Page 27 of Nine Month Contract
“Listen, Wyatt, if this doesn’t work…” Trista’s eyes are wide and wary as she turns to face me and moves to take another drink.
“It’ll be fine,” I soothe, not enjoying the stress lines forming between her brows. I pat her shoulder encouragingly and then pull my hand away because my touching her is definitely the booze talking. “We’ll figure it out.”
Her eyes blink rapidly. “It’s like…even though I know that I ovulate, I don’t know that I can actually get pregnant. Some people try for years to get pregnant, and it never happens.”
“I know. Life isn’t a guarantee. That’s why we have some backup plans in place.”
“Sorry, I guess I’m just now suddenly feeling a lot of pressure.”
“You’re feeling pressure?” My eyes widen as I glance at the wine bottle that I emptied in like fifteen minutes. “I’m the one who has to…” I make a lewd hand gesture that’s not intended to be perverted…just…literal. “Perform.”
Her eyes glance down to my groin, and my cock twitches with just that tiny bit of attention. “Do you sometimes have trouble finishing?”
“Fuck no,” I bark out, then instantly feel weird about being so defensive. “Sorry…but no. I’ve never had that problem. I’ve just also never…well…tried to make a baby before.”
“Right, but you’ve gone in a cup before at the clinic, haven’t you?” She licks her lips as she stares thoughtfully up at me.
“Once…but it wasn’t in a ranch cup.” I glance down at the pink children’s Tylenol and the plastic sauce container laid out on the counter and feel extremely stupid for not being better prepared for this.
“Can you imagine if you mistook this for your lunch ranch?” Trista spews out a drunken laugh, and I realize we might be getting a little carried away with the booze.
I take the wine bottle from her hand, and she gazes at it with a forlorn look. “Probably for the best.”
She glances up at me nervously, her head hitting just below my chin in her socked feet. I like how tall she is. I wonder if this baby will be tall too? Or will it have her beauty marks that decorate various areas of her face? They’re not freckles—freckles are lighter and collect all in one area. Trista’s moles are unique. They’re really striking when you look at her up close like this.
“So there’s one more thing I haven’t told you yet,” she says, and her cheeks deepen to a crimson color, showing a moment of embarrassment that I have yet to see on Trista Matthews.
“You have an alpaca in the trunk of your car, don’t you?” I deadpan, trying to lighten the mood.
She bursts out laughing and falls into my chest. Her long fingers grip the flannel on my arms, and I can’t help but lean down and breathe in the smell of her shampoo. It smells like roses. I fight the urge to take her hair clip out so I can watch it fall down her back. Like it was the day we met. Down and wild.
Shit…definitely too much booze.
When she’s done with her fit of giggles, she leans on the counter and looks gravely up at me. “So on the blogs, I read that if the surrogate orgasms with the semen in her bajingo, there’s a higher chance of success for pregnancy.”
My eyes flash with that new bit of information. “Are you suggesting we have…”
“Sex? Good God, no,” she exclaims, the thought of it clearly horrifying her. “They just masturbate after they inject it.”
“Oh,” I reply and inwardly cringe at the sense of disappointment I feel. Fuck, I’m an idiot for getting my hopes up, but I haven’t properly fucked a woman since I got on this surrogacy track, and my cock doesn’t enjoy my hand nearly as much as the heat of a woman. I steel myself to be calm and collected when I add, “Well, you should probably do that, then. The fewer times we have to do this, the better, right?”
She nods slowly. “That’s what I thought.”
“I’m going to…you know…into that ranch cup, and you’re going to take it back to the barn and…”
She winces. “They said the sooner you get it in you, the better. I think walking it all the way back to the barn first is probably not a good idea. Too much chance of contaminating it. And it kind of said I should sleep with it in me if I can. At least for the first night.”
“You can have my bed,” I blurt out, then wince. “Sorry, is that creepy?”
She shakes her head. “No, not creepy. I don’t even have my bed made up yet…so…that works for me.”
“It’s logical.”Totally logical to have the woman you’re impregnating through insemination sleep in your bed after orgasming.
“Yeah.” She licks her lips nervously. “Where will you sleep?”
I shrug dismissively. “There are two bedrooms upstairs, but my couch is also really comfortable.”
She nods and chews her lips. “Are you…ready?”
