Chapter 6
Morgan
There was a moment last night when Crusher's body was all around me, curling me into a tiny ball and using his giant limbs to cover me.
His head was bowed over mine as though to threaten anyone who might approach with his horns, but he was asleep, and I needed him.
I couldn't help it. I was hot and itchy and achy, and the only thing that would possibly soothe me was him. Inside me.
But he was asleep.
I'm not proud of this, but I pushed my ass up against his half-hard cock, and it responded in a big way. When I rocked into him again, he let out a groan like an ancient god arising from the vast depths for the first time in eons.
He lifted my leg, cocking it back over his hips to spread my pussy for him. Then he sank into me, and every time he did that, it felt better than before. It felt like I was meant for it.
He took my hand, pressed it to my belly, made me feel through the soft flesh to where his length reached past my pelvic bone, to where I could feel it.
He rutted like he was fucking not my pussy but my palm, and then he curled his legs to hold us together and said, "I'm going to keep this right here, okay? So next time you need it, it's already here."
Then he took my nipple in his mouth and fell back asleep.
But now it's the harsh light of day, and he's gone. I always knew this was going to be the end result. I told myself one night of passion, unlike any I've ever felt before, would be worth it. But now I'm feeling the worst sort of sadness.
I comfort myself with the thought that at least Crusher won't witness my Waddle of Shame to the bathroom, except when I push the blanket back, I realize I'm not absolutely swimming in cum like I should be.
In fact, I'm clean. Not even sticky from sweat.
I smell like a fresh wash of the heather soap we used last night.
And the sheets were changed while I slept.
I'm not even shocked I slept through it, to be honest. Last night was crazy.
I'm sore but the best kind of sore when I get out of bed. I consider going as easy as possible and throwing back on the tent Crusher said was his bathrobe yesterday, but then I remember it won't just be Crusher out there this morning. It'll be Frank, too.
Oh, no. I hope this isn't going to be too awkward.
I dress quickly, brush my teeth, hug my tummy. I probably should have told Crusher that humans have had a 100% conception rate here. Just some fluke of the spell that brought us here, I guess. If sperm gets inside us, we get pregnant. I should feel bad that I didn't tell him.
I don't.
I give myself a quick pep talk before wandering out to the kitchen, where Crusher and Frank are having the sort of casual breakfast a married couple has.
I put a smile on my face, telling myself to act like everything was normal last night.
Humans are new; it's clear neither Crusher nor Frank did a ton of research before hiring me to be a surrogate.
There's no reason for them to think that things went too far.
Hell, maybe they didn't. Maybe that's exactly what sex with a minotaur is like, and I'm the one who didn't do my research. I should have sucked it up and fumbled my way through questions over email instead of telling myself we could do it face-to-face.
We did way too much face-to-face.
Frank sees me first. The way he looks at me, the nod he gives me, isn't angry, but it's cold. He was warm with me yesterday.
Maybe he's just not a morning person.
"Sleep well?" he asks, but his tone tells me he knows how little sleep I got last night.
Crusher spins and stands at the same time, knocking over his chair by accident.
He's got the nervous, excited energy of a puppy.
"Do you want some breakfast? Some coffee?
My coffee? There's about half a gallon left, but it's got milk in it, and it's not as good as your milk—do you use your own milk in your coffee because that sounds like a great way to save money and have the best-tasting coffee ever? Here, have a seat."
All in one breath. I'm concerned that he may have already drunk half a gallon of coffee himself and his heart is about to explode.
"Oh, I'm good, I actually—"
He thrusts a carton of water at me.
"Okay, yes, I should have some water. I—oh."
He picks me up and sets me in a chair that makes me feel like a toddler. Everything here is built for Frank and Crusher. It didn't feel so strange yesterday, but I spent the day as an extension of Crusher. Now I'm myself, and I'm miniature.
"Right, okay, we do need to discuss everything, so I should sit."
Crusher rights his chair and sits in it again, but instead of going back to his place setting, where his oatmeal and barrel of coffee are, he sits right next to me, close enough his knee grazes mine.
He puts his elbow on the table and props his head up, giving me a silly, happy grin. "Yeah, let's discuss. Do you like hiking?"
"I—" I blink. "Uhh, we're a bit superstitious about it, actually? The humans are? One of us nearly died hiking, fell off a cliff and only survived because it was the exact moment we all got pulled into this world."
"She doesn’t want to talk about hobbies," Frank huffs at Crusher, pushing away his bowl of meat chunks like I've ruined everyone's breakfast now. "She's talking business." His dark eyes land on me, and yeah, he's definitely not happy with me. Dammit. "The flat rate we offered you was a fair price."
Okay, now I'm offended. "I wasn't going to ask you for more."
Those eyes narrow, and he drums his blunt fingertips on the sturdy hardwood dining table hard enough the sound echoes through the kitchen. "Did you see the numbers from last night?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Hey, man, lay off her," Crusher says, an air of warning in his voice that makes me want to get between them, but they're both crushers.
Instead, I take a deep breath and hold my hands up. "I'm sorry. It's probably my translator messing up. I think I'm just not understanding what you're saying."
Frank leans forward and does that annoying thing some people do where, instead of trying to say things in a less confusing way, they just speak really slowly. "Do you . . . want a cut . . . of the profits?"
"The profits?" I jump to my feet, suddenly horrified that I might be understanding perfectly fine. "Of the baby?"
That gets everyone standing. Which gets me backing away quickly.
My hand goes to my stomach, to the nothing in there, probably not even a fertilized egg yet. What I remember from biology, that can take days.
But there's the makings of a baby in here, a baby I'll forfeit every coin they've offered me to protect.
Crusher's gaze drops to that hand.
"No, no, no. That was for the show," he rushes out, making about as much sense as everything else this morning.
"What show? What are you talking about? Why would you want me to be a surrogate for you and your husband if you're just going to sell the baby?"
"Husband?" Frank blurts out as Crusher's eyes drop once more and he squeaks, "Baby?"
"Or submissive, I don't know! You told me yesterday you were Crusher's submissive!"
Frank holds his giant hands up like he's proclaiming his innocence. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, I didn't say gimp, I said submissive!"
"You just—!" I cut myself off, hold my hands, go perfectly still. "It's my translator. It's gotta be my translator." Now I'm the one talking slow, even though the locals understand us just fine. "Do you . . . have a . . . sexual relationship . . . with Crusher?"
"Only . . . that one time . . . in college." He holds up a finger on each hand, hopefully asking me for patience and not flipping me off. "Also, sometimes we jerk each other off on Crusher's show. But that doesn't count."
Crusher's show.
Crusher lifts his hands, mimicking Frank and me. "You keep saying baby. Why do you keep saying baby?"
"Because I'm a surrogate! I'm a human! Humans are surrogates! You hired a human, and humans are surrogates!"
"I'm a porn star!" Crusher bellows right back. "I hired a human to make porn with because I'm a porn star!"
The numbers.
Did I see the numbers from last night.
Am I asking for more money after seeing last night's numbers.
I lean back against whatever's behind me. A counter, I guess, but it feels funny. Or maybe I feel funny.
"I think I'm going to be sick," I whisper. "Humans . . . we can't read your language. So it has to go through text-to-speech, and then it's still at the mercy of the translation spell. It didn't—it didn't say . . . it didn't say . . . did you livestream last night?"
My eyes are stuck on Crusher, who looks pretty much how I feel right now. He's also frozen, his mouth open, his nose a far paler pink than it was just a minute ago. He's wobbly on his hooves.
But in my peripheral, Frank waves his hand.
"No one freak out yet," he says evenly. "Morgan, are you currently on a contraception spell?"
"They don't work on humans. If sperm gets inside us, we get pregnant."
Crusher swallows, the apple of his throat bobbing like it's a whole melon in there. "You mean . . . you’re . . . already pregnant?"
I cover my mouth with both hands as the magnitude of how badly I fucked up hits me. I nod.
For just a split second, I swear I see Crusher smile.
Then his eyes roll back and his entire body tips sideways, landing on the side of the table, pitching it and lukewarm coffee and congealed oatmeal into the air.