by Lainey Davis
I spend the morning writing from home and submit a draft to my editor, who is giving me comp time for the afternoon since I "worked" this weekend. Around 3, I take the bus to the hospital and run into Dr. Khalsa in the lobby, which surprises me. He must be really excited about this medication trial. "Ah! Emma! There you are." He takes my arm and introduces me to his colleagues. We walk to one of the conference rooms rather than his office, where he sets up a presentation and starts to explain their new clinical trial on medical marijuana.
There are tons of questions from the International Review Board and a hell of a lot more paperwork than I signed when I started taking my other medications. Those actually alter my brain function. Isn't this a bit much hoopla for some pot? After about an hour of this, Dr. Khalsa asks me if I'd like him to go with me to the dispensary to pick up my "medication" for the trial.
"Um, sure?" This is hands down the most bizarre experience of my life, up to and including the time I covered the Furry Convention for the Post and had to interview guys who get their rocks off dressing like foxes and squirrels. We walk a few blocks to a standard-looking office building and take the elevator to the Wellness Center. When we walk inside, the space looks like a spa, with potted orchids and sleek, modern furniture.
I thought it would be skeezy, reminiscent of the pot dealers I visited with Nicole in college. There's not a Bob Marley poster or tie-dyed tapestry in sight. There are tablet devices on the wall for people to go "shopping," and Dr. Khalsa explains that we don't need to use those because I need to use very specific products for the clinical research. An employee greets Dr. Khalsa warmly and takes us back to a small, private office. Instead of chairs, we sit on yoga balls while the staff explains that I'll be using a vaporizer and cartridges that come pre-filled.
They slide me a slim device that looks like a compact mirror…but Dr. Khalsa explains that I simply slide the cartridge inside, press a button, and inhale the vapor. Eventually, the goal is for me to no longer need my standard medications, but Dr. Khalsa has me on a graduated plan for his clinical trial. All the cartridges are pre-filled, ready to go. "Just follow the schedule, and I will see you in two weeks for some testing," he says.
I feel my jaw drop when the cashier asks me if I saw the discount for Shark Week, but Dr. Khalsa explains that I'll be using the hospital's account. I am assigned a number, and everything is taken care of by the researchers. Dr. Khalsa even arranges for a car service to take me home, so I don't have to sit on the bus with my medication. I know he's just feeling antsy about me getting pick-pocketed, but I'll take a ride where I can get it.
I ease into the back seat of the sedan, enjoying the leather interior and air conditioning on full blast, and I pull out my phone to a series of missed calls and texts. Nicole, of course, is eager for details from this weekend.
A text from Phil: This draft is tolerable, Cheswick. Definitely nicer than when I submitted my last draft. I think I'm really solidifying my spot on the staff. I squirm in my seat a bit, anxious to get to work tomorrow and see his comments for revision on my article about Juniper.
Then a text from Thatcher. Can we talk?
I chew on my fingernail. I know I need to see him. We left things…tense. I tap back Want to come over? I'll be home in ten.
C u soon. Will bring sandwiches.
One thing I am really coming to like about the Stag family is they always have food. Door will be unlocked. Just come in, I write back.
When we get to my apartment, I tip the driver and settle into my couch to re-read the instructions on the "vape" pen. Because of my condition, and how much it sucks to have seizures, I never experimented with drugs or alcohol. Once I found out what works to keep me healthy, that's always felt more important than a temporary buzz. If I'm honest, I'm glad Thatcher is coming over later to be here after I use these cartridges. I have no idea how my body is going to respond. I finger the medic alert bracelet that's always with me.
Reading through the information sheet one last time, I decide I'm ready. I slide the cartridge into the pen, press the button, and breathe deeply. I feel the cool vapor swirling into me, and I slowly exhale. Not bad. I try again. Hm. Now I guess I just wait. I whip out the log from Dr. Khalsa and record two puffs, 4pm, Monday. No seizure aura today. Feeling great.
I set the supplies on the coffee table and wait to feel…different. Nothing happens except I have to pee, so I make my way into the bathroom, slightly disappointed.
Thirty-One
THATCHER
"Knock-knock," I yell, feeling weird just walking into Emma's house, even though she told me to. I hear water running somewhere in the apartment, so I walk in and sit down on the couch. I drop my messenger bag filled with takeout sandwiches, and look around. I love that Emma keeps the glass I gave her in a prime spot where it gets the sun. It's the focal piece of her entire apartment, and I smile, knowing she's thinking of me basically any time she's looking around her living room. I also definitely see now how she thought I made her a neuron.
The afternoon light catches the sculpture, and I follow the line of reflected light to the coffee table. "Hey now," I say to myself, seeing what Emma's got: an entire bag full of cartridges from the dispensary and…yep. A loaded vape pen just sitting on the table, begging me to try. I brought this girl sandwiches, I think. She can spare a hit.
I breathe in the smooth vapor, realizing Emma has acquired some seriously high quality THC. I'm just exhaling it all through my nose when Emma opens her bathroom door and sees me using her shit. She looks pissed.
"What the fuck, Thatcher," she shrieks. "I told you that's from my doctor. I'm not allowed to fucking share that!" She throws a shoe at me. Honest to god, reaches down, takes off her shoe, and throws it at me. I duck. "It's illegal and…" she grunts and throws the other shoe, "It's going to mess with Dr. Khalsa's results."
I set the vape pen down on her table and stand. "Emma, Jesus, I'm sorry. I took one hit." I pick up one of her shoes and hold it out to her, and she stares at it, laughing hysterically. Oh, so she's already stoned. I meet her eye and draw back, like I'm going to throw the shoe back at her. She squeals and fumbles around, reaching for the bookshelf.
"Thatcher Stag, don't you dare!" Emma yells.
"How do you like it, Chezz?" I toss the shoe at her, not hard, and both of us laugh when it hits her in the boob.
She gets closer and nails me with a book. "Will you knock it off? Fuck!" She hits me in the head with a hard back, and I stride across the living room to block her. When I get close, Emma yelps and starts running away with a copy of Harry Potter book 7. "Oh no. You're not throwing that at me. That's the heaviest one." I catch up to her in the hall and reach for the book. She's holding it up high as if I'm not almost a foot taller than her. But rather than snatch it easily from her hand, I decide to tickle her armpit.
She shrieks and tries to run again. It's on now. I can definitely feel a buzz, which makes this whole thing even more hilarious as I chase her. We're both laughing now. She tries to slam her bedroom door in my face, but I block her with my foot, wiggling my fingers like a tickle monster. Emma trips on a pair of shoes and goes to the ground. I drop on top of her, dodging a spike heel, and start to tickle the fuck out of her.
"Damn you, Stag," she grunts, kicking at me, but then she starts laughing a deep belly laugh when I find a sweet spot on her sides. She keeps on laughing and I pin her arms above her head with one hand, using the other to lift the hem of her shirt. I meet her eye, and then drop my head to blow raspberries on her stomach.
The sound of Emma laughing is probably the most magical thing I've ever heard, or maybe the vape cartridge was just that good. Soon I'm lying on top of her and Emma stops laughing when she feels me grow hard against her stomach. She breathes heavily for a minute, searching my face, for what I'm not sure.
I smile at her. "You ever fuck someone while you're high, Chezz?" She shakes her head. I drop one hand to her tits and squeeze. "You want to try it out?"
She lifts h
er head to take my mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss. I respond in kind, thrusting my tongue in and out of her mouth, hard, while I reach up inside her shirt to find her nipples. I fucking love how she feels under my hands, helpless with her arms pinned above her head, and loving it.
She moans as I circle one rosy nipple with my thumb, so I release her arms and get both hands on her sensitive tips. There's no finesse to how she's moving now. She's desperate, needy. I can tell her nerve endings are firing like crazy and I love seeing Emma unhinged like this. "Thatcher," she breathes, the sound of my name on her lips the biggest turn-on since I saw her naked for the first time.
Her hands fumble with my t-shirt and waistband, like she can't figure out which to take off first. I sit up to help her out, reaching behind my neck to strip off my shirt with one hand. "Ahhhh, shit," I hiss, as Emma dives into my jeans. She pulls out my shaft and gives my balls a squeeze. I look down as Emma climbs to her knees and drops her head into my lap. "Oh, fuck," I moan, as that pink tongue darts out and circles the tip of my cock. "Emma, holy shit. That feels so good."
I kneel on the floor of her room while Emma sits in front of me, sliding her perfect mouth along the length of my shaft. She's got one hand at the root of my cock and the other massaging my balls. This is an art form, a fucking thing of beauty. She looks up at me with those big, green eyes, her red hair tumbling all over her face, sticking to her sweaty cheek, and then she slides me so far into her mouth I can feel the back of her throat on my tip. I groan and drop one hand to her back, gently rubbing her, while the other rests on her head. I don't ever want this to stop…until I realize that I might blow my load in her mouth, and I haven't gotten to fuck her yet. "Emma, sweetheart, you gotta stop," I say, and she pulls off my dick with a wet-sounding pop.
"Or what, Stag?" she says. "What will happen if I don't?" She teases me like she's going to dive right back on to my dick, but I can tell she's playing with me now. I grab hold of her waist and spin her around until she's on her hands and knees on the floor.
"I'll fuck you from behind until you scream, Emma," I whisper into her ear as she moans. "That's what." I yank down her slacks and panties, pulling them just past her knees. I haul her up so she's on all fours and reach down to her center. I find her wet and hot, swollen and ready for me to slam inside her. "You want me to fuck you now?"
She nods, and I slide a finger inside her. "You're soaked, Emma. What's got you so wet?" I tease her, withdrawing my finger as I kick off my jeans and boxers. I kneel behind her, massaging her round ass, giving it a shake.
"Thatcher," she groans. "Please. Fuck me, Thatcher."
And there it is. With that permission I grab hold of her hip and drive inside her. Emma screams, delighted, and I wrap my other hand into her ponytail. I love how my fingers look entwined with the fire of Emma's hair. She bucks her hips back against me as I pound into her. I can feel my knees scraping on the floor and I know I'm going to have brush burns later, but I don't give a fuck. I've got an incredible woman wrapped around me right now and I don't ever want to let her go. The realization of that scares me for a minute, and I slow down.
Emma looks over at her shoulder, her eyes hot with lust, her mouth hanging open until she bites her lower lip. I meet her eye and redouble my efforts. She starts breathing heavier and lifts one hand, moving it to her clit so she can get herself off. "No," I growl, surprising us both as I push her hand out of the way. "I'm going to make you come, Emma. Me. I fucking love to make you come, Chezz," I say as I bury my hand in her red hair. One above and one below. I rub one of my thumbs along the back of her neck, and I rub the other in slow circles along her throbbing clit.
As Emma starts to moan, I drop back onto my heels, pulling her onto my lap so she's bouncing up and down on my cock. Lowering my hand from her neck to her chest, I feel her tits shake in my hand while she rides me. "I'm so close, Emma." I'm panting as I pull her against my chest. "I need you to come for me." And for probably the first time, she does what I tell her to. Emma starts to moan and I feel her pulsing around me, milking my dick until I blast off inside her.
"Emma!" I shout her name, pulling her in tight until the lightning stops, until the thunder of my orgasm quiets down and I can see again. Together, both of us gasping and slick with the sweat of exertion, we tumble to the floor in a knot of red hair, Emma's jeans, and wet pleasure from both our bodies.
Thirty-Two
EMMA
"Is this what drunk feels like," I ask, one hundred years later, entwined in Thatcher Stag so tightly I can't quite figure out where each of my limbs is located.
"No, Chezz," he says, laughing at me. "This is what stoned feels like."
"Hmmmm," I sigh. "I like this." I think I drift off to sleep, but eventually I open my eyes to see Thatcher kneeling beside me with the hand towel from my bathroom. I hear it dripping on the floor. "Did you just soak my towel?"
He starts to giggle. "I couldn't find a wash cloth, but I wanted to clean you up," he says. And the gesture is so sweet, that I try to let go of my frustration. I spread my legs a little and let him wipe me, slowly and gently. The warm cloth feels good along my thighs, along my center. "Mmmmm, that's nice," I say.
"Do you know how hot you are, Emma Cheswick?" he asks, and I shake my head. "You're the most amazing woman I've ever seen." He drops to his knees between my legs and plans a kiss on my clit. Suddenly, I'm wide awake as he shows me just how much he likes what he sees in me.
My skin feels like it's been electrified. Every inch of me is tuned in to what Thatcher is doing in a totally unique way. I feel laser-focused on his tongue and the way it slowly laps at my folds, the way his thick fingers slide inside my body. This is what it feels like to be worshipped, and I am loving it. I come quickly, taking me by surprise, and I groan his name, pulling him up by the shoulders until his head is close to mine.
I reach out a hand to touch his beard. He's glistening with moisture. Me, I realize, touching the hair beneath his lower lip. "Mmm," he moans as I slide my thumb along his lip. "That's right, Emma. You're dripping wet for me." He kisses my neck and slides a finger inside me. "So." Another kiss. "Wet." Another. "Just for me," and he slides inside me, fully sheathed. Our hips touch and I open my mouth wide.
"I'm so full, Thatcher. So full of your cock." And then I can't think, can't form words as he thrusts, hard. I have no idea what I'm doing with my limbs, but I see myself wrap my legs around his waist, dig my fingers into his shoulder. I cling to him, not wanting any separation from our bodies, as he grunts and, just as I shatter into another orgasm, he fills me with his own sticky release.
By the time Thatcher brings the sandwiches into my bedroom and we tuck in, breaking all my rules about food on my sheets, it's dark outside. He hands me a huge glass of water and tells me it will help with my dry mouth.
"How did you know it was so dry???"
He laughs. "This isn't my first time getting high, Chezz." I tell him I'm glad he's here, since I have no idea what to expect, and he says, "I'm like your weed doula."
"What the hell is a doula?"
He talks with his mouth full, wiping his wrist over his lips, explaining, "Alice and Amy hire these ladies who help them out when they're in labor. So it's like…someone who helps you do hard things. Anyway, it was a joke."
Weed doula. "I like it, Thatcher. There's not a lot of people I trust to help me do hard things." And damn if Thatcher Stag doesn't blush a little bit when I tell him that.
He finishes his sandwich and rolls on his side, looking at me. "We need to talk about the thing with my father," he says, his expression stern. I nod. "I'm going to tell my family. All of it. But I'm not going to tell them before Ty's wedding," he says. "I don't want to give Ty the burden of having to decide if he wants him there or not."
I furrow my brow. "Wouldn't he want his father at his wedding? I mean, doesn't he want that now, regardless of whether you found him?"
Thatcher shakes his head. "He wants a dad at his wedding, someone who raised him a
nd cared about him and wants to see him happy. That's Tim. Ted Stag walked out on us when we needed him most."
"And…so you're just going to give him an organ? Undergo an invasive, risky surgery? Because why?"
He flops back on the bed. "Jesus, Emma, I wish I hadn't told you. I didn't say I was going to do it, ok? I said I asked about it. I got some testing. I still don't even know if I'd be eligible, but--" he drifts off.
"But what, Thatcher?"
"But it has to be me if it's going to be one of us. Tim has kids and Ty is a professional athlete. It matters more if something happens to them."
"Thatcher!" I sit bolt upright. "Do you mean to say you don't think it matters if something happens to you during surgery?"
He exhales long and slowly. "Look," he says. "I just got a huge fucking contract. I can live off that money for a few years, at least! The way I see it, I can complete the work for Clemont, have the surgery, and take my sweet ass time recovering. I'll even be able to float Cody's salary while I'm laid up."
I stare at him with my mouth hanging open. "You were going to just go through with that entire plan and not involve your family? How would you feel if they did the same thing," I ask.