Dr. Chase Hudson (The Surrogate Book 2) (15 page)

Behind us, Ava's door opened and I heard another door
close before the water in the shower came on.

Shay barked out orders (mostly at Jake) until Ava came
out to join us, hesitating when she walked out, watching us laugh
over something that Shay said.

I turned and smiled at her, patting the chair next to
me.

She sat down, looking uncomfortable, her eyes red and
small and I handed her two aspirin I had gotten out of a bottle on
the kitchen counter.

“Eat,” Shay told her. “And drink all
that OJ or you're gonna feel like shit all day.”

Everyone ate. Jake and Shay kept up the lion's share of
the conversation, mostly by bickering, but it was playful enough that
Ava came out of her shell enough to laugh or roll her eyes at them.

“So how did you two meet?” Shay asked,
point blank.

Ava's fork clattered onto her plate and I felt a lump
lodge into my throat. Both of us were silent for too long. And in the
end, it was Jake who saved us. “Jesus Christ. Could you be any
more nosy?” he asked, leading them to spend the next five
minutes having a heated argument. Which Shay won. Naturally. Jake
gave me a sheepish smile and I nodded my chin to him in thanks as I
squeezed Ava's knee under the table.

I left an hour later, stomach full to bursting and
somehow more hollow than I had ever felt in my life.

In two days, I would be having sex with the only woman
I ever really loved.

And then in just four more sessions, I would have to
say goodbye to her.

For good.

Sixth Session

Ever try to concentrate on work when you have something
amazing planned for after hours? Amplify that by about a thousand and
you'd have some idea how I felt all day Monday.

By the time the door opened, I was in knots. Both in
good and bad ways.

Because I couldn't wait to touch her. To taste her. To
be inside her. To show her all the magnificent ways her body could
feel. I wanted to show her that she could enjoy herself. I wanted to
show her how she could enjoy me.

But also... in no time at all, she would be gone. She
would move on enjoying herself. Then, one day, she would go onto
enjoying other men.

I was tucking the test results I had meant to give to
her five sessions ago into my pocket before looking up and... fuck.

I thought I liked the blue dress. The white one she was
wearing put it to shame. Form fitting, a little low cut, short on the
thigh. Verging on risque, but the color somehow kept it from being
over the top sexual. It looked... sweet almost... Christ... virginal.
Did she do that on purpose? Was it a message? That this, for her,
felt like the first time since all previous times had been so awful
for her?

“Oh, baby,” I said, tilting my head and
looking at her in a way that I was almost surprised her dress didn't
catch fire from the heat.

She shifted her feet slightly, tucking her hair behind
her ear. “I, ah, believe I was promised something that involved
being... um... pushed against a wall,” she fumbled. But the
stammer only proved to be all the more endearing.

I felt the smile creep up on my face. “That you
were,” I agreed, crossing the floor, grabbing her by the back
of her neck, and pressing my lips to hers, kissing her with every
last drop of hope and frustration I felt. I slammed her back against
the wall, my tongue slipping into her mouth as my hand slid between
her soft thighs, finding her clit through her panties and stroking.
“So wet,” I said against her lips.

“Chase...”

Whatever she was about to say was silenced by my
ripping her panties off and lowering myself down on the floor before
her. I looked up at her as I slowly inched up her skirt until it was
bunched around her belly.

“Tell me it's for me.”

“Always,” she said without hesitation.
“It's always for you.”

“Fuck, baby,” I groaned, grabbing her leg
and placing it over my shoulder, not able to wait another second as I
traced my tongue up her slick pussy until I found her clit and worked
it until she was moaning, writhing, pulling my hair. Until she was
almost there. Almost. Just when she was about to come, I pulled back.

“Chase...” she groaned, reaching for me as
I looked up at her.

“Don't worry, baby. I am going to make you come
tonight. Just not yet. First,” I said, taking my feet and
reaching for her hand, “we need to go into the other room.”

I made drinks.

She put on blues.

Then I led her over toward the sectional, watching her
nervously sip from her martini. She might have come in attempting
confidence, but it was a show. She was nervous. I hadn't expected
anything else. That was why we were going to take it slow. I was
going to try to put her at ease... before anything happened.

The last thing in the fucking world I wanted to be was
another of her regrets.

“I figured maybe tonight we should do some
talking first.”

“Okay,” she said, not meeting my gaze.

“First,” I went on, putting my drink down
and pulling the paperwork out of my pocket and handing it to her. “I
should have given it to you a while ago. But I kept forgetting.”

She unfolded the pages of my latest STD check, dated
the day of the introductory meeting. All, of course, negative. But
she needed to have it. She needed to know she was safe.

“I wanted you to feel completely comfortable with
me. We will be using condoms, of course, but this was just for your
peace of mind.”

“Okay,” she said, putting the papers down
behind her. “Thanks,” she said, addressing the hands she
was wringing in her lap.

“I know you're nervous. Talk to me, babe.”

“I don't know what to say,” she shrugged,
her voice a strained whisper.

“Say anything. Say that you're nervous. Say why.
Just... talk.”

“I'm nervous.”

“Okay,” I said, letting my hand land on her
thigh.

“This is the thing I am most insecure about.”

“What makes you so insecure? That you can't enjoy
it? That you're worried about being a disappointment?”

“Both,” she admitted quietly.

I felt myself nod though she wasn't watching me and let
both of my hands land on top of hers. “Ava, nothing you could
ever do would disappoint me. And I promise you that, no matter what
happens, I will show you that you can enjoy it. No matter how long it
takes.” I added emphasis by squeezing her hands. “Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, her gaze still lowered.

“Look at me,” I demanded and waited for her
deep brown eyes to find me- a little wide, a little scared, but
trusting. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then come here,” I said, sitting
back and tapping my chest. Her spot. Her safest place in the world.
The place I always wanted her to be. The place that soon, she would
never rest on again.

She flew at me and my arms wrapped her up tight as I
took a deep breath. “So let's talk about sex.”

“Okay.”

“In the past, have you ever had an orgasm through
intercourse?”

“No.”

“Ever been close?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me what sex has been like for you
in the past?”

“Terrible,” she admitted surprisingly
quickly. “As soon as clothes start coming off, the anxiety
builds.”

“And when someone has their hands on you, how do
you feel?”

“Like I want to scrape off my skin,” she
said with conviction.

Poor fucking girl. I wanted to track down all the guys
she had been with before and wring their necks for making her feel
that way for even a second.

“Do you know why?”

“No. I mean, yes and no. I think the anxiety just
makes me so uncomfortable and then angry because I can't control it
that the touching feels wrong. And it hurts instead of feels good.”

My cheek went down on the top of her head, not wanting
to ask but knowing I had to. “And what about when they are
inside of you?”

“I feel nothing,” she said, her body going
rigid.

“Nothing? Not even the skin crawling sensation?”

“I mean... the first time...”

“When you lost your virginity,” I supplied,
knowing she was struggling.

“Yeah...”

“That hurt,” I added.

“Yes. A lot. I got sick.”

“Okay,” I said, squeezing her tight. “And
since then... just numbness.”

“Pretty much. Sometimes I can quiet the anxiety
enough to feel, but just for like a couple seconds because it
doesn't...” she trailed off, shaking her head.

“Because you were stressed out so you weren't
turned on and it felt rough and uncomfortable,” I cringed at
the very idea, but pressed on. “And then the anxiety came back.
Stronger.”

“Yes.”

“Alright,” I said, kissing her soft hair.
“Thank you for sharing that. That is helpful.” My hands
moved to rub her back lazily. “I'm sorry it's always been like
that for you.”

“It's okay.”

“No, it's not,” I corrected, shaking my
head. “Baby,” I said, moving back so I could look at her.
“It's not okay. That should never have happened. Those guys...”
I paused, swallowing the anger, “they should have seen that you
were struggling and they should have stopped and tried to help you
through it.”

“Not all guys are like you, Chase.”

“No but they
should fucking try to be,” I growled, forcing myself to tamp
down the anger. My hand moved to the side of her face and it
evaporated. “Look, at any point tonight you feel anxious, you
tell me. This isn't like the past when I told you that you should
power through it and only push me away when you couldn't take it
anymore. This is different. If you get above a four on that scale,
you tell me. And if you don't feel like you can say it, all you have
to do is say the word 'red' and I'll stop. And I'll try to talk you
down. If that doesn't work, we can be done for the night. I will
not
be upset. I will
not
be disappointed. Understand?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. What is the safe word?”

“Red.”

“Good. Anything else?”

Her teeth moved to bite the inside of her cheek. There
was something else. But she didn't want to say it. Or ask it.

“Ava... just ask.”

She took a deep, steady breath. “How many...”
she started.

I knew it was coming. Frankly, I was shocked she hadn't
asked before. At the intro meeting even. Most wanted to know. Not
because of jealousy or anything small and petty like that. But just
pure curiosity.

She wanted to know how many surrogate clients I had.

“Twelve,” I cut her off.

“Twelve?” she asked, brows drawing together
like she was confused.

“Men are more likely to seek help for their
dysfunction. Women, due to society sex standards and often their own
upbringing, many women who are suffering simply won't seek help.
Surrogacy is a very small part of my medical practice. I have been
doing this for about a decade and I have only had about one surrogate
patient a year.”

She paused, thinking what I said over. “Okay.”

“Okay,” I repeated. “Come here,”
I said, pulling her face to mine. I kissed her like it was the first
time. Like it was the last. Like it was all we would ever have. She
shifted, moving to straddle my waist to get closer to me, her hands
moving to cradle my face as she kissed me back with everything in her
too.

My arms went around her as I stood. Her legs wrapped
around me as I moved us toward the bed, turning so I could sit on the
edge and settle her on top of me. My hands moved to slowly inch up
her dress. Up her thighs. Ass. Stomach. Under her breasts. I waited
for her to pull back so I could lift the material off of her body.

With the dress gone, and the panties ripped in my
waiting room, she was gloriously naked above me. I looked over her,
sucking in a deep, steadying breath. “Perfect,” I said,
my hands sliding up her stomach to cup her breasts then leaning
forward to plant a kiss between them. “Thank you for sharing
yourself with me.”

Her hand moved to
the back of my neck, toying with my hair. “Thank you for being
so patient,” she said, sliding back on my lap so she had access
to my chest. Her
hands moved between us to slide
off my jacket then work my buttons. Once the sides
slipped
open, her hands went to the skin underneath, sending a shiver through
my system. I let her explore until I felt on edge, then lifted her
and placed her on the bed, standing to remove the rest of my clothes
before climbing under the covers and pulling her to my side.

I let my hands whisper over her body, just getting her
comfortable with the touch before I moved her onto her back and
started kissing down her neck. Over her breasts. I moved to her
nipples, licking and sucking them until they were hard and straining.
Then I continued down her ribs, her belly, each of her thighs. Until
she was whimpering, writhing, reaching for me and pulling me back up
to her.