Page 63 of What if It's Us

“Sure. Come in.”

Having been through this before we’re both at least familiar with the process and know what to do and how to do it.

“You alright?” I ask, remembering how nervous she was the last time.

Not unsurprisingly, she shakes her head. “Nope. Not even a little bit. Nothing about this is natural. I’m basically fucking with the universe and doing this whole parenthood thing completely out of order but I don’t want my eggs to shrivel up and die and then miss my chance at having a baby so…”

“I hear you. And you’re not alone in this, okay? I’m here. I’ll be right by your side.”

Her shoulders fall and she releases a big breath. “Does that mean you’ll help me again?”

“Whatever you need, Marlee. Promise.” I hold up the plastic cup she handed me a moment ago. “I’ll just be a minute.”

She nods and I excuse myself to the restroom. I turn on the shower light because that’s all the light I really need to do this and then I grab some lube from my toiletry bag. I’m certain it’sold as I haven’t brought a puck bunny back to my room in at least three seasons but does lube go bad?

Nah.

There’s something about the idea—something simultaneously perverse and tender—that never ceases to fuck with my head. The mechanics are simple; the feelings are not. I push that thought aside, focusing on the task, on the reason this has to happen tonight.

Squirting some of the lube onto my hand, I palm my cock and immediately think about the woman on the other side of my door who will be sprawled out on my bed in just a few minutes, her legs spread wide, waiting for me. Sure, I wish it were under different circumstances but fuck it. I’ll get to see that beautiful pink pussy again tonight. I’ll be so fucking close to it, I’ll be able to smell it. Touch it. Damn near taste it.

I brace one hand on the counter, gripping the cool porcelain, and let the other work me towards the inevitable as I slide my fist up and down my shaft coating it in lube.

Fuck, I bet she would take my cock like a dream.

I bet her saying my name while I’m balls deep inside her is the sweetest sound I could ever hear.

Envisioning Marlee laid out for me, glistening wet and wanting, has me stroking myself at a steady pace and I’m certain this won’t take long. I picture her plump round tits bouncing as she rides me with every pump of my fist, her nipples brushing against my lips, and the squeal of pleasure she’d release when I tug one into my mouth.

Yes!

Fuuuck. Me.

I squeeze harder, thumb circling the head of my cock, and picture her on the other side of the door, anxious and hopeful and, if I’m honest, just as lonely as I am. The ache creeps upfaster than usual, need pressed tight between my fingers and the relentless vision of her dark eyes waiting for me.

That’s all it takes for my balls to tighten and my spine to tingle and then I'm left panting alone, the world humming in the silence except for the wet sound of my own breathing and the increasingly desperate search for a wad of toilet paper. I collect myself, wipe off, and twist the lid on the sample container. The sight of it—this ungodly clinical trophy—hits me as both absurd and oddly dignified.

I did this.

I filled this plastic motherfucker right to the brim.

This is how you make a family now: in a bathroom at one in the damn morning, with your long-time crush waiting nervously in your bedroom on the other side of the door.

Motherfucking hell.

The moment I open the door the vision in front of me is like a goddamn wet dream all over again. She’s nearly just as I pictured her.

Marlee is in my bed, her legs bent at the knee and covered with my blankets. The first thought that floats through my mind is that I’ll be able to fall asleep tonight with her scent all over my sheets.

Best. Night. Ever.

“I’ve got the goods,” I tell her with a playful wink in hopes a little humor relaxes her. I know from experience how anxious she can get. She smiles and releases a deep breath, which I take as a promising reaction, but when I approach the bed, I can see the anxiety she’s trying to hide all over her face.

She’s not a good faker.

She’s nervous.

“Hey.” I place a hand on her blanketed knee. “You okay?”

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