Page 7 of Stand Your Ground

I was giddy at the fact that I wouldn’t have to wait any longer. I was only thirty-two, but the last time I’d had my levels tested, my Anti-Müllerian hormone was lower than it should have been for someone my age. My doctor said not to panic, but the whisper was there — ‘sooner is better.’

Part of the reason I’d stalled was that I knew the financial burden I’d have to undertake, and I didn’t want to take it lightly — not on top of the student debt I already had. I wanted this, a family, but I also didn’t want to give up my life of luxury — or my autonomy.

But now, I’d have the financial backing for everything: the medical procedures, the pregnancy, the delivery, the cost of caring for a child, and the paid help I’d need to do itmy way.

My daughter and I wouldn’t want for anything.

Okay, so I didn’t know the gender of my future child, but in my mind, it was always a little mini me. It was always me and my baby girl taking on the world together.

And I’d always keep her safe.

I’d never abandon her.

Unlike my own parents.

The next swig of wine tasted a bit sour with my mind going down that path. Fortunately, I didn’t have time to wander too far down it before my phone rang.

“Miss Young, I have a Carter Fabri for you,” Rolando said. He was one of the employees who ran the front desk in my condominium building.

“Send him up, please.”

I was surprised to find the butterflies winning the battle in my belly as I ended the call, the anticipation of what was to come finally surpassing the anxiety I felt over my hidden reasons to agree in the first place.

I was going to play teacher and pseudo-Domme to Carter Fabri.

I couldn’t help the smirk that spread on my lips at the thought. I’d been a Domme to my fair share of men, but I’d never served as a full-on teacher. It excited me, the thought of training him to please me. It also sent a strong wave of power through me to think he’d pleaseotherwomen with what I taught him, thatthey’d be unknowingly thankingmewhen they called out his name in bed.

But perhaps what intrigued me most of all was his confession that he was a virgin.

Thatwas an experience I hadn’t had since I was in high school, when I didn’t know anything either, and the boy who’d chosen to lose his v-card to me had been a fumbling mess. The whole ordeal had lasted all of four seconds, and he’d been the only one to leave satisfied.

Then again, I was used to sex being a disappointment back then.

That was before I flipped the script, before I took control over my body and my pleasure and never let it go again. I’d learned a lot since then.

Now, I would get to share it with Carter.

To anyone who didn’t know me well, anyone who watched my interactions with Carter on the outside, they’d likely think I was a mega bitch. They’d think I was mean and nasty, that I hated the man.

But it wasn’t anything like that.

I adored Carter — in the way I adored all of my friends. It was wild, how life had landed me in this group of hockey players and bad ass women they called significant others, but they’d become my family.

They were myonlyfamily.

I loved each of them fiercely, and I knew them well — which was why I liked to fuck with Carter. He was like a labrador slobbering at my feet and begging for pets, and I knew after the first few jokes we’d shared that helikedwhen I sassed him. His eyes lit up every time. His lips always curved.

It was our own little game — him throwing every corny pickup line in the book at me without shame, me pretending to be annoyed when we both knew I found it entertaining.

This agreement, of course, would complicate that friendship a bit, but Carter assured me he understood what we were and what we were not, what we never would be. I had to take him at his word for that, and part of me was nervous, but the other part trusted that he was getting what he wanted out of this deal, and he wouldn’t press his luck.

He said he knew I wasn’t into him, and while I hated that he wrote himself off so quickly, he was right.

But it wasn’tjusthim.

It was any man.

I didn’t trust any of them enough to do much more than tie them up in bed and make them beg for mercy, and at thirty-two years old, I didn’t see that changing.