Читать книгу I Need More - Kimberley White - Страница 12

Brock sat in his Zephyr outside the nondescript building he knew was Michigan Cryogenics. He’d cancelled his other appointment, so this was his last chance to collect his sperm before he started radiation therapy. The risk of genetic defects and sterility made his visit a necessity. He struggled with indecision right now, but he had to secure the future possibility of having kids—if he could get Erika back, she’d want to know their dream of a family was still alive.

He’d been able to delay his first radiation treatment by pointing out to Hassan he had to undergo genetic counseling before he stored his sperm. His father had died of testicular cancer, and now he had the diagnosis. If it was inherited, he could pass it on to his kids—if he ever had children.

The genetic counseling had been inconclusive, finding he was at higher risk than the general population, as would be his children, at getting cancer. Without the ability to test his father, the counselor couldn’t be more specific. As a physician, he wasn’t a genetic specialist, but he’d known the basics, and he knew he needed his father alive for the testing to be conclusive. In a way, the counseling sessions had been a stalling tactic. The surgery was inevitable, but the idea of it was surreal. Even knowing his inherited risk, he’d never really believed he’d get the disease and have to get half of his manhood removed.

This would be his first visit over the next two weeks. He needed to store at least five ejaculates to increase his odds of success, because of the inconsistencies of a woman’s ovulation cycle. Between gathering samples he had to remain abstinent for forty-eight hours. Abstaining was the easiest part of the whole ordeal. He’d been celibate for seven months, not once desiring another woman since leaving Erika. His gut tightened as an unwanted thought entered his brain—he wondered if his wife had practiced abstinence with the eye doctor.

Involuntary sterilization. Brock had stared at the words for hours after scheduling his first radiation treatment. The removal of his right testicle would leave him with one functioning testicle, but radiation therapy could cause temporary or permanent sterilization—he wouldn’t know which, if either, would happen to him until after his treatment. He had to forget his embarrassment and his pride, and do this for Erika. Hadn’t they talked about starting a family as soon as her practice was more stable? When his mother was settled and fully recovered from her hip surgery? They wanted two kids, maybe three, and had planned to raise them with old-fashioned values and grand ambitions.

The first time they’d discussed having kids was on their honeymoon. “You’re beautiful,” he’d told her. They were lying in bed nude, enjoying the sensation of bare skin to bare skin as he held her against his chest. “I want a daughter with your expressive eyes.”

“And your determination and strength,” she added. “We’ll have two.”

“The oldest must be a boy,” he added, watching curiously as her petite frame slipped down the length of his body.

“Who is his father in every way.”

A fissure of pride ripped through his heart. All machismo was gone when he was alone and intimate with Erika. It was about soaking up her compassion, reeling in the love she offered so freely. He fought to hold his composure as he drowned in unfamiliar emotions, while Erika, who enjoyed giving love as much as she enjoyed receiving it, was in a playfully giddy mood.

She gathered pineapple rings off the abandoned dinner tray with her fingers. “When should we get started?” she asked.

He folded his arms beneath his head, his eyes on the ceiling as he dreamed of their future. “We should get you settled in your practice first.”

“We did get married suddenly.” She giggled with happiness.

“You don’t regret it, do you?” He held his breath as he waited for an answer. He’d known Erika was a perfect fit for him from the first time they’d had a conversation, but this was the first time he doubted his value to her. Hurting her, disappointing her would crush him.

“Hell, no.”

It was the first and last time he’d ever heard her curse. He smiled at how awkward the word sounded coming from her, a woman with such a sweet disposition just entering a room made preexisting tension dissipate.

Something tightened around his penis. “What are you doing?” His head bobbed up to see her forcing the pineapple rings down the shaft, each breaking open enough to fit, releasing cold juices. She glanced at him with those soulful eyes, her smile replaced by something more primal, and he almost exploded at the intensity of it.

He became bone-hard instantly, stretching the fruit with his girth. The juice from the pineapples poured down his penis, pooling at his balls. Erika washed the sticky mess with her tongue. She took her time, angling her head and slowly eating away each pineapple ring. The scene was erotic, hot, and dangerous because it sent his mind to places it had never been, and he became desperate to release the tension riding him. His scrotum tightened, his penis throbbed, but Erika continued on with painful precision, ignoring his anxiety.

She ate at him with tiny nibbles, alternated with big bites, always coming close, but not quite putting her mouth on him. His fingers burrowed in the pillows, fighting the urge to grab her hair and drag her mouth to his penis, forcing the whole length of it down her throat. She unraveled him, unleashing every sexual fantasy he’d ever had. Pineapples would never be served the same again.

Finally, every ring was gone. She leaned up from his thigh just enough for him to watch her drag the back of her hand across her mouth. His restraint shredded into tiny pieces just as she lowered her head and sank her mouth down on him, letting her tongue guide the way. She tried to swallow the length of him, but she was still new at having him in her mouth, and it proved too much for her. She applied suction, hallowing her cheeks as she moved upward off his penis. When she reached the throbbing bulb, she released him with a smack of her lips, and he spewed like a geyser.

Now, a surge of guilt threatened to make him pull out of the parking lot. Here he was planning for a future with Erika when he had destroyed any chance of it happening. He’d left her because it was the right thing to do. If he was confused on that point, just sitting in the parking lot of a sperm bank should clear his head. He was sick, and even if he beat the cancer, there would be lingering effects.

He should leave her. Leave Erika to find the happiness she deserved. With someone else. Like Mark Garing? The thought made him flush with anger. He’d suspected it, and he’d all but proved it when he walked into her office a couple of days ago and found Mark there, comforting her when her patient had all but attacked her.

To an outsider, it looked innocent enough, a colleague coming to check out the commotion and maybe assist if he could. Camaraderie between the physicians at Mission Hospital. Yeah, right. He’d seen the way Mark looked at his wife. He recognized the admiration and desire for Erika—he felt it himself. Mark wanted his wife, but he would not get her.

Brock left his car, mindlessly hitting the button to lock the doors and arm the alarm. Frozen sperm had been shown to produce pregnancies for fifty years after donation. It could be stored indefinitely. With the way things were between him and Erika, he needed to know this clock wasn’t ticking against him.

Armed with his physical assessment, verifying he was free from AIDS, HIV, gonorrhea, hepatitis, and syphilis, Brock entered the clinic. He handed over all the paperwork Hassan had completed and took a seat in an elegantly decorated waiting room. Sitting alone in the waiting area, he had second thoughts. The other patrons were paired by two, probably married couples seeking an alternative, looking for hope when all else had failed. They were so in love, so desperate, they were willing to raise a child half theirs. Doubts assaulted him again, and he rose to leave, but a nurse with a warm smile called his name, pulling him into the back before he could escape.

The consultation took place in a medicinal office with the nurse asking blunt questions in a professional tone. He’d always marveled at the way the nurses at the hospital could tackle the most controversial subject with patients without hesitation, while he and his colleagues hedged and vacillated before reaching the point.

“We like to run all the required tests here,” the nurse said as she reviewed his paperwork.

“The director made prior arrangements with my doctor, because of the press for time. This entire process had to be completed before my surgery.”

“Surgery?”

He struggled with telling a stranger he was having one of his testicles removed. He couldn’t say the words aloud. Instead, he pointed to the place in his paperwork where she could find the answer.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes revealing she truly meant it.

He saw Erika’s face, devastated by his diagnosis and what his future would become.

“I see you’ve completed the mandatory counseling session, but our social workers are always available if you’d like to discuss this before beginning the process.”

He could only imagine what expression he was wearing to make her offer additional counseling sessions. “No, thank you.” He had to do it today, because he’d never gather the resolve to return if he walked away now. This was for Erika and their future. He had no room for hesitation.

After collecting a urine specimen for further testing of sexually transmitted diseases, he was given a short tour of the facility. He learned how his sperm would be frozen, labeled, stored, and monitored twenty-four hours a day. Finally, he was escorted to a private donor room on the other side of the facility. He was left alone with a sterile cup, a stack of magazines, and a television with plenty of XXX movies.

“Take as much time as needed,” the nurse said, closing the door on him.

He locked the door and then dropped on the sofa, cup in hand. Just knowing the nurse was waiting for him to masturbate into the cup was enough to keep him limp. Ten percent of his sperm would die during freezing—he couldn’t waste a drop, which added more pressure. It was all so medicinal. His sperm would be analyzed, and he could call in the morning for the results of how well his sperm swam. A cryopreservative would be added; then his sperm would be separated into vials and frozen in liquid nitrogen. He couldn’t even think of what Erika would have to go through to be inseminated. He’d always pictured his wife getting pregnant with his child after they’d made love. Not this way with doctors and nurses providing the only skin-to-skin contact during the inception.

This venture was costing him a nice sum of money. There were fees associated with every step of the process, not to mention the monthly storage fee and withdrawal fees—if he ever needed to use it. He hadn’t been able to drink for two days prior to banking, but he sure as hell was heading directly to his favorite bar afterward.

He flipped through a magazine, turning the pages in bunches. He had no interest in these women. They were too perfect, which made them phony-looking. He selected the first video in the stack, finding the scenes humorous and not at all arousing. If he couldn’t provide a sample, he’d have to resort to a seminal collection device to force the sperm out of him.

He was too stressed. Stressed over his marriage, his medical condition, and knowing the nurse was outside the door waiting for him to jack off.

“This is for Erika,” he said, closing his eyes on the television screen. He relaxed back into the sofa, stretching his long legs out in front of him and thinking of the pineapples again.

On their honeymoon in the Pocono Mountains, Erika had slid down the length of his body, her hands caressing his back, his ass, his legs, until she kneeled on the floor in front of him. She looked up at him with those big brown eyes as if she were asking permission to take him inside her mouth—and it had been the biggest turn-on of his life. Even now as he remembered her naked on her knees, his penis stirred to life. He unzipped his pants and took himself in hand, remembering lubrication and saliva was a no-no when obtaining a clean sample. This would have to be a rough ride.

Although she’d done it a few times, he could tell Erika wasn’t comfortable with fellatio. He didn’t press the issue, knowing she’d probably come around, but realizing it didn’t make a difference in how much he loved her. But their honeymoon was different. Fresh from the shower, after making love twice, he’d been prepared to climb into bed and hold her tight until morning.

He watched with fascination as she blinked, waiting for him to begin, when she had taken the role of aggressor. She lifted his penis and placed it gently against her lips, leaning in when her lips parted. She played with him first, touching and stroking with only the tip between her lips. Then she lightly licked his crown, like tasting a candy sucker—similar to the way his thumb brushed the blooming head now.

She took in only an inch or two at first, sampling the feel of him rubbing across her tongue. Her hands encircled his shaft and, together with her tongue, made a slow, steady rhythm. He tried to recreate it now as he stroked his penis, slowly, up and down, with only his palms touching the sensitive skin.

Erika took another two inches, using her tongue to circle the head. She’d been holding out on him—or practicing. He didn’t care which. He was only happy he’d married her. She kept giving him reasons, and seeing her on her knees, watching her take his penis inside her mouth was one of the best. He mimicked her actions now, remembering every detail of their first married night together.

She worked him, quickly learning how much power she had over his pleasure. She took him as deep as she could, struggling with her gag reflex, and never realizing how much it excited him to see her fighting to get him all inside. She pulled back to the tip, lavishing it with her tongue while she watched him with the deep brown eyes.

His penis began to pulse—then and now—and he pumped uncontrollably—then and now. It had freaked her out a bit and she started to pull her mouth away, but he couldn’t let her. His fingers tangled through her hair, bringing her back down his shaft. She picked up the pulse throbbing up and down his penis, and chased it with the tip of her tongue.

His legs had started to buckle. The muscles of his thighs were quivering now, and he increased the speed of his stroke, using both hands—one to apply pressure, one to pump him.

Erika sensed the nearness of his climax. She pulled away, taking the heat of her mouth with her. She looked up at him and asked, “What would you like to do to me next?”

He exploded—now. Back then he had pushed her onto the carpet and sank his penis deep into her until she placed her hands on his shoulders and told him to slow down. He was barely able to separate reality from the past, but he grabbed the sterile cup in time to place it beneath the arch of his sperm.

Brock wasn’t about to evict Erika from their home. She’d threatened to leave if he moved back, so he stayed in the dingy apartment on the hospital grounds. But that didn’t stop him from going back to the house every chance he got. He couldn’t shake the way Mark had been looking at her, and he wanted to find out exactly what it meant.

“Ma, we have to go or you’ll be late for your therapy appointment.” Brock waited impatiently at the bottom of the stairs for his mother to come down. She insisted on using the stairs, ignoring the elevator he’d had installed in the back of the house for her usage when she refused to take their downstairs master bedroom suite.

“I’m coming.”

He watched in amazement as his mother descended the stairs. She was dressed in a gray jogging suit, but her face was all made up, and her hair had been done too. There was less gray and more curls.

“Close your mouth, son.”

“Why are you dressed up for therapy? I thought you hated PT.”

“I do. So I might as well dress my best for it. It makes me feel better.”

It didn’t take long to figure out why his mother had obtained a sudden love of going to therapy. His name was Titus, and he was the therapist’s assistant. He appeared to be around his mother’s age—60, maybe—and he also appeared to have a thing for women five years his senior. Brock watched from the sideline, quietly observing the ratio of talking and flirting to working out. A couple of times he’d started to cross the room when Titus found it necessary to work out his mother’s muscles.

He watched the show, reserving his objections until he could speak to Erika about it. She’d gotten possession of the house and his mother when he’d moved out. Surely, he could hold her responsible for his mother’s flirtatious behavior. He wanted his mother to have a full life, but not with a man neither of them knew anything about. He couldn’t wait to get his mother home, narrowly following the speed limit. When they arrived, Erika was in the kitchen cooking dinner. His mother practically bounced up the stairs to her bedroom with her bum hip, limp and all.

“You didn’t tell me the assistant therapist has a thing for my mom,” Brock said, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“What?” she asked, amused.

“Older guy with graying temples, wears his pants too loose and his shirts too tight.” The older man actually had a solid build for someone his age.

She smiled at him and he thought it was genuine. “Are you upset? Your mother is entitled to have a personal life. It’s kinda cute.”

“What do we know about this man? And what do we know about what’s going on between them?”

“This is the first I’ve heard about it.”

“Can you talk to her about it?”

She realized his seriousness. “I’ll talk to her, but I won’t pry into her business.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I wouldn’t want something going on with them right up under my nose and not know about it until it was too late.”

She glanced at him, and reading him correctly, she turned her focus back to the stove.

“Men like to take advantage of a woman if he feels she’s vulnerable,” he pressed. “Especially if the woman is lonely.”

“I’ll look out for your mother.”

“How’s Danny doing?” He switched the subject quickly, wanting her to make the connection.

She filled him in on the young man’s progress. “He’ll be an inpatient for at least thirty days.”

“You must have been scared. Was that the new ophthalmologist in your office?”

“Dr. Garing.”

“You didn’t introduce us.”

“It was crazy.” She answered him coolly, giving him no hint of emotion, which was odd for a woman as expressive as Erika. The vigorous way she stirred the bubbling pot told him she was nervous.

“What was he doing there? Is Danny his client too?”

“No.” She turned away, checking something in the oven. “He heard all the noise and came to see what was going on. Like you did.”

“Bradley called me because you’re my wife. Why did he come?”

“I guess he came to help.”

“He didn’t say?”

She shook her head, her back still to him.

“You were talking when I came in.”

“Maybe he did say. There was so much confusion.”

“Yeah.” He watched her move across the kitchen, checking pots and avoiding his gaze. “Mark Garing, he knows you’re married, right?”

“What?” She laughed nervously.

“Does he know you’re married?”

“He knows.”

And now I know the character of the man I’m dealing with. “Does he hang around your clinic a lot?”

“What? No. What’s with all the questions about Mark?”

“I like to know what’s going on in my wife’s life.” He glared at her, searching for any evidence to confirm his suspicions. “I don’t want this situation to become more complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

“Any other woman might see seven months as a long time to be apart from her husband. She might not be as strong as you are. She might be vulnerable enough to let an opportunistic man work his way into the middle of her marriage.”

She turned to him, putting down the cooking utensils and focusing her attention on him. “Any other husband might not leave his wife in limbo for seven months. He might make a decision and let her move on with her life…no matter what direction it would take her in.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not those people.”