Page 30 of Nine Month Contract
But I’m not going to think about it.
I’m an incubator and nothing more. I’m like an artificially inseminated cow. My body is meant to house this human for another and nothing more. I can’t care what this child will look like. I just need to focus on getting this child created because this job doesn’t exist without me getting knocked up.
Let’s get this farm animal knocked up!
A throat clears from behind me, causing me to jump out of my skin. I twirl on my heels to find Wyatt standing awkwardly in the kitchen with a sheepish look.
“It’s done,” he murmurs, his cheeks looking flush under his trim beard as he struggles to make eye contact with me.
“Great! Where’s the syringe?” A strong sense of light-headedness engulfs me as I walk over and hold my hand out expectantly. Maybe it’s the wine. Yeah, we can blame the wine. Not the overwhelming panic that this is actually all fucking happening.
“Um…it’s still in the bathroom.” He grips the back of his neck and shoots me an uneasy look. “I didn’t…you know…transport it into the thingy yet.”
“Do you expect me to suck it in there?” I exclaim, my voice high-pitched and accusing.
“I don’t know,” he answers with a growl, his entire body radiating discomfort. “I didn’t want to touch anything you might have to touch…”
“Good Lord,” I grumble and push my way past Wyatt to findwhatever mess he has going on back there. “The sooner we get this inside me, the better.”
I can’t believe I just said that out loud, but it’s the truth. The quicker, the better because this whole evening feels like an out-of-body experience, and I need it to come to fruition. This is the climax we’ve been waiting for.
I giggle at my inner joke, hearing his boots heavy on the wood floor as he follows me down the hall and into his bedroom. My eyes widen briefly as I take in the large king bed with a white bedspread. Knotty wood accent tables decorate the space, and I note that he manages to pull off that contemporary-rustic vibe nicely in here as well. I wonder if he had a designer because this place screams, “Woman’s touch.”
“What the hell is that?” I ask, stopping dead in my tracks at the foot of his bed to point at the weird little window above his headboard with weeds stuffed inside it.
He harrumphs as he barrels into my back, his hands grabbing me around my waist for balance before he yanks them away. “It’s called a truth window.”
“A what?” I turn and wonder for the first time if I’ve perhaps read this man all wrong. “Is that like some sort of sex thing? Like a glory hole? What the hell do you do with it?”
“It’s not a sex thing,” he snaps back, his jaw taut with anger over my accusation. “It’s a design thing. It reveals that the walls have straw bale insulation. It keeps the sleeping temperature in here comfortable year-round. It’s eco-friendly. This whole house is built with recycled and sustainable products.”
I exhale with relief. It’s not a sex thing. In fact, it’s possibly one of the unsexiest things he could have made up. I smirk and elbow him playfully. “We really are doing this the ‘farm way,’ aren’t we? Should I let out a loud moo when I inseminate myself?” I laugh nervously, wishing I could just shut my mouth.
Wyatt doesn’t laugh.
Wyatt looks grumpy.
Poor Mountain Man.
Unbothered by his surly demeanor, I march into his bathroom and discover the ranch cup on the counter. Filled to the brim.
Gross.
Lips pursed with determination, I unwrap the sterile plastic syringe and hover over the pearly liquid.
You’ve washed rescue dogs with mange before, Trista. One even had a sore with maggots crawling in it. This is nothing!
I pull the fluid into the syringe until I can’t get any more in it. My body shudders when it touches the tube’s plastic to find it still warm. I swallow the lump in my throat. “That there’s a fresh batch, ain’t it?”
“Jesus Christ,” he expels, unable to look at me.
He’s kind of cute when he’s mortified.
I carefully make my way back into his bedroom, holding the syringe in my hands like it’s a grenade with the pin pulled. “Guess I’ll just…oh, fuck!” I exclaim when a thought hits me.
“Jesus, what? Did you drop it?” Wyatt stomps over to me like a giant lurch.
“No, no. I forgot my um…my vibrator.” I bite my lip nervously. “It’s in my purse. Do you think you can go get it?”
