very own key. Don't lose it, it cost two bucks."
"Whoa!" I said, pretending to be impressed. "Big spender."
"Yeah, I know." He grinned. "I'm going to bring this food to Asher. I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night."
"You too."
Trudging towards the guest house, I shuffled my feet and kicked at the gravel walkway. My casual heels scuffled against the hardened path when I kicked at it with the toes of my shoes, and my progress towards the house was slow but it gave me a little more time to think. If Beatrice saw me, she might think I was some child or something. Look at Jessika. What is she doing? She's ruining perfectly good shoes and acting immature to boot.
Oh well. I didn't really care what she thought. She couldn't be much older than me, and yet she acted like she was. Except, of course, when I heard her in the bookstore. Then she sounded happier, almost chipper. Granted, she was with Solomon and plotting against Asher, so it wasn't exactly the right kind of happiness, but I knew she could be a different person. Why wasn't she, though?
I opened the door to Asher's guest house with the key Jeremy gave me and stepped inside. Kicking off my shoes and leaving them to the side, I locked the door and left the key on the kitchen counter. Now what? Life was so hectic and today had been more hectic still. I desperately needed to relax.
The library sounded perfect, so I went downstairs. Flipping the light switch on, I breathed in deep and admired the shelves around me. It really was a perfect kind of place, I thought. Not the best ever, nothing like a classic library, but it was quaint and quiet and hidden away. The perfect spot for relaxing. It was a good place to think and prepare.
Right now I just wanted to read, though. I did like the book I'd browsed through the other day, so I decided to look for the first. Kushiel's Dart, I guess? I assumed Asher had it, and it was probably somewhere by where the second book had been, but I didn't notice it when I first checked. I walked over to the shelf, one of the ones in the middle, and scanned through the bindings looking for familiar script.