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“I’ve got you,” I said, pushing in past the once-tight ring of muscle, “I’ve got you.”
We found a rhythm, and before he was ready to come, he reached for my hand. “Do it. I’ll hold the cup.”
I complied and placed my left hand around his cock. When he was ready and braced on one arm, he nodded. “Go, make me cum.”
With only a few thrusts and my hand, my husband shuddered and groaned as he released himself into the cup. The sounds he made pushed me over the edge as I filled him with my release.
“Pull out,” he muttered, panting. “Gotta get the lid.”
I complied again and hurriedly got off the table. Reaching for the lid, Greer handed the cup to me to replace the lid while he maneuvered once again to sit on the table. When it was secure, I padded the couple of steps to the little door and placed it inside an insulated sleeve to keep it warm. I turned the table it sat on, placing it in the lab.
The weight of the moment was not lost on either of us. Closing the distance, Greer opened his arms and hugged me to him.
“What’s next?” I asked, my stomach growling.
Greer laughed. “We get food and wait.”
I laughed. “At least we have a football season to distract us.”
“That we do, sweetheart. That we do.”
EPILOGUE
GREER
NINE MONTHS LATER
We were dead to the world asleep when my phone rang with the annoying ringtone Austin had assigned to Sandra’s number. For some reason, he thought it was funny and fitting to have Baby Shark bellow out at the highest volume every time she called. As it turns out, our little girl had her throwing up for a solid twelve weeks.
“Sandra? Is everything okay?” I asked, both of us popping up in bed.
A soft grunt followed by a soft moan came from the end of the phone. “Greer, she’s on the way. You two better get her soon. Room 1402. My last labor was only three hours.”
Austin climbed out of bed and turned back before entering the bathroom. “Ask her how far apart the contractions are?”
I nodded as I followed. “Austin wants to know how far apart your contractions are.”
She released another grunt, as what I assumed was a contraction gripped her. “What is he, a fucking doctor?” she growled, making me laugh.
I was aware pain could bring out a totally different side of a person, but no matter what she said, we’d be indebted to her for the rest of our lives. But I also knew better than to antagonize her.
“Okay, forget I asked. 1402. Got it. We’re on the way.”
When the call ended, I tossed my phone on the edge of the bed and hurried into the closet to get dressed. We’d been preparing for this day for over a month. We’d planned and had everything ready to go in case we got the call in the middle of the night. It seemed like babies really liked making their entrance into the world in the wee hours of the morning.
My husband was standing in our closet, jeans half on, sans underwear, cut abs and muscles on display, grabbing his new shirt off the hanger. Looking at him always distracted me. If we had a disagreement, all he had to do was take his clothes off and soon, all was forgiven.
Sliding into this shirt, he caught me staring. Again. “What did she say?” he asked around his smile.
“Uh, she’s a bit stressed right now,” I said, pulling on my own jeans. “But she wanted to know if you were, and I quote, ‘a fucking doctor’ now.”
He barked out a laugh as finished the buttons. “I’m so glad we chose her.”
I snorted. “I think she chose us.”
When it came time to choose our gestational carrier, there was no other choice than our favorite flight attendant, Sandra. She and Bill, along with their two kids, were like family to us. And when she’d offered to help us have children, it had been a serious offer. I received weekly emails from her after we returned, offering to be our ‘Baby Mama’ as Uncle Dreamboat called her.
“You ready?” he asked, stepping into his shoes.
