The next two days I spend with an anxious feeling brewing in my gut. I don’t talk to Christian, other than to confirm that we’ll be going to the apartment after class. It feels weird not to talk about what happened. Because something did happen. I’m nervous about talking to him about it, but I’m going to go crazy if I don’t.

On top of that, I took a pregnancy test, and I’m still not pregnant. I know it’s only the first month of trying, but it’s still a disappointment. All I can do is keep trying. That is, if Christian is still willing to do that after tonight. I hope so. I don’t know what I’ll do otherwise.

The only upside to this state of mind is that the time passes quickly. I get through the day by getting lost in my work and before I can blink the workday is over and I’m heading to class. I manage to smile at Christian when I get to the studio, but I arrive late enough that we don’t speak. He’s already climbing onto the platform and I’m not sure I’m going to make it through the next three hours, completely focused on his body. But I try.

I look at the details, and I fill them out. Slowly, I’m pouring him into the drawing, and he comes to life on the page. To the point where I think this could almost be finished. Maybe. I don’t know if this would be the one I choose to display, given our relationship and the fact that my family will be at the gallery show, but I’m happy with it. Maybe I could give it to Christian, the way he gave me his drawing. There’s a scrape behind me, and I turn to see Mr. Prince observing.

“You’ve captured him well,” he says. “Good job.”

“Thanks.”

He looks closer. “You have a talent for portraiture. You should consider investigating it more thoroughly.”

I nod. “I will. Though maybe with subjects I know less.”

“Maybe,” he chuckles.

I spend the last hour making tiny adjustments. Mostly superficial, but important. I’ve avoided looking Christian in the eye this class, and I’m relieved when Mr. Prince announces our dismissal. I quickly move my drawing to the wall, where it will hang until the gallery show. I turn and jump because Christian is standing behind me, naked, looking at my drawing of him. “I like it,” he says.

“Thanks.” I’m blushing and I need to get out of here before I explode. “I need to run an errand, but I’ll meet you at the apartment, okay?”

Christian narrows his eyes, because he knows me too well. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I say. “Just have to get somewhere before they close.”

He nods. “See you soon.”

I grab my bag and practically run out of the gallery. I don’t like lying, but I know he’ll understand later. Instead of an errand, I just get food. There’s a great pizza place around here that’s open late, so I go grab a slice and eat it, waiting until I know for sure that Christian will arrive before me. Then I leave. Okay. I can do this.

The trains are actually running on time, so it only takes me about twenty minutes to reach the apartment. Which is unheard of.

When I walk into the apartment, I don’t see Christian. “Hello?”

“In here,” he calls from the bedroom.

I head to the bedroom, and freeze in the doorway. It’s like I never left the gallery. Christian is reclining on the bed, completely naked. Only now he’s hard, stroking himself. He looks gorgeous. Dangerous. Sexy. My mouth goes dry, and that tell-tale arousal floods my system. I can’t take my eyes off his hand and his cock. The simple, matter-of-fact way he’s keeping himself hard makes me want to touch him. Taste him.

“You can’t,” he says.

I glance up to see him smirking. “I can’t what?”

Christian raises an eyebrow. “Suck me off. That’s not what these meetings are for, remember? We’re here to get you a baby. A blow job doesn’t end with you pregnant.”

“I wasn’t thinking about that,” I say, scoffing. Though I totally was. I like blow jobs, which is rare, I know. But I like giving that kind of pleasure.

“Really?”

“Really,” I say, getting control of myself again. “But what happened to you? I thought you used to be able to get it up more than once a night. Something happen?”

His gaze is suddenly fierce and dark, and he stands, coming around the bed to me. He’s still jerking himself off, slowly. “In that case I’m not going to fuck you tonight unless you get on your knees right now.”

Heat and deep need flows through me and I suddenly feel heavy. I start to take off my clothes, and pretend that I didn’t hear what he just said. “What?”

Christian steps forward, pulling me close quickly. He’s dominant now, and part of it is the game between us, the game we’re always playing. And part of it isn’t. I’m not sure which part I like more. “You want me to fuck you tonight? I want you on your knees. I’m going to feed you my cock, and I want to see your pretty mouth around it.”

I shiver, and I don’t fight. I sink down to the floor, taking Christian’s cock in my hand. There’s no hesitation, I want this. I take him in my mouth quickly and deep, sucking back slowly, and he groans. His cock is hard and hot in my mouth, and I’m being flooded with sense memory. He tastes the same, he feels the same, and I begin to move in the way I already know he likes: quick strokes using my tongue followed by long, slow worship and suction.

His hands tangle in my hair, guiding my speed, guiding me deeper, guiding me to his pleasure. I look up his body and see him looking at me, lips parted, eyes glazed with lust. I like the sounds he makes when I swirl my tongue around the tip of his cock, his head falling back in pleasure. All the nerves I had before getting here fade away. This is a rhythm I know, and one I like.

I close my eyes, letting myself focus on the feel of him in my mouth, the smooth hardness, the taste of him. Diving down deeper, I go as far as I can, making him groan again as he hits the top of my throat. Down and up, down and up, I run my tongue along him, teasing him before I take him fully again. This time is deep and fast, over and over and over until I feel his hands spasm in my hair. He pulls back, out of my mouth. “Open,” he says roughly, and I do as he takes his cock in his hand, stroking hard.

Christian groans, and every part of him tenses as hot come splashes onto my tongue. He spends himself, working his cock until it’s dry, filling my mouth with salt. I wait until he’s finished before I swallow everything, showing him that I took it. He looks at me, that same dark fire in his eyes as he pulls me to my feet and bends me over the bed, fitting his still hard cock against me.

“I can come as many times as you want, sweetheart,” he says, pushing into me. I cry out with pleasure, and he keeps going until he’s in me to the hilt. I can feel him everywhere. His legs are against mine, his chest pressed on my back, his fingers tangled with mine, cock pinning me to the bed. It’s overwhelming, amazing, and I have no words, no breath to respond to him.

And then he starts to fuck me.

Long, deep strokes that hit me in just the right place to make me see stars. God, this is beyond anything we’ve done so far. I’m saying his name, screaming it, begging for more and he gives it to me. He moves one of my hands with his, scooping it under my body and finding my clit. He guides my fingers, teasing me, and I come in a brilliant fire of white light. I can’t breathe, still dazed from pleasure, but he doesn’t stop fucking me or using my hand to get me off. I’m bombarded with sensation and oh my god it’s amazing. I have no words.

I think I’m about to come again when Christian stops, slows his rhythm and I lose it. I moan, “Why?”

“Because I’m not done with you yet,” he says, and his breath on my neck leaves goosebumps on my skin. He’s frozen, not moving anything except for my hand. It feels strange, to be guided in pleasuring myself. And it feels different, being stuffed full of his cock. It’s like everything is amplified. I’m more sensitive, more aware, and he works me to the edge with just his fingers. “Do you want to come again?”

“Yes, please,” I beg.

“Then, come,” he says, rocking his hips and stroking my fingers across my clit. I shudder into an orgasm that shakes me to my core. It feels like slow lightning, moving through my nerves and crackling behind my eyes. “Fuuuuck,” I curse, drawing out the word as the pleasure flows through me.

Christian chuckles darkly. “I will,” he says as he starts to fuck me again.

Renewed pleasure flows through me with every stroke, and I’m shaking underneath him. Letting go of my hand, Christian takes control of my clit, deftly working me with his fingers. God, this is everything. Every nerve in my body is crying out, almost too sensitive and yet begging for more. Fuck, yes, please. Christian groans, speeding up as he gets close. He’s so close, and so am I, and I’m barely holding it back.

“Come with me,” Christian says.

I breathe, “Yes.”

We’re almost there. I can feel us building together until the last second, and then he presses down on my clit, and with a final thrust I break open. I shout out my climax and Christian comes with me. He plunges in again, and again, one final time as he pours himself into me. Yes. Sparkling fireworks are crackling across my skin, sparking from my clit an all the way through my body. I’m blind with it, barely breathing, only able to let it have me.

Suddenly it’s gone, and we’re lying together, both catching our breath. It takes a while for us to move, but it feels like we take a breath together. Christian slips out of me and steps to the bathroom to clean himself off, and I move onto the bed and the now familiar waiting position. Christian comes back and lies next to me, sighing with what seems like pleasant exhaustion. Suddenly I’m nervous again, because I have to talk to him. The sex is easy. We’ve never had a problem with the sex.

“Christian,” I say, “I need to ask you something.”

He makes a sound of assent, a little sleepy. “Sure.”

“Why did you agree to do this? When you knew it was me? What made you want to help me?”

Even though he doesn’t say anything, it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. I look over at him, and his eyes are shuttered. Like all the life has gone out of them. I wait, but he doesn’t say anything, and every second the silence grows louder. “Why?” I ask, and nothing. Suddenly I have rage in my chest. After everything, he won’t give me this? He owes me at least this much and more.

I turn toward him as much as I can. “Three years ago,” I say. “Why did you leave? Was the idea of a baby with me all that terrible? And if it was, then why are you willing to do this now when you can walk away?”

Christian sits up, and reaches for his clothes. He doesn’t even act as if he’s heard my question.

“Christian?”

Nothing. Not even a look in my direction.

“You never called me. You never spoke to me. Never even tried. I just…I need to know.”

The muscles in his shoulders are tense, but he shrugs his shirt on and doesn’t turn.

“Please,” I say, and it’s weak.

I give up after that. Christian finishes dressing and leaves without a word. My helplessness and rage grow with each second, until I hear the door to the apartment close behind him. I let out a cry of rage, and just as quickly my eyes are welling with tears. Why? Why won’t he just tell me what he’s thinking? We used to tell each other everything until that night. And now it’s like that one thing will always be between us.

This was a mistake. It was all a stupid, horrible mistake. I let myself get in too deep with him again. I didn’t mean to open my heart to him again, but I did. I let myself fall into this trap. It was so easy to pretend that everything was the same, even though it wasn’t. How could I be this stupid?

I don’t do anything but lay there, letting the tears pour down the sides of my face and into my hair, soaking the blanket beneath my head. It hurts. My heart. I remember this pain, an echo of that night three years ago. It’s not quite as bad—because nothing will ever be that bad again—but it still hurts. An ache in my chest that makes it hard to breathe, makes me want to curl up into a ball and never move.

One thing’s certain. I can’t do this anymore. If he can’t tell me why he wants to do this, or why he left in the first place, I can’t do it. It’s too hard, and it’s not worth the pain. I’ll find another way to have a child. Having a baby is the thing I want most in this world, followed closely by wanting to be an artist. I’m not going to let the creation of my child be poisoned by this pain. I don’t want the reminder of the man I lost not once but twice.

I swipe the tears from my eyes and get up. I can’t be here anymore, and I don’t care if it hasn’t been long enough for the sperm to travel. It doesn’t matter if I get pregnant tonight. I hope I don’t.

I get my things, and leave.

I don’t look back.