I’m aware of his eyes drifting over me as well, taking the same eyeful that I am. Deliberately, I lean back, laying back down on the bed, and spread my legs, looking at him through hooded eyes. He watches me, barely daring to breathe.

  “Are you going to fuck me or not?” I ask in a low voice.

  “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll forget everything else,” he promises with a growl, stepping forward.

  I feel the heat of his skin. It’s like lying in front of a furnace. His hands grip my hips tightly, pulling me forward, and I gasp as he nudges my knees a little further apart, lining up at my entrance. He meets my eyes and, never breaking his gaze, he starts to slide into me.

  His cock is large and thick, pulling me apart, and my breath hitches as I grip the bedspread below me. He nudges forward a little more and I glare at him.

  “Move,” I groan.

  I don’t want slow. I want hard and fast; I want to feel him pounding into me, as he reaches as deeply as he can. I wrap my legs around him, trying to pull him in fast.

  Lyle pauses. And then he grins. Before I can react, he snaps deeply into me in one, quick thrust and I throw my head back, moaning and writhing at the sensations. Then he pulls back and thrusts in again, burying himself deeply within my body. I try to meet his thrusts, but he sets a hard, punishing pace, encouraged by my needs, and I’m left to simply ride it out as he moves in and out of me, the mattress bouncing beneath us with the force. At some point, I’ve reached up to grab his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin, needing an anchor before I’m carried away in the wave of pleasure that’s threatening to break over me.

  Then he hits my g-spot and stars explode behind my eyes. I cry out and he thrusts that way again, angling himself differently. I groan, unintelligible words spilling from my lips; I don’t know if I’m saying his name, if I’m pleading for more or if I’m saying something else. My world has narrowed down to his cock as it pulls in and out, and the grip that I have on his shoulders to hold me down.

  But it can’t last forever. I hold on as long as I’m able, but it’s too much. My vision goes white as my body shudders, pleasure wrapping around me with incredible force. I think I black out for a moment and, when I come to, Lyle is shaking too, groaning, buried deeply inside me.

  Slowly, the world comes back into focus. Lyle pulls out of me and collapses down beside me. We’re panting, overwhelmed by the intensity of what just happened between us.

  Then a thought occurs to me. It’s not something I expected to think straight after mindblowing sex, but I suddenly realized that something was missing. I look quickly down at Lyle’s now flaccid cock; somehow, tipsy and horny and desperate, we forgot a condom. How hilarious is it that we remembered when we were drunk, but we forgot when we’d only had a few drinks.

  It’s fine, I decide as I close my eyes. We can get tested at a later date. For now, I’m not going to be concerned; I just want to lay here and bask in the aches of my body after very amazing sex.

  Chapter Nine

  Amanda

  Two weeks later, I meet Lyle again, this time to go to a movie.

  Part of me expected that things would slowly fade between Lyle and I, just like it has with all my other boyfriends. Whatever he might have said over coffee two weeks ago, I couldn’t truly believe that he would be okay being second best to my work.

  And then I realized that I was second best to his work.

  It seems that Lyle is just as much of a workaholic as I am. That shouldn’t be such a turn-on but, somehow, it is. His passion for his work reminds me of just how passionate he is in the bedroom.

  So, rather than slowly dying away, the feelings I have for Lyle are slowly getting stronger, and so is the bond between us. In the last two weeks, we have met four more times, and two of those times ended up in hotels again. We can’t get enough of each other, and time has only strengthened the desire I feel for him.

  It’s getting to the point where I’m considering the fact that I need to officially tell my parents that I’m seeing someone. Very quickly, the relationship I have with Lyle right now is going from casual to serious. When I found myself sitting in a café with him three days ago, both of us quietly doing work as we sat at the same table, content to just sit in each other’s company, I knew that this was going to be different to any other relationship that I’ve had previously.

  And that’s a little scary.

  I’ve arrived at the movie theater. I’m a little early, since I’ve come directly from work. Normally, I’d still be stuck in traffic at this time, but I left work a half hour ago. My father, angry that the collaboration with Energy Plus Co. was going so well, started on at me, telling me that my reports were wrong and that he expected every single one of them to be done by next week or he’ll pull the plug on my deal.

  Normally, I would shout back and call him out for being an utter bastard. He’s only on my case because he’s upset, and I won’t put up with him taking his frustrations out on me, especially when I know I’m doing a good job.

  Today, though, something he said must have struck a nerve. I’m not sure why, but, all of a sudden, tears came to my eyes, startling my father out of his rant. I remember snarling at him (I think I might have told him what a bastard he was being), and then I stormed out, telling him I’d be back in the morning to talk about this rationally. I’d gotten as far as the ground floor bathroom before I huddled in a stall and burst into tears.

  I’m not usually the weepy kind. But it makes sense. My father and I have a very complicated relationship, and I do love him, but I also put up with a lot of crap from him. It’s no wonder I eventually cracked. I even felt a little better after a good cry, and I was able to emerge from the bathroom, ready for my date with Lyle, feeling fresh and much happier.

  “Amanda!”

  I look up. Lyle is hurrying toward me, a huge grin on his face. It looks like he’s early too. It shouldn’t surprise me; one thing I’ve learnt about Lyle in the last two weeks is that he has the same need I do to be early for absolutely everything.

  “Hey,” I greet, smiling at him. “Good to see you.”

  “You too,” he says. “Ready for the movie?”

  I try to remember what we picked, but I’ve honestly forgotten. I smile anyways and nod; anything is good as long as I’m with Lyle.

  “Very ready,” I say with a laugh.

  “I paid for the tickets online,” he says, waving a QR code on his phone. “Want some popcorn?”

  I love popcorn; no movie is complete without it. At the very mention of it, however, my stomach suddenly lurches uncomfortably. I pause; that’s not the first time that’s happened lately. I’ve either eaten something that doesn’t agree with me or I’m coming down with something. I have heard that there’s some sort of stomach virus going around.

  “Maybe just a lemonade,” I decide; the fizzy drink should help settle my stomach, if my mother’s home remedies are to be believed.

  “Are you sure that’s all you want?” Lyle asks, concerned.

  “Yeah… I ate before I came here,” I lie.

  “Alright,” he says. “I’m getting popcorn, anyway, so feel free to nab some if you need to.”

  “Sounds great,” I laugh.

  “I’ll go get our tickets and food,” he says. “Wait here.”

  He’s gone before I can protest. I shake my head, smiling. Another thing about Lyle is that he insists on paying for everything. The guy must be somewhat rich considering how much money he’s blown on our dates. Or maybe he’s just not very money-conscious.

  When Lyle returns, he’s carefully balancing two drinks and a large tub of popcorn. At the sight of the snack and the smell of the fresh butter and salt, my stomach lurches again, this time more violently. What is wrong with me?

  “Are you okay?” Lyle asks, looking at me closely. “You just went a little green.”

  Great, now it’s obvious that I’m sick.

  “I’ve been a little off the last few days,” I admit.

  He hands me my drink and I sip at it. The cool liquid slides down my throat, making me realize just how hot I actually feel right now. Maybe there is something wrong with me.

  “We can go if you want,” Lyle offers.

  “No way,” I protest. “You’ve already bought the tickets.”

  “I don’t mind,” he says.

  “I do,” I say firmly. “Come on, I’ve been looking forward to this movie.” Another lie, since I can’t even remember what we’re seeing. “I’ll be sitting down and not moving, so I should be fine. I can go to bed and rest after.”

  Lyle looks unconvinced. But then he says:

  “Fine, if you think you’re okay,” he says.

  “I am,” I say.

  To prove it to myself, I grab a few kernels of popcorn and pop them in my mouth. I grin at him, ignoring the bile that I have to force back down.

  I’ll be fine. I’m definitely okay.

  “Lyle, I don’t think I’m okay,” I groan.

  “Shh, it’s fine,” he says, smoothing my hair off my forehead. “Fuck, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you say something?”

  I don’t answer. Lyle is escorting me from the theater. Inside, staff are directing the rest of the movie-goers to exit through another door, the movie having been interrupted when I finally lost the battle with my stomach and threw up in the aisle. I feel a little bad, but the cinema has already promised a full refund to everyone, and an extra session at some point so we can all try to watch it again.

  “Maybe you should go see a doctor,” Lyle says, worried. “You don’t look good.”

  I’m draped over his shoulder and my legs aren’t quite holding up. On top of that, most of my effort is going into not throwing up again.

  “Sorry,” I say with a weak smile. “This probably wasn’t the date you imagined.”

  “Any moment with you is a date,” he says with a laugh, spouting one of the cheesy lines I’ve come to love. “But I’m more worried about you right now. You’re really sick. How long has this been going on?”

  “A few days,” I admit, struggling to remember. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

  “Doctor tomorrow,” he decides. “You need to get this checked out. You don’t want it to get worse.”

  “I have a meeting tomorrow,” I protest.

  “Reschedule it,” Lyle says firmly. “Hell, I’ll reschedule for you.”

  I lean against Lyle’s shoulder weakly and allow him to take me to his car so he can drive me home, not even having the strength to worry about my own car.

  I can think of everything later. Right now, I just really hope that this sickness goes away soon so I can continue enjoying my time with Lyle.

  Chapter Ten

  Amanda

  I don’t know how he managed it, but Lyle got me a last-minute appointment the next day with a doctor in the city. He offered to take me, but I declined; I don’t feel as sick today, so I should be able to get there under my own steam, especially since Lyle and one of his friends went out to pick up my car last night.

  Lyle is reluctant, but he nods his agreement and leaves, kissing me softly. The kiss makes my head spin for a completely different reason, and I’m still smiling as I get into my car to go to the doctor. My father wasn’t happy about me taking a day off work, but my mother called him and he backed off pretty quickly. I’d love to know what she said to him to get that reaction; maybe she’s holding something over him that I could use to finally force him to respect me.

  In retrospect, that’s probably why she’s never told me what she has on him. My mother is a firm believer in the fact that respect needs to be earned, not manipulated.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you?” Lyle asks again, over the phone.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, a little exasperated. Who knew Lyle was such a worrywart? “I’m just getting in the car now. You do realize that, if they do blood tests, I won’t know for a few days, though, don’t you?”

  “I know,” Lyle says hurriedly. “It was just scary seeing you so sick. This isn’t the sort of thing you’d ignore until it goes away.”

  If I’m honest, that was exactly what I was planning on doing. I’ve inherited more than my fair share of my father’s stubbornness, and I know I would have continued working, no matter how hard I feel, if my mother and Lyle hadn’t urged me to rest. It’s nice to know that the two of them are so concerned for my welfare, but it’s a little frustrating when I honestly don’t think there’s anything to worry about.

  “And that’s why I’m heading to the doctor,” I say firmly. “I’ll be fine. I’ll message you later, okay?”

  “…Fine,” Lyle says reluctantly. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  I sigh and hang up. I haven’t been worried in the slightest, confident that this is just some kind of stomach bug that will likely disappear as quickly as it appeared, but some of Lyle’s paranoia seems to be rubbing off on me. I actually feel a little nervous as I get in my car, not sure I want to hear what the doctor will say.

  As I drive to the clinic, I mentally categorize my symptoms so I can list them to the doctor. Sudden nausea at odd times… Overheating… Extreme tiredness… Not to mention the odd mood swings I’ve been having lately. I frown. None of it sounds like symptoms of any illness I know of, though I know better than to try and diagnose myself when I know very little about medicine.

  I snort. Everyone is overreacting. I’m one hundred percent certain that I’m just overtired. I’ve been working very hard lately, and the new deal with Energy Plus Co. has put even more responsibilities on my shoulders, especially with the added pressure from my father.

  No, there’s nothing wrong, and both Lyle and my mother are overreacting. Once I leave the doctor’s clinic, I’ll use the day off I have to get some rest, and I’ll probably wake up raring to go tomorrow.

  With this newfound confidence, I park my car and march into the clinic, paying very little attention to the other patients in the waiting room. There’s an elderly man already at the reception window, so I step in behind him and study the walls, ignoring the conversation going on in front of me. When the man finally moves away, I move forward.

  “What can I do for you?” the woman at the window asks; she looks tired and a little frazzled.

  “I have an appointment?” I say. “My name is Amanda Simmons.”

  The woman frowns at her computer for a second before her expression clears.

  “Yes, thank you, Amanda,” she says. “Please take a seat and Doctor Dias will be with you shortly.”

  “Thank you,” I reply.

  I sit gingerly in a chair. It’s hard and uncomfortable, and I shift for several moments, trying to find a less painful way to sit in it. I check my watch; I’m five minutes early for my appointment but there are a lot of people in the waiting room, and I hope that there aren’t that many people in front of me. I sigh and lean back.

  It’s not like I’m in a rush to go anywhere today.

  In the end, it’s another twenty minutes before a female doctor steps into the room, a clipboard in her hand. She scans the sheet on the board quickly before looking up.

  “Amanda Simmons?”

  My own name penetrates my consciousness and I jerk out of the half-asleep dozing that I fell into, still oddly tired despite a full night’s rest. I blink for a moment, my body automatically pulling me to my feet.

  “Come with me, please,” the doctor says politely when she notices that I’m standing.

  She turns and walks down the hallway. I lurch after her, yawning widely and rubbing my eyes. That short power nap has just made me feel ten times worse.

  “So, what can I help you with?” Doctor Dias asks as we enter her room, closing the door behind us.

  I study her. I’m a little anxious about not seeing a doctor I’m used to, especially at a last-minute appointment like this one, but Doctor Dias has turned to face me, her expression open and expectant.

  “I haven’t been feeling well the last few days,” I say, relaxing slightly. “I’ve been vomiting, and I’ve felt really tired.”

  Doctor Dias frowns.

  “May I check your temperature and blood pressure?” she asks.

  I nod and she wheels her chair toward me. I watch as she wraps a piece of material around my arm and her eyes are locked on the blood pressure machine as she pumps it up. Then she puts a thermometer in my ear.

  “Temperature is quite high,” she comments. “And your blood pressure is a little lower than I would expect. Have you been getting any pain?”

  “Back pains, mostly,” I say, stretching and wincing slightly as my back twinges. “Some headaches and cramps, too.”

  The doctor pauses.

  “Any unusual cravings?” she asks carefully.

  “No,” I say, startled, then I blink. “Well, actually, I ate beetroot out of the can yesterday because I really wanted it. I felt sick after, though.”

  Doctor Dias nods. Her expression has cleared of some of her concern.

  “Well, we can do some blood tests to be sure, but have you considered the possibility that you might be pregnant?” she asks.

  The suggestion is so ridiculous that it startles a laugh out of me.

  “No, not at all,” I assure her. “My partner and I have been very careful. There’s no possible…”

  I trail off as a memory strikes me. Of course, two weeks ago, on our first date, we got tipsy at the bar and found a hotel for the second time. I remember thinking, afterwards that we forgot to use protection.

  But that was just one time, right? We’ve had sex several times since. What were the chances that I fell pregnant the one time we forgot to protect against it?

  “We…we forgot once,” I say. “But that’s impossible, right?”