Cake: The Newlyweds

By: J. Bengtsson

Cake Series Book Four


Casey: Don’t Give Up On Me

Present day

“Jake! In the bedroom – now! I’m ovulating.”

One Mississippi, two Mississippi… good lord, what was taking him so long? There was no way he hadn’t heard me calling for his stud services. It’s not like I expected him to be Michael Phelps fast, but a little hustle wouldn’t have killed him. Five Mississippi, six Mississippi... This was getting ridiculous. A few months ago, had my husband gotten the call for sex, he’d have come running with a smile on his face and his pants already bunched around his ankles. Now, we were already on eight Mississippis and his naked butt still wasn’t in my bed. I suppose now that lovemaking was on a timetable and colorful flow charts had become our only foreplay, his lack of enthusiasm was not without reason.

Finally, Jake’s fine-looking frame filled the doorway. What was that – fifteen Mississippis? Definitely not his best effort.

Impatiently, I held up my ovulation journal and tapped on the cover. “You. Me. Sex. Baby.”

He didn’t take a step forward, nor did he look particularly eager to begin checking things off my list. Crossing his arms in front of him, Jake leaned his body lazily against the doorframe and humored me with one of his lop-sided grins. “Ooh, baby, talk dirty to me.”

“Oh, you want dirty?” I asked seductively, walking across the bed on my knees. “I’ll give you dirty. Menstrual cycle, fallopian tube, egg, sperm,” I whispered in my sexiest voice. “Fertilization.”

“Yeah…” Jake groaned, amusement playing out over his face. “Say the word… I know you want to.”

“Vagiiiina.” I made sure to elongate the word, all while adopting the sexiest lip pout known to man.

“There it is!” Jake clapped his approval. “Nothing like clinical baby making terms to get me going.”

“Well, I know what you like. Now get over here, Hotstuff, and procreate with me. According to the ovulation chart, the optimal time for impregnation is now.”

“Like now, now?”

“Yes, now.” Hadn’t I made my intentions perfectly clear when I’d hollered for his semen moments earlier? “Like yesterday, now.”

“I thought you were kidding. You realize I’m taking the stage in an hour, right?”

“That’s not a problem. I can have you out of here in a couple of minutes.”

“A couple of minutes? Wow, that sounds really hot, babe.”

The smile faded from my face. Fun and games were over. It was time to get down to business. “I’m serious, Jake. This is important to me… and I thought it was to you too.”

Pushing off the door, Jake straightened his back, and I could almost see the process by which his body coiled into a tight ball of tension. “It is.”

No, actually, it wasn’t. Having a baby was the last thing he wanted. I’d known that all along but, due to recent circumstances, what he wanted and what I needed had become two wildly different things. In the end, he’d simply bowed to the pressure.

Jake, sensing the sudden change in mood, walked toward the bed with his arms reaching for me. I flung myself onto my back and rolled away.

“Don’t be like that,” he said.

“Like what?” I feigned ignorance. Of course, I knew what he was referring to, and that I was the unreasonable one, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Jake watched me, no doubt uncertain where our conversation was headed, but worried enough to take it slow. “You know as well as I do that waiting three hours isn’t going to make a difference.”

“Maybe, maybe not; but what I do know is if we don’t get pregnant this month, then I’m going to remember that you didn’t want to do it at my exact moment of fertility, and it will be on your head.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed as irritation washed across his face. “Seriously? You’re blackmailing me?”

“It’s not blackmail…just a friendly warning.”

“Huh, ’cuz there was nothing friendly about it.”

It was as if the words he spoke slapped the sense back into me. Jake was right: there was nothing friendly about my behavior at all. I was nothing more than a baby-making bully. What the hell was I doing? Was my judgment so clouded that I would risk losing my husband to fill the gaping, bleeding hole that had once been my heart? Don’t give up on me. Tears swelled in my eyes. I didn’t want to cry, but it was a process that couldn’t be stopped. Crying had become part of who I was; and, I feared, who I’d always be.

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