Chapter Twenty-Four
Julien
The universe was testing me.
I’d known this for weeks now. I felt it in the way my carefully ordered life had been systematically dismantled, in the way my wife’s pregnancy had turned my apartment into what could only be described as a spiritual wellness center, in the way I had been forced to surrender control over things I’d spent my entire adult life controlling.
But I was trying.
God help me, I was trying.
Week Eight:
The morning sickness had started.
Not the gentle, occasional nausea. The full-scale, every-morning, sometimes-every-evening warfare between Athena’s body and anything she tried to eat.
“The universe is purging toxins,” she said weakly, her head over the toilet.
“The universe,” I said, holding her hair back, “is being a sadist.”
“It’s natural.”
“It’s horrible.”
“It’s part of the process.”
“I hate the process.”
She laughed, then immediately threw up again.
I’d researched every anti-nausea remedy known to medical science. I consulted with three different OB-GYNs. I even created a meal plan based on foods that were least likely to trigger her symptoms.
None of it worked.
Because the universe, apparently, didn’t care about my research.
“I’m sorry,” she said, after the latest bout had passed.
“Don’t apologize.”
“I know this isn’t what you signed up for.”
I looked at her pale face, exhausted, yet still somehow smiling, and felt something crack in my chest.
“This is exactly what I signed up for,” I whispered. “All of it.”
“Even the vomit?”
“Even the vomit.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m an excellent liar. I’m a surgeon. We lie to patients all the time.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
She laughed again, and this time she didn’t throw up.
Small victories.
Week Twelve:
I was reviewing post-operative scans when my office door swung open.
Without a knock. Without warning. Without any regard for the fact that I was working.
Looking up, I muttered, “Athena, I’m in the middle of—”
My words died in my throat. She was standing in the doorway wearing a sundress that clung to her newly rounded belly, her hair loose around her shoulders, and on her face was an expression I had never seen before.
Predatory.
Determined.
Hungry.
“Hi,” she said, closing the door behind her, and then locking it.
Oh no.
“Athena, what are you doing?”
“I need you.” She walked toward my desk with purpose. “Right now.”
My eye twitched. “I’m working.”
“I know.”
“I have patient files to review.”
“I know.”
“There are people in the building. My colleagues are literally down the hall.”
“I. Don’t. Care.” She reached my desk and leaned forward, her hands flat on the surface, her eyes locked on mine. “The universe is telling me I need you. And I’m not leaving until I get what I want.”
The universe. Of course, because the universe is trying to get me fired.
“Athena, we can’t.”
“We can.” She walked around the desk. “And we will.”
“This is highly unprofessional.”
“You’re my husband.”
“This is my office.”
“With a very sturdy desk.” She was standing directly in front of me now, close enough that I could smell her perfume—something floral and intoxicating that made my brain short-circuit. “And a door that locks.”
“Someone could knock.”
“Then we’ll be quiet.”
“I have a meeting in thirty minutes.”
“Then we’ll be fast.”
My left eye was twitching so hard I was surprised it hadn’t detached from my skull.
This is insane. This is completely insane.
I’m going to lose my medical license.
I’m going to be discovered by Fitz, who will absolutely record this for YouTube.
She kissed me.
Hard.
Demanding.
With the kind of intensity that made every logical thought in my brain evaporate like morning dew under a blowtorch. “Athena.” I managed when she pulled back.
“Stop thinking,” she whispered against my lips. “For once in your life, just stop thinking and feel.”
Feel? I am feeling.
I’m feeling terrified and aroused and completely out of control.
Her hands were already working on my belt.
“We can’t,” I tried again, even as my body betrayed me by responding to her touch.
“We can.” She pushed me back in my chair—my expensive, ergonomic office chair that I had specifically chosen for optimal lumbar support—and straddled me. “The universe wants this.”
“The universe,” I said, my voice strained, “is going to get me fired.”
“The universe,” she corrected, grinding against me in a way that made my vision blur, “knows exactly what it’s doing.”
This is happening.
This is actually happening.
In my office.
During work hours.
While my colleagues are down the hall discussing patient care and surgical techniques.
My hands found her hips, partly to steady her, partly because I had completely lost the ability to resist. “You’re insane,” I breathed.
“I’m pregnant.” She kissed my neck, her teeth grazing my skin. “And horny. And the universe told me you could help with that.”
“The universe is a menace.”
“The universe is a gift.” She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes dark with desire. “Now stop arguing and give me what I need.”
I’m going to Hell.
I’m absolutely going to Hell.
But apparently, I’m taking the scenic route.
I kissed her again, harder this time, my hands sliding up her thighs, pushing her dress higher. She made a sound, a half gasp, half moan that went straight to my cock.
“Quiet,” I warned, even as I helped her adjust her position.
“You’re the one who needs to be quiet,” she shot back, her breath hot against my ear. “You’re the one who makes all those sounds.”
“I do not make sounds.”
“You absolutely make sounds.”
“Athena—”
She moved against me, and whatever I was about to say dissolved into something that was definitely a sound.
“See?” She smiled, triumphant.
I hate her, and I love her.
I am definitely going to die from this pregnancy.
The next several minutes were a blur of movement and sensation and desperate attempts to remain quiet while my wife, my pregnant, cosmically guided, absolutely insatiable wife, took exactly what she wanted from me.
In my office.
On my chair.
During work hours.
This is the most unprofessional thing I’ve ever done.
This is the most reckless thing I’ve ever done.
This is—incredible.
She finished first; her face buried in my shoulder to muffle the sound, her body trembling against mine.
I followed seconds later, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks, my own release so intense that I saw stars.
For a moment, we just sat there, breathing hard, her forehead resting against mine.
“That was—” I started.
“Exactly what I needed,” she finished, kissing me softly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome?” It came out as a question because I wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened as she climbed off me with a satisfied smile, adjusting her dress while I tried to remember how to form coherent thoughts.
“I should go,” she said, checking her reflection in the window. “You have a meeting soon.”
“Athena.”
“Hmm?” She turned back, looking perfectly composed, as if she hadn’t just ambushed and taken advantage of me in my office for a quickie.
“You can’t just...” I gestured helplessly. “You can’t just show up and—”
“Can’t I?” She smiled, that knowing, cosmic smile that suggested the universe had told her exactly how this would go. “The universe says I can.”
“The universe is going to get me fired.”
“The universe,” she said, walking to the door and unlocking it, “knows you loved every second of that.”
She wasn’t wrong.
Damn it!
“I’ll see you at home,” she said, blowing me a kiss. “Love you!”
And then she was gone. Vanished as I sat there for a full minute, trying to process what had just happened.
My wife just used me for sex.
In my office.
During work hours.
And I let her.
I actively participated.
I—enjoyed it.
My eye twitched.
Both eyes, actually.
I stood up, adjusted my clothes, and tried to make myself presentable. Checked my reflection in the window to make sure I didn’t look like I’d just been thoroughly ravished by my pregnant wife. Only, I did look as if I’d just been thoroughly ravished by my pregnant wife.
Perfect.
There was a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I said, trying to sound normal.
Fitz stuck his head in. “You alright, mate? You look a bit... flushed.”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure? Your face is very red.”
“It’s warm in here.”
“Is it?” He looked around. “Feels fine to me.”
Go away. Please, for the love of God, go away.
“Was that Athena I saw leaving?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Yes.”
“She looked very happy.”
“She’s pregnant. Pregnancy hormones.”
“Right.” His smile widened. “Pregnancy hormones. That’s definitely what that was.”
He knows. He absolutely knows.
“Don’t you have patients to see?” I asked.
“I do. But annoying you is much more entertaining.”
“Fitz.”
“Your tie is crooked, by the way.”
I looked down.
My tie was indeed crooked.
Damn it!
“Meeting in five minutes,” Fitz said cheerfully. “Don’t be late!”
He left, and I could hear him laughing in the hallway.
I’m never going to hear the end of this.
Never.
I fixed my tie, grabbed my files, and tried to compose myself.
I’m not going to survive this pregnancy.
She is going to kill me. Death by cosmic intervention and pregnancy hormones.
But as I walked to the conference room, I couldn’t quite suppress the smile that tugged at my lips.
Worth it.
Completely, utterly worth it.
The universe, I was beginning to suspect, knew exactly what it was doing.
Even if it was trying to kill me.
Week Sixteen:
“I think we should paint the nursery,” Athena said.
We were lying in bed, her head on my chest, my hand resting on her slightly rounded stomach.
“Okay,” I said. “What color?”
“I don’t know yet. We should wait and see what feels right.”
What feels right?
What FEELS right?!
I had seventeen paint samples already organized by a color family in my desk drawer.
I had the measurements for the spare bedroom.
I had calculated optimal lighting conditions and researched non-toxic paint brands and created a timeline for completion that accounted for proper ventilation and drying time.
But I was trying.