Ready and Willing (6 page)

“I’ve got a pass. No worries.”

I laugh at his woozy expression. “And you’re okay to drive, right?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

We head downstairs and climb into his car. It’s a cold, bright day. I direct him to Broadway, and we’re quiet for a half mile.

“So, how long are you ovulating for?” Noah catches my eyes at a red light, as though he’s wondering how long I’m in town.

“I don’t know exactly.
Maybe through the weekend?
Right now is the peak, I’m pretty sure.”

“Ah,” he says.

“Why do you ask?”

“Would you… Are you free tonight?”

I smile at him. “Sure. I wasn’t going to ask you to service me two nights in a row. I thought you might want a day or two or realize I’m a crackpot. But yeah, I’m free. You want to come over again?”

“Kind of.”

“Then you should. Why don’t you meet me after work? I have to go to the paper store to get Christmas cards. Want to meet me in the Public Garden at six?
The corner across from the church?”

“Works for me.”

I smile to myself. Rob’s coming over tomorrow evening, or he said he would. Chances are looking good this week…though a small part of me selfishly thinks a repeat performance next month isn’t
so
bad as consolation prizes go.

* * *

I spot Noah walking toward me at six precisely. He waves, face lit by the white Christmas lights strung on the trees along the pond. A Macy’s bag swings from his hand.

“Let me guess,” I say as we meet.
“New pants?”

He nods. He looks a little shy, a little devious. The look of a man guaranteed to get laid.

“Good day?” I ask. “What do you teach, anyhow?”

“Film history, mostly.
Some screenwriting.”

“Wow, cool. What’s your favorite era for movies, then?”

Noah’s face lights up, not unlike the way I hope my future child’s might one day. “Seventies, hands-down.
Taxi Driver, Dog Day Afternoon
…”

“
Chinatown
.”

He nods. He looks about ready to lean in and cheek kiss me, but we’re interrupted.

“Abby?”

Oh, fuck me. It’s Rob. He strides as much as one can over the ice heaves in our direction.

“Rob,” I say, just as Noah says the same. Then I say, “Huh?”

“Noah, right?”
Rob reaches us and extends a gloved hand. Noah nods and they shake.

“You guys know each other?” I ask, horrified.
So much for discretion.

“We work out at the same studio,” Noah says and aims a finger down Boylston Street.

“You
kickbox
?” I ask him. Noah’s medical history just had “cardio” down for his exercise habits.

“A little bit,” he says.
“Mostly I regular box.”
That explains the arms.

“How do you know Abby?” Rob asks Noah, and my stomach churns.

“We, um…” Noah trails off.

“He’s trying to impregnate me,” I say, then blush so hard I feel overheated, even in the numbing breeze.

Rob laughs, a loud bark, and Noah’s eyes widen. He stares at me, horrified.

“It’s okay,” I say.
“
So’s
he.”

“Holy shit,” Noah says.

“God, fucking Boston.”
I look around us, torn between wanting to laugh and die. Adrenaline leaves my body, making me feel drunk and hyper.

“That’s a relief,” Rob says. “I was afraid you were her secret infertile husband or something,” he says to Noah. “Or that I’d gotten caught up in some really twisted infidelity scheme.”

“It is twisted,” I remind him. “But only in the capacity you guys already knew about.”

Noah’s smiling tightly at my side. I wonder if the whole plan is wrecked, if he’s totally
creeped
out by putting a face to the genetic competition, or if a bright light has been shone on my spurious morals. I stare at the disgruntled ducks huddled by the edge of the frozen pond for a moment.

“Is this weird?” I ask, looking between my two donors.

They glance at each other for a few beats; then Noah shrugs. “No, I don’t think so.
Just a bit nuts that we know each other.”

Rob shakes his head in an agreeable way.

“Oh good,” I say, though I still feel as though I’ve been caught doing something unseemly. I suppose I have. But the fact that I’ve come this far with my crazy scheme gives me hope that I’ll survive this little lapse in donor diplomacy. Provided Noah and Rob can shrug it off.

“We can compare notes in the locker room,” Rob says. I’m fairly certain he’s kidding, but Noah laughs nervously, and even in the streetlight I can see his cheeks
pinken
.

“I feel like such a slut,” I say, unable to keep the words from tumbling out, and I start laughing so hard I double over, diaphragm convulsing until it hurts. When I recover I find them both smiling at me.

“Don’t feel bad,” Rob says. “We’re the ones getting paid.”

I put my hand on Noah’s arm.
“Right.
Well, we better get back to the harem.” I sound so obscenely cavalier I want to slap myself.

“Good luck,” Rob says
,
hurdling right over the tactlessness bar I just set. He gives Noah a little wave. “I’ll see you later, Abby.”

“Have a good night.” We watch him continue on toward Boylston Street, and I discover I’ve been holding my breath.

“Wow,” Noah says and rubs a hand over his face. “Weird.”

“I’m so sorry. Did that wreck the whole evening?”

He looks me square in the eye and shakes his head. “I knew what the deal was.” He’s quiet for a while longer, and I watch the breath rising from his nostrils as he’s thinking. He gives me plenty of time to guess what he’s about to say, exactly how he’ll word it when he tells me he needs some time to rethink this whole ridiculous arrangement. When he opens his mouth to speak again, I’m expecting something dramatic, possibly ruinous.

“Should we grab a pizza on the way back to your place?”

* * *

Noah is different now. Because he’s met the competition, I assume, and maybe because the competition is someone he’s possibly seen naked and maybe even gotten punched in the face by. In any case, he’s on me as soon as I shut the door behind us. He tosses the pizza box on the floor, and I’m pushed up against the wall, his mouth claiming mine. I try to guess if he’s hot over the wrongness of it all or if he’s looking to prove something. As his tongue slips between my lips, I decide I don’t give a shit.

We kiss hard for a few minutes, eager
hands groping through clothes until the fabric feels
hateful. We pull our coats and sweaters off, and Noah struggles with my bra clasp as I tear at his shirt buttons. Buckles clink, and zippers unzip. We kick our pants away, touching each other through our underwear. Noah’s fingers rub my clit, and I lose coordination, pausing to admire his body as he pleasures me.

“Jesus,” I mumble.

“What?”

“Your body, Professor Beefcake.”
I run teasing palms over the lean, defined muscles of his chest. He’s smooth, just the faintest spray of soft brown hair as proof he doesn’t wax to get this look. Good. Call me traditional, but the whole
manscaping
trend turns me right off. “I can’t believe we’ve had sex twice, and I didn’t even know what you looked like under your clothes.”

He laughs. “I’m always a little fatter in the winter,” he says, laying a hand on his stomach.
“Too icy to go running every morning.”

“Oh yeah, you’re a real tub.” I tap the backs of my fingers against his supposed gut. “Look at this.” I poke my own middle, persistently doughy no matter how often I talk myself into going to Pilates.

“Girls are supposed to be soft,” Noah says. He runs his hands over my stomach, up to my breasts, spreading heat over my skin.

“Not according to
Maxim
.”

“According to
Maxim
, every guy is a total
asshat
. That’s why I read
Harper’s
.
According to
Harper’s
, every guy’s a liberal wing nut.”

“I’ll take wing nut over
asshat
.”

“Lucky me,” Noah says softly and pulls me close. “You know, pretty soon you’ll be
hee
-uge
.” He cups my sides as if he’s imagining my massively pregnant belly. Something about this innocent tease gets me so hot I feel crazed, burning and impatient, ready to tear at this man’s skin and pull his hair and force his body inside me. I cup his head in my hands and yank his mouth down to mine, kiss him deep and rough and earn myself a few gorgeous moans from this gorgeous man. He’s hard already, the ridge of his cock rubbing against my pubic bone. I step back a few paces, and he follows. Next thing I know, we’re on the floor, and he’s yanking my panties off, shoving his legs between mine and grinding his stiff dick against me. I bring my legs up and hook a toe into either side of his waistband, push his shorts down to his ankles. I love his weight. I love how warm his skin is on mine, love the insistent push of his hips, his thick, ready cock finding my entrance.

“Jesus, Noah.” I slide my hands to his
ass,
feel his muscles working as his thrusts tease me.

“You need lube?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You comfortable?”

My bare ass is on the hardwood, shoulders and head on the rug. I’ll probably end up with both bruises and rug burn, but right now I can’t be bothered about it. “Just fuck me, Noah.”

He reaches down, eases his dick inside my pussy,
finds
me wet after an inch of tight friction. He slides in and out until the fucking’s smooth and easy. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”

“More.”

“You’re so wet.” He repeats it a couple times, finding his rhythm. The room is dark except for the reading lamp by the door, but I can see everything I want—all the shapes and shadows of his fantastic body, the cut of his triceps, and the swell of his ass.

“Abby,” he moans, and steadily his body slows until he’s just braced above me, breathing hard. It makes me nervous, makes me worry he’s thinking about the whole Rob thing, that it short-circuited his brain or his dick.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, holding my breath.

“Nothing…”

“Are you sure?”

“Can I go down on you?”

“Oh,” I say, as intrigued as I am relieved. “Sure.”

He pulls out and sits back, his eyes glued to mine as he runs two fingers over my pussy lips. “Sit on the couch,” he says. I like the bossy edge to his voice.

I move to the edge of the cushions, and Noah pushes the table to the side, gets in front of me on the floor, takes hold of my hips, and brings his face in close. “You smell so good.”

I hold my breath, waiting. I’ve missed this the last six months—seeing a man on his knees, mouth between my legs. Noah kisses my clit, and I groan, curl my whole body into the pleasure. Heat pools against his lapping tongue, and I rake my fingers through his short hair, wanting to possess him. His licks are firm and slick and explicit, tight little strokes thrumming my clit, complemented by the soft brush of his stubbly chin against my tender lips. I close my eyes and imagine him above me, coming. I imagine watching him come, not just his face but his cock, his hand as he strokes himself, loses control, and shoots across my stomach or breasts. The heat mounts, and my legs tremble, my feet feel tingly, and my clit is burning up.

“Don’t stop.”

He keeps his tongue working and moans, the sound vibrating through my body and magnifying all the sensations. One hand leaves my leg, and I feel his knuckles brush my pussy, tease my crease before he slides two fingers inside.

I keep one possessive hand on the back of his head,
then
palm my breast with the other. I study his strong arms and shoulders, the shape of his eyebrows.
“Yeah.
Fuck me, Noah.”

He moans again, deep, and it pushes me over the edge. My pleasure reaches its peak against his fluttering tongue, hot tremors tightening and bursting and wringing me out until his licks are too much, and I have to scoot back to escape the sensations. He moves his mouth lower, lapping up
my cum
with hungry, happy noises. I catch my breath while he feasts, stroke his hair, feel spent and grateful and spoiled.

“Thank you,” I mumble as he leans back on his haunches.

He grins and squeezes my thighs. “Don’t thank me for that.” He gets up to sit beside me. “
I fucking
love eating pussy.”

I take a final steadying breath. I glance at the big bandage on his knee, wonder if my hardwood has exacerbated the damage already done by my sidewalk. “You ready to give me something else now?”

He nods. There’s an intensity to his eyes that thrills me. I recline as he gets a leg between mine, his other foot on the floor. I wrap my thighs around his waist as he sinks back inside with a curse.