“Okay, okay, it’s my turn now! Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” I say.

It’s our fourth and final appointment for this month. Mosaic said she’d set up more for next month if this round didn’t do the trick. As much as I hope there’s a little baby already growing inside me, part of me wishes these sessions didn’t work, so I could have more time with Chaucer next month.

Room eleven has become a sanctuary for me. Like a bubble. An amazing, sex filled bubble. Not only have I had the best sex of my life in this odd little room, but I’ve connected with a man like I haven’t ever before. Chaucer is the most sensitive, attentive man I’ve ever dated. Scratch that. We really aren’t dating, are we? This entire situation has become confusing, but in these four walls, the complications disappear. It’s just the two of us, focused on each other.

Each session has lasted longer than the one before. They always start the same way. The door is barely closed behind me before he starts tugging at my clothes and his lips are seeking my skin. Last time he fucked me standing up, right against the door. He pounced on me in an instant, already naked and rock hard. As he hiked up my skirt, he growled in my ear, “I haven’t stopped thinking about this pussy since the last time I saw you.” Just the sound of his voice makes me wet, and of course the anticipation of seeing him and the memories of our time together had me slick and ready to go. As he tugged aside my panties and positioned the tip of his cock at my entrance, he hissed in a sharp breath, pleased to see I was ready for him. We could hear footsteps and voices in the hallway, so Chaucer kept his hand over my mouth to mute my screams. He fucked me hard and fast, and I knew we’d take our time for rounds two and three.

I wonder if the other couples in the clinic spend so much time behind their locked doors, or if we have something different. Something special. It doesn’t really matter, though. I’ve signed a contract with the clinic and I know the rules. This relationship stays here. It will never exist outside this clinic. I already broke one rule when I looked in Chaucer’s wallet and secretly learned his name. I won’t be making a similar mistake again.

It’s hard to decide what I prefer: the mind-blowing orgasms or the pillow talk between them. Laying side by side, staring into each other’s eyes, whispering our thoughts and hopes for the future. It’s bliss. I love listening to his voice, and the way he looks at me and really listens to me when I tell him about my day or a particular fantasy I have about being a mother one day.

“Truth? OK, I see you’re playing it safe. Tell me, what’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?”

“Oh my God,” I laugh. “Where do I even start? Since I’ve moved to Los Angeles I’ve gone out with a string of losers.”

Chaucer reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. He’s laughing with me and it feels like we’ve known each other forever.

“Well there must be a loser who really stands out,” he says, a mischievous smirk forming on his face. “But if you can’t answer the question, I’ve got a pretty dirty dare you could take. The choice is yours.”

“I bet you do,” I say. “But too bad. There is a date that stands out. I met him online. He told me to really dress up, that we were going someplace upscale; super fancy. I was so excited to finally have a date outside some dive bar or coffee shop. So I bought a new dress, spent way too much money. He picked me up. My expectations were sky high. Turns out, I was his date to his ex’s wedding. That was…awkward. And the cherry on top was that he was insulted I didn’t want to go back to his place after.”

“Wow. You weren’t kidding. It’s a jungle out there,” Chaucer says. “No wonder you’ve given up on dating and chose to have a baby this way.”

That word, “baby,” jolts me. Our sex is anything but clinical, so it’s easy for me to forget why we’re here. Now that he’s mentioned it, I feel self-conscious and pathetic. It’s so easy to delude myself into thinking that Chaucer and I are in a relationship, but the fact is, I’m paying for this experience. If I hadn’t handed over my credit card to Mosaic, Chaucer would be in a room with another woman, maybe even having this identical conversation. In fact, this building is full of women like me, losers who couldn’t find a partner and had to resort to paying for sex to have a baby. How did I get here?

“Hey,” Chaucer says, interrupting my spiral of self-pity. “Where’d you just go? It’s like you drifted a million miles away from me. Did I say something wrong?”

He has true concern in his eyes, and I know he wouldn’t think less of me if I were honest with him and shared my concerns. But being too honest would just make this whole thing more complicated, and why ruin a perfectly nice afternoon in bed with reality?

“I’m just thinking it’s getting late,” I lie. “I mean, you must have someplace to be.”

“Actually, I do have something very important to do,” he says.

As I try not to let my disappointment show, I notice that devilish grin spread across his face, and then he’s lifting me off the bed and heading toward the bathroom.

“The shower. I can’t possibly let a filthy, filthy girl like you leave this room before being washed thoroughly. By me.”

He sets me down outside the shower and turns on the water. It’s a beautiful marble shower inside and I can’t help but be impressed again by the detail Mosaic put into this clinic. Perhaps if she’d made it a little less plush and like a five star hotel, I’d have an easier time keeping my feelings in check when I’m with Chaucer.

Inside the shower, I adjust to the hot water. Chaucer steps in after me and rubs my shoulders with a soapy washcloth. It feels amazing and I can feel the tension drain from my body. I let myself fall into the fantasy that we’re just a normal couple, enjoying a shower together before we head off to work in the morning.

“Turn around,” Chaucer says.

He spins me and tilts my head back. He uses the handheld showerhead to start wetting my hair, running his fingers through it so it’s completely wet. He squeezes out some shampoo into his palm. The shower fills with the scent of lavender and mint, and when he starts massaging it into my scalp, I can’t help a small moan from escaping my lips. I’ve had my hair washed dozens of times at the salon before, but I’ve never had a man wash my hair. The intimacy is so intense that I feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. This is what it feels like for someone to take care of me, I realize.

After he rinses the shampoo from my hair, Chaucer doesn’t place the showerhead back in the wall mount. He takes special care to clean me from head to toe, running the sudsy washcloth all over my body and rinsing after it with the water. My breath hitches as he runs the washcloth up my inner leg, but I’m disappointed when he gets to my inner thigh and switches to the other leg, completely avoiding my pussy. When he washes up my body, he pays extra attention to my breasts until my nipples are hard and pert. I step back into him and can feel his erection digging into my back. He brings his mouth down to my ear, and I feel his hot breath on me as he whispers, “You know you’re still pretty filthy.”

Then sparks flash in my eyes as he points the jet toward my pussy. He holds the showerhead in one hand, and loops his other arm around my waist. My body jerks at the contact, and I can feel Chaucer’s laugh vibrating through his chest against my back. If it weren’t for his arm around me, I wouldn’t be able to stand at all. He angles the water so it makes direct contact with my swollen clit, and I hold still, afraid to move an inch and lose this amazing feeling. It’s a constant, slow building, and I realize I’m holding my breath. But then the feeling is gone, and the hot water streams down my breasts, teasing my nipples. Without thinking, I move my hand down to pick up where the showerhead left off, but Chaucer stops me by grabbing my wrist.

“No, no, no dirty girl. This is my game.”

I let out what only can be described as a whimper, and this seems to please him. As a reward, he aims the showerhead at my pussy again. It’s hitting me in an entirely new spot, and I know I’m going to come any second now. My knees are starting to buckle as I’m hurtling toward my orgasm, and in one swift motion, Chaucer lifts my leg to the shower ledge and enters me from behind, his cock filling up my wet and swollen pussy. The combined feeling of the water vibrating against my clit and Chaucer’s cock easing in out of me brings the world crashing down around me. I feel my pussy clenching around him, and he must too, because he drops the showerhead and grabs my breast, pumping furiously into me.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Chaucer says through gritted teeth. “I could fuck you like this forever.”

He angles himself so he’s hitting me deeper, and his words combined with the tip of his cock rubbing over my G-spot bring on the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever had. I reach out and brace myself on the shower wall as he fucks me faster, his pace becoming erratic and his ragged breaths echoing in the small shower. In just a few more strokes, he’s shooting his hot cum inside me.

Chaucer plants a few appreciative kisses on the back of my neck while we pant and recover in the steamy shower. It feels like time has stopped, and I wish it would. We aren’t a normal couple having a quickie before we go our separate ways to work in the morning. We’re strangers, and this is the last time we’ll see each other for a few weeks. It may be the last time we see each other…ever. Saddness washes over me.

“Let me get you into bed,” Chaucer says. He steps out of the shower and grabs a gigantic, thick towel. He wraps it around me, scoops me up, and brings me to the bed. He lays me gently on the bed and places a pillow under my hips, ensuring that his semen stays inside me. I watch him towel dry his hair and dress. I try to memorize every beautiful curve of his body, never taking my eyes off his strong thighs, perfect abs, bronze chest, until they’re covered in clothes.

“I guess this is goodbye for now,” he begins. “These appointments with you have been the best part of the last couple of weeks.”

I agree, but I can’t trust myself to speak, afraid my voice may crack with emotion.

He’s looking at me intently, but not speaking. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking. Hell, what does a person say in this situation? Thanks for all the fucks. Tell my kid I say hi.

He walks to the door and we make eye contact again. Neither of us speaks. There are things I want to say. Things I imagine he might say. Instead I smile at him and lift a hand and wave goodbye. He breaks eye contact and walks out the door. Walks out of my life.

I want to cry. Tears sting the backs of my lids. Why does it hurt so much to watch him walk away? It’s not like I know him. It’s not like we’re a couple. And yet, through this experience, we’ve developed a bond. There’s no denying that.

He leaves and I lay on the bed staring at the closed door. I know it’s against the rules, but I want to know him, who he is, where he’s from. The urge is too strong to fight. I grab my phone and Google Chaucer Briggs.

I wish I hadn’t.