Page 32 of Nine Months to Bear

Better than fucking her—Iownedher.

I woke up harder than I’ve been in— Well, since right now.

My cock aches in my pants, and I readjust in my office chair, shaking the image away.

When Olivia Aster walks into my office today, it is going to be about my lineage, about securing an heir and gaining a foothold in her company. I want to own Olivia’s business—and that all starts with planting the seed of my legacy inside of her.

My cock twitches.

A simple business transaction. That’s all this is.

How exactly that transaction will occur, though, is still on the table. I smooth my hand over the wood of my desk. Maybe onthistable, in fact.

The image of her tight body bent over this very desk, that pristine white coat hiked up around her waist, invades my mind. Her dark hair would spill across my papers. I can see her looking over her shoulder at me, eyes narrowed, challenging me even as she submits…

My phone buzzes violently, shattering the fantasy. I assume it’s Olivia and I reach for it, but the screen is flashing red.

FIRE ALARM - ELENA SAFONOV RESIDENCE.

“Fuck.” Just like that, every thought of Olivia—of anything except getting my ass across town as fast as possible—is gone. The first vibration hasn’t even finished and I’m already moving, grabbing my keys.

The drive to Dorchester is supposed to take twenty minutes.

I make it in twelve.

I careen to a stop along the familiar curb, my car still running. Smoke trails from the kitchen window of my grandmother’s modest house. Even from the road, I can hear the alarm inside wailing.

I sprint to the door, punching in the code lock I had installed after she lost her keys on her morning walk for the fifth time. The door swings in and I cough at the acrid taste in the air.

“Babushka…?” I leave the door open behind me. I’d have to take the roof off to clear out this smell, but a little fresh air is better than nothing.

She doesn’t answer. Annoyingly, that isn’t unusual. Her hearing aids leave a nonstop buzz that her doctor can’t figure out, so she almost never wears them. My own ears are practically bleeding right now, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she couldn’t even hear the fire alarm.

I push through her overcrowded living room, grateful the floral couch isn’t on fire, and round the corner into the kitchen.

Finally, I see her. There’s a half-second of relief before I realize my elderly grandmother is standing on a chair, waving a dish towel at the smoke detector. As if her falling and breaking a hip would be worth stopping the noise.

In a matter of a half-second, I assess the situation: a melted plastic container in the sink, smoke dissipating, but no active flames.

“Get down from there.” I cross the small kitchen in two steps and lift her off the chair, ignoring her protests. “Before you break something.”

“Ach, always so dramatic.” She swats my shoulder with surprising strength for a woman in her eighties. “A little smoke and suddenly, the world ends? No, I don’t think so.”

I set her down on her feet. “What happened?”

“The container said microwave-safe.” She shrugs with the indignation of someone betrayed by modern conveniences. “Clearly, it lied.”

I reach up and push the silence button. Quiet descends like a thick blanket, but my ears are still humming from the shrill noise.

I turn to give her another lecture—this time about using the food service I’ve arranged for her instead of cooking all of her own meals—but she’s already busy at the island. There’s a steaming teapot there with a handmade cozy wrapped around the fat middle to hold in the heat.

She pours a mug and slides it towards me. “Since you’re here, have some tea.”

“Is this how you get my attention now? You should try calling.” Smoke floats above and around us, not that she appears to notice or care.

“Why bother? You find some reason or another to get over here most days. I don’t even have time to miss you.”

The reasons this week alone include this fire scare, her neighbors reporting a gas stench when she left the stove on during her hair appointment, and the time she set the back door alarm off in the middle of the night because she wanted to see a meteor shower. I found her in her bare feet, staring up at a sky lit only with light pollution from the city.