The Rampage MC #2: Beard and Emily

Chapter 4 (Emily): Babies

Challenging Beard to lick my pussy was the wrong thing to say to the man.

Oh, boy, was that the wrong thing to say to this man.

His eyes burned hot and he immediately took two fast steps toward me until we were practically touching.

"Right, here, right now, or any time you say, I'm fucking ready to eat that sweet pussy of yours until you're coming on my mouth so hard that your juices are running down your legs. I'd lick up every fucking drop, kiss you hard on the mouth so you could taste yourself on me, then I'd drop down and start all over again until your legs gave out, and I wouldn't give a single fuck if we were in public or not. But you never fucking let me, Emily, even though I asked every single time we were together. Why was that?"

Good question, with a really easy answer: I considered oral to be even more intimate than the traditional dick in the vagina type of sex. And since Beard had made it clear to me on a number of different occasions that we were not going any further than sex, I didn't want to take it there. I was already struggling to keep it surface-level where he wanted to keep it, but every time I was with the man, my heart sang louder and louder to me: this man is special, Emily. He's your one.

That sounded ridiculous considering we knew nothing about each other, but I was old enough not to confuse awesome, incredible, earth-shattering sex with feelings. I'd made it to forty with a few relationships under my belt, but not one of those men made me feel a tenth of what I felt when I was with Beard.

When he looked into my eyes while we were having sex, when he slowly ran his fingers up and down my bare arm so gently afterward, when he whispered my name in that low, raspy voice of his in my ear...it didn't seem like such a stretch for me, a doctor who believed in science, to believe in something as ludicrous as love at first sight. I thought about seeing Beard in the bar all those months ago, my eyes locking with his, and everything in me had sat up and taken notice, and not just in the way you'd notice a good-looking man.

Again, I was almost forty when I met him and I'd seen good-looking men before. You looked once, twice and then you moved on. They'd never held me captive like Beard had. Maybe it was the power he exuded, maybe it was his air of authority, maybe it was the hot look in his eyes that was aimed directly at me, maybe it was the intelligence evident in his expression -- I couldn't pinpoint it, but I felt it. Maybe it was just the perfect storm of all of those things that I liked and respected combined in one man, but I knew that Beard was like no other man I'd ever met.

And I knew if I'd taken Beard's cock into my mouth or allowed him to put his mouth on my pussy, I wouldn't have been able to keep that last flimsy barrier protecting my heart between us. In the dark of the night, when I was having a sleepless night, I admitted to myself that it was already too late, that I'd fallen and I didn't even want to get up. For as long as Beard wanted me, I'd be content with our hookups, with my name on his lips, with his fingers on my skin. I wouldn't push for more because at my age, I was OK with what he was offering. I didn't need the fairytale.

If that made me pathetic, I would accept that. At almost forty, I had already figured my odds of getting married weren't great and had come to terms with that. The men I'd been meeting and dating prior to Beard were fine, but they didn't interest me or set me ablaze the way Beard did, they didn't make me laugh and they sure as hell didn't do to me the things he did to me that made me want to stand up and fucking CHEER...while simultaneously dropping back down on his dick for a second, third and fourth round.

"Not going to answer me, are you?" he said, a slight smile curving his lips. "That's fine, I'll wait to find out why you never allowed me that particular pleasure. But you just say the word, Doctor Emily, you tell me you want that sweet cunt eaten, and I'll drop to my knees and worship it until you're begging me to stop because you can't come one more time. What a fucking feast that would be."

No, Emily Louise! No! You stay strong. This is the man who humiliated you in front of his entire MC. You shove that "yes, please," back down!

What had we been talking about? Oh, he wanted to talk about the baby. Make plans. Get information. Well, maybe he'd forgotten why he'd stopped me, too.

"I need to go," I said to him.

"You didn't tell me you were a doctor," he said abruptly, and I almost laughed.

"Well, you didn't tell me you were a victim of arrested development and handled situations requiring maturity with all the panache of a drunken frat boy at his first party."

There were, oh, I don't know, about a million things we hadn't told the other about ourselves. We knew each other's first names (well, I knew his road name, anyway), and I knew a couple of pieces of information about him just because of his cut, but that was the sum total of our knowledge about each other. Every time I'd tried to make what we had a little more personal, a little bit deeper, he'd quickly, but gently, shut me down and distract me with kisses, making it clear what we were.

A good time and nothing more.

So he didn't feel the same way I did; that was fine. At my age, this kind of fun was unbelievable, the intensity something I'd never experienced even when I was younger. For the first time in my life, I was just going to give myself permission for it not to be serious and meaningful. If I had to stuff my desire for more down, if I had to hide my ever-deepening feelings for him down, too, well, so be it.

"You have to allow for my shock, Emily."

That lifted my chin. "I don't have to allow for anything, Beard."

"Fair enough," he said, his hand tugging on his beard. "Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to follow you home on my bike and then we're going to talk and tell me how you're doing and how the baby is."

"And then what?" I asked.

His brows drew down in confusion. "What do you mean?"

I huffed in impatience. "I fill you in on everything that's going on with the pregnancy, and then what? You walk away, feeling like you've done your duty? In that case, I'll save you the time and cut to the chase. I don't need you, Beard, or your generous offer of paying me child support or medical expenses. I don't need a man who is checking up on me out of obligation. I'm fine on my own, have a great support system and can support my baby no sweat. Look up how much do anesthesiologists make in a year, and I can tell you that I'm above the national average. I graduated from medical school without loans, thanks to my parents, bought a very nice house in a safe neighborhood that I paid off in three years, paid cash for the brand-new SUV that I just bought and don't have one bit of debt. My job provides excellent medical insurance, and I have a shit ton of money in savings and even more in my 401K."

"It's not out of obligation."

That was his takeaway?

"So, sometime in the last few months, you want me to believe that you've decided that this child you had no interest in and never wanted, especially at this stage in your life, is something you suddenly want? Or are you just here to get an address for the child support checks? I'll make it easy on you: I absolve you of your feelings of financial responsibility. I don't want a man paying for a child he doesn't want. I also don't want a man who's really not interested in being a father around my baby because I can't trust you not to cut and run when the club girls are beckoning."

Beard waited a beat, watching me intently. "You done?"

I shrugged. Maybe?

"I'm going to follow you home on my bike, Emily. Then I'm going to find out what's been happening with you for the last four months. Then you're going to tell me about our baby."

"I won't be telling you about my baby," I said.

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because it's babies. Plural. Twins, to be precise."

"Twins."

"Yes. I bet fatherhood is looking even less appealing now, isn't it?"

He didn't say anything, but his Harley was on my ass the entire way to my house.