Page 41 of Nine Months to Bear

I try to open my mouth andjustspititthefuckoutalready—but then he stands. Slowly, deliberately. I catch a glimpse of him adjusting himself before he steps around the desk.

I back up and up and up—until the door accidentally clicks shut behind me.

Perfect. Now, I’m trapped between solid wood and, if the bulge in his pants is any indication… solid wood.

“The c-cup,” I stammer. “I came for the— We don’t need the cup.”

His pupils are blown. “My thoughts exactly.”

“That’s not what I—” But his hand cups my jaw, and the argument falls away. “Tell me, Dr. Aster… In your professional medical opinion, which has the higher success rate: your clinical methods or the traditional approach?”

I swallow hard. “Our… our… m-methods are highly advanced. We don’t use… turkey basters, if that’s what you’re implying.”

His laugh is like a blast of desert wind, hot and merciless. “That wasn’t my question.” He takes another step closer, until I can feel the heat of him, smell the expensive cologne mingling with the musk of pre-sweat.

His hand slides from my jaw to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there, feeling my pulse race beneath his fingertips.

“The statistics show?—”

“No.” He shakes his head. “No hiding behind statistics. Tell me the truth. Man and woman. Flesh to flesh. Is anything better than the real thing?”

The wall is cool against my back, a stark contrast to the fire building inside me. I’m a fertility specialist—I know the answer; I’ve recited it to countless couples. But admitting it to Stefan feels like surrendering something vital. It’d be waving a white flag, and then God only knows what spoils of victory he’d claim for himself.

“No,” I finally whisper. “Natural conception has higher success rates in otherwise healthy individuals. The… environment, the hormones released during intercourse… create optimal conditions for fertilization.”

His thumb traces my lower lip. I can’t help the small intake of breath. “And we’re both healthy individuals, aren’t we, Olivia?”

My body betrays me with a shiver. There are a million things I could say to argue back. But each and every one of those things is drowning in a sea of hormones screaming wordlessly at me, like Romans at the Coliseum pointing their thumbs to the earth and screaming for Stefan to finish it already.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs. I can feel his pulse hammering against my throat. Or is that mine? “Tell me you don’t want this.”

I should. God, I should. But my hands are already in his hair, and his mouth tastes like surrender.

The first kiss is nuclear—not gentle, not tentative, not at all. His tongue claims my mouth, and my body gives it up before my mind can even begin to mount a defense. I came here to escape him, not to fall deeper.

Whoops.

His hands are everywhere—tangled in my hair, sliding beneath my blouse, squeezing every curve harder than anyone’s ever touched me before.

The sperm sample cup—my reason for returning—lies forgotten on his desk.Ironic, I think through the haze of desire,that I’d come to prevent this exact outcome.

“Wait!” I gasp, pressing my palms against his chest.

Stefan pulls back just enough to study my face. “For what?”

“For— We— I’m a doctor,” I whisper, more to remind myself than him. “With ethics guidelines, professional standards?—”

“And a racing heart.” His fingers trace the pulse point at my neck. “Should I be concerned?”

“That’s an involuntary physiological response,” I counter.

I keep trying to find my way out of this mess.Dr. Asterwould never do this.Dr. Astermaintains perfect control.

But Olivia—the woman beneath the lab coat—knows she’s already lost. She’s just trying to delay the inevitable.

“Is this involuntary, too?” He slides his hand beneath the waistband of my skirt, finding me embarrassingly ready. I bite back a moan as his fingers stroke once, twice. They make his point for him.

“Yes,” I say hoarsely. “But that doesn’t mean it’s right.”