The Doctor's Nanny

by Emerson Rose

  “Ugh, see? I can’t even get close to you anymore.”

  “You’re not being very creative, baby. Let’s turn you over.” Sliding my arm between the sheets and her waist, I help her turn until her back is to my front.

  “Ah, God, Holland, you’re killing me.” And she is. She’s really fucking killing me here. All I want to do is thrust balls deep into her hot pussy and make her come again and again, but these last few weeks, I’ve been treating her like glass. Holland has voiced her discontent loud and clear on more than one occasion, but I’m not budging. I’m not trying to meet my baby that way.

  The second she’s facing away from me, her back is arched and she’s pressing her ass into my cock, tempting me, torturing me, pushing me to the very edge of my tolerance.

  “Please, King, I need you. I miss you. I’m full-term. The baby could come any time now and it would be all right. Please . . .” Fuck . . . I’ve been just barely controlling my desires, but no way can I listen to her beg me for something I’m dying to give her.

  “Okay, but we’re doing this my way, got it?” My words are stern, but my resolve is weak. She nods against my chest as her hand slides between our bodies to stroke my cock.

  All of my reservations fly out the window when I snap the tiny edge of her lace panties and slide my hand between her legs and find her soaking wet for me.

  “You are the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever put my hands on, woman. Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I press my cock against her bare ass, knowing damn good and well that she is.

  “Yes, please, please . . .” She twists her face, offering me her mouth, and I slide my tongue between her lips and lift my hips to work my boxers off. I mirror the motion of our tongues with my fingers along her wet slit, stroking and circling until I realize she’s having trouble keeping her leg up. Without missing a stroke, I continue to work my magic and reach farther over her to bend her body pillow in half and prop her leg up on it, spreading her wide and allowing her to relax, enjoying the fruits of my labor. Labor . . . fuck, don’t think about that right now. Just put it out of your mind, King. I unclasp her bra, releasing her heavy breasts, and tilt her back against me to slide my fingers around her nipple.

  “No, King . . . please.” She wraps her hand around my pulsing hard on and guides it to where she wants it. She’s impatient and ready . . . oh so ready. I remove her hand and slowly, carefully, I slide my tip along her slit, rubbing my length between her wet folds, against her clit and back to the pucker of her ass, causing her to gasp. The fingers of one hand are clutching her pillow, and her other hand is pressing against the padded headboard. Her breath comes in short, quick pants as I trail kisses up and down her neck.

  “I’m going to fuck you nice and slow now, baby,” I whisper into her ear as I slide into my favorite place on earth. I draw blood from my lip when I bite down and rein in the urge to be rough with her.

  “Ah, King, yes. Yes, God, I’ve missed you so much.”

  She lets go of her pillow and reaches back to grab my hair, and I lift her leg and enter her deeper than I should.

  “Oh yeah, baby, fuck . . . I’ve missed you, too. I’ve missed making you wet.” When I slide out, she whimpers.

  “You want more? Are you sure you can handle it? We can stop if you’re uncomfortable.” I know she’s not. She’s fucking loving this almost as much as I am, but anticipation is the hottest aphrodisiac.

  “Yes . . .”

  “Yes what?” I reach under her belly and between her legs and slowly circle her clit with my tip poised at her entrance.

  “King. Stop,” she says, hitting her pillow.

  “Stop? You want me to stop?” I remove my hand and pull my cock away from her entrance, causing her more frustration. I don’t know why I’m doing it. Maybe I’m sensing this is the last time I’ll be able to make love to her before she has our baby, or maybe it’s revenge for all the times in the past month that she’s flaunted her tight ass while we were working out, or the way she bends over, exposing her newly plump breasts when she kisses me goodbye every morning. Maybe it’s payback for seeing if I could wait that day in the limo.

  “God, no, King! That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Give it to me. Stop teasing me.”

  I slide back into her and return my hand to the hot spot between her legs.

  In and out, I make love to her slowly, leisurely working her up, little by little, until she’s on the edge, and then backing off to make it last longer. I make her come twice with my hand. Our bodies are covered in sweat, the covers are thrown off in complete abandon, and I know she’s ready again when I thrust one final time into her saturated core, roaring with release and savoring every part of this woman I love inside and out.

  “Better?” I ask, still pulsing inside of her and panting against her neck with a mouthful of her hair. Her heart is beating wildly under my hand as we work on catching our breath.

  “Oh yeah, but somebody else isn’t happy now.” She takes my hand from her chest and moves it over her taught belly, where King Jr. is protesting with strong kicks and punches.

  “Wow, he’s really ticked off that I’m invading his space, huh?” I prop up on my elbow to watch the ripples of movement change the shape of her belly.

  “You do realize it could be a girl, right? Like as in a fifty-fifty chance . . .”

  “Of course, but he’s a boy, aren’t you, King Jr.?” I slide my cock from the warm place it’s just been reunited with and turn Holland onto her back. She’s so beautiful with her bedroom eyes, flushed cheeks and damp hair. Postcoital pregnancy glow. Yeah, it’s more addictive than any drug ever made. I scoot down between her legs and bend her knees to spread her legs so I have room to kneel and press my cheek against her nonexistent navel. Our little person continues to squirm and kick, but with my arms around her belly, it feels like I’m holding ‘him’.

  “Oh,” Holland says, followed by a giggle when the baby gives my face a particularly hard kick.

  “I saw your head move with that one.”

  “Shush, he’s talking to me.”

  “Oh yeah? what’s ‘she’ saying?”

  “He says he loves you very much, but would you please stop referring to him as a her?” Giggling, she wiggles until I free her so she can turn to her side.

  “Help me up before I wet the bed. I’ve had to pee since you woke me,” she says, flashing me her megawatt smile. I assist her to the side of the bed and surprise her by scooping her up and delivering her to the bathroom.

  “I can’t believe you can still lift me. I’m a whale.” Her luscious full bottom lip thrusts out in the most adorable pout when she refers to herself as a whale, and I stand her to face the mirror.

  In our en-suite bathroom, her presence is obvious everywhere—makeup, toiletries, brushes, curling irons, straighteners, and other paraphernalia cover the counter.

  “Now you know why I do weight training every day.” I wink, and she slaps my arm.

  “Hey, you’re supposed to say ‘oh, baby, you’re light as a feather.’ not ‘I have to pump iron everyday just to pick you up.’”

  “I’m kidding. You really are as light as a feather. I wish you’d eat more.” I kiss her on the nose and start the shower while she sits down to relieve herself.

  We’re like an old married couple, comfortable and familiar enough to do the most intimate things in front of each other without a second thought.

  When the temperature is just right and the room is filled with a billowing cloud of steam, I help her into the shower. I’ve been so fucking worried about her slipping in the bath or shower. I had a friend in high school who got his girlfriend pregnant. She fell in the shower and lost their baby when she was six months along. I was with him when he found her, so needless to say, the experience left an impression.

  Leaning her forehead against my chest, I pull her into a quick embrace and turn her away to shampoo her hair.

  “We can get cleaned up and go back to bed. I don’t have anyw
here to be today,” I say.

  “I only slept for an hour before you came home, so that sounds good.”

  “So let’s talk more about your driver’s license. When are you and Savannah going to test it out?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her all week. She’s been busy with her new job.”

  She’s sad. I hear it in her voice, and a pang of guilt shoots through my heart because I know I monopolize a lot of her time, and she would be at Juilliard right now, starting her career. I’ve tried to keep her busy. She’s enrolled in online classes, but they aren’t necessary. She was well ahead in credits after taking many advanced level classes last year. We traveled some during her second trimester. I took her to New York again. We spoke to the board of admissions at Juilliard about her delayed start, and then we went to my house in Malibu for Christmas and the New Year. Her parents’ relationship is tentative at best lately, and she was glad to spend the holidays out of town, although she did miss Savannah.

  “Do you regret . . .?” My hands glide over her soapy breasts and down to her belly, where she covers them with hers. I prop my chin on her shoulder.

  “Never, not for one second. Well, maybe a couple of seconds when I was barfing my brains out early on.”

  When she relaxes against my shoulder, I’m surprised at how relieved I am to hear her say those words.

  “I don’t blame you for that, and for the record, I’ve never regretted it either, not even when you were barfing your brains out.”

  “Well good . . . I think,” she says.

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday. Maybe Savannah will be able to come by and help you test drive your new car.”

  Her face tilts toward mine, and I see a tiny frown line between her eyes.

  “You didn’t . . . King, I don’t need a car. You have so many. I can drive one of those.”

  “Nonsense, those are my cars. You need your own.”

  I step away, pour soap on her loofa, and start washing her back to avoid an argument. She’s taking the car, period. It’s safe, and it will be a good family vehicle for all of us when we do regular family things like . . . hell, I don’t even know what normal families do.

  “I was planning on surprising you when we went to get your license, but since you’ve flipped the script on that, I’ll have it delivered tomorrow. Rinse.”

  I turn her by the shoulders to face me and place my hands on either side of her head, gently tilting it back to rinse out the shampoo.

  “You’re sort of a bully, you know?” she says with her eyes closed as water cascades over every gorgeous curve of her body. She’s biting her lip to keep from laughing.

  “You don’t know the half of it, baby.” She releases her lip and a smile spreads across her lips for a moment before it falls suddenly.

  “King?” Her eyes fly open and she stares at me with lifted brows and her mouth agape.

  “What? Are you okay? Did your water break? Are you having a contraction?”

  She bursts out laughing, and for a second I wonder if pregnant women have moments of insanity. While she laughs, she places her hand on my shoulder for support.

  “I’m sorry.” Giggle. “Your face.” More giggling. “Was priceless.” Her hand covers her mouth as she laughs harder and I sigh.

  Fuck . . . I’m a first time father. What’s she expect? I’m always fucking worried. She’s not due for four weeks, but anything can happen.

  “I just realized I don’t know when your birthday is,” she says when her fits of giggles subside.

  “May fourteenth, nineteen ninety-nine.”

  “Wow, you’re old,” she deadpans until I can’t hold it in anymore and we both burst out laughing together. There are six years between us, but you’d never know to be around us. Her maturity and my occasional immaturity bring us to a very level playing field, even if the world doesn’t see it that way.

  Chapter 25

  Holland

  I’ve been contracting for a week on and off. I haven’t mentioned it to King, though. He’s so skittish that I can’t even burp without him asking, ‘Are you okay?’ It’s cute, but Lord, he’s going to be an overprotective daddy. I’m due today . . . Valentine's Day, which is appropriate considering the amount of love flowing between the three of us, but for some reason, King doesn’t think I’ll deliver today. He’s so sure of this that he’s planned a double date with Savannah and her boyfriend, Troy, which is going to be weird . . . really weird.

  King and I relate on more of an adult level. I’m an old soul, and he’s well . . . he’s just old. Savannah and Troy’s relationship is new and full of insecurities, but Savannah has some serious trust issues. I think it stems from being abandoned by her father. She says Troy is ‘shady as fuck’, but she also says she loves him. It’s a whole different kind of drama than what King and I have gone through, are going through, and will continue to go through if my mama has anything to do with it.

  “All set for date night?” King enters the bathroom, tying his tie and eyeing the vanity that I have monopolized with all of my girlie things. He tends to use the royal throne across the hall unless we are bathing together, in which case I join him for a bath.

  “Yeah, I just have to find some shoes to wear. I still have feet, don’t I?” I stretch my neck trying to look over my blue chiffon covered belly, but it’s hopeless.

  “Yes, baby, you still have the most beautiful feet of any woman, ever.” He slides his arms around my ‘waist’ from behind, but his hands don’t meet in the front anymore.

  “Oh, stop lying. I’m enormous, and I know my feet are swollen and ugly. Can’t we just stay home and lay in bed with a box of ding dongs and watch The Brady Bunch or something?” I stick out my bottom lip and pout in a last-ditch effort to derail his dinner plans.

  “No way, this could be our last date before we become parents, and it’s our first Valentine’s Day together. Come on, I’ll get you some shoes.”

  I lay my mascara down and let him lead me to the bed. I sit and lean back on my arms while he disappears into the closet for my shoes.

  “When are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “Not until we’re there.”

  “Have I ever been there?”

  “Oh yes, lots of times.”

  Lots of times? I’ve never been to any restaurant lots of times.

  He returns holding a strappy pair of flat sandals that will go perfectly with my blue sleeveless dress.

  “You’re being so mysterious.”

  “You are trying to ruin my surprise,” he says, squatting between my legs to buckle my shoes when I feel a warm gush of fluid spreading under me. I gasp and sit up straight, but that just makes the gushing increase, and I watch the thin material of my dress turn dark with wetness.

  “Okay, you’ve told me to stop overreacting, so I’m going to ignore that gasp . . .” King’s eyes move up my legs until he sees what I’m seeing. I watch his Adam’s apple jump in his throat when he swallows hard. Our eyes meet and time stands still. This is it. After all these months of waiting and planning, our lives are about to change forever.

  “Is that?” he asks, looking from my lap to my face.

  “Uh huh.” I nod, keeping my eyes on his. I don’t want to look anymore.

  “Should we go?”

  “Uh huh.”

  King leaves me to get a towel and some comfortable clothes for me to change into. He calls Savannah and calmly tells her we are going to the hospital because my water broke, and we’re sorry to have to cancel.

  I’m starting to freak out at his lack of freaking out when he makes another call, asking Sebastián to bring the car around and to throw a garbage bag on the passenger seat. When he hangs up and slips his phone into the breast pocket of his suit that he was dressed in for our evening out, I can’t hold back anymore.

  “Why are you so calm? We’re having a baby, King, a baby. Shit, this is really happening. I’m not ready to be a mama. I can’t do this.”

  He crosses th
e room to wrap his arms around me in front of the mirror, where I’ve been rooted for the last few minutes, looking at myself.

  “Hey . . . hey, breathe, baby . . . deep breaths in through your nose, out through your mouth.” I follow his instructions and listen to his soothing voice.

  “That’s it, good girl, just like that. You’re going to be fine, you’re prepared, you’re smart, and you are going to be a wonderful mother.”

  “Who are you?” I ask between deep breaths.

  “I’m actually very good in stressful situations when I know I have to be.” He smiles crookedly at me in the mirror and slides his hands from my belly to squeeze my shoulders.

  “Ready, champ?” He turns me to face him and holds his hand up for a high-five, and I slap it.

  “I guess so, there’s no going back now, huh?”

  “Nope. Everything is going to be fine, baby, really. Don’t worry, okay?”

  “Pinky swear?” I ask.

  One corner of his mouth lifts in a smile as he nods his head up and down, offering me his pinky finger.

  “Yeah, baby, pinky swear.”

  He pulls me into a kiss by our joined pinky fingers. It’s a kiss full of reassurance and tenderness that relaxes me. It’s a kiss that says ‘let me help you’, ‘let me shoulder some of this burden.’

  “Are you having contractions yet?”

  “No, well yeah, I mean . . . I don’t know. I’ve been having Braxton Hicks for a week. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. How do I know the difference?”

  “It’s all right. I knew. I felt them when you were sleeping, and my guess is that they’ll hurt when they’re real.” He shrugs and slings our overnight bag over his shoulder at the same time that he guides me toward the door with his free hand on my back. I twist to look back one last time, making sure we have everything, and notice the white duvet covered in amniotic fluid.

  “I think we need a new comforter.”

  “Already bought a replacement. It’s in the closet.”