Page 48 of Damaged Billionaire Daddy
Then he slid his swollen member into my vaginal opening from behind, all the while continuing to massage my clit andthe area around it, so that now I was not only being stroked by his cock, I was also riding his palm, grinding into it, seeking the marvelous sensations that at once aroused a raging desire and a feeling that I was melting and floating away.
As I came this time, I felt as if I was drowning, and that something beautiful had begun and died in that bed, in that remote cabin. I cried for that as much as for his destructive plans for my grandfather’s vineyard.
He then tucked the blankets around me and held me gently, even tenderly. He didn’t say anything more, just made sure that I was warm. After a time, sleep claimed me, blotting out all regrets and fears.
Chapter twenty
Kandis, two weeks later
I held my hair at the nape of my neck while I barfed up breakfast and yesterday’s dinner. It had been nearly two weeks since I spent the weekend in the mountains with Richard. I’d been sick nearly every day since.
Had I caught something? I wondered to myself. We went to that stupid wedding where there was a close-packed crowd of people. We’d romped in the snow and eaten candy made from maple syrup poured on that snow. Could Richie have some sort of venereal disease?
I rocked back on my toes, enjoying a moment of respite. Blueberry pancakes tasted great going down, but vile coming back up.
The mere thought had me leaning over the porcelain bowl, vomiting up clear fluid. I had completely emptied my system.
There came a knock on the door. “Are you alright in there?” Mimi called.
“I’m all right,” I replied. Then a bout of retching gave lie to my answer, as I leaned back over the bowl.
“Open this door, young lady,” my grandmother said in her best no-nonsense voice. I knew there was no point in arguing. I wouldn’t be able to stay in the bathroom all day.
I pulled myself up, splashed water on my face, grabbed a towel, and opened the door. I was patting my face dry when I looked out.
Mimi, my dear sweet grandmother, was standing in the hall, her arms folded. “You and I are going to Urgent Care this morning,” she said. “We are not going to mess around trying to get a doctor appointment.”
“But Mimi,” I protested, “What about insurance?”
“Piffle!” she snorted. “We’ve got enough in the bank for a measly doctor visit. Go get dressed, unless you fancy going like that.”
I was wearing a pair of jogging shorts that had seen better days, and one of Pops worn-out t-shirts. My hair was uncombed, and I’m pretty sure I’d gotten some of my stomach contents on, well, all of me. I wanted to get back in bed and not move.
“Go on,” Mimi said. “I’ve got some ginger ale in the kitchen. You are bound to be dehydrated at the very least.”
I went. Arguing with Mimi when she had put on her “Dr. Grandmom” hat was useless. I managed to find some clean underwear, a pair of Bermuda shorts, and a gosh-awful Hawaiian print shirt. I’d not felt well enough to do laundry since coming back from the mountains.
I managed to drag a brush through the top part of my curls and bundled the rest of my hair into a knot at the nape of my neck using the last, lonely hair-tie in my top drawer.
The drawer was a mess. Mimi had always said you could tell a lot about a person by their top dresser drawer. Mine said that my life was falling apart.
The ginger ale helped, but we had to pull over twice on the way to the urgent care unit. When we got there, an intakeworker took one look at me, and handed the paperwork to Mimi. Of course, right then, I had to bolt for the bathroom that fortunately had a neon sign over it.
That meant that they immediately hustled us into a waiting room and handed me a barf basin. Mimi filled out the paperwork, including some details that I would rather have not shared with my grandmother, like “When was the last time you had sex?”
Mimi looked at the clipboard, read back through the symptoms, and said, “Hmmm.” She then stuck the clipboard into the holder outside the room, just as the attendant had asked.
“What’s hmmm supposed to mean?” I asked her.
“I’d rather not practice medicine without a license,” she said primly.
So, then I had blood drawn, barfed in the basin, peed in a bedpan for the nurse, and received a cup of ice chips as a reward.
“Suck on those,” the nurse said. “You’re dehydrated. I had a heck of a time finding a vein. The moisture will feel good in your mouth, and maybe it will stay down.”
It did. And I dozed for a little while. Someone covered me up with a blanket, there was a murmur of voices, and I dozed some more.
Then the doctor came bustling in. She was a middle aged-woman, with a round, cheerful face and a rounded, once athletic body. “I would have been here sooner,” she said. “But I just delivered a baby. It makes me feel good to bring new life into the world.”
