Page 35 of Nine Months to Bear

“I don’t need to hide from love. If it shows up, I’ll tie it up and chuck it in the basement of my soul, alongside everything else I keep there.”

By the time I make it back to Safonov Holdings, navigating a burst water main and a fender bender, it’s been a full half-hour since I left my grandmother’s, and whatever miniscule sliver of a good mood I might’ve had is dead, gone, and buried.

Mikayla must sense the dark cloud over my head. She approaches cautiously after I burst through the lobby door. “Dr. Aster waited thirty minutes.”

“And?”

“She’s gone now. Stormed out in a huff. But she left something for you. On your desk.”

I push into my office, slamming the door behind me. One breath and I know Olivia has been here. I smell her perfume in the air, a cloud of temptation I want to shove through the window and let waft out into the city for some other poor fuck to deal with instead of me.

Then I see it: a small plastic cup on my desk, sealed and labeled in a neat hand. A sterile specimen container, complete with printed instructions for optimal sample collection.

Wash hands.

Remove lid.

Provide sample.

Close lid.

Refrigerate.

So Olivia has made her decision without even seeing me. Without any discussion or negotiation. Just a fucking cup and printed instructions, like I’m some lab rat expected to produce on command.

I don’t know why I’m fucking disappointed. I never expected our transaction to be romantic. I’d call the entire thing off the second it got that way.

Who the fuck needs romance, after all? I can take over her business the old-fashioned way—with sheer might.

Still, I wouldn’t have minded takingherthe old-fashioned way, too. This sterile, impersonal approach feels like a deliberate slight.

The message is clear: Olivia Aster may be agreeing to carry my child, but she wants nothing to do with me in the process.

I should be offended that she couldn’t even bother to wait half an hour to see the father of her future child face-to-face. But funny enough, I’m not offended. Not in the least.

On the contrary, my blood runs hot with something I haven’t felt in too long.

A challenge.

All day, I’ve been anticipating this meeting, imagining the flush on her cheeks when she finally admitted defeat, the reluctant respect in her eyes when she accepted my terms.

Instead, I got a hint of perfume and a plastic cup.

She’s making me work for it, forcing me to play by her rules—at least for the moment. And fuck if I don’t admire her just a tad bit more for it.

The beast inside me—the one I keep chained and muzzled in public—strains against its restraints, hungry for the chase she’s unwittingly started.

The cup feels like a dare. Like she’s taunting me to prove I’m exactly the monster she thinks I am.

And I never turn down a dare.

I loosen my tie and unzip my pants. Blood is already thrumming through my veins. I’m aching as I wrap my hand around myself, stroking a groan from deep in my chest.

I close my eyes and see her—defiant, brilliant, unbreakable. My careful doctor with her careful control.

Butfuckthat control. I wanted to see her hair mussed, her lipstick smeared. I wanted to wrap her hair around my fist, arch her back, and?—

“Blyat’.” I fumble for the fucking cup. I’m already on the edge. Have been since I got that text last night.