Guilty Pleasures (49 page)

Deidre Ferguson-Barr looks absolutely amazing. Inheriting billions is obviously great for the skin.

Will took me home and stayed over. We made very gentle, careful love. I think he’s afraid I’ll break. We’ll both feel better once we’ve had the doctor’s appointment.

Chapter 38

Put aside time to be with her doing things she loves that make you puke.

You
can
live through a sickly pink romantic music concert.

Men
have
been known to survive consecutive viewings of
Roman Holiday
,
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
,
When Harry Met Sally
and
Sleepless in Seattle.

In fact, anything with Meg Ryan gets any thirty-to-forty-something in the mood for hot, intense sex, and it’s bound to do
something
for you, too.

—Sensual Secrets of a Sexual Surrogate

Lance woke to the delicious sensation of Millie’s fingers delicately stroking the skin of his scrotum. He shivered and stretched under her caressing fingers. He pulled her closer and nibbled at her collarbone while she continued her exploration. She stroked him rhythmically, and he slid his fingers between her legs, parting her, finding her slippery and hot to the touch. He licked at her nipples while she strained up to his questing mouth.
 

“Will, love, will you still want me when I have a big tummy?”

“Love, I will always want you, always. We’re going to have to find ways to work around your tummy, that’s all. I don’t want to be bouncing around on the offspring.”

She squirmed out from under him and turned her back, bottom pertly in the air as she placed her hands on the bed. She looked at him over her shoulder. “Shall we try? Practice makes perfect.”

Her luscious vulva was irresistibly presented. He spread her nether lips and leaned down to lick at her, hearing her moan at the sensation of his mouth on her. She reached back between her legs to grasp him, to bring him home.
 

Lance found himself sliding into an endless, hot, grasping wetness, pulsing around him. She matched him thrust for thrust and cry for cry, until he finally shuddered liquidly, pumping himself into her. “Woman, are you trying to kill me?” He gasped, struggling to catch his breath as he waited for his heart rate to slow.

“The widows claim sex makes you live forever.”

“That’s because they don’t know you. You’ll drive me to heart failure.”

Hours later, breakfast was served in bed. Lance went out for scones, and brought them up on a tray with strawberry jam, whipped cream, and a large pot of herb tea. Millie ate ravenously, licking up any stray dribbles of jam and cream from his body—she’d insisted he serve as a dish—hunting out any lost crumbs, and having him for seconds.

Sunday afternoon was more of the same. In fact they missed lunch somewhere between bouts of sex and naps to recover. Lance insisted they go out for dinner, or at the very least get out of bed.

“You are a weak, pitiful man,” Millie said, eyeing him scornfully as he pulled on his jeans. “A real man would come back to bed and punish me for being so mean-spirited.”

“I’m a weakling and a coward, and I admit it freely. So, are you coming out of there or not?”

Grumbling, she crawled out of bed naked and flounced into the bathroom, closing the door with a resentful bang.

Lance grilled a steak each and served them with potatoes boiled in their jackets and a green salad. “There! That is the full extent of my culinary skills. I can also make a mean vitamin, beetroot and wheat-germ shake.”

Millie shuddered in horror. “Please . . . not that! Don’t tell me you’re a health food freak.”

“Yep. I admit it. I also shave my chest. Can you live with that?”

“I don’t know. I like a hairy chest. In fact, I’m very susceptible to hairy chests. I’m sure Jean-Luc has a delightfully hairy chest.”

“I can grow as much hair as any piddling Frog!”

“Oh, yes?”

“Do you doubt me, my lady?”

“Alas, sir, the proof of the pudding is in the eating.”

“We can’t have you going hungry, my love, so in the meantime allow me to console you.”

“Gosh, I feel very consoled . . .”

“We are going to have to run our consolations by the doctor, and see if he approves.”

“I’m sure it does the offspring no harm, and it does me a lot of good. Exercise, see?”

“Is this doctor good?”

“S. adores him. He’s supposed to be a top man for difficult pregnancies, and hers is high risk, you know.”

“Why?”

“She had breast cancer five years ago. She had her eggs harvested before the chemo, and Dr. Masterson saw her through the whole ordeal. She says I couldn’t be in better hands.”

“That’s good to know. I see it’s time I got you into bed and off to sleep. I have to go home, get some clothes, check my mail . . . I’ll be back tonight.”

“All right, but you could pack an overnight bag and bring it over?”

“Are you asking me to park my toothbrush next to yours, Millie?”

“Yes. Will you?”

“I don’t know. Will you marry me?”

“Well, I’m not sure . . .”

“I’m not living in sin, my lady, so, we either get engaged or—”

“A long engagement?”

“As long as you like, provided you
do
marry me at the end of it.”

“I’ll think about it.” Millie waved good-bye and went back inside, noting the day had turned to dusk.
Time sure does fly when I’m having Will . . .
 

From the Diary of Millicent Deafly:

Will is pressuring me to get engaged.
 

I think it should be a very, very, very, long engagement.

Hopefully in a few years’ time he won’t even notice I haven’t married him yet. Men are so absentminded.

But enough of that. I have a doctor’s appointment at nine thirty tomorrow morning. Wish me luck!
 

Chapter 39

The love bite or hickey is not universally popular, and is, in fact, rather controversial. If you like to nibble or nip, it’s okay.

Still, make sure this type of caress is acceptable to your woman.

A little nibble is one thing, the ravenous bite of the Wolfman is another.

Serious snappers think carefully. Anthropologically speaking, you could consider it the impulse to put your mark on your property, or claim your territory, per se, but she might not like the concept, and is unlikely to enjoy the pain.

—Sensual Secrets of a Sexual Surrogate

At nine fifteen, Lance and Millie found themselves sitting in the OB’s waiting room surrounded by numerous bulging bellies at different stages of development. Some women had a flushed, joyous countenance, others the weary expression of Atlas as if he’d carried the world precariously balanced on top of his bladder instead of his shoulders. The few males present looked smug.

One pretty twenty-something girl smiled happily at them and patted her barely protruding tummy proudly. “How far along are you?”

Millie hesitated. “I’m not sure yet, but not long. It’s my first OB appointment.”

“Oh, wow, you’re in for a treat. Dr. Masterson is ultra-cool!”

“No, he is not.” A very buxom girl across the way interjected. “He cut off my supply. He said I was putting on too much weight. Now my husband makes me walk for an entire hour every evening. It was just ice cream. A quart or two, of plain vanilla with walnuts and caramel, hot chocolate sauce, and those little marshmallow sprinkles on the top. That was all . . .” Tears ran down her face.

“Try that with cottage cheese, or low fat yogurt. If you put on enough chocolate sauce or caramel, you can hardly taste the difference,” said a tiny Asian girl with a gigantic belly.

“I don’t mind the food; it’s the peeing that gets me down.” One of the weary-looking girls sighed. “I swear I never dreamed a human body could hold so much liquid. Every fifteen minutes I gotta go. I’ve still got two whole months to go.”

“Oh yeah? My tits leak. No one told me about that.
I’ve
got three months to go.”

“Is that all? I leak, piss, and on top of that, I puke every day at eleven like clockwork.”

“Well
I
haven’t seen my feet in six weeks. The little shit is two weeks overdue already and Masterson insists we wait on Nature. I wanna epidural
and
a caesarean! Fuck natural childbirth!”

Millie was starting to look skittish when the receptionist called to her.
 

“Miss Deafly? The doctor will see you now.”

Dr. Masterson was portly and middle-aged, with a riveting wen on the tip of his nose, slightly off centre. He had kind eyes and a cheery smile. “Miss Deafly, how do you do! And this is?”

“Dr. Masterson, this is Will Pecklise, my . . . companion.”

“Excellent, and now you are three? Is that right?”

“Well, yes . . . although I can hardly believe it. The attending at the hospital seemed very sure, tests and scans and things . . . I felt a little ill, you see.”

Dr. Masterson started typing away at his keyboard, his eyes on Millie’s face. “When was this?”

“Three days ago, but I must tell you, I’m astonished. I had a miscarriage many years ago, an ectopic pregnancy with a consequent infection, and they told me there wouldn’t be any more.”

“I see. Your periods are regular?”

“No. Very infrequent, in fact, sometimes months apart.”

“Your gynaecologist will have to forward your files; I’ll need your permission, Miss Deafly. Were you on the pill?”

“No, and please, call me Millie. I’m afraid I don’t have a gynaecologist. It just didn’t seem relevant to my lifestyle.”

Dr. Masterson frowned. “Your age, Millie?”

“Thirty-six in November, doctor.”

“So, no medical history, thirty-six . . . I’m going to be mean and write you up a battery of tests, okay?”

“Okay.”

“In the meantime, I’ll start you on folic acid, and do an ultrasound straight away to confirm the hospital’s diagnosis. How much do you want this baby, Millie?”

Millie flushed and her eyes filled with tears. “Very, very much.”

“Good, then you’ll behave. No drinking, no smoking, no drugs. We’ll talk about your diet when the blood tests come back, but I warn you I’m very strict.”

Millie laughed. “There was a girl in the waiting room complaining about that!”

Masterson sighed. “That would be Dolly. She’s a ballet dancer. Used to live on lettuce and do six hours of class a day. She put on sixteen pounds the first three months. She lives on ice cream and chocolate.”

Millie grinned. “I can resist the chocolate . . . what about sex?”

“All you like, my dear. Jolly good exercise,
and
it keeps the relationship healthy. Let’s go do that ultrasound, get a clearer picture. Kate will set you up for another appointment in two weeks’ time. You can bring in those blood and urine test results and we can see what’s happening with you and how to proceed. Any questions?” He directed this to Lance who sat quietly, holding Millie’s hand.