2 - A MISTAKE AT THE CLINIC #4
"Keep going," she whispered.
He stood. Unbuttoned his jeans. Pushed them down along with his boxers until he was bare before her, his cock hard and thick and already glistening at the tip. Victoria moved backward on the bed, making room, and he climbed over her, his weight settling between her thighs.
"You're sure?" he asked, and she could feel the head of him pressed against her entrance, hot and insistent.
"I'm carrying your child," she said. "I think we're past the point of uncertainty."
Something flickered in his eyes—possession, maybe, or wonder—and then he pushed inside her, and they both stopped breathing.
He moved slowly at first. Long, deep strokes that filled her completely, that made her feel every inch of him.
Victoria wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his back, pulling him deeper.
His forearms braced on either side of her head, his face inches from hers, his breath ragged.
"You feel—" He couldn't finish. She didn't need him to.
"Harder," she said. "Please."
His restraint shattered. He drove into her with a force that made the bedframe creak, made the headboard thump against the wall, made her cry out with each thrust.
The guest room, Joey’s old room with all of his high school trophies, became a blur of sensation—the slide of Brock’s skin against hers, the taste of sweat on his neck, the low sounds he made with each exhale.
Victoria reached between them. Found her clit. Circled it with her fingers while he fucked her, chasing the edge, chasing the white-hot oblivion she knew was coming.
"I want to be on top," she gasped.
He rolled them without pulling out, and suddenly she was straddling him, her knees planted on either side of his hips, her palms flat on his chest. She rode him the way she had on the couch—hard, desperate, chasing her own pleasure—and Brock's hands gripped her hips, guided her, urged her faster.
The angle was different like this. Deeper. She could feel him hitting the place inside her that made sparks shoot up her spine, and she chased that feeling with every roll of her hips.
"Victoria." His voice was strained. "I'm close. I'm—"
"Cum inside me." The words tore from her throat. "I'm already pregnant. Just—cum inside me."
His back arched. His grip on her hips turned bruising. And then he climaxed with a guttural growl that sounded like he'd kept it locked away for years.
Victoria felt the heat of him spread through her, and it sent her over the edge a second time—smaller, sharper, a clenching release that milked the last of his orgasm from him. She collapsed onto his chest, her face buried in his neck, her body still trembling.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The ceiling fan turned its lazy circles above them. Someone's car passed on the road outside, the sound distant and unimportant.
Then Brock's hand came up to rest on her back. "What are we doing?"
"I don't know." Her voice was muffled against his skin. "But we're doing it."
"We can't keep—this can't be a regular thing."
"I know."
"Do you? Because every time we say it's a mistake, every time we promise it won't happen again—" He exhaled. "It keeps happening."
Victoria pushed herself up on her elbows, looking down at him. His face was flushed, his gray eyes soft in the aftermath. He looked younger like this. Less like a correctional officer and more like a man who'd been lonely for a very long time.
"Maybe we stop pretending," she said quietly. "Maybe we just accept that this is what we are now. What we've become."
"And what's that?"
"Two people who found something they weren't looking for." She touched his cheek, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "I'm not going to leave Joey. I'm not going to tell him the truth about the baby. But I'm not going to pretend I don't want you either. I can't."
Brock closed his eyes. "He's my son."
"You think I don't know that?" She sat up, swinging her leg over him, suddenly aware of the mess between her thighs.
"You think I don't carry that guilt every second of every day? But I carry this too."
She pressed her hand to her belly. "Our child. Our secret. And I'm not going to apologize for being happy about it."
She stood. Found her underwear, her shorts, her blouse. Dressed herself with her back to him while the bed creaked behind her.
"Victoria."
She turned. He was sitting up now, sheet pooled around his waist, looking at her with an expression she couldn't read.
"I'm not going to apologize either," he said. "Not for this. Not for the baby. Not for—" He gestured between them. "Whatever this is."
"Okay."
"Okay."
They looked at each other across the guest room—the room that held all of Joey's childhood trophies and all of their adult betrayals. Somewhere in the house, the air conditioning kicked on. The vent above the door rattled.
"I need to shower," Victoria said.
"Yeah."
She paused at the door. "Brock?"
"What?"
“He isn’t going to find out.”
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. The look in his gray eyes said everything.