Page 57 of Heat Clinic

“New York is an expensive place to live, especially when you have kids. The public schools are terrible so you’re going to want to put them in private school. Is your pack going to be able to handle that? Maybe you should all think about moving up here. You’ll need help once the baby’s born. It’s a lot harder than you think.”

The idea of moving anywhere within a thirty-mile radius of my mother fills me with dread. The only saving grace I have is that she gets horribly car sick if she’s in a car or on a train for over fifteen minutes and is terrified of planes.

I love her. But I love her like chocolate cake. It’s wonderful when you want it. It’s great when you have a bad day and need it or it’s Christmas. But you wouldn’t want to eat it every day for the rest of your life.

“They can afford it,” I tell her. Oh, boy, can they afford it. But I amnottelling my mother about the castle. Estate. Whatever the fuck it’s called.

“Well, what do they do? I know nothing about them, and I’m just supposed to hand my baby girl over to them?”

I take another long pull of my cider until it’s halfway gone. “Marcus works in finance. He’s a brokerage account manager. Tom is a fine arts photographer. He does… portraits. And Sam is in healthcare.”

“Emily,” my mother says, her voice dropping so low I can hardly hear it.

“What?” Okay, now she’s got me scared. My mother hasn’t talked below a soft scream for at least ten years.

“Get pregnant right away. At your age, you can’t afford to put it off too much longer anyway. Trust me. You never really have a man hooked until you’re carrying his baby.”

“Oh, God, Mom! I am not going to have a trap baby.”

She sighs and goes back to her normal voice. “I can’t believe my little girl is getting bonded! You know, you always were late to everything your entire life. I was in labor with you for twenty-three hours, and you came a week past my due date.”

When my mother tells birthing stories, it’s time to get off the phone. “I love you, Mom. Don’t worry about me. I amnotgoing to get mugged. I’ll talk to you later. Bye!” I have the phone up before she can think of five million other things to tell me and toss it onto the sofa so I don’t have to look at it.

Sam’s eyes are wide. I have no doubt he heard all of that.

My jaw works side to side as I try to ease the tension from clenching my teeth. “You know… moving a five-hour car ride away from my mother is looking like a fantastic idea.”

* * *

“Yeah.Okay, so let’s get you packed.”

Sam helps me go through my outfit. He makes me model a few for him, mostly so he can grope me in them. The pencil skirts are his favorite and I work in an office, so I own a lot of them. He rifles through my underwear drawer and manages to find every single thong in my cluttered drawer with some sort of supernatural thong hunting instinct.

“Give me that!” I yank the black lace thong out of his grasp and shove it into my suitcase with the rest he’s snuck in there.

“Are you wearing one right now? I should check.” He grabs me around the waist and hauls me to him, one arm banding across the small of my back as he pulls my skirt up my thighs and fondles my ass.

“No, I’m not, and you know why.”

“Hmm.” He rubs the crack of my ass through my slick panties. “Because you’re still leaking our cum? Let me check.”

Sam tugs my panties to the side and slips a finger between my cheeks, stroking lower as he finds my slit and rubs. I’m wet, my slick still producing at a heightened level as my body works all the cum I’ve been soaked with for the last three days out of me.

He grazes my clit as I arch against him and moan, pressing my pussy against his hand as I push my ass out in search of more. He dips a finger into my hole and fucks it in and out of me.

“Put your heels back on. And can you put your hair up in a bun really quick?” he asks.

“What?”

Sam stops fingering me and disappears into the living room. He comes back with my heels and slips them onto my feet, then grabs a hair tie off my nightstand.

I take it and throw my hair up in a messy bun. “Satisfied?”

“Do you have any glasses?” When I shake my head no, he hooks my panties and tugs them down, then helps me step out of them and tugs my skirt back down into place.

“Miss Thorne, I am very disappointed with your typing this week.”

I blink at him until it registers that he’s slipping into a roleplay scenario. Oh. Oh! “I’m sorry, sir. What seems to be the problem?”

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