Table of Contents

- Chapter One

- Chapter Two

- Chapter Three

- Chapter Four

- Cara McKenna

Ready and Willing

Cara McKenna

Ready and Willing

Copyright © August 2010 by Cara McKenna

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eISBN 978-1-60737-846-4

Editor: Jana J. Hanson

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Chapter One

“Well, your paperwork is fantastic. When are you available to have sex?”

The man opposite me smiles nervously. Our table is positioned beside the café’s front window, and the silvery winter sunlight bounces off the brushed aluminum and lights up his eyes. They’re pretty and complex, greenish gray with a bit of yellow. He spins his coffee cup around on its saucer, considering his schedule.

“I guess that’s up to you,” he says. “When are you…you know.”

“Ovulating?”

He nods.

I study those eyes again. There’s an intriguing dark ring around his irises. Shit, I’m not supposed to be noticing things like this. On paper he was a tidy inventory of genetic factors, and it’d be simplest if I could keep thinking about him that way. Then again, if I really wanted this to be simple, I’d have just gone to a sperm bank. I give myself a mental shake, pull my hair back, and twist it into a messy bun with the elastic from my wrist, as though this might magically imbue me with an aura of professionalism.

“Next week,” I say. “And since you’re being so open-minded about all this, I feel like I should let you in on something. In the interest of full disclosure.”

He—Noah Aubrey is his name, I may as well mention—offers me a warm, kind smile. “You already showed me a letter from your gyno. What else is there to tell?”

“Well, have you ever heard that thing about executioners—”

Noah’s laugh cuts me off. “Oh wow, I can’t wait to see where this is going.”

I wave a hand to dispel his worries. “No, no. It might be an urban legend, but I heard once that when someone’s being put to death by lethal injection, they administer it using a button. Like you push a button and it opens some valve, and the condemned gets poison through their IV or whatever.”

He laughs. “Okay, now you’re just scaring me, Abby.”

“But there’s two buttons and two guys who push them, except only one really releases the…death serum. So neither man has to spend his life knowing for sure that he killed someone.”

“You’re telling me there’s another guy.”

I nod.

Noah nods as well, slow, not seeming too bothered by the news. “Okay. Better than you telling me there’s death serum involved. Oh wait—unless you’re about to announce we’ll be pushing our ‘buttons’ at the same time.”

I swat him with my folded-up copy of his medical history. Noah is easy to swat. It’s easy to forget we’re meeting to discuss fluid procurement and not for a first date. He feels very familiar. Not as if we’ve met before, but as though he’s made up of pieces of a dozen friends I’ve known for years. Like a car I’ve driven a hundred times, just in a different color than I’m used to.

“Nothing that scandalous,” I say. “So, that’s okay with you?”

He shrugs. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I dunno. Can you tell I’ve never done this before? I don’t really know how the politics go.” I study his face…kind and intelligent. I’d like an intelligent-looking baby who’ll wind up with a fine, straight nose and black eyebrows like this man’s. That easy smile. And tall doesn’t hurt.

My fingers fuss with his paperwork, squaring up the corners with the edge of the tabletop, giving me something to stare at so I don’t disturb Noah with all my scrutiny. “I have to ask…what did you think when you first saw the ad?” I’d placed it in the Boston Globe classifieds, not trusting my womb to craigslist.

“My colleague found it, actually. At first, to be honest, I thought it was nuts.”

“I’m guessing it’s the money that piqued your interest?”

“No, not really.” Noah’s expression turns thoughtful, his fascinating eyes drifting to take in whatever’s going on out in the street beyond my shoulder. “I’ve always tried to take interesting opportunities when they come to me. New experiences. This one was a lot scarier than spelunking, though, I have to tell you.”

“Did I mention we have to spend the night in a haunted mansion first?”

Noah laughs, and it gives him a dimple. I wish I were in a position to develop a crush on him…but this conception arrangement is supposed to be no strings attached, and romantic feelings surely qualify as a string. A particularly tangled one, no doubt.

He leans back as though he’s given himself permission to finally relax in my twisted company. “So I have to ask why not a sperm bank?”

I shrug and take a sip of my coffee. “It never sat right with me, just picking a man out of a catalog. I wanted to meet you. You and the other guys I got in touch with. I wanted to make sure… I don’t know.” I twirl my hands around, searching for the right wording. “That your souls seem right, I guess. Sorry, that sounds sort of oovy-groovy.”

“No, that makes sense.”

“And it seems kind of fair that you’d meet me. In case you cared what kind of sperm-wrangling she-devil is planning on possibly having your child. If you care.”

“I care,” Noah says, nodding. He’s so good-looking I want to suck on his fingers. Which is weird, because that thought has never occurred to me before with anyone, under any other circumstance. This man is saddling me with unforeseen fetishes.

“I wouldn’t agree to this if you seemed like some kind of psycho,” he says, and I decide never to mention my finger-sucking impulse in case it contradicts his conclusion.

“And also,” I say, “I figured since I’m doing this the old-fashioned way…” In a moment of juvenility, I make a little in-out-in-out motion with my fingers. “I thought you’d want to see me, so you’d know if you could pull it off. Without beer goggles. Or with,” I add with another shrug.

He smiles and looks at the table, pink flushing his cheeks, so damned cute. There was nothing about cuteness in his medical history. He glances up again. “Don’t worry. You’re… I think you’re very pretty.”

“Well, lucky you, I guess.” I feel as though we should shake hands or toast. Or kiss. Wait, no, definitely not kiss. I push my cappuccino mug across the table until it clanks against his cup. “How about next Tuesday evening?”

“Yeah, I think that’ll work. What time?”

“Whenever you’re free. By the way, in case you were worried,” I add, “I’m not going to be taking the temperature of my womb or anything and calling you up at four a.m. to come over and service me.”

He laughs. “No pagers. Good.”

“And you don’t need to keep your balls in a hermetically sealed jar or anything. Just try and keep them safe, at least until after next week.”

I catch Noah blushing faintly behind his smirk. “I’ve been doing that for thirty-four years now. I think I can handle it.”

“That’s all I ask of you. That and a waiver, you know, about relinquishing your rights and not suing me. I’ll have it ready for Tuesday.”

“I love foreplay,” Noah says drily, but his smile is warm.

“Good. Oh, and you probably want to know about the money.”

“I was curious.”

“Well, here’s what I thought up. I’ll give you a hundred bucks for every…successful interaction,” I say, embracing how stupid this sounds. “When and if I do get pregnant, I’ll be paying you and the other guy each twenty-five hundred.”

His handsome eyebrows rise. “Wow, pricey project. I wasn’t…I wasn’t expecting that much.”

“Yeah, well, this kid’s going to end up costing me way more than that over the course of its life. I’m willing to shell out for the best, genetically speaking. And to be honest, I think I’ll like, um…working with you. Both of you. And to be even more frank, if this does take more than just the first try, it’s my hope that you won’t sleep with anyone else for the time being. You know, because of STDs and just general complicatedness. So I want to make this worth your time.”

“Well, I hope I can return the favor,” Noah says, his smile turning shy.

I take out my card and scribble my address on the back. I did a background check on him and the other man, Rob, and it’s a calculated risk, bringing them into my home. No more risky than a date, I suppose. Probably less, since no one’s heart is on the line.

I hand the card over. “So, I’ll see you Tuesday night. How’s six thirty?”

He nods, tucked my card into his wallet. “Sounds perfect. I’ll come straight from work.”

“Oh.” A pang of unforeseen panic tightens my chest.

“What?”

“Do you want… I can make us dinner if you want. Or we could meet up later. Is that too weird? Me making dinner?”

Noah laughs. “I’d love dinner. I’ll bring wine, if you drink.”

“Yeah, we’ll probably need it. Okay, good. I’ll make ziti or something. Something not gassy,” I add, feeling oddly at home being silly with this man. After all, his threshold for my potential weirdness is already high, given the nature of our meeting. I know the guy’s sperm count, for crying out loud.

He stands; I stand. We hesitate a moment before I put out my hand, and we shake, such an innocuous bit of contact considering the deal we’re signing off on. His touch matches his smile, warm and easy. When his hand releases mine it heads for his wallet, but I swat him again. I leave a few bills for our drinks and tip and let him hold the door for me. I walk him the half block to his car, an old black hatchback splattered with salty winter mud.

“Thanks again for meeting me,” I say. “And all the doctor rigmarole.”

“Sure.”

“And just so you know, if Tuesday comes around and you decide I’m a psycho after all, don’t feel like you need to call or make any excuses. If you don’t show, I’ll just have plenty of leftovers for dinner on Wednesday.”

He smiles, and his teeth are as white as peppermint Chiclets. I want to run my tongue over them, discover what he tastes like. Probably just coffee, same as me.

“Thanks for the escape hatch,” he says and unlocks his door.

“Thanks for the sperm,” I say, and I laugh at my own ridiculousness.

“Yeah, no pressure.” He makes a funny little theatrical stressed-out face and slides into his seat, then gives me a wave as I shut his door for him.

I can’t believe this might actually work.

* * *

“Hello there,” I say to the sexiest man I think I’ve ever met. His name is Rob Fellows, and he’s here to impregnate me on an otherwise unremarkable overcast Sunday afternoon in December. He’s punctual too. It’s exactly two o’clock according to my cable box.

“Hi, Abby.” He smiles, standing on the landing to my condo in a long herringbone tweed coat. The gesture crinkles his eyes at the corners and makes his fantastic bone structure all the more enticing. He’s brought flowers: red gerbera daisies wrapped in cellophane.

“Aw, you didn’t have to do that. Come in.” I take the flowers and close the door behind him.

“It seemed too early to bring a bottle of wine. But it felt rude not bringing something.”

“Oh, you’ve brought plenty,” I say, and in the grips of nervous, tactless jokiness, I aim a glance pointedly down at his crotch.

“Yeah, true.”

I take the coat he drops from his shoulders and walk to the door to hang it up, relieved for a chance to get control over my shallow breathing. “And I don’t know about you,” I say as I turn back, “but I’ll be having a drink. I don’t do this every day.” Just most days this week.

He follows me into the kitchen, and I trim the daisies and arrange them in a highball glass. I steal glances at him, trying to remember everything I learned from our e-mails and our coffee-shop meet-up. He’s not as chatty as Noah and his company’s not as relaxing, but he’s fucking good-looking, and nothing about him sets my intuition on edge. I think he said he works in “development,” though for the life of me I can’t remember any details. It’s hard to look at Rob Fellows and focus on anything beyond his perfect shell. I squint at his fitted black sweater, trying to guess what’s waiting for me a couple of layers down.

“Great place,” he says.

“Thanks.”

“You rent?”

“Nope, condo.”

“Nice,” he says.

“Thank you.” It’s the top unit of a three-story house in Somerville, Cambridge’s more affordable, less snotty sister. Nothing fancy, but I’d like to think I have decent taste. The space is funky with eaves, and it won’t be fun hauling a stroller full of fat baby up and down three flights when the other half of my two-person family arrives, but it’s my first piece of property, and I love it.

I open a bottle of wine and pour two half glasses, and Rob follows me to my little living room. He takes a seat on my couch, and I perch on the arm, still anxious, not quite ready to plunk down beside him. Stupid, really, since we’ll presumably be having sex within the hour. I clutch my glass like the hand of comforting friend.

He smiles and takes a drink. “You look nervous.”

“I am. I’m a little rusty. And to be honest, I’ve never paid for sex before.”

Rob laughs. “What can I do to make you less nervous?”

Not much, I think, surveying him. Over six feet, and judging from the shapes beneath his sweater, built for performance. I know he kickboxes, because it was listed in his medical documentation under “exercise habits,” and it intrigued me to no end. He has shaggy, wavy, dark brown hair. Noah has dark hair too, as do I. I’m glad it worked out that way, so I won’t have to worry about popping out, say, a red-haired baby, and wrecking the experiment’s anonymity.

“I’ll be fine,” I say. “There’s way less pleasant things to get nervous over. I think I just have performance anxiety. This is the first attempt.”

“It is creepy?” Rob asks after a long pause, one I fill with a big gulp of wine. “Sleeping with a guy who answered an ad? Like, that ad? A guy who’d volunteer to impregnate you for cash?”

I look out the window, drum my fingers on my glass. “Ooh, that’s a brave question. No. I haven’t given it too much thought, honestly. I’m just grateful you came. Er, bad word choice,” I mumble, smiling like a dope as I meet his eyes. “But no. Not creepy.” Sexy, I think, looking him over. Out-of-my-league sexy, under more traditional circumstances. “Would you mind doing the waiver now?”

“Fine with me.”

I fetch the paper, and he reads it, signs his rights away. I file it carefully and return to the couch.

I take another sip. My wine’s starting to work, mercifully, or perhaps it’s just this man’s proximity. He’s got a quality, as though he’s giving off a signal to a sense science hasn’t yet identified, his message as tangible as a scent or sound. “You know what made me want to pick you?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

“We have the same birthday. Not just the same day. The same year too.”

His eyebrows bob up. “Wow, really?”

I nod. “I know—what are the chances? I read it in your medical history. I thought it was a good sign.”

“Unless we’re twins, separated at birth.”

I laugh, take another drink. “Okay, now it’s creepy. Anyhow, there was that neat coincidence plus, you know, your lack of congenital diseases and mental disorders,” I add with a guilty grin. “So…are you nervous?”

He shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Let me know if you need anything special. You know, a video or whatever.”

He shakes his head again. “I think we’ll be okay. I’m pretty easy. Actually, can I be honest with you?”

“Please.”

“I don’t think I can get much skeezier than offering myself up for money, so I may as well admit this whole thing kind of turns my crank.”

A warm flush of relief and curiosity washes over my skin. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve actually never had sex without a condom before.”

I blink at him. “Never?”

“Never. And I’ve definitely never tried to get anyone pregnant, let alone a stranger. It’s sort of…” He trails off, squinting as he searches for the right word.

“Taboo?”

He takes a sip of his wine. “Yeah, I guess. Or like, fake dangerous.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s skeezy at all. I’m glad there’s some fun in it for you.” Rob’s eyes squinch up when he smiles, so frigging handsome I want to bite him, just to make sure he’s real.

“You want to get started?” he asks.

“Oh,” I say, suddenly feeling like a rude hostess. It cools my perking libido a bit, thinking I may be just another thing on his Sunday to-do this. Go to laundromat, return library book, impregnate Abby Winchel, buy paper towels. “Sure. Whenever you want.”

I spent some time picturing how this moment might play out once I’d let Rob into my home. Would we kiss? Would we talk about it? Or would I just lie down, and he’d do his thing? And what would his thing consist of?

He drains his glass and sets it on the coffee table. The clink sounds like a starter pistol in my brain. “You want to use your bed?” he asks.

“Yeah, I figured we’d go there.” I down my last couple of gulps and stand, take the wineglasses to the kitchen, and leave them in the sink. Rob follows me into my bedroom. My heart’s sudden pounding could be from fear or arousal or some combination of the two. I turn to face him, and he’s pulling his sweater over his head. I stare at the sexy shapes behind his gray T-shirt. He has a tattoo on his arm, a thick band of black vines. I wonder absently if my future child might ever take up kickboxing or come home with a similar tattoo and blow my mind.

“Are there any ground rules?” he asks, looking around my room.

“No, not really. You should feel free to do whatever you need to…to accomplish your goal. You know, within reason.” I laugh. “Don’t smack me in the face or call me any mean names, please.”

“Is it okay if I say stuff?” Rob has a sexy voice, a little deep, a little scratchy, an octave lower than it was a second ago if I’m not mistaken. His gaze moves up and down my body, and heat flashes between my legs.

“Sure. Just nothing derogatory. But you know, whatever it takes. Close your eyes and say someone else’s name if you want to. It’s nothing personal. And if you need me to do anything, let me know.”

“Sounds good.” He puts his hands on his hips, businesslike, and looks me in the face. “Can I watch you undress?”

“Sure.” Predictable self-consciousness cools me for a second; then a glance at his eyes to confirm the desire burning there banishes my inhibitions.

I unbutton my cardigan and slip it off and toss it on the floor, sit on the edge of the bed to pull my socks off. I smile nervously up at Rob, who’s watching with mischief on his face. He pulls his T-shirt up and off, and my breath catches. His skin is winter pale with a line of black hair running from his chest to his navel. My pulse hums. He’s got the finest, tightest body I’ve ever been this close to, and I suddenly understand why someone might pay for recreational sex. My eyes drink in his long abdomen. I pray he likes doing it face-to-face so I’ll be able to watch his muscles work as he fucks me.

I pull off my camisole and drop my jeans, stand before this insanely hot stranger in a matching set of silly polka-dot underwear. His expression’s hard to read, but I think he’s pleased. He unbuckles his belt and unzips his fly and pushes his jeans down just enough to reveal the bulge in his shorts. His chest muscles contract deliciously as he runs a hand over his erection. He looks predatory, but the intimidation I’m feeling is welcome, as welcome as the wine heating my skin.

I reach back and unhook my bra. I try to remove it nonchalantly enough that it doesn’t seem as if I’m trying to seduce him but not so quick that it feels completely mechanical. I watch as he eases his underwear down and takes himself out.

His cock is long and heavy looking, standing out proud from its nest of black curls. He wraps his hand around his base, gives himself slow pulls. I glanced up to find his eyes locked on mine. Fear and guilt and excitement stand all my arm hairs on end and tense my nipples. I’ve never been to bed with someone I’ve known as briefly as Rob, and it’s hot. I have a free pass to ignore my own standards, to enjoy the gorgeous, ready man right here before me and not feel sleazy or used when he leaves. The rule-breaking is an honest-to-God chemical high.

He licks his lips. “Keep going.” His voice is low and hungry, and his command gives me another taste of that thrilling intimidation.

I push my panties down my hips and kick them off. I watch him stroke faster. I swallow and sit on the edge of the bed. “Should I lie down?”

He nods, his gaze darting all over my naked body.

I recline against the pillows and watch him. He’s taking some private inventory of me, thinking of whatever it is I am to him—a conquest, a kink, a gig. I don’t mind what. I only care that he’s here, and he’s hard, and he’s going to give me what I’m after. And look great doing it. Bonus.

He pushes his underwear and jeans down his strong legs. The powerful shapes of his arms and sides and hips and thighs look like art in the cool December light struggling through the half-open blinds. In two paces he’s at the edge of my bed, then kneeling at my side, tilting the mattress with his weight.

“Would you touch me?” he asks, demonstrating with his hand.

“I’ll do anything you want. Just ask.”

He straddles me, knees sinking into the bedspread on either side of my waist, hard dick looming above me. His hands moves away, and I reach out to take him. Warm. Goddamn hard, pulsing softly. He smells potent and ready and dirty in the best way possible. His eyes close, and little noises, tiny grunts, escape his throat as I stroke him.

“Tighter,” he whispers. I clench my fist and give him rough pulls until he’s moaning, rhythmic and steady. “Just like that.”

I masturbate him until I’m light-headed with excitement and impatience, wishing he was touching me too, but thinking it’s not my place to make demands. I stroke him until precum glistens at his slit and his hips are thrusting him into my hand, urgent.

His dark eyes open, staring down at me. “I’m ready,” he says. “You have lube?”

“Yeah.” I reach over with my free hand to open my bedside table drawer and find the little bottle and pass it to him. He moves back, taking his cock and his body heat away, taking my excitement away and replacing it with fresh nerves. I want him inside me now, shutting out reality and replacing it with pure animal selfishness.

He scoots his knees between my legs and squirts a dollop of glistening gel onto his first two fingers. When he touches me, the length of my spine curls and the pleasure drives the crown of my head into the pillows.

“Do you want this?” he asks softly as his fingers leave me.

I glance up, and he’s rubbing the remaining lube over his big dick, looking a little flushed, a little dangerous, a lot horny.

“Yeah, I do.”

“You want me to fuck you?” There’s a new roughness to his voice, a harshness that catches me off guard and tightens my pussy.

“I’m dying for it,” I say.

He lowers down, bracing his arms at my sides. I shudder as he runs his warm, slick cock between my legs, over my folds.

“I like it kind of rough,” he says. “Is that okay?”

“Whatever you need.”

“Just tell me if I need to back off,” he murmurs, reaching between us to guide himself to my entrance. His movements are deliberate and slow as he teases me with the head of his dick.

“You’ve really never done it without a condom?” I ask. The idea thrills me, like a tiny scrap of virginity I’m about to take from him.

“Never,” he says, and I can practically smell his excitement. He pushes in with a groan. “Yeah.”

“More,” I whisper. I watch him disappear inside me an inch at a time, the sweet pressure of him redoubling my excitement, banishing the doubt.

“Shit, you’re tight. And warm.” His lips stay parted, his eyelids heavy. “Fuck, this feels amazing.”

“Use me.”

“Okay.” He pushes in deep, almost all the way, then draws back. His expression transforms, looking mean in a good way, promising me greed and aggression, things I’d never ask for but long to see.

“More,” I coax. “I want all of you.” The dirty talk feels a little forced, but I’m determined to be a fantastic lay for this man.

He starts pumping, slow, faster, until he’s surging deep. “Yeah. Fuck, yeah.”

“Good.”

“Say my name,” he says, a little taste of the roughness he promised.

“Rob.”

Faster now, greedy. “Yeah. Tell me what I’m doing.”

“You’re fucking me, Rob. Deep and hard.”

“That’s right.” He leans backs, pushing his knees under my thighs so he’s on his haunches, still pumping. I watch the way his belly contacts and expands with his breaths and thrusts, muscles tensing, and I’m so hungry for him I feel a growl rising in my throat. His cock is thick. Dark. I watch his wet skin slide in and out, in and out.

“Rob.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” His broad hands grasp my thighs, pushing me wide as his hips take me faster. His aggressive touch heats my blood like a drug. “Tell me you love it.”

“I do. I love the way you fuck. I love your cock,” I say. “It feels so good, your thick, bare cock. Fuck me.”

“Oh yeah… Tell me I’m big.”

“You’re huge, Rob. Nobody’s ever fucked me this deep.”

I watch with satisfaction as his excitement mounts from my words. I feel raw and elemental and grateful. I want him to feel like the most powerful beast in creation. I wonder if I should fake an orgasm for him.

“Fuck me, Rob. I want your cum.”

He sucks in a rasping breath, as though I’ve uttered the magic words he’s been waiting for. “Yeah, you want my cum.” He takes me harder and faster still, the impact of his body echoing just how desperate I feel.

“I need it. I need you to shoot it inside me.”

He groans. “Turn over.”

I ache for the handful of seconds his cock leaves my pussy, leaves me feeling empty. I shift to my elbows and knees.

I feel his head teasing my lips. “Beg for me,” he orders.

“Please, Rob. Fuck me, please. I want your cock.”

He gives me half his length.

“More. Fuck me deep with your big cock. Please, Rob.”

“Yeah.” He pushes farther, feeling hot and thick and forbidden. “Yeah, you’re so tight.” He holds my waist roughly, a tug matching each of his thrusts, the damp skin of his hips slapping my ass. He pumps mean and fast, and I can feel his balls hit each time he rams deep. “I want to spank you.”

“Okay.” I hold my breath, anticipating the sound and the sting.

He slaps my ass lightly a couple times. Then harder. “Take my dick.”

“Rob.”

He slaps me again, harsh and loud, making my skin prickle and burn, making pain and pleasure tighten my core. But hotter than the spanking is Rob himself, the way it feels to be under his command.

“Say it.”

“Rob.” Another spank.

“I’m gonna come in your pussy,” he promises—threatens—and I can hear him losing control.

“Do it,” I say. “Shoot your cum in me.” His fingers knead my ass, and I gasp as he slaps me again. I like him rough, the messy contrast of it compared to his self-possessed facade. I want him to feel huge and strong and full of himself. I clench my pussy around him and join his rhythm with my body, meeting his plunges, feeding his pleasure. A talented pair of fingers teasing my clit would probably get me there too, but this is all about him. That’s how I want it. That’s how I want to remember him in case we never fuck again—the embodiment of pure animal greed.

“Yeah, take my dick.”

“Oh Rob.” I arch my back. I moan for him.

“Yeah, you love it. You gonna come for me?”

“Yeah,” I lie.

I feel him losing coordination; I feel the desperation in his body, the quaking in his hips. I hold him like a fist and moan his name, pushing my ass into him.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He eats my performance right up, even eases his thrusts considerately for a few beats. “That’s right. That’s right.”

I let out a theatrical “Mmmmm.”

“Now me.”

“Come, Rob.”

“I will.” He takes me hard again—harder. “I’ll shoot you full of my cum.”

I moan for real now, so fucking hot for this moment.

The headboard clatters against the wall, and he’s groaning like a maniac. I wish the whole neighborhood could see me getting fucked by this gorgeous, aggressive man. I wish I were horrible enough to have hidden a video camera.

“Oh fuck. I-I’m gonna give you what you w-want,” he stammers.

“Good.”

He slaps my ass. “Say it,” he orders.

“Rob. Come for me, Rob.”

He slams inside me, pushing deep, mashing our bodies together, his hips pressed hard into my ass, fingers digging into my flesh. I feel him spasm two, three, four times. I feel him emptying himself for me, squeezing every drop into my thirsty cunt. His moan crescendos and fades in perfect time with the fantasy, and reality begins to intrude.

As soon as he slides out, I roll onto my back and hug my knees to my chest. I know it probably doesn’t really help anything. But hell, it can’t hurt, right?

Rob’s kneeling beside me, catching his breath. He watches me, and as he comes down from his release, his expression turns uncertain. Cognizant. As if he just woke up in some stranger’s bed after a drunken one-night stand, blinded by the glare of sobriety.

I sigh and purr luxuriously, telling him he did everything right. Because he did. He got the job done, and it was hot to boot, my ideal outcome. I can’t wait for him to leave so I can masturbate, thinking about everything that’s just happened, and satisfy the ache between my thighs. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says with a little laugh.

“I’m going to keep lying like this for a bit,” I say. “Whenever you’re ready to head out, there’s an envelope on top of the microwave for you. But feel free to recover. Use the bathroom. Shower if you want.”

He nods. I can tell he’s relieved, glad to have been given permission to take off.

I offer a dorky smile, since that’s all I can be expected to pull off given that I’m curled before him in a fertilizing ball on my bedspread. “I thought that went really great. Can I e-mail you in a couple days? To maybe do it again?”

“Sure,” he says, neutral.

“If you feel weird when I do, feel free to ignore me or say no. But seriously, this was just what I was looking for. I’d tip you if it didn’t seem so lurid.”

He laughs out of protocol, but I can tell he’s a little uncomfortable. I hope if I drop off his radar until later in the week, he’ll conclude that I’m not a nut and take this at face value and offer me a repeat performance.

Rob stands and picks up his clothes. He wanders out of my room, and eventually I hear the toilet flush, and he reappears in the doorway, dressed. Handsome.

I wave at him good-naturedly, still hugging myself tight. “Find your envelope?”

“Yup.” He looks unsure. He summons the nerve to walk over, and I’m surprised when he plants a warm, friendly kiss on my forehead.

“Drive safe,” I say, sounding cheerful and ridiculous. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Sounds good. Bye, Abby.” He gives me a wave as he leaves my bedroom. I lay still, listening to his far-off rustlings as he pulls on his shoes and coat, as the front door opens and closes, as the weight of him makes the house vibrate faintly when he descends the steps.

I decide to lie this way for ten more minutes; then I’ll grab my vibrator and probably come quicker than I ever have in my entire life. I turn my head to look at the clock’s red digits. 2:36.

Nice. I can still catch This American Life with time to spare.

Chapter Two

“Oh, you’re bleeding!” My smile fades as I open the door to the landing and find Noah Aubrey holding a bloody Dunkin’ Donuts napkin to his knee.

“Hi, Abby,” he says brightly, half bent over. He sets a paper shopping bag at his feet. “Sorry about this. I slipped on the sidewalk.”

“Out front? Shit, I’m so sorry, I should have salted it again. Well, come in, anyhow.”

He shuffles past me. “It was your neighbors’ sidewalk.”

“Let me get you a Band-Aid. Here, take your shoes off.” I close the door and pick up his bag. I see a bottle of wine and a DVD case inside, and I steal a glance at him. Even injured and hunched over, he’s more handsome than I remember, especially with snow still melting in his hair and an apple green scarf wound around his neck. His handsomeness doesn’t punch you in the face like Rob’s. It sort of sneaks up from behind and gives your shoulders a massage, makes you forget about how stressed you felt before he arrived. Having Noah here relaxes me. I take his sporty black coat and toss it over the loveseat. “Hang on a sec.”

I jog to the kitchen and return with a wet hand towel and a big bandage. “You may as well take off your pants,” I say, laughing.

He unbuckles his belt. “This wasn’t exactly the icebreaker I’d envisioned.” He drops his black slacks around his ankles and lets me wipe the blood off his skinned knee.

“Ooh, that looks painful,” I say, and I hear him suck in a breath as I pat it dry. I keep my eyes politely away from his crotch.

“It’s fine.”

I smooth the bandage over his knee, stand and crumple the wrapper, and smile at him. “Wow, we’re off to a great start! It’s six thirty-three, and I’ve already gotten your trousers off.”

“Thanks, Abby.” He hikes his pants back up, pretty dignified, considering. He takes a step forward and catches me off guard, laying a hand on my shoulder and kissing my cheek. “It smells amazing in here.”

“Ziti, as promised. With sausage.” This feels so much different than with Rob two days ago. I feel as if I know this man. And I’m not 100 percent sure if that’s okay. There’s a reason I chose to not go the anonymous donor route, but there’s also a reason I didn’t scout for an open-minded male friend to do this job for me. I’m all for finding a human connection with the potential father of my future kid, but putting myself in a position to miss that man after the conception’s over is another matter entirely.

“I brought a bottle of red,” Noah says. “And a movie.”

“A dirty movie?” I ask and waggle my eyebrows at him.

“Oh. No, actually. Chinatown.” He casts a glance at the bag, and from the scrunch of his eyebrows alone I can sense him questioning this entire crazy arrangement. “Sorry, is that wrong?”

I shrug. “Hell if I know. I’m making this up as I go.”

“I thought maybe we were making a night of it. But if you were thinking of something more utilitarian…?”

“I honestly have no expectations.” Or I hadn’t until Rob set the initial tone on Sunday. Now Noah’s here with an entirely different approach, and I feel flattered that he wants to hang out for more than just the food and fucking. “I’d love to watch Chinatown with you,” I say.

“Oh good.”

“Shall we bust open that wine?” I ask. He follows me into the kitchen where the red daisies stare at me accusingly from the counter. I find him a corkscrew, and Noah works on the bottle while I grab glasses, probably the same two from Sunday afternoon.

“Dinner will be ready in fifteen or so.”

He pours us each a glass, and we toast. I have to squint at him to remind myself we’re not already friends. Before my brain completely clouds over, I grab the waiver off of my computer desk. He signs it after a quick scan.

I put it away, business complete. “Did you work today?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’m a nine-to-fiver, roughly. I teach at Emerson.”

“Oh right. Professor Aubrey, is it?”

He smiles. “Dr. Aubrey.”

“Wow.” I’d only asked the candidates if they’d gotten a bachelor degree or higher, no specifics. “You have a PhD? In what?”

“Cinema Studies. NYU.”

“Wow.” I make an impressed face, jostle his shoulder with mine. “Well, Dr. Aubrey, I work like three blocks from you. A little past the movie theater on Tremont.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “We better be careful. I could run into you in the park on a lunch break, bringing your baby in to show your coworkers.”

“Oh shit, you’re right.” I decide to not let such a thought throw me off. “Small town.”

“No kidding.”

We’re quiet for a moment, caught in our own internal dialogues.

“Abby,” he says, sounding careful, staring at my counter, the flowers.

My heart sinks. “Too weird now?”

“Oh no. I don’t think so. Can I talk to you for second? About tonight?”

“Absolutely.” I take a drink, then set my glass down, offering him my full attention.

“I’m crap at casual sex,” Noah says. “Can we pretend this is a date?”

I smile at him and wonder if he can tell how relieved I am by that proposal. “We can treat it any way you want to. I need you to feel comfortable.”

“I’d like to sort of pretend this is just a first date that goes better than I expected.”

I nod, thinking the idea over and coming up pleased. I’d been curious about another Rob-style performance but also a little unsettled by the prospect. After the hotness of my encounter with Rob had dissipated, I’d been left with a lingering sensation of seediness for the remainder of Sunday afternoon. “Sure. Whatever works for you.”

“Did you have other things you needed to get done tonight?” I detect a tiny note of panic in Noah’s voice.

“No,” I say, laughing. “You’re the main attraction. Come on. Let’s go sit down.”

He smiles apprehensively, and we head to the living room.

“You have a decent day?” I ask as we plop onto the couch.

“Not bad. It’s pretty quiet before Christmas. Just me in my office, reading papers, fielding panicky requests for finals extensions.”

“Do you get a long break?”

He nods. “Not as long as the students, but a big chunk of January.”

“Very cool.”

I’m surprised when he leans close. His hand is warm and soft, and he puts it to my jaw. He kisses my lips—a lingering, sexy, closed-mouth kiss. He looks shy as he pulls away. “Sorry. That was going to stress me out all night if I didn’t get it out of the way.”

“Glad to put you at ease.” It’s so the opposite—I’m relieved beyond measure to have the physical tone of my night with Noah set. Not just relieved now—curious too. I’m tempted to lean in and continue that kiss, but Noah speaks.

“I have to say, this whole thing… I feel really…honored. No, sorry, that sounds way too earnest. But I feel really flattered, you know, that you chose me.”

I smile at this and pat his hand. “You should. I was prepared to not pick anybody, if no one felt like the right match. And believe me, a ton of them didn’t. So…thank you. For showing up.”

His gaze jumps between my eyes and my mouth and back again, and we both shift a bit, turn so our knees touch. The next time he leans in, I kiss back. Our mouths part, and we catch each other’s lips in turn, softly, no tongues. I feel the ache return to my body, right where Rob left it. I couldn’t tell you exactly what I’m wanting from Noah—his body and his warmth, but for a baby or for my own selfish pleasure, I’m not sure. The feeling is nice but confusing, and I want a little reality check to help me understand where Noah’s coming from.

“You’re only doing stuff you want to, right?” I ask as our mouths separate. “That was nice, but don’t feel like you have to do all the romantic stuff. If you don’t want to,” I reiterate, babbling.

“Does it bother you?”

“No, it was sexy.”

“Okay. As long as you don’t mind, I’d like to do things the cheesy traditional way,” Noah says. “The illusion makes me feel less…sordid about the whole thing.”

“Gentleman’s choice.” I hold my glass up, and he follows suit. We clink them together, then take a drink just as the oven timer buzzes.

In a few minutes we sit down with heaping bowls of ziti and start the movie. Once my wine kicks in and I’ve set my bowl aside, I scoot over a couple inches and rest my knee on Noah’s thigh. He smiles, looking equal parts guilty and appreciative.

After another glass and another hour, his hand is on my leg, rubbing idly. I know neither of us is really watching the movie. I study his profile, the handsome details of his face lit by the TV in the relative dark. My body’s been priming for him, growing warm and restless and curious in tiny ways he can’t see but maybe he can sense. I want to feel his stubble when he kisses me deeply. I want to explore the parts of him I diplomatically averted my eyes from when his pants were around his ankles when he first arrived. I want to know what he sounds like and what sorts of things he might say. I bet he moans more than he talks during sex, and I bet he goes slow, right up until the very end… I feel like I know this man already, and I want all my suspicions about him confirmed.

He finishes his second glass and sets it on the coffee table. I let him do the same with mine, and he turns to face me. My nerves reach a low simmer, and my stomach’s gurgly—not the way it was with Rob, not from adrenaline and apprehension. More like first-date jitters. Noah’s warm, strong hands take my face, and our mouths reconnect.

He’s bolder than I expected. His tongue slips between my lips after only a few seconds’ hesitation. The penetration is divine and dirty and sweet all at once. He kisses deep, wet sweeps of his tongue against mine, firm fingertips on my skin. His palms slide to my shoulders, and I can’t wait. I swing a leg over his and straddle him. My knees sink between the cushions, so I end up pushed hard against him, my skirt pooled in our collective lap, more forward than I’d meant to be. Noah’s only protest is a deep, accidental-sounding moan and a thrust of his hips. His erection grinds against my inner thigh, spreading heat up and down my legs and making my pussy clench.

I touch his arms though his soft sweater. They’re strong. I wasn’t expecting that. Curious, I tug at his hem, and he breaks away for a moment to peel his top off for me. Beneath he’s got on a white button-up shirt, and I squeeze his biceps through the cotton as his mouth captures mine again. Damn. I squeeze him tighter, fascinated to discover his body is hard, breaking the promises made by his easy smile and his kind eyes, his slow, no-pressure approach.

I slide my lips to his neck, tasting the faint chemical flavor of his aftershave, running my tongue up his jugular vein. His hips pump softly as I touch his firm chest, trace his collarbone through his shirt. His mouth is just above my ear when he moans. The sound and the heat of his breath splash gasoline all over my flames, flash a hundred dirty ideas through my mind, thoughts of Noah’s weight on me, the look on his face when he comes. His hands take my thighs, guiding me to rub my pussy over his cock where it strains against his pants. I want him now now now.

“You feel so hard,” I murmur.

“I am.” He pushes my hips away enough to slide a hand between us. His touch is a shock, zapping through me. There’s one flimsy layer between my aching cunt and his fingers, and he finds my hard clit through the damp cotton, stroking.

“You’re wet.” He whispers it like a beautiful accusation.

“I want you.”

“Right here?”

“Please,” I say.

His hands leave me to unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly. I lean back so I can watch him push his pants and shorts down enough to take himself out. Big. Not as long as Rob, but thicker, just as mouthwatering.

I reach down and wrap my fingers around him, and his hardness is shocking. I imagine it must hurt, being this hard. He even sounds pained, making little whimpering noises as I stroke him.

“I love it,” I tell him, luxuriating in the feel of his skin sliding up and down his shaft, the harmony of his hips pushing to meet my strokes. He slips a hand between us, cupping his big, tight balls, fondling them and setting me on fire so instantly I feel light-headed.

“God, yeah.” It’s impossible to express how badly and completely my body needs his, how this strays beyond attraction into the desperate wilds of biology.

He kneads himself a bit rougher, a show for me. “I’ve got what you want,” he whispers, playing with himself.

“I know you do.”

His contracted brows and parted lips betray his cool, teasing facade. “You ready?”

“I’m aching for it,” I say, God’s honest truth.

He slips his fingers behind the crotch of my panties, runs his knuckles over my tender, slippery lips, and groans. “So wet.”

“Take me, Noah.”

He does, but with his fingers first. He thrusts deep, driving into my juices and my swollen, willing flesh, an excruciating tease. His thumb finds my clit.

“I want you. Please.” My fist tightens around his cock.

“Soon.”

“Now. Please.”

“Soon,” he repeats, and I can detect an evil smile in his tone, a taste of some secret side of this man. I guess I don’t know him as implicitly as I’d suspected, but I’m not sad to be proven wrong, just curious and impatient, fascinated. His fingers fuck me and my hand jerks him, and we masturbate each other for a long minute. Precum is beading at his tip, and I slick it over his head.

“Now,” he says. He yanks my panties to one side and angles his cock. He plunges in deep in one thrust, pulling me down by the hips, burying himself.

“Noah!”

“Oh Abby.” His eyes close. We sit motionless for a few breaths, just experiencing each other. Deep inside me, he’s pulsing. I feel full and quenched…and yet still so thirsty. I have what I wanted, but my body’s screaming for more. I know how he feels, but now I want to know how he moves and sounds and smells. Everything.

“You’re so thick,” I murmur in his ear. “And hard. Show me how you like to fuck.”

His eyes open halfway, trained between our bodies. I lift my skirt up so he can see.

“Ride me,” he says.

I start to move, pulling back and pushing forward, taking him slow and explicitly.

“God, Abby.”

“You feel so good.” To emphasize, I draw back at a sharp angle, milking his thick cock with my hungry body. I want to hear him unravel as he nears his release. I want to feel his hands grab my hips and control me when he reaches that gorgeous point of no return. I want him frantic and nasty and demanding.

“Want to make you come,” he moans. “Tell me what you need.”

I consider the demand. And why shouldn’t I come, if he’s offering? “Just let me fuck you,” I say. “Slide forward a little.”

He shimmies his ass closer to the front of the cushion.

I ride him slow, brushing his pubic bone with my clit. I want to remember all of this: the faint, repetitive scrape of his zipper against my thigh, the smell of his sweat, the look of need on his handsome face. His cock feels so right, so big. I want to use him for more than just his precious cum.

“Touch my breasts,” I beg.

He pushes my shirt up, and I yank it off. I undo my bra, and his hands on my bare breasts are absolute heaven.

“God, you’re hot,” he says.

“And you’re big. I wanna come on your cock.”

“Abby.” His fingers tweak my nipples, flashing pleasure between my breasts and my cunt, connecting me, lighting me up. He pulls me close, and his lips draw me in, suckling.

“I’m fucking you, Noah. I’m fucking you.” It’s all I can think to say. My pussy is burning up, tight and frantic and needing not just a man, but this man. My clit burns white-hot. I ride him fast and rough and groan his name into his hair, insane with the feeling. My consciousness and every atom of my being is drawn down to my core, like the eye of a violent, swirling storm. For what feels like forever, I’m floating in the pleasure, suspended… Then intensity returns, wringing my body out. The spasms flood me with heat and relief and beautiful, drunk happiness and keep me tight against his dick.

“Yes yes yes…” He’s whispering against my skin as my pussy flutters and calms. I hear us breathing. I hear Jack Nicholson talking in the background. I smell ziti and feel Noah’s soft, short hair between my fingers, feel his cock throbbing inside me. I smooth my hands over his head and lean back to study his face.

“Wow,” I say stupidly.

He smiles broadly and cranes his neck to kiss my lips.

“I haven’t come that hard in forever,” I tell him, feeling dim-witted and grateful. “Your turn.”

“Okay. Can you keep riding me, like before? When you’re ready.”

I nod, commanding my jelly legs to get their act together. I pump him, slow at first. His fly is soaked from my orgasm, its wet fabric rubbing the back of my thigh. I feel a little embarrassed, mostly proud. Noah’s lost in his pleasure, looking hypnotized and handsome and just perfect.

“Yeah. Faster.” His eyes shut tight, and he leans back into the couch.

My knees are raw from grinding into the upholstery but it feels good taking orders from him. His breathing turns rapid, a rhythmic string of grunts as he gives himself over.

“I want to make you come,” I say.

“Yeah. Fuck me, Abby.”

“Your dick is so big. I want to make it shoot for me.” I never found it so easy to talk nasty to a man before this one showed up. Noah makes things comfortable, his mere presence like a sip of liquor that dulls inhibitions and loosens lips.

“Fuck me. Fuck me.” His hands grasp my ass, making the thrusts faster and rougher, taking charge, losing control. “Fuck my cock. Fuck it.”

“Come on, Noah.”

“Your pussy’s so tight.”

“It loves your cock. Give it what it wants, Noah.”

He licks his lips, catches my eye for a split second. “Yeah, you want my cum.”

“Yeah, all of it. Give it to me. Shoot it for me. Nice and deep.”

“Just fuck me. Fuck me.” He’s a goner. I’m glad he can’t see my smug grin as his possessive hands pull me hard against him. He drives deep with every last inch and releases. He groans like a madman, like a suffering animal. “Abby. Abby.”

“Good…”

He keeps me close as he stills, wraps his arms around my back.

“I have to lie down,” I say, stroking his hair. He nods against my neck. His embrace loosens, and he lets me flop down along the couch so I can hug my knees. At least this time my panties and skirt offer a scrap of modesty.

I hear him clear his throat, regaining coherence.

“Thanks,” I say.

A nervous laugh. “You’re welcome… What are you doing, exactly? Is that a conception thing?” I feel him squeeze my toes.

“It’s probably pointless,” I admit. “But the theory is that you hold it all in, and gravity sort of helps the process.”

“I guess it can’t hurt.”

“That’s my thinking.”

A silent minute passes before Noah speaks. “Um…should I go?”

“Up to you,” I say, trying to sound casual and friendly and hurtproof.

“Could I stay a little while longer? I should drink some water and let the wine wear off before I drive.”

“Oh sorry, of course. You stay as long as you like. I’ll be done absorbing in five minutes or so. We can back the DVD up, or see what’s on TV.”

“Cool, thanks.” His voice drips with relief.

“Hey, Noah?” I say to the ceiling.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for coming tonight. In every sense of the word. But you know, thanks for showing up. This was really nice. Thanks for making me come too.”

“Oh. Well, thanks for making me dinner.”

I laugh. “This is like some base-desires meet-up. What do we have left? Should we build a fire and some shelter?”

He squeezes my foot again. “I think you’ve wrecked me for the rest of the night.”

I suddenly think of poor Noah, venturing out into the fifteen-degree darkness, braving the lumpy, icy sidewalk again, starting up his cold, lonely car, and driving home to Jamaica Plain. It’s hard to stop myself from telling him he can stay the night…but it’s not fair to put him in a position to make that complex and nuanced a decision for us both. And I don’t know if I’m ready to wake up beside him or in the next room from him, to negotiate the shower in the morning, to wind up commuting downtown with him or whatever else might happen if we’re not vigilant.

Then again, we could have bonus sex in the morning.

Eventually Noah gets up, and I listen to him wander to the bathroom. I use the opportunity to put my bra and shirt back on. I can feel him leaking from me, like some precious prize escaping my grasp. I like it. It feels dirty and weirdly satisfying, as though this sexy, sweet man has soiled me. I’m grinning when he reappears from the kitchen with a tumbler of water.

I speak without even knowing I had something to say. “Can I talk to you?”

“Sure.” He sits on the coffee table right in front of me, attentive.

“I like you,” I say. “You seem really nice and thoughtful, and I really enjoyed having sex with you.”

“But?” he prompts.

“No, no buts. I…I can’t help but feel like I should be telling you to feel free to crash here. But I don’t want you to worry about what I really mean by that. I don’t want you to think I’ve changed what this is all about. I’m worried I’ll scare you off. Which is stupid, considering the psycho circumstances.”

“I think I understand what you mean.”

“So, what this is, it’s still the same. You’re here to impregnate me, for money. I’m not after a relationship. But we’re going to know each other kind of intensely for this week and maybe next month. Is it okay if I say stuff like that? Invite you to stay over? It doesn’t mean anything aside from, ‘I’d like you to stay over, if you want that too.’”

“I think you should feel free to say whatever it is you want,” Noah says, looking me in the eye. “And I promise to take you at face value and not read anything into it.”

I release a trapped breath. “Thank you. That’s what I was getting at.”

“And we’ll just both have to agree to not feel offended when the other person says no. I mean, there might be some night when I come over, and suddenly it’s two a.m., and it’s snowing, or we’re a little drunk, and I really just want to crash here. But if you say, ‘not tonight,’ then I’ll go home.”

“After you sober up,” I say and nudge his uninjured knee.

“Yeah…unless you feel like picking up my cab fare.”

“You keep doing what you just did, and you can help yourself to a kidney.”

* * *

Noah did sleep over. In my bed. We finished our movie, then stayed up watching TV, and I fell asleep toward the end of one of the late shows. We slept side by side, cautious, neither of us ready or wanting to risk the intimacy of bringing up spooning. He woke up just after me, and we smiled at each other before we spoke. It felt nice and just the tiniest bit nerve-racking, opening my eyes and finding him there.

He’s in the shower now. I hear the water turn off, and soon he emerges in the same clothes from yesterday.

I pour him a coffee and point at his torn pants. “Whatever will your fellow faculty members say?”

“If anybody asks, I’ll tell them I slipped this morning… Thank God my students are on break. They would’ve been all over a suspicious wardrobe repeat like a rash.”

“Can I pay for your pants? It’s my fault you ruined them.”

He smiles, filling me with warmth. “I’m a big boy, Abby. I can pay for my own pants.”

I slide along the counter until I’m close by him. “What time do we need to leave?” He already offered to drive us, a nice change for me from my icy trudge to the Porter Square subway stop and its endless escalator descent into the dim, grumpy realms of commuterdom.

“Half hour, probably, if you start work at nine,” he says.

“I do… May I attempt to seduce you?”

He takes a deep drink of his coffee, eyes focused out the window. “You may.”

Soon enough I’m on one of the barstools with my legs around his waist. His pants drop, and his boxer briefs join them, and I hold my panties aside for him. His cock looks great in the daylight as he strokes it to his fullest arousal. He could be a penis model for whatever it is penises might model. Cock rings, I guess. Other things I probably don’t want to know about.

“You have a great dick,” I say, not seeing why he shouldn’t hear this from me.

“Thanks.” He sounds distracted. He guides himself into me, pushing deep. “Abby.”

“Be greedy.” I’m lousy at coming first thing in the morning, plus we’re on a schedule.

Noah holds my thighs and pounds me. He’s as good at fucking as he is as getting ridden. At first his eyes are on the action; then he looks up, right at my face as he’s moaning.

“You feel so good,” I say. I make a circle with my thumb and index finger and position it at my entrance, giving his surging cock an extra tight treat.

“Your pussy’s so wet,” he groans.

“Yeah, for you. You have something for me?” I purr.

“Oh yeah.”

“What do you have for me?”

He grunts, hips slapping hard. “My cum. I’ll give you all my cum.”

“Good.”

He moans my name again and again, and I know he’s close.

“Noah,” I say right back. I reach my hands around and grab his gorgeous ass. I wish there was a mirror behind him so I could watch it working, see those unexpected muscles tensing and thrusting at my command. I bring my palms around his waist and push his shirt and sweater up, just enough to catch a glimpse of a lean, muscular stomach I hadn’t even thought to wish for.

“God, I’m gonna come.” He presses his forehead hard into mine and groans. His hips hammer fast, then plunge deep, holding there, giving me what I need.

“Good boy,” I mutter through a deep breath. I let his shirt drop and run my hands over his arms, his neck, his hair. He withdraws, delirious, and I toddle to the bathroom. I don’t have time to lie around marinating so I slip in a light-absorbency tampon, hoping it might work like a cork, though I suspect it could easily do the opposite. Classy thing, conception.

Noah is tucking his shirt back into his pants when I reappear.

“We better head out,” I say, glancing at the microwave clock. “Parking’s on me, by the way.”

“I’ve got a pass. No worries.”

I laugh at his woozy expression. “And you’re okay to drive, right?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

We head downstairs and climb into his car. It’s a cold, bright day. I direct him to Broadway, and we’re quiet for a half mile.

“So, how long are you ovulating for?” Noah catches my eyes at a red light, as though he’s wondering how long I’m in town.

“I don’t know exactly. Maybe through the weekend? Right now is the peak, I’m pretty sure.”

“Ah,” he says.

“Why do you ask?”

“Would you… Are you free tonight?”

I smile at him. “Sure. I wasn’t going to ask you to service me two nights in a row. I thought you might want a day or two or realize I’m a crackpot. But yeah, I’m free. You want to come over again?”

“Kind of.”

“Then you should. Why don’t you meet me after work? I have to go to the paper store to get Christmas cards. Want to meet me in the Public Garden at six? The corner across from the church?”

“Works for me.”

I smile to myself. Rob’s coming over tomorrow evening, or he said he would. Chances are looking good this week…though a small part of me selfishly thinks a repeat performance next month isn’t so bad as consolation prizes go.

* * *

I spot Noah walking toward me at six precisely. He waves, face lit by the white Christmas lights strung on the trees along the pond. A Macy’s bag swings from his hand.

“Let me guess,” I say as we meet. “New pants?”

He nods. He looks a little shy, a little devious. The look of a man guaranteed to get laid.

“Good day?” I ask. “What do you teach, anyhow?”

“Film history, mostly. Some screenwriting.”

“Wow, cool. What’s your favorite era for movies, then?”

Noah’s face lights up, not unlike the way I hope my future child’s might one day. “Seventies, hands-down. Taxi Driver, Dog Day Afternoon…”

“Chinatown.”

He nods. He looks about ready to lean in and cheek kiss me, but we’re interrupted.

“Abby?”

Oh, fuck me. It’s Rob. He strides as much as one can over the ice heaves in our direction.

“Rob,” I say, just as Noah says the same. Then I say, “Huh?”

“Noah, right?” Rob reaches us and extends a gloved hand. Noah nods and they shake.

“You guys know each other?” I ask, horrified. So much for discretion.

“We work out at the same studio,” Noah says and aims a finger down Boylston Street.

“You kickbox?” I ask him. Noah’s medical history just had “cardio” down for his exercise habits.

“A little bit,” he says. “Mostly I regular box.” That explains the arms.

“How do you know Abby?” Rob asks Noah, and my stomach churns.

“We, um…” Noah trails off.

“He’s trying to impregnate me,” I say, then blush so hard I feel overheated, even in the numbing breeze.

Rob laughs, a loud bark, and Noah’s eyes widen. He stares at me, horrified.

“It’s okay,” I say. “So’s he.”

“Holy shit,” Noah says.

“God, fucking Boston.” I look around us, torn between wanting to laugh and die. Adrenaline leaves my body, making me feel drunk and hyper.

“That’s a relief,” Rob says. “I was afraid you were her secret infertile husband or something,” he says to Noah. “Or that I’d gotten caught up in some really twisted infidelity scheme.”

“It is twisted,” I remind him. “But only in the capacity you guys already knew about.”

Noah’s smiling tightly at my side. I wonder if the whole plan is wrecked, if he’s totally creeped out by putting a face to the genetic competition, or if a bright light has been shone on my spurious morals. I stare at the disgruntled ducks huddled by the edge of the frozen pond for a moment.

“Is this weird?” I ask, looking between my two donors.

They glance at each other for a few beats; then Noah shrugs. “No, I don’t think so. Just a bit nuts that we know each other.”

Rob shakes his head in an agreeable way.

“Oh good,” I say, though I still feel as though I’ve been caught doing something unseemly. I suppose I have. But the fact that I’ve come this far with my crazy scheme gives me hope that I’ll survive this little lapse in donor diplomacy. Provided Noah and Rob can shrug it off.

“We can compare notes in the locker room,” Rob says. I’m fairly certain he’s kidding, but Noah laughs nervously, and even in the streetlight I can see his cheeks pinken.

“I feel like such a slut,” I say, unable to keep the words from tumbling out, and I start laughing so hard I double over, diaphragm convulsing until it hurts. When I recover I find them both smiling at me.

“Don’t feel bad,” Rob says. “We’re the ones getting paid.”

I put my hand on Noah’s arm. “Right. Well, we better get back to the harem.” I sound so obscenely cavalier I want to slap myself.

“Good luck,” Rob says, hurdling right over the tactlessness bar I just set. He gives Noah a little wave. “I’ll see you later, Abby.”

“Have a good night.” We watch him continue on toward Boylston Street, and I discover I’ve been holding my breath.

“Wow,” Noah says and rubs a hand over his face. “Weird.”

“I’m so sorry. Did that wreck the whole evening?”

He looks me square in the eye and shakes his head. “I knew what the deal was.” He’s quiet for a while longer, and I watch the breath rising from his nostrils as he’s thinking. He gives me plenty of time to guess what he’s about to say, exactly how he’ll word it when he tells me he needs some time to rethink this whole ridiculous arrangement. When he opens his mouth to speak again, I’m expecting something dramatic, possibly ruinous.

“Should we grab a pizza on the way back to your place?”

* * *

Noah is different now. Because he’s met the competition, I assume, and maybe because the competition is someone he’s possibly seen naked and maybe even gotten punched in the face by. In any case, he’s on me as soon as I shut the door behind us. He tosses the pizza box on the floor, and I’m pushed up against the wall, his mouth claiming mine. I try to guess if he’s hot over the wrongness of it all or if he’s looking to prove something. As his tongue slips between my lips, I decide I don’t give a shit.

We kiss hard for a few minutes, eager hands groping through clothes until the fabric feels hateful. We pull our coats and sweaters off, and Noah struggles with my bra clasp as I tear at his shirt buttons. Buckles clink, and zippers unzip. We kick our pants away, touching each other through our underwear. Noah’s fingers rub my clit, and I lose coordination, pausing to admire his body as he pleasures me.

“Jesus,” I mumble.

“What?”

“Your body, Professor Beefcake.” I run teasing palms over the lean, defined muscles of his chest. He’s smooth, just the faintest spray of soft brown hair as proof he doesn’t wax to get this look. Good. Call me traditional, but the whole manscaping trend turns me right off. “I can’t believe we’ve had sex twice, and I didn’t even know what you looked like under your clothes.”

He laughs. “I’m always a little fatter in the winter,” he says, laying a hand on his stomach. “Too icy to go running every morning.”

“Oh yeah, you’re a real tub.” I tap the backs of my fingers against his supposed gut. “Look at this.” I poke my own middle, persistently doughy no matter how often I talk myself into going to Pilates.

“Girls are supposed to be soft,” Noah says. He runs his hands over my stomach, up to my breasts, spreading heat over my skin.

“Not according to Maxim.”

“According to Maxim, every guy is a total asshat. That’s why I read Harper’s. According to Harper’s, every guy’s a liberal wing nut.”

“I’ll take wing nut over asshat.”

“Lucky me,” Noah says softly and pulls me close. “You know, pretty soon you’ll be hee-uge.” He cups my sides as if he’s imagining my massively pregnant belly. Something about this innocent tease gets me so hot I feel crazed, burning and impatient, ready to tear at this man’s skin and pull his hair and force his body inside me. I cup his head in my hands and yank his mouth down to mine, kiss him deep and rough and earn myself a few gorgeous moans from this gorgeous man. He’s hard already, the ridge of his cock rubbing against my pubic bone. I step back a few paces, and he follows. Next thing I know, we’re on the floor, and he’s yanking my panties off, shoving his legs between mine and grinding his stiff dick against me. I bring my legs up and hook a toe into either side of his waistband, push his shorts down to his ankles. I love his weight. I love how warm his skin is on mine, love the insistent push of his hips, his thick, ready cock finding my entrance.

“Jesus, Noah.” I slide my hands to his ass, feel his muscles working as his thrusts tease me.

“You need lube?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You comfortable?”

My bare ass is on the hardwood, shoulders and head on the rug. I’ll probably end up with both bruises and rug burn, but right now I can’t be bothered about it. “Just fuck me, Noah.”

He reaches down, eases his dick inside my pussy, finds me wet after an inch of tight friction. He slides in and out until the fucking’s smooth and easy. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”

“More.”

“You’re so wet.” He repeats it a couple times, finding his rhythm. The room is dark except for the reading lamp by the door, but I can see everything I want—all the shapes and shadows of his fantastic body, the cut of his triceps, and the swell of his ass.

“Abby,” he moans, and steadily his body slows until he’s just braced above me, breathing hard. It makes me nervous, makes me worry he’s thinking about the whole Rob thing, that it short-circuited his brain or his dick.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, holding my breath.

“Nothing…”

“Are you sure?”

“Can I go down on you?”

“Oh,” I say, as intrigued as I am relieved. “Sure.”

He pulls out and sits back, his eyes glued to mine as he runs two fingers over my pussy lips. “Sit on the couch,” he says. I like the bossy edge to his voice.

I move to the edge of the cushions, and Noah pushes the table to the side, gets in front of me on the floor, takes hold of my hips, and brings his face in close. “You smell so good.”

I hold my breath, waiting. I’ve missed this the last six months—seeing a man on his knees, mouth between my legs. Noah kisses my clit, and I groan, curl my whole body into the pleasure. Heat pools against his lapping tongue, and I rake my fingers through his short hair, wanting to possess him. His licks are firm and slick and explicit, tight little strokes thrumming my clit, complemented by the soft brush of his stubbly chin against my tender lips. I close my eyes and imagine him above me, coming. I imagine watching him come, not just his face but his cock, his hand as he strokes himself, loses control, and shoots across my stomach or breasts. The heat mounts, and my legs tremble, my feet feel tingly, and my clit is burning up.

“Don’t stop.”

He keeps his tongue working and moans, the sound vibrating through my body and magnifying all the sensations. One hand leaves my leg, and I feel his knuckles brush my pussy, tease my crease before he slides two fingers inside.

I keep one possessive hand on the back of his head, then palm my breast with the other. I study his strong arms and shoulders, the shape of his eyebrows. “Yeah. Fuck me, Noah.”

He moans again, deep, and it pushes me over the edge. My pleasure reaches its peak against his fluttering tongue, hot tremors tightening and bursting and wringing me out until his licks are too much, and I have to scoot back to escape the sensations. He moves his mouth lower, lapping up my cum with hungry, happy noises. I catch my breath while he feasts, stroke his hair, feel spent and grateful and spoiled.

“Thank you,” I mumble as he leans back on his haunches.

He grins and squeezes my thighs. “Don’t thank me for that.” He gets up to sit beside me. “I fucking love eating pussy.”

I take a final steadying breath. I glance at the big bandage on his knee, wonder if my hardwood has exacerbated the damage already done by my sidewalk. “You ready to give me something else now?”

He nods. There’s an intensity to his eyes that thrills me. I recline as he gets a leg between mine, his other foot on the floor. I wrap my thighs around his waist as he sinks back inside with a curse.

“You’re so. Fucking. Wet.”

“Because of you.” I tug on his hips, and he pushes deep. “You feel so good. You’re so thick.”

He makes a smug Mmmmm noise and starts to move. He locks an arm behind one of my knees and spreads me wide, hammering hard so his balls slap me with each thrust. The arm of the couch is awkward under my back, but I don’t care. All that matters is Noah’s hips pumping, Noah’s cock surging, Noah’s moan mounting as he gets closer and closer.

“God, Noah. Keep going. Give it to me.”

“I’m gonna come in you. Fuck, Abby, I’m gonna come.”

“I need it, Noah. I need your cum. Give it all to me.”

“Yeah. Yeah…” He fucks so hard I can feel the couch moving across the wood, so hard he knocks a puff of my breath out with each impact. “Oh yeah. Here it comes, Abby. Here it comes.” Noah falls apart, rams himself deep deep deep, and freezes, stomach clenching with each spasm until he slumps, all his wonderful weight pinning me, his smell and his panting noises lighting up my senses like electricity. I feel his lips on my neck, kissing idly between deepening breaths. I rub his back and arms, comb my nails through his hair, and trace the curves of his ears. He pushes himself up, sinks into the center cushion. I make it to sitting, feeling high and filthy and full of myself. Full of both of us.

“Fuck me,” I mutter. “Let’s eat some pizza.”

Chapter Three

“Knock knock.”

I lean around the counter to smile at Rob as he steps through the front door. “Hey there. Be right out.” I finish the dish I’m scrubbing and dry my hands. Rob kisses my cheek as I come over to take his coat.

“Downstairs door was unlocked,” he says.

“So I gathered. How are you?”

“Not bad.” The way his eyes drop from my face to my chest, the way his smile turns from polite to wicked, tells me this night will be much like his first visit. It makes me miss Noah’s sweet cautiousness, but I still want him. Rob’s still the best-looking man I’ve ever been with, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a turn-on.

I dug out a stack of takeout menus when I got home, in case Rob seemed hungry, but food doesn’t seem to be on his radar. He puts his hands to my waist, lips to my temple, brings our bodies close.

“I’ve got wine in the kitchen, if you want some.”

“Maybe.” He leans in and kisses my neck, cradling my jaw in his palms.

“Or we can just get down to it,” I say.

Rob steers the conversation somewhere I hadn’t expected. “I didn’t make you come last time.”

“Sure you did,” I say, sounding way too surprised.

He grins at me. “It’s cool, Abby. I know I didn’t.”

I gnaw on my lip, mortified. I guess Rob’s better at faking gullibility than I am at faking orgasms. I half expect a mob of angry feminists to break the door down and stone me.

“But I figured maybe that’s all either of us wanted out of it,” Rob says. “The illusion… But I have to say, my ego’s a little bruised.”

“Oh,” I say, mustering flirtation. “We can’t have that.”

Rob kisses my mouth, easing in slower than last time. I assume that the three of us crossing paths yesterday has had the same game-upping effect on Rob as it did on Noah. And the fire burning in Rob’s body as the kissing intensifies convinces me that he’s up to the challenge. That he was practically born for it. If I can manage to quiet my racing thoughts and give myself over to what he’s got planned, I’ll be happy to oblige.

I lead us to the couch, and we sit. Rob turns aggressive, leaning close, pushing me steadily back until I’m half-reclined, his strong, heavy body against mine, bringing all that same dirty excitement from Sunday and far less uncertainty. His promise scared me at first, made me worry what might happen if I couldn’t come tonight, but now…now I want everything this gorgeous man can give me.

Rob’s mouth moves to my neck, his hot tongue teasing my skin as his soft moans light me on fire.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs.

“You know.”

I hear him laugh softly against my throat; then he grabs my hand and puts it between his legs, presses it to where his cock’s grown stiff behind his jeans. “You’ll get my cum, Abby. But what first? I wanna blow your fucking mind.”

“God, I’m not—”

The door buzzer snaps me back to the reality with a start.

Rob laughs. “Ding-dong, pizza boy.”

I glare at him. “Not funny. You have no idea how close to a porno my life’s become this week.” I’d ignore it, but I can already hear feet ascending the steps. Rob lets me up, and I smooth my palms over my skirt and hair and pad across the living room. I open the door halfway, not honestly surprised in the least by the face staring back at me.

“Noah.” He’s so handsome I want to moan with exasperation. I slip out onto the small landing so maybe Rob won’t overhear us.

“Hey,” he says. “Your downstairs door was open.”

“Yeah…I’ve got, um, company tonight. Of the impregnation variety.” I make a face, one I hope conveys apology and tactful embarrassment and goofy well-adjustedness.

He purses his lips, pink blooming in his cheeks. His posture changes noticeably, shoulders rising but not in a self-assured way. “Oh. Sorry. You said this morning you were doing your Christmas cards tonight. I didn’t know it was code speak.”

I shake my head and laugh. “It’s not. I am planning on doing that. You know, when the other stuff is done with.” I toy with adding, he’s not usually as thorough as you, but think better of it.

“Sorry. I was just… Somerville Theatre’s showing Mean Streets at eight. I just thought if you were free… Well anyway. I’m really sorry. This is awkward.” He manages a smile, and I return it tenfold, wanting to alleviate anything bad he’s feeling.

There’s silence for a moment; then I sigh, frazzled. “It’s—”

“Let him in.” Rob’s voice cuts in from behind me.

I look to Noah, our eyes locking for a long, awkward pause. “Do you want to come in?”

He makes a charming, terrified face and shrugs.

Rob pulls the door wide open on us. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Noah says.

“Don’t worry. I got here like five minutes ago. You didn’t interrupt anything scandalous. Come in and have a glass of wine.” There’s something pointed and devious in Rob’s expression, a quality that both excites and scares me—an invitation. I look at Noah, who just purses his lips, looking between us.

“C’mon,” Rob says. He leaves us and crosses to the kitchen. I hear my cupboard doors opening and closing and glassing tinkling.

“I think he’s propositioning you for an impromptu threesome,” I whisper to Noah.

“Yeah, I sort of sensed that.”

We trade more insecure eye contact.

“Do you want that?” he asks.

“Do you want to wake up tomorrow having done that?” I ask.

“I asked you first,” he says.

I think about it and answer honesty. “Yeah, I sort of want that. But it’s not really about what I want.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Noah crosses his arms over his chest. There’s an edge to his discomfort, something tough to pinpoint but unmistakably male and possibly territorial. Like the hard body he hides behind his unassuming clothes, this quality both surprises and excites me. His eyes are bright and intense, that same primal, animal intensity I feel when I imagine conceiving his child. “Both the guys in your apartment right now are here because of what you want,” he says.

“Well, what I want, and what you guys want too. Don’t pretend like there’s not free money and no-strings sex on offer, here.”

Noah opens his mouth, closes it, grinds his jaw.

“What?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want you to think it’s just about a hook-up or a paycheck with me. Trying to get someone pregnant isn’t no-strings in my book.”

“Well it is in his.” I jerk my head in the direction of the kitchen.

He takes a step closer and whispers, “What about you?”

“You know, Noah. It’s about me conceiving. The fact that you’re a nice guy and I like spending time with you with my clothes on is a bonus, okay?”

“You kids want to quit whispering in the doorway?”

I turn at the sound of Rob’s voice and find him clutching the wine bottle and three empty glasses.

“Just give us one sec.”

He sets everything on the coffee table and wanders back to the kitchen. I lean in the threshold, a little pissed at Noah. “I feel like you think I’ve been leading you on or something.”

He takes a deep breath, rolls his eyes in a relenting way. “I’m sorry. I just… This isn’t what I pictured happening while I was driving over here.”

I nod.

“I know what this is all about,” he says, sounding suddenly resolved. “I just forgot, I guess. When I found out he was here.”

“Well, I hope—”

Noah steps inside, throwing me for a complete loop. He pushes off his shoes, and I take his jacket and scarf and close the door, utterly bewildered by this sudden U-turn in his attitude. His face is set and tough to read as he pours three generous glasses. Rob comes back to the living room.

My mind feels swimmy. One of these men is oozing filthy mischief; the other hemorrhaging a breed of competitiveness I don’t entirely trust. I take the glass Noah hands me, wondering who the fuck this man is. An image of the two of them coming to blows flashes across my brain. They’re both trained in hand-to-hand combat, and I take an inventory of the breakable things in the room.

Rob clinks his glass against mine, as if he’s toasting this bizarre turn of events. I swallow. I can’t stand the ambiguity going down in my orderly home.

“You’re trying to turn this into a three-way, aren’t you?” I ask Rob.

He laughs. “Aren’t you?”

“I didn’t invite Noah over,” I say. Noah shakes his head in confirmation.

“Oh.” Rob nods at Noah and takes a drink. “I kinda thought you planned it. Anyhow, I’m game if you guys are.” He’s so casual it shocks me. Impresses me too. I tend to overthink things, and I’m jealous of how simple Rob makes the whole decision seem, how easily he can roll with these punches.

Neither Noah nor I speak, so Rob goes on. “I don’t mind sharing my night.” He grins and steps close. I take a deep breath and watch his mouth as it lowers to mine. He kisses me, deep and slow, tasting of wine. I feel a hand on my arm, and I open my eyes to find Noah coaxing me to face him. He kisses me the same way Rob did, though it feels different, tastes different. Different, the way their skin smells, how their hands hold me, the sexual energy warming me on either side.

“Me and Abby were just talking,” Rob says, “about how I ripped her off last time in the pleasure department. I guess this’ll make up for it. You been with two guys before?” he asks me.

“No.”

It’s impressive how Rob controls the sexual atmosphere of a place, how easily he can waltz in as a paid guest, then take right over as ringmaster.

“You two seem close,” he says, dark eyes darting between us. “Why don’t you show me what she likes?” he asks Noah.

Rob steps back a pace, and Noah embraces the deference, musters an air of authority that thrills me. He kisses me deep, leads me to the couch, pulls me down into his lap. I press my pussy against him as his tongue plunders my mouth, and I rub until I feel his hard-on pressing back. I wrestle my mouth away from his and kiss his ear, taste his skin, feel his throat vibrate with a low moan. His hips shift beneath mine, begging for more friction.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Ride me.”

I feel the couch shift, and Rob’s thigh brushes mine as he kneels beside me. Noah’s hands are on my hips, and I feel another one smooth my hair from my face and touch my neck. It’s a vulnerable feeling, but that’s not a criticism. The only thing that truly worries me is the thought that Noah’s here under duress, and the stiff cock thrusting against my pussy is telling me he’s just fine.

Noah’s hands slide up to my breasts, and Rob’s move down, his cool, smooth palm rubbing my thigh, inching up to knead my ass. I let him slide it beneath my panties, slip his fingers between my legs. I lift myself from Noah’s lap, and Rob dips inside, testing.

“Fuck, yeah.” He pushes in deeper, eases his fingers out, and slicks them over my clit. He takes his hand away, and I press back against Noah.

“I want you,” I whisper.

Noah moans, pushing gently at my hips. I move to the side so he can open his belt and fly, push his pants down enough to take himself out. Rob cups my breasts from behind, and we watch Noah stroke his ready cock.

“Nice,” Rob says, lips on my neck. One of his hands roams down, gathers my skirt, slides back inside my panties, and finds my clit. I moan at the touch and lean into him, attention jumping between Noah’s dick and face. He’s beyond horny: lids nearly closed, mouth open in a silent, continuous moan.

“Touch him,” Rob whispers.

I knead Noah’s thigh, watch his hand until it takes mine and wraps it around his hard flesh. He covers my fist with his and guides my pulls. Bossy. Rob’s wet fingers strum my clit in taunting circles, slide into my lips now and again to give a tiny taste of penetration.

“You wanna suck him?” Rob asks. “You wanna suck him while I fuck you?”

I force my mouth to form the noise. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Noah echoes.

“Do it.” Rob’s fingers leave my pussy. He stands, pushes the coffee table away, and strips his shirt off, drops his jeans and shorts and kneels on the floor. I watch him pump himself until he’s long and hard and flushed dark; then I join him, getting to my knees before the couch. Noah’s eyes take it all in as Rob flips my skirt up, yanks my panties down my legs. He pushes my thighs wide with his. He teases his head over my clit, bathes it in my juices. “Fuck, she’s so wet.”

“Yeah.” Noah stands and pulls his shirt off, kicks away his pants and underwear. He sits back down on the couch before me, naked and hard. He tugs gently at my shoulders, and I scoot forward, bracing my arms along his thighs. Rob comes forward as well, and his hips meet my ass, cock finding my pussy, sliding along my wet lips.

“Good,” Rob mumbles. He sets a steady rhythm with his hips, and I match it with my hands, massaging Noah’s thighs as I watch him stroke himself. Behind me is the most factually attractive man I’ve ever had the good fortune of seeing naked. Despite the talented motions of his dick teasing me, he barely registers. I’m so locked on Noah that the rest of the world is fading to gray around him.

“Ready?” Rob asks, cutting through my haze.

“Yeah.”

He reaches between our bodies, angles his head to me. His cock presses hard, finds my entrance after a second, and slides in deep in one thrust.

“Yes,” I moan, hot from so much more than just the wonderful feeling of him filling me. Hot from the whole dynamic, hot from Noah’s eyes on us. He looks hungry and enthralled and a little afraid, just how I’m feeling. He’s offering himself up to this filthy turn of events, and that gives me permission to do the same, to quit overanalyzing and just wallow in the moment.

Rob starts pumping, possessive hands on my waist. “Yeah, so tight.”

“Harder,” I say, shutting my eyes and just feeling. Listening. I want to hear his body slapping mine, his voice reduced to animalistic moans. I want every filthy thing about this moment multiplied until I can’t even recognize myself.

Noah groans. I open my eyes to find him staring, hypnotized. “That’s so fucking hot.”

“Stroke him,” Rob says.

I take Noah obediently in hand. He’s rock-hard, throbbing. He pumps himself into my grip and watches Rob fuck me.

“Take her,” he says.

Rob leans in close, a hand holding either side of my ribs, his hips pumping fast.

“Fuck her,” Noah says. “Make her nice and wet for me.”

A bolt of exquisite, nasty longing zaps through my body as Noah takes control, asserts himself as the one dishing out commands. Rob obeys, pounds me, fucks me with long, explicit strokes, makes me feel every inch of him.

“Yeah, yeah.” He slaps my ass. “Suck him, Abby.”

I look up at Noah’s face, seeking permission, wanting to make it clear it’s his orders I’m following, not Rob’s. His mouth parts, and he licks his lips. “Do it,” he says.

I nod. Noah scoots closer, spreading his thighs wide open. Rob slows as I lean in and tease Noah’s head with my tongue.

“Yeah,” Noah moans.

“Lick him,” Rob says.

I lap his cock, tasting his skin, his precum.

The rough thrusts return. I let the impact rule, let Noah slip deeper into my mouth with each bump of Rob’s hips.

“Suck him, Abby.” Rob pounds me hard, spanks me. “He’s nice and thick, isn’t he?”

Noah groans as my lips tighten around him with affirmation. “She likes it.”

“Don’t let him come,” Rob tells me.

I slow my mouth, concentrate on every tiny sensation as I give Noah light, teasing head. I flicker my tongue over his slit and fondle his balls, make him moan.

“More,” he begs. His hands urge my head closer. I ease my lips down his cock, worshipping him, wanting him to feel big and powerful, all the things he is to me when we fuck alone. Another slap from Rob pulls me out of the hormonal clouds, lands me back on my knees on my living room rug. I’m torn between the undeniable hotness of what’s happening and an urge to protect Noah, the sanctity of me and Noah. But the impulse is ridiculous, and it has no place in what’s happening in this room or in my arrangement with either of these men. I push it away, let myself get lost in the taboo.

“She’s so greedy,” Rob says. “She wants us both.”

I do. I’m filled by these men, but I want more. I want to drown in them, in their desires and sounds and smells, in their simultaneous pleasure and in mine. I moan around Noah’s cock.

“You want us both?” he whispers, gathering my messy hair back from my face.

I moan again.

“What do you think?” he asks Rob.

“Let’s give her what she wants.” Rob pounds me hard for another minute before he withdraws. I let Noah’s cock go as Rob helps me to my feet. He peels my shirt up as I feel Noah’s hands on my skirt, easing the stretchy waistband down my hips. As Rob kisses me, Noah undoes my bra clasp, palms my freed breasts, and tweaks my nipples to hard peaks. I feel Noah’s smooth chest and stomach against me, his cock at my lower back. He pulls my hair to one side and kisses my neck. I feel lost between their two bodies, my attention yanked between too many hands and mouths and rumbling voices, mind swimming. I feel drunk, as though my body’s not my own: just a pleasurable vehicle taking my brain along for the ride, too fast to allow for questions or hesitation. Rob leads me past the kitchen by the hand, Noah close behind. Rob lies on the bed, and I let him pull me down and press his sweat-slick chest along my back. I don’t know exactly what he’s got planned, but I won’t deny him. Tonight I trust him with my pleasure the way I trust Noah with everything else.

“Bring your leg up,” Rob murmurs in my ear. I swivel my hip, and he grabs my leg behind the knee, propping it up as his cock slides into my pussy from behind. “Yeah.”

Noah watches from beside the bed, silhouetted by the light from the kitchen. He sits on the mattress and draws close, stretches out facing me, putting his hand to my waist as Rob sets his rhythm. He kisses me, deep and sweet. The contact feels so odd, one man’s sensual tongue teasing mine, the other’s cock pumping into me, rough.

“You feel good?” Noah asks. I sense his gaze boring into mine in the relative darkness.

“Yeah. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Do you want me too?” His hand holds me tight, and his hips close in until his erection presses against my mons and belly.

“I think so.”

“She wants us both,” Rob moans, cock sliding in and out, so hot. So wrong. Still, we’re the only witnesses to what’s happening here in my bed, and my body’s telling me the only way I’ll regret this evening is if I back out now and miss my chance.

Noah kisses me again. He sucks me into him, into his desire, into this gift. I take hold of his dick between us, stroke him, measure his girth again with my hand, wonder if such a feat would be possible, let alone pleasurable.

“Try it,” I say. “There’s lube in the bedside table.”

Noah pulls away and grabs the bottle from the drawer, squirts a measure into my palm. “Get me ready.”

I rub the slippery liquid up and down his length until he’s panting.

“She’s so tight,” Rob says over my shoulder. “Let’s make it tighter.”

Noah’s mouth drops open, and I know he wants this too.

“Go on,” I say. Then I lower my voice so only he can hear, put my lips to his ear. “It feels so empty without you.”

“Come on,” Rob grunts. “Let’s spread her wide open.”

Noah reaches down and takes his cock from me. I hold my breath as he guides himself close. He’s watching—watching Rob already fucking me. Rob pulls out so just his head is penetrating.

“Do it.”

Noah puts himself there, eases his head inside me alongside Rob’s. The pleasure, the fear, the sheer nastiness of it is a drug.

“You ready, Abby?” Noah whispers against my lips.

“Yeah.”

He pushes, forcing himself in, forcing me open. Rob pushes too, and as they sink deeper, I stretch, my body cautious.

“Slow, boys,” I mutter.

“Just relax,” Noah says, and I do, because it’s him. His voice, a stranger’s only days ago, calms me. He pushes in another inch, surpassing Rob for a moment. It feels amazing, their cocks sliding against each other inside me.

“Yeah,” Rob moans, and he forces himself deeper. “This is so fucking tight.”

“Yeah,” Noah echoes.

“You’re so big. Both of you.”

“That’s what you like, isn’t it?” Rob teases, voice right in my ear. “Nice big dicks?”

“I love it.”

“How does it feel, taking us both?” He starts to pump at a slow pace as Noah holds still.

“It feels…really fucking dirty.”

Noah pumps too now, two pairs of hips pinning me, two hard dicks filling me, two men’s strong legs tangled between mine. I squeeze Noah’s shoulders and push my face against his throat, lost. “God, fuck me.”

“Can you come?” Noah asks. He asks it quietly, a private whisper. The intimacy of his voice and question thrills me as much anything else happening to my body.

“I can try,” I whisper back.

His hand leaves my waist, slipping down between our damp bodies. His two fingers find my clit amid the crush of hot flesh, and I groan at the touch. I lean back enough to meet Noah’s half-closed eyes.

Rob pumps faster. Noah keeps his thrusts steady and predictable.

“We’re fucking you,” Noah tells me, and the words light a trail of fire from his fingers through my clit, up my belly to my breasts and cheeks. “We’re fucking you, Abby.”

“Yeah,” Rob moans. The bossy self-assurance has left his voice, replaced by desperate excitement. “Do you like it? You like two cocks?”

“I love it.” And I do…though perhaps not for the reasons I let Rob assume. I love this for more than my own selfish pleasure, but as an exploration, something I’m sharing with the man whose sex-addled face is just an inch from mine.

Noah’s fingertips tease me toward rapture.

“Maybe we’ll both shoot together,” Rob says. “Would you like that? Both of us? Filling you up with our cum? Just like we’re filling your pussy with our big cocks?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Yeah, you want that.”

I only half understand what he’s saying. I’m falling over the edge. Noah’s expert fingers are dragging me down into the dark, beautiful oblivion of my pleasure. My feet twitch and kick, toes curling.

“Come on. Come on,” Noah urges. For him, I will. I let go, falling away. For a few beautiful, suspended seconds, I feel nothing but our three bodies as one, our smells, our sounds, our shared desire, their cocks impossibly big inside my clenching cunt.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Rob joins me. I feel him, frantic and needy, hips slapping my ass. He pushes deep and holds, his body pressed rigid and damp against my back as he comes.

“Good,” Noah murmurs, and he’s saying it to me. He’s still. As Rob slides out, he does too. He kisses me lightly, and I feel his cock—stiff, slick from me and from Rob—pressed against my belly.

Rob runs a hand down my side, and his voice is breathy behind my ear. “Beautiful.”

I turn my head to smile at him. “Thank you.”

Rob seems suddenly unsure of what to do, the dynamics between us three so different with the intoxication of the sex stripped away.

“I’ll leave you two,” Rob finally says. I assume he knows where to find the envelope. I don’t want to say it loud. Not now. Not in front of Noah.

For a couple minutes I listen to him gathering his clothes, using the bathroom, letting himself out. I feel Noah release a deep breath against my neck.

He pulls away and looks me in the eyes. “Would you come with me a minute?”

I get up and follow him to the bathroom. I feel Rob’s cum dripping down my thigh, as though he’s still with us. Noah leans inside the shower and turns the taps, fusses until the temperature’s to his liking.

He holds out a hand to say I should get in. He joins me in the steam and the warm water, kisses me lightly. He takes my soap from the caddy and lathers his hands. I let him run them over my shoulders, up and down my back, over my breasts, my hips, my butt. He kneels and soaps my legs, then turns the bar in his hands until they’re coated in lather. He coaxes me to stand wider, and he washes me. His touch is gentle against my savaged, sensitized lips and clit, intimate as he soaps my curls. I know what he’s doing. I let him. I let him bathe me until he’s convinced that Rob’s gone, that he’s the only man here with me. I study Noah on his knees, so reverential. We both know what he’s doing is a violation of the entire point of recruiting two men for this job, but I don’t stop him. I don’t want to. I want this intimacy as badly as I thought I wanted anonymity.

As the bathing comes to an end, he stands. He rests his chin on my temple, sighs deeply, clears his throat as the water rinses the soap from our bodies. No words come, so I take over. I shut the taps off and grab him a towel, and we dry off together in the silence left in the water’s wake. When we’re done I walk back to my bedroom, and he follows. I tug the bedspread flat, trying to erase the wrinkles and lumps from earlier, the evidence.

We lie on our sides on the covers, facing each other with our knees linked.

“Tonight was the craziest thing I’ve done, sexwise,” Noah whispers. “I didn’t actually know I was capable of anything like that.”

I study his chest with its faint spray of soft hair. “It’s the dirtiest thing I’ve ever done too. By far… I hope you won’t feel creepy about it. I hope you won’t feel weird at your boxing studio now.”

I glance up as Noah makes a face, a familiar glimmer of the man I’ve come to know. “I’m a grown-up.”

I let him think a while longer, combing his wet hair with my fingers as I wait patiently for him to speak.

“I’m sorry about what I did,” he says. “In the shower. That wasn’t fair. I know that’s not what we’re all about.”

I purse my lips, eyes glued to his chin as I mull it over. “I think you and me are probably equally guilty when it comes to fucking up the politics of this experiment. And to be honest, I thought it was sweet that you did that.”

He angles his head and kisses me lightly, apologetically. The room still reeks of sex, the smell hanging potent around our clean bodies.

“You can still make it up to me, Noah.” I hope the tease comes off as gentle and innocuous as I’m intending. I drag my lips along his jaw, kiss his ear, listen to his breathing. He tenses—first with caution, then excitement. His mouth takes mine, tongue explicit and deep as the groans rumbling in his chest.

He rolls me onto my back, grabs the lube, and gets himself ready. He spreads me wide with his knees and slides in, just the faintest sting from the gel on my tender lips. Noah grunts and holds himself still, savoring something—maybe the fact that I’m all his now. That’s what I’m feeling, at any rate. I want to spoil him, make him feel as if he’s only man on the face of the Earth.

“I need you, Noah.”

“Yeah?”

“I need you to fuck me, give me all your cum. You’re the only one I want.”

He starts to thrust, going from controlled to frantic in less than a minute, arms locked tight around my back. I grin unseen over his shoulder, loving his strong body above mine, his deep grunts, the flex of his ass under my palms.

“Come on, Noah. Come for me. Nice and hard.”

He answers with his hips, fucking me deep and graceless and greedy.

“Come on. Come on.”

“Fuck, Abby.”

“Shoot it deep.”

He hammers me hard, then freezes, holds, pushes his hips into mine so hard I feel the bite of bone on bone. I rub his back as his body melts and his breathing returns. He slides out and lies beside me, curls against my side as I hug my knees. I feel his lips on my shoulder, kissing idly for a couple minutes; then he’s out—asleep. I reach over and stroke his hair and cheek, smile at him.

Noah wakes just as I’m about to nod off. He makes an adorable noise, a soft, startled snore; then I see him blinking in the low light.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

We cuddle for ten minutes, exchange a few lazy kisses. Finally Noah clears his throat and breaks our silence.

“Hey, Abby…”

“Yeah?”

He kisses my shoulder, thinks for a moment. “How come you’re doing all this the way you are? The conception? And I don’t mean the sex.”

“What, then?”

“I mean, why me and him? Why strangers? Why…single? I know this’ll sound cheesy and probably a little patronizing…but I can’t imagine you couldn’t find a good guy and settle down and do this the…”

“Old-fashioned way?”

He shrugs and nods. “You’re pretty and smart and interesting, and you’ve got your life together. I’ve met you under the strangest circumstances imaginable, and you still don’t seem psycho at all.”

I laugh. “Even after tonight?”

He nods again.

“Well, thanks. I guess I just don’t want to wait. Even if I met the right guy tomorrow, I’d still need a long time to know if he’s really right. Right enough to be my kid’s father. And at the risk of sounding a bit desperate, I don’t think I can wait another two or four or more years.”

“Sure.”

“I ended a serious relationship this summer,” I say. “I’d been going out with my boyfriend for almost three years, and we weren’t even living together yet. I think I loved him, but I know it would’ve taken me another three years to figure out if he was The One or whatever. The traditional way is just…too damn slow. For me, anyway, because I’m sort of cautious, believe it or not. But my body’s still like, tick-tock, tick-tock,” I add, tapping my middle. “Biological time bomb. But I knew I didn’t want to settle down with the most convenient guy just because my ovaries started calling the shots. That probably makes me seem obnoxious and wishy-washy.”

“It sounds like he probably just wasn’t the right guy,” Noah says, “if you still had all that room for doubt.”

“That was pretty much my thinking in the end. But you know how it is when there’s nothing actually wrong with someone but they still aren’t quite right. It makes everything really confusing.”

“Yeah,” Noah says. “Those break-ups are the worst. When you don’t have a good reason for why you’re ending it.”

I nod my passionate agreement. “So yeah. That’s why I’m doing this the crazy way.”

“Makes sense to me.” Noah kisses my forehead, shifts his body. Something about the drag of his sweat-damp skin against mine ushers reality in, tightens me up as rational thought drives away the lazy tenderness.

“I think I have to ask you not to spend the night tonight.” I say this to his ear since I can’t seem to look him in the eye. “Just because this whole evening was sort of…complicated. I think I need to just be by myself, sit around in my pajamas, and you know, come down from it.”

“Sure.”

“But I promise I’m not upset you came over.”

He kisses my temple again. “It’s okay if you are. Don’t worry about my feelings. I’m tough.”

I nod, wishing it were that simple. Wishing it was anywhere near as simple as I’d envisioned.

Noah rolls away and gets up. I follow suit, and we get dressed, both wearing polite smiles, a vaguely uncomfortable energy strung heavily between us. My stomach growls as he’s tying his shoes. I glance at the coffee table at the three identical half-drunk glasses of wine. I glance at the bare tree branches outside in the streetlight. I feel guilty sending Noah out into the dark and cold after everything that’s gone on, but I know if he stays and spends the night, I’ll wake up tomorrow not knowing what he is to me anymore.

I have a thought, jog to my tiny office space, and scribble him a check, a desperate little attempt to reassert the rules of this fucked-up arrangement.

I get back as he’s shrugging his coat on. “Here,” I say.

Noah winces, opens his mouth, closes it, stares down at the check with a blank expression. I worry I’ve insulted him, but I need something about this night to go according to the plan. He folds the paper neatly and slips it into his pocket. “Thanks.”

“Sure. Enjoy the movie,” I add.

“Yeah.” That one dispirited syllable tells me Noah’s not going to see Mean Streets tonight, maybe not ever again, now that it’s tangled up in the memory of the psychotic threesome he deigned to have with a sperm-hungry harpy and her other willing donor.

“See you later, Abby.”

I open the door and close it behind him, listen to him clomp down the steps. A car starts up outside, idles for a minute. I’m aching to go to the window and watch him drive away, but I don’t want him to look up and catch me. I hear an engine rev and ice crunch, listen to Noah pull out, heading back to Jamaica Plain and away from all the confusion I surely brought into his life—maybe regret, if the memory of this night greets him tomorrow with a hard slap as he wakes.

I rub my face, feeling about a hundred years old. I click on the TV so I’ll have more than just my cyclical internal monologue for company. I flip channels until I find a bad prime-time drama, consolidate the three glasses of wine into one, dig some leftovers out of the fridge and toss them in the microwave, embrace my spinsterhood. Flopping back down on the couch, I remind myself that this is about a baby, and that babies conceived during their selfish mothers’ impromptu threesomes aren’t any less deserving of love than ones from boring old happy marriages.

An ad for fabric softener comes on a while later, and I wad my napkin up and toss it at the perfect mother on the screen, swaddling her toddler in a fluffy towel. “She conceived you in a port-a-potty at the county fair,” I tell the child. “Your dad was a carnie. They were very much in love, but he died in a tragic Tilt-a-Whirl accident.”

The child ignores me, lost in the rapture of tumble-dried terrycloth. I zap the TV off and head to bed, praying I’ll wake up a different person.

Chapter Four

I never knew how many kinds of pregnancy tests there are.

For ten minutes or more I stare at boxes in the crowded downtown drugstore near my work, blocking the family planning aisle with my fistfuls of Christmas shopping bags. Eventually I pick two: a cheaper one of the pink-line, blue-line variety, and a more expensive one with a digital read-out.

I grab a can of soup, knowing I’ll be in no mental shape to cook anything decent when I get home, no matter the outcome. The woman in the next line over casts tactlessly nosy looks at my purchases as I pay. I stick out my tongue at her back as she leaves, and the cashier laughs.

As I’m skirting the snowy Common to get on the red line, I’m so lost in my thoughts I practically knock Noah Aubrey down before he gets my attention.

“Oh God. Sorry, Noah. I was worlds away.”

He smiles his nervous smile. We haven’t spoken since the night of the impromptu threesome, but I feel relieved by the simple fact that he intercepted me when he could just as easily have run off.

“How have you been?” he asks. “You excited for Christmas?” I know what he really wants to know—the exact same thing I do: am I knocked up yet?

“Yeah, I’m officially ready.” I waggle my many bags. “You?”

He nods, chewing his lip. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Just thought I’d say hello.”

“You aren’t making me uncomfortable. I’m just… I’ve got pregnancy tests in my purse,” I say with a laugh. “They feel like nitroglycerin. I’m just eager to get home and…you know.”

He nods again, for longer than I’ve ever seen a person nod before; then he finally asks, “Do you want a ride? That’s a lot of bags to cram on the subway.”

I think for a minute, not knowing what the right answer is. I haven’t seen Noah in nearly two weeks, and if I’m completely honest, I’ve missed him, in spite of the strange way we parted. After a few seconds’ deliberation, I realize what I’m doing is already a hot mess, so blurring our boundaries for another twenty minutes probably can’t fuck things up much worse.

“Sure, Noah. I’d love that.”

He takes a couple of my bags, and we reroute toward the underground garage. “Aren’t you on break?” I ask.

“Technically. But I came in to view some student films. Hence the shabby clothes.” He gestures to his jeans and sneakers.

“I hate to break it to you, but all the cool professors wear jeans to class.”

He nods, smiling. “Maybe. But I’m still pretty new, so I have to trick my students into respecting me in whatever ways I can… What do you do, anyway? I can’t believe I never bothered to ask you that.”

“I work in the legal department of an architectural firm.” I point in the direction of Chinatown, toward my office. “Zoning laws and permits…very sexy stuff.”

He holds open the door to the underground garage’s vestibule. “You like it?”

“I do. I’ve always liked that kind of law. Especially in Boston. The antiquated, ridonkulous little colonial-throwback rules are fascinating.” We take the elevator down two levels and head to his car.

“Are there law nerds the same way there’s film nerds?” he asks.

“Oh God yeah. I bet any field with minutia to memorize attracts its fair share of know-it-alls.”

Noah unlocks his little hatchback, and we shove my bags into his backseat. I strap myself in, and he starts the car. Unable to resist, I open my purse and take out the expensive test’s box, unfold the instructions. I feel Noah’s eyes on me as we get in line to exit the garage.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m probably crapping all over semi-anonymous sperm-recipient etiquette, doing this with you right there. But I’m really nervous. This is a really important night for me.”

“I’ll bet.”

“I haven’t felt like this since I was waiting to hear back about law school applications. Feel free to dump me at a T stop if it gets too weird for you.” I scan the paper, feeling like maybe the looming result is encrypted in the directions.

“You’re fine,” Noah says, turning us onto Charles Street. “I hope it comes up however you want it to, Abby.” He turns for a second to look at me when he says this.

I smile tightly and nod. “Thanks.” I don’t know what Noah feels for me, but I can appreciate the effort I suspect it’s taking him to sound so casual.

“How’s, um…how’s your family taking this whole thing?”

“They don’t know yet,” I say. “Actually, you and…” I forget his name for a few seconds. As handsome as I know it is, I’ve almost completely forgotten his face in the last two weeks. “Rob. You and Rob are the only people who know about the plan. I figured I’d clue my family and friends in once I’m in too deep to get talked out of it.”

“I could see that. Sounds kind of lonely, though. Not that I know the first thing about it, of course.”

“It doesn’t feel too lonely,” I say. “It feels exciting, like I’m planning something in secret to surprise them. My parents trust my decisions. I mean, they have to since I’m thirty-two, but I don’t think it’ll freak them out. I think they’ll be eighty percent excited, twenty percent worried for me.”

“That’s a healthy mix.”

“I figured if it turned out to be really tough, getting pregnant, I didn’t want to put anybody else through that stress. I want to bring them in right at the happy part and deal with any frustration on my own.”

“They live close?”

I nod. “In Marblehead.”

“Could be an exciting Christmas.”

“They’ll be in the Bahamas, actually.” My heart deflates at the thought.

“Brothers or sisters?” Noah asks.

“I have a younger sister, but she’s out in California. If I’m not preggers, I’ll probably call on my Jewish friends to invite me over for Chinese food.”

“And if you are?”

I make a thoughtful face. “Me and the embryo will probably hang out on our own…drinking sparkling cider. Watching Christmas specials.”

We drive over the river just as light, harmless flakes begin to drift from the gray sky.

“Have you thought about names or anything?” Noah asks. “Unless you’re not comfortable talking about that kind of stuff. With me.”

“Trust me, I’ve thought about pretty much nothing but baby stuff for the last six months. You’re the one I’m worried about traumatizing, talking about this.”

“I don’t mind. I think it’s kind of fascinating. Could’ve been a cool documentary, if I’d thought of it sooner.”

I smile. “Well, I guess I won’t know for sure until I meet the baby, but for a girl’s name, I like Audrey.”

Noah laughs.

“What?”

“Sorry. I just thought, thank goodness this didn’t happen in some alternate reality where you and I were actually a couple. Audrey Aubrey would be in for a lifetime of stolen lunch money.”

I laugh too. “Abby Aubrey’s not much better.”

He snorts.

“But anyway, for a boy I like Lucas.”

Noah nods, and we’re quiet for a while.

When we get to my neighborhood, I feel suddenly scared of being alone with my tests in my empty condo. Still, no way in hell I’d ask this kind, thoughtful man to join me. Mostly because I suspect he’d say yes.

He eases up alongside the curb. “Well, good luck. I’ll have my fingers crossed for you.”

“Thanks. And thanks for the ride.”

We sit in silence for a moment.

“Well,” I say through a sigh. “I’ll let you know what happens, so you’ll know to expect a check or not.”

Noah looks poised to say something; then his mouth closes and he just smiles.

I open my door, and Noah does the same. He grabs half my bags and walks me up the front steps.

“Thanks,” I say again

“Have a good Christmas, Abby.” Noah leans down and kisses me on the cheek, well choreographed to be more brotherly than romantic. He straightens and offers me a cheesy smile, holds up two sets of crossed fingers.

“Merry Christmas.” I wave as he slams his car door and glances at me through the window. When he drives away he takes all the warmth in the world with him, takes all the sparkle out of the snow, and leaves nothing but cold air and salty brown slush.

* * *

Two days later on Christmas morning, I find a letter in my mailbox from Noah. He must have dropped it off himself, since there’s no stamp. The thought makes me feel warm even as the message hidden inside the business-sized envelope sets my nerves buzzing. I drop the thank-yous I’d brought downstairs into the box and carry the mystery letter back up, heart beating harder with every step. I take a seat and a deep breath and rip the end open, pull out the letter. Three slips of paper flutter out as I unfold it: his checks for services rendered. Rob deposited his a week ago. I let them sit on the rug while I read Noah’s small, tidy handwriting.

Merry Christmas, Abby. I hope everything is going well for you. I decided to return the checks. I don’t feel wrong taking them, but I wanted to say I enjoyed everything I may have done to help you, and I don’t really want any money for it. Consider it a Christmas present. If you got good news and you don’t need my genetic materials anymore, please don’t worry about the big check either. Use it to spoil your future baby. That’s better than anything I would have thought to spend it on.

If you didn’t get such good news yet, feel free to give me a call next time you’re ovulating, if you want. I’d be happy to help again. But hopefully I’ll run into you in the park again in a few months, and you’ll be as round as a beach ball. I hope you’ll forgive my indiscretion if I give you a thumbs-up as I pass.

All the best, Noah.

I fold the letter and slide it and the checks into the envelope, file it away neatly with the waivers. I head back to the living room, click on the TV, and skim through the channels, taking nothing in. I pick up my phone and turn it over and over in my hand, and soon enough I mute the television, flip it open, and dial Noah’s number. I realize as it’s ringing that it’s Christmas morning, and Noah picks up just as I’m about to hit End.

“Hi, Abby.” His voice is hushed, and I hear music and voices in the background.

“Hi. Sorry, I totally forgot it was Christmas. I can call later if you’re busy.”

“No, now’s fine. I’m at my sister’s house in Arlington. All the exciting stuff’s already done with. My nephews had everybody up by six. I don’t recommend having twins if you can help it.”

“Oh…that sounds nice.” I feel so suddenly lonely I want to burst into tears. “Well, I just called because I got your letter. That was very sweet, thank you. And if you change your mind about the money, feel free to tell me so.”

“I won’t, but thanks.”

There’s an awkward silence, me wanting Noah to ask about the test, him surely wanting me to shit or get off the conversational pot.

“I um…I didn’t take the test yet,” I finally say. “I chickened out.”

“Oh.”

“I might just wait and see if my period turns up. Anyhow, no word on whether or not I’ll need you next month.”

“That’s cool,” Noah says. “If you do, my schedule’s wide open till classes start on the twentieth.”

“Okay. Great. Well, anyway. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Abby.”

I slap my phone shut and rub my face, surely beet red with embarrassment. At least Noah and I are equal in our utter uselessness about knowing when to call or turn up.

I spend a couple zombielike hours puttering, wondering if I should go hang out with friends tonight. I want the company, but I don’t want anyone asking why I’m not drinking. I guess I could say I don’t feel well… Just the thought of this excuse is a relief, and I realize that lonely or not, I don’t want to go out.

I’m just settling in with a fresh stack of thank-yous and a DVD of It’s a Wonderful Life when my doorbell rings. I frown at my pajama bottoms and flip-flops and camisole. I grab my robe off the back of the couch and launch myself down the stairwell, practically suffocating on hope. My wish comes true, and there’s Noah standing on the front steps, a Tupperware in one hand. I work hard to keep my smile friendly, suppress the crazy grin that’s itching to consume my face. I look between Noah and his car parked on my curb like an old friend.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Abby. You um, sounded sort of down on the phone. So here I am.”

My face crumples, and I start crying, as shocked by my reaction as Noah must be.

“Uh…”

I take a step down onto the stoop and toss myself into his arms, not caring if I frighten him away or not. I just need another human to hug me, and he’s the one who showed up. He’s the one my heart suspected would appear when I needed him most, and here he is. The best kind of predictable. Dependable. He squeezes me hard and keeps his strong arms tight until I pull back. I rub my sleeves over my face, glad I didn’t have any makeup on to smear.

“Sorry,” I say. “I was feeling really lonely. Christmas is a lousy time to not be able to talk to your family or friends about your crackpot conception scheme.”

He nods. “I’ll be your friend, if you want.”

“You want to come up?” I ask through a laugh. If anything’s going to scare a man away, it’s got to be the hysterical neediness of the woman who solicited him for his sperm. But Noah doesn’t look terrified, only kind.

“Sure.” He follows me up the steps. “I brought you some cookies.” He rattles the Tupperware as he pushes his shoes off, slides his coat from his shoulders, and leaves his apple green scarf on. His sweater is deep red, and he looks like six feet of much-needed Christmas standing in my living room.

I shut the droning TV off and take the cookies. “Thanks. Sorry again about the phone call. I promise I wasn’t trying to get you to come over like this.”

“I don’t mind if you were.”

His answer scares me a little, the old fear of complication sneaking through as the relief endorphins dissipate. I nod.

“Can I do something? Make you some coffee?” he asks.

I pull my shit together. “No no no. I’ll make you some coffee.”

He follows me into the kitchen, and I arrange the sugar cookies on a plate. It’s easy to spot the homely ones that were frosted by a child. They make me smile. I set the plate right where Rob’s daisies had been. I tossed those a while ago, before they were even officially wilted.

Once the kettle’s on to boil, I excuse myself for a minute to get my face in order and pull my messy hair back—it curls up like nobody’s business when I don’t bother with the blow-dryer, and I hadn’t been in the mood to bother with much of anything today. Noah’s flipping through a book about pregnancy at my breakfast bar when I come back in, and I grin at him, feeling caught.

He closes it. “It’s crazy what complicated stuff you ladies get up to, biologically. Makes me feel like nothing more than a DNA squirt gun.”

“I like to think of myself more like an Easy-Bake Oven.” I sit beside him, let him take hold of my knees and swivel me on the stool until my feet are dangling between his.

“You know,” I say, “it’s strange that I know your blood type and sperm count and what your grandparents died of, but I don’t even know like…your favorite band.”

Noah smiles. “Sonic Youth.”

“You know what I mean… Sometimes I feel like I’ve known you for ages. Then other times I look at you and I think, ‘who is this strange man in my kitchen?’”

“Which do you feel right now?”

“Right now I feel like we must’ve gone to kindergarten together. But then tomorrow it might take me a minute to even remember your last name.”

Noah just nods, and we’re silent for a few moments. I’m adrift in a sea of what-ifs. What if I’m pregnant? What if I’m not? What if I am and it’s Rob’s, not Noah’s? Would I love it any less?

Noah interrupts my racing internal dialogue. “I’ll stay with you. While you do the test. If you want.”

“Things feel blurry between us,” I say. “Do they feel blurry to you?”

He nods again. “I like you. You probably knew that.”

“I wondered.”

“I know that’s really shitty of me. And it was probably shitty of me to come over today or give you back the checks or even stay the night those two times. I know I’ve broken a lot of unspoken rules. It’s pretty unfair. I’m surprised you’re not royally pissed off at me.”

I shrug. “I let you do all those things. We broke the rules together.”

“I guess.”

“Can you tell me how you feel, exactly? About me? Like, what do you want to happen with us now?” I hold my breath, not sure what reply I want to hear. One answer could break my heart, but the other could turn my life upside down and force me to rethink a decision I already accepted as best.

Noah stares at our knees. “It’s hard to say. I mean, we really don’t know each other. But I think you’re just…fascinating. And part of it is the idea that you could be carrying my child. It’s hard to just push that concept out of my head, you know?” He meets my eyes.

I nod, impressed by his honesty and self-awareness. “I’ll bet.”

“But I don’t have any expectations. I signed your waiver, and I’m not going to try and renege on it. That said, I won’t lie to you… This whole thing is a million times more complex than I ever expected. I don’t know how I’ll feel if I see you pushing a stroller in the park someday.”

The kettle whistles, and I fill the French press, eyes on Noah to tell him I’m listening.

“Part of me feels really desperately like I want us to be friends,” he goes on, “so I’ll be allowed to walk up to you and say hello and squeeze your baby’s little hand without feeling like a creep. Or a…a nobody.”

“That might be possible,” I say. “Lots of people use their friends as surrogates and donors.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I should just do the test. So we don’t go constructing elaborate scenarios when I might not even be pregnant.”

“That might be a good idea.”

I nod my head passionately, putting down my foot for the both of us. “Definitely.” I leave Noah and do fearlessly what I haven’t been able to for the past few days. I march into the bathroom and pee on a stick.

“Done,” I say as I return to the kitchen. “Three minutes.”

“What should we do for three minutes?” he asks.

“Blur some more lines.”

I step over to where he’s sitting. Our eyes are level, my boring brown ones and his fascinating greenish gray ones. As much as I still genuinely crave genetic anonymity, I secretly hope my baby will come out with those eyes.

I lean in and kiss Noah, then let him take over. I knew he would, just as I knew it was him at my door, as I subconsciously knew he’d come over when my fingers dialed his number. His cool, smooth palms cup my face as his hot tongue slips between my lips. Before I know it we’re stumbling toward my room. I yank Noah’s sweater up his chest and over his head, and he pushes my duster off my shoulders. His big fingers fumble with the bow of my pajamas’ drawstring as my small ones struggle with his belt. After a minute’s frantic pawing, we get each other undressed in such a desperate rush you’d think a trophy were riding on it.

“God, Abby.” Noah pushes me onto my unmade bed, climbs on top of me. He’s ready—so hard it’s intimidating. He tries to push into me, but my body hasn’t caught up with his yet. I reach for my bedside table drawer and get the lube. I prep Noah while he does the same for me, two slick fingers sliding inside me, the stiff, thick cock in my fist promising me everything I want at this moment.

“I need you,” he mumbles, eyes unfocused as he guides his head to my pussy.

My hands scream their agreement, grasping his hips and tugging him close, driving that delicious, familiar length inside.

I hold him close for a moment, just savoring. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Noah starts to thrust, his body pumping fast and greedy, everything about it hot and needy and desperate—everything I want too. His moans are the deepest, most animalistic and wondrous sound I’ve ever heard, and my hands grip his ass, keeping the strokes rough and the sex dirty.

He groans, eyes shut tight, then flips us over so I’m on top. “Use me,” he begs. “Use my body.”

I do. I draw him in deep, stroke my burning clit along the base of his shaft with each thrust, lean back on my haunches, and stare down at him. He brings his knees up, cradling my butt and hips. I rock in his lap, the need so tight and hot between my legs I feel high.

“God, yeah. Fuck my cock, Abby. Come on.” His strong hands urge my hips, keep the rhythm fast as I lose coordination. His aggression is twice as hot as the thick heat spearing my pussy, the mean, horny look on his face sexier than every last perfect detail of what’s-his-name’s body put together.

“Fuck my cock. Fuck me.”

The pleasure hits its peak so suddenly I gasp. All the warmth and pressure and tension built up in my cunt shatters, floods my limbs and chest, and leaves me a panting, gasping mess, arms shoved under Noah’s back as I fight for breath. He’s moaning, hips thrusting softly between mine. He turns us over and starts pumping again, slower, steadier.

“Don’t be gentle,” I say. I don’t fear the tenderness as much as I simply crave the rougher stuff. This experiment is so intrinsically selfish, it’s a relief and a thrill when Noah makes it seem as if he’s the greedy one.

He locks his arms tight against my ribs, and I revel in his body, his raw, flexing muscles as he takes pleasure from me. I run my palms up and down his chest and stomach. “Good.”

“Oh fuck. I’m gonna come.”

“Good. Let me see it this time. Lemme see when you come, Noah.”

He hammers me for half a minute, grunting and moaning, skin slick under my palms, cock flashing between our bodies with every racing thrust.

“Oh fuck.” He pulls out, leans back, and jerks himself home, bathing my belly in that thing that’s become so intensely sacred to me. He strokes until there’s nothing left to give me; then he collapses at my side. He kisses me deep, and I feel his fingers rubbing the warm cum into my skin, possessive. I put my hand over his and join him. He laughs—a tiny, smug noise that warms my lips.

We lie together until our collective sweat cools, until neither of our minds is on the sex anymore.

Noah clears his throat. “Coffee’s probably ready.”

I don’t think for a second he’s any more concerned about the coffee than I am. We slowly get cleaned up and dress, and neither of us speaks until we’re back in the kitchen.

“You want me to stay in here, or…how do you want to do it?”

“Why don’t you come stand in the doorway while I check.”

He follows me to the bathroom. “Is it the two lines or a plus sign, or how does it work?”

“This one’s digital. It’ll just say ‘pregnant’ if it’s positive.”

“Ah.”

I keep my eyes away from where the tester waits on the rim of my sink. Noah leans in the threshold, and I reach back and take hold of his hand.

“Okay,” I say through a desperate, huffing sigh. “If it’s negative, that means I still get to drink on New Year’s.”

Noah squeezes my fingers. “Go on, Abby.”

I grab the smooth plastic wand and shut my eyes, bring it close. I open them.

“Oh my God.” My arm starts shaking, followed by my entire body. I hold the tester over my shoulder to show Noah that one immensely loaded digital word.

“Pregnant,” he reads.

I shake harder, clench my fists around the wand and Noah’s hand, and start to cry. I let Noah turn me around, and he hugs me so hard it knocks my wind out. I wrap my arms around his middle, bury my face against his warm, sweet-smelling neck. God, I hope it’s his. I want it to be. I want this man’s blood in my child’s veins as surely as I want his warm, strong body against mine right now.

I speak against his throat. “I hope it’s yours.”

“It’s yours,” he whispers, melting me. He stands up a little straighter, pushes me away enough to establish unsteady eye contact. “Even if it’s me who gave it to you, it’s just yours. I’m just going to be the best friend I can to you, for as long as you want me here. I don’t know if it’ll be anything near as simple as that, but that’s what I’ll try to do.”

“Thank you, Noah.”

We hug again, softer than before. I feel my nerves subsiding, and behind the adrenaline cloud, there’s a wide, blue sky of pure joy.

“Merry Christmas, Abby.”

I laugh and wipe my cheeks. “Thank you.”

“Do you want to be alone now?”

“No… You can go if you want, but I’d like you to stay. Let me pour you an insanely strong cup of lukewarm coffee. You can enjoy caffeine for the both of us. Holy shit—for the three of us.” I laugh, the sound caught somewhere between silly and maniacal.

“Sounds good.”

I fill a mug for Noah, and we sit at the breakfast bar, knees locked like zipper teeth, tester beside us on the counter.

“Thanks again,” I say, barely a whisper.

“You’re welcome.” Noah takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Congratulations. I’m really happy for you.”

“We should get to know each other,” I say, my subconscious hijacking my mouth, voicing what my gut wants even as my mind struggles to sabotage the impulse with its tiresome logic.

“Okay.”

“Why don’t you ask me over to Jamaica Plain some time? To your place. We can watch one of your favorite movies, and you can tell me nerdy film-buff things about it. Maybe go out for Thai or something. I can watch you drink.”

“Like a date?”

I turn that idea over in my head a few times. “I don’t know. Every ten minutes I seem to make a decision about you that complicates everything I thought I wanted to keep simple. I want to say, ‘let’s just be friends for a few months.’ But I honestly don’t trust my body to stay on that bandwagon.”

Noah looks thoughtful for a few breaths, stares at our hands when he speaks. “We’re both grown-ups…and this situation’s already woefully complex. We could try and just be friends, and if we fuck it up, we’ll just agree to not be psychos if things go totally Hindenburg.”

I nod my agreement, but I don’t really feel it. Feel it. If the past couple weeks—if the past half a year—taught me nothing else, it’s that my feelings make better decisions than my head. My feelings ended a comfortable relationship that was leading me nowhere, and they brought me the little white wand with its fabulous headline. “I already know we’ll fuck it up,” I tell Noah. “If we try to just be friends.”

His face falls. “Oh.”

“But that’s okay. I want to fuck that up. With you.”

He blinks, considers what I’m saying.

“I mean, we can pretend we’re just going to be friends…”

“But you think we’ll fail?” he asks.

I nod and smile. “Yeah. I want us to fail. I want to wake up in a few weeks with you and me as…as you and me. I don’t care if it messes everything up that was supposed to be simple.”

Noah’s lips purse. At first I think he’s hesitating; then I realize he’s suppressing a smile. “I’d like that too.”

I grin, reach out, and squeeze his thigh. He straightens up, looking instantly confident.

“So, would you like to come to J.P. this Friday after work?” he asks.

“Okay.”

“Cool. Meet me near the garage at five fifteen. I’ll get us a copy of Rosemary’s Baby.”

I punch Noah gently on the sternum.

“Firestarter.”

I hit him again.

“Raging Bull?”

“Better.” I smile at him, feeling suddenly very shy. “Should I bring an overnight bag?”

Noah shakes his head with well-faked conviction. “No, we’ll be good. I’ll give you a ride home after.”

“Okay.” I’m a big girl. I can live without Noah’s body for a night, maybe a few nights, if we decide to pay lip service to our half-assed attempt at staving off a relationship. And if we do manage it, the fact that I could be carrying his child is physical intimacy enough for the immediate future. Plus I’ll still have all the filthy-good sex memories to keep me going until we inevitably crack and wind up in bed together again. I give us about two weeks… But who am I kidding? I give us two hours.

I rub my thumbs over the backs of Noah’s hands and let them go. “I’d like that.”

“Me too.” He drains his coffee, sets the mug beside the plastic wand for a second, then slides it farther down the counter, as if that spot is reserved for more significant objects. “Well, I should head back to Arlington. My sister’s got more relatives due this afternoon. I’ve got my fingers crossed her in-laws might give my nephews Garage Band so I can totally commandeer it.”

“Cool.” I follow Noah to the living room and watch him get his coat and shoes back on. I follow him down the stairwell and out onto the front steps, savor a final study of his eyes in the silvery winter light. “What did you tell everyone when you disappeared to come over here?” I ask.

He grins. “I said a friend was having a tough time. That I’d be back when she was feeling better.”

I return his warm smile, wrap my arms around him for a quick hug. “She is, thank you. I’m going to start composing my speech for when my parents get back from their trip—the big announcement and all.”

“You should finish watching It’s a Wonderful Life,” he says. “I love that movie.”

“Oh yeah. One of Scorsese’s finest, I’m sure,” I joke.

He puts his hand on my arm, gives it a little squeeze. “Merry Christmas, Abby.”

“Merry Christmas. I’ll see you Friday. Oh—that’s New Year’s Eve.”

“I know. Is that okay?”

I think for a second about the symbolism of that evening, about new starts, the romantic adventure I suspect we’re about to embark on together. I grin. “Yeah, that’s just perfect.”

He gives me a big smile and makes an okay ring with his thumb and finger. “I’ll get you and the kid some sparkling cider.”

The kid. I like that. “Thanks,” I say. I scream it in my head, thank you thank you thank you.

He heads down the front walk and calls back, “We’re going to be just fine, Abby.”

“I know. Drive safe.”

“I will. Keep the kid warm.”

This time as I watch him drive away, it doesn’t hurt. I watch his brake lights flash red as he reaches the corner, and warmth bursts in my chest. I run my hand over my stomach, poke it with my finger.

Your father’s a very nice man, I tell my middle. He did a very nice thing for your crazy old mother, a nicer thing than anybody should be asked to.

I head upstairs out of the cold. I wash Noah’s mug and set it in the rack, head back to the couch, and turn the movie back on. I watch it and I cry and I laugh. I smile as George Bailey runs screaming through the middle of Bedford Falls. I think about clothes—about tiny baby clothes and about what I might wear on New Year’s Eve when I see Noah. I drum my fingers over my belly and look around my place, as content now as I was restless before. I decide I’ll learn how to knit. I’ll knit tiny socks and hats, maybe something homely but thoughtful for Noah, if that still seems advisable a month or more from now. Yes, I’ll learn to knit very soon. But for now I have thank-yous to finish. I know whose to write next, but no clue what to say.

In the end I just write Thanks in the center of the card, slide it into its red envelope. I don’t like the thought of it downstairs, waiting in the cold metal mailbox with the other notes, the ones saying thank you for earrings and gift cards and baked goods. No, I’ll give it to him myself when I see him on Friday. I’ll wave at him from across the park, and I won’t know exactly who it is I’m looking at yet, but I’ll suspect I’m looking at more than a friend, perhaps even more than the father of the child in my belly. Only time will tell, and that’s exciting. Everything is exciting. Everything good and unexpected and scary that will happen to me this next year, everything I succeed at, and everything I royally fuck up, will be exciting.

And I will be just fine.

Cara McKenna

Cara McKenna writes smart erotica—sexy stories with depth. A little dark, a little funny, always emotional. She also writes red-hot romance under the name Meg Maguire, and was a 2010 Golden Heart finalist. Her wonderful publishers are Ellora's Cave, Harlequin Blaze, Loose-Id, and Samhain. She loves writing sexy, character-driven stories about strong-willed men and women who keep each other on their toes, and bring one another to their knees.

Before becoming a purveyor of red-hot romance and smart erotica, Cara was a record store bitch, a lousy barista, a decent designer, and an overly enthusiastic penguin handler.

Cara now writes full-time and lives north of Boston with her extremely good-natured and permissive husband. When she's not trapped in her own head she can usually be found in the kitchen, the coffee shop, or jogging around the nearest duck-filled pond. She is a very proud member of the Romance Writers of America® and her local New England Chapter.

Find out more about Cara at http://www.caramckenna.com/.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Cara McKenna