by Emily Bishop
9
Wesley
From the table, I watched as Remy darted from the restaurant, racing into the darkness. At first, I was awash with anger, with cockiness. God, I’d been out with many other women over the years, and not a single one of them was this difficult to please. So what that Remy and I had been “in love” before. Didn’t it matter to her that I considered her better than all the rest? More my equal? More the type of woman I wanted birthing my heir?
I’d come all this way because I thought Remy would give into it. This seemed like our destiny, for lack of a better word. Tossing my napkin on the table, I lifted a finger toward the maître d’ and explained, in firm words, that he could bill my father’s company for the meal. (A piece-of-shit move, I knew.) I flashed him my ID, so he could read the last name: Adams. I knew my father came to the restaurant often with his “crew” of techies. That he wouldn’t even notice a three hundred dollar bill.
Outside the restaurant, I spotted Remy in the sand. She’d kicked off her shoes and was spinning her toes against the grains, her hair whipping wildly around her. I paused for a moment, watching the way the moon glowed over her face. She looked angelic, serene. Yet tears glittered along her cheeks.
I had done that. Again, I’d made her cry.
Feeling an urgency to fix this, I kicked off my high-end Italian shoes and drew a line from the restaurant to the center of the beach. Remy heard me approach and turned away from me, so that she faced the bridge. The yellow fabric of her dress hugged the thin stretch of her waist, whipping around her thighs. My fingers itched to lurch up the fabric, to touch that soft spot between her legs. Those perfect peach pussy lips. I suddenly longed to roll my tongue over her, to feel the way her body pulsed when she finally gave in.
“Go away, Wesley,” Remy said to me. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Remy, come on,” I said, my voice gruff, dominant. I wasn’t going to leave her without winning this fight. She was stronger than most women, but I still couldn’t let her overpower me. “You know I misspoke. I didn’t fucking mean it the way I said it. OK?”
Remy crossed her thin arms over her chest, huffing. “Just leave, Wes. It was a mistake to see you tonight. I always think it’ll be different. I don’t know why.”
I sensed her walls were crumbling. Reaching forward, I rubbed at the small bones of her shoulder. Immediately, her tension began to dissipate. God, all she needed was my touch. She began to fold down, to break. Her head twitched toward mine, letting her make eye contact. Still, the tears pooled.
With some kind of wave of urgency, I fell to my knees, gripping her hand. To any onlooker, it was a proposal. And I supposed, in a sense, it was.
“Remy, come on,” I began. “Look at us. Bickering all over again, like we’re fucking kids. But Remy, we’re not kids.”
Remy’s eyes held mine. Her fingers didn’t twitch out of my grip. It looked almost like she was falling into me, ready to splay herself across my lap and inhale my kisses.
“The past ten years—”
“Twelve,” she corrected, her voice hard. “Twelve years.”
“Right. The past twelve years have been extremely hard on both of us. I know that,” I began. “Along with each of those wild and fun stories, there were a million nights where I felt so alone. Like a piece of shit. I was lying in bed in Alaska, shivering almost to death, for three months. And I was sweating, with insane fever, in Mexico. All I wanted was someone like you to care for me. But I know I fucked that up.”
Remy’s chin twitched higher. I drew her deeper and deeper into me.
“But anyway, even though I fucked that up, we still have a chance to do one thing right. With this kid, you’ll have enough money to make your film. I know it’s the single greatest thing in your life. And I know you have real talent,” I continued, forcing her to, essentially, eat from the palm of my hand now. She blinked down at me, doe-like. It was happening. “And face it, baby. We’re both gorgeous as fuck. Whatever kid we create would be beautiful. Don’t you want to give the world that gift?”
Remy licked her lips, shook her head. “And you promise that the baby will be fine, when he’s born? He’ll be taken care of? Even if I’m completely broke?” Remy asked. She paused for a long moment, before murmuring, “And Wes, I—I don’t want to just abandon this baby. I can help. I can be there. Read books and give good night kisses. I can’t just sign a contract and walk away from a child.”
These words warmed my heart. I felt that teenage passion, burning just beyond her eyes.
“You have my word. The baby we make will be prosperous. Educated. Happy. And probably just a little too daring, like his Mom and Dad.”
I moved toward her, feeling the urgency, the drive, to feel her lips upon mine. She wanted my child. She wanted to be there for him, to kiss him, to whisper good night.
In response, she wrapped her arms tightly around my neck, kissing my cheeks and inhaling my neck. She shuddered with tears, bringing her chest against mine. And in these moments, I knew I had her. I had her wholly, completely. If I wanted to, I could tell her to fall in love with me. But I held back, only allowing myself her body, her kisses, her breath. I knew that the moment we procreated—and I delivered my father an heir—we would have to be gone from one another. This was a one-stop necessity, en route to our true lives. I’d handle all the other details when we came to them.
As we kissed on the beach, I brought my hand across her breasts, feeling at the dark nipples beneath the fabric. Her eyes popped open, gazing at mine. My fingers darted beneath the deep V of her dress, opening it wider and allowing her tits into the darkness. I felt my groin press up against her thigh. Suddenly, it felt insistent, wild, necessary to be together, in this moment.
I pressed my face forward and brought my mouth around her nipple, easing the tongue over the hard nub. She moaned in response, ruffling her fingers through my hair and yanking it. My name formed on her lips, sounding so soft, so light. “Wesley. Wesley, yes. You remember—you remember what I like.”
I did. Memories washed forth, of those first days, learning one another’s bodies, our minds willowing away, giving way to our animalistic desires. God, her body felt so taut, so pure in my hands. I wrapped my firm arms around her tighter, pressing her naked tits against my black button-down. Her eyes fluttered closed, and our lips met. With the moon beaming down upon us, I couldn’t have imagined a more “romantic” scene—not that I gave in to those emotions.
Remy wrapped her little legs around my waist, and I stood and carried her toward the bike. With my hands wrapped around her taut little ass, a few of my fingers could feel her growing wetter and wetter between her legs. I could actually feel her heart beat through her pussy, like every second made her more insistent, wilder for me.
At the bike, I splayed her across it, her legs wide. We were in the shadow of a tree, far from the eyes of onlookers and diners. And in a flash, she stretched her legs still wider, removing her panties. She tossed them to the ground, giving me a big-eyed look. Immediately, my nose was filled with the smell of her.
“Are you sure, bad girl?” I asked her. “Are you sure you want me to touch you in public?”
She nodded slowly. Her tits gleamed in the soft light of the moon, highlighting the cinch of her waist. After a pause, I brought my leg over one side of the motorbike, stretching her out before me. She was like this gorgeous dessert, splayed on a platter. Suddenly, my mouth was poised over her. My tongue vibrated against her clit. Both of my thumbs drew her pussy lips apart, revealing the beautiful darkness between. My tongue burrowed further, inhaling her scent, her taste. She cried out in alarm as my tongue began to speed up inside her, curving between her pussy lips and striding over and over her clit. I could feel her quaking on the top of the bike. Her muscles clenched and released, and her back arched, like a cat’s.
“Yes,” she cried out. “I love the way you lick me, baby. Yes. You—you’re so fucking good…”
A car whizzed past
us, flashing its lights. This frightened her immediately. She sat up from the seat, bringing her dress over her pussy and blinking at me, as if she’d been very far away. After a long pause, she giggled—in that same way I remembered—and brought her hands to my hair.
“Why don’t we go back to wherever you’re staying this time, cowboy?” she asked me, using a nickname she’d so often used before. Before we’d bailed on one another. Before.
“Only if you hang on tight,” I said.
She reached for my lips, wiping her juices from them and giving me a soft, even kiss. Her lips were like clouds on mine. So impossibly perfect.
As we rode out to the little cabin along the water, Remy pushed her cheek into my back and burrowed against me. She held on tightly, well versed in this, from our long teenage days and nights. She wasn’t afraid.
When we arrived at the little cabin, Remy slid from the back of the motorbike and blinked at it, looking so small in the shadow of the large, coastline trees. It had grown cold, this September night. I wrapped my arm around her and held her close to me, feeling her snake hers near my waist. Still, my cock was pulsing in my black jeans—wild for her. And when we reached the door, I shoved her against the doorframe and pushed my cock against her slim body, kissing her lips. She cooed against me, then moaned. Her little fingers grasped at my belt, undoing it and revealing the waistband of my boxers. Shoving them down, she brought my dick into the air: thick, veiny, rock-hard and pointing directly at her little belly. Without pause, Remy dropped to her knees, bringing her lips to the dark slit at the tip of my cock. Her eyes found mine. They were gleaming, soft, almost cartoony in their bigness. I tossed my head against the door, not even afraid that anyone would drive past. I didn’t give a fuck.
Remy began to run her tongue around the tip of my cock, forcing her mouth over it. Suddenly, the tip of my cock was deep inside her throat, enclosed, pulsing against the softness of her. I strained, my muscles pulsing, feeling like I might lose control—like some kind of teenager.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, as Remy began to draw away from me. Her eyes still held mine from below. But just as the pressure began to fall, she rushed forward once more, her lips enclosing my cock right at the hilt.
I knew I would bend to her every whim. That I would fuck her in any position I possibly fucking could. She was both innocent and not—exactly how I liked my women. Suddenly, we were just two bodies throwing themselves at one another. Not old friends. Not old lovers. And certainly not two people trying to fucking bring a baby into the world. No.
It was biology. It was sex. And we were hungry, like animals, wanting to make up for lost time.
10
Remy
When Wesley tossed me onto the bed in his little wooden cabin near the water, my tits spilled out from the yellow dress. I felt completely wild, stretched thin—no longer thinking actual thoughts and giving in to my impulses. My flat belly gleamed in the light from the window. I watched as Wesley crawled up me, drawing my dress up over my arms and neck. I cooed, filled with emotion. Was this how it had felt, twelve-some years ago, when we’d been fucking each other as eighteen year olds? Did it even matter?
His cock was thicker than I remembered it. It was difficult to bring my mouth all the way around. And when it filled my throat, I had to close my eyes for a moment, overcome. I almost couldn’t take all of him. But I wanted to. I had to.
Now, above me, he slowly eased his entire body to align with mine. He reached his head down and kissed at my neck, taking a tender moment before biting down. I stretched my back, bringing my legs wide. His cock found my pussy—something it had once known so well—and suddenly filled it. I cried out. Being filled by him was different than other people. It was different than Tyler. It meant something.
“Fuck. Fuck—fuck,” I whispered, as he began to pump into me. We became a single unit, sweating and kissing, our tongues falling in with one another. Outside, the waves crashed along the sand and rocks, rooting me in this world. I was on the ground, not floating far above it.
When we came, I gave no thought to any baby. To any world we were about to create. Rather, I felt like us coming together was the most natural thing in the world. Our juices joining, our bodies sweating, our lips still locked A few tears mixed with the sweat on my cheeks.
* * *
In the silence afterward, Wesley turned onto his side and gazed at me. I could feel his eyes burning into my cheeks. He drew a finger along my face, down my neck, across my nipple, and down the flat of my stomach, as if he was memorizing me.
When I finally came to, I blinked toward him, biting at my bottom lip. “Jesus, that was good,” I sighed. “I think I forgot what good sex was like.”
Somehow, I wasn’t embarrassed to say this. It was simple. It was true.
Wesley chuckled, drawing me into him. I pressed my tits against the dark, coarse hairs of his chest, matching my breath with his. I wanted to cocoon against him forever, growing our baby.
“Do you think it worked?” he asked me, drawing his fingers through my sweaty hair. “You know. Do you think I put a baby in you?”
I shrugged my shoulders, feeling a smile stretch between my cheeks. For so many years, I’d been terrified of creating a baby. In the weeks after fucking someone—even Tyler—I would feel anxious, depressed, waiting for my period to come. “I can’t have a baby now. Not now,” had always been my refrain.
We fell into one another’s arms, sleeping until just after nine in the morning. A loud, squawking bird awoke me. I blinked awake, staring into Wesley’s still-slumbering face. His body still held onto mine. I didn’t want to wake him. I felt exactly at peace, like a woman floating in a bath. He smelled exactly like a man—a dark musk, sweat from our sex. He was no longer the boy I’d known.
He curled into me when he awoke, and he pressed his hand on my stomach. After a pause, he sniffed, whispering, “What time do you have to go?”
“I have to open the bar soon,” I whispered back, hating to tear through our perfect ecosystem. “And I walked to the restaurant. Do you think you could drive me?”
Wesley gave a heavy nod, rolling his eyes. “Anything for you, princess,” he said, teasing me.
But I slapped my hand against him, shoving him playfully. He laughed this big, hearty belly laugh, and kissed me again. I felt totally enamored with him. It was as if, well—As if I were falling all over again.
We dressed quickly, speaking in silly tones, each of us humming with hormones. I took a glance at my stomach, wondering if I’d soon find it stretched out. Filled with baby. “Do you think we’ll have to try again?” I asked him, sweeping my fingers across my abdomen. “Do you think we should, just in case?”
Wesley kissed my cheek, guiding me toward his motorbike. In the brightness of the morning, my head began to spin with this strange reality. Wesley still hadn’t answered, hadn’t given me a sense that we would see one another outside of the boundaries of this situation. I settled in behind him on the bike, feeling shaky, and he leafed through his pockets, drawing up his sunglasses, and a piece of paper. He whisked the paper toward me, watching as I unfolded it.
My heart sank at the top font, so big and bold. So telling of what we were. Of what this was.
* * *
CONTRACT BETWEEN REMY SCOTT AND WESLEY ADAMS.
* * *
“Oh,” I said. “This. Right. Good—good thinking.”
“You mentioned you wanted it drawn up. So I called an old lawyer friend, from when I tried out college. Did you know I went to two semesters at the University of Wisconsin?” He scoffed at himself, sounding pleased. “’Course, I was in it for the party scene, only.”
The bike sped down the highway, back toward the Mission. Still, my right hand gripped the contract, knowing it was necessary I signed it. I shoved it into my pocket. This contract would give me the money for my “services” as soon as I was pregnant. That way, I could start work on the film during the pregnancy, before I got too massive, of course
. Then, I could pick up with preproduction after the fact: when the baby was, assuredly, being raised by someone else.
Jesus. It was all growing a bit heavy in the light of day.
Station to Station Pub appeared on the street corner. To my chagrin, Quintin appeared in the doorway, a trash bag slung over his shoulders. He blinked at Wesley’s motorbike as it approached, his smile slowly faltering to one of confusion and betrayal.
Wesley cut the engine directly next to his friend, my brother. Quintin dropped the trash bag to his side, his nostrils flared.
“Remy. You’re ten minutes late, you know that?” he asked.
I hadn’t known. Of course I hadn’t. I slipped from the motorcycle, my hand still gripping this fucking baby contract. My eyes traced from Quintin to Wesley and back, feeling the air grow fiery.
“So. You’re back in town, then?” Quintin asked Wesley, tapping his boot on the pavement. “Didn’t know.” He turned his eyes to me, sniffing. “And you. You who had to leave early last night.”
“I’m sorry,” I told him.
“I just think you’re both acting like idiots, is all,” Quintin said.
“You don’t know the full story,” I stuttered.
“Right. It’s not like we’re getting together,” Wes scoffed. It was clear we’d been fucking. My hair was wild, curled with dried sweat.
“OK,” Quintin said. He smacked his hand over his forehead, shrugging. “You know what? Fuck it. I don’t care what you guys did. Remy, I need you to change three kegs in there. And Wes, fuck. I don’t know. Let’s go have a smoke.” His hand twitched for his back pocket. Wes followed him around the corner, toward the gas station. I scurried into the bar, feeling my cheeks grow bright. My breath staggered.
“What are you doing? What are you doing?” I muttered to myself, stretching the contract out across the keg. With a loose pen, I scribbled my name beneath the text. “What the hell are you doing?”