Page 40 of Biker's Conquest: Property of Rage

“Go to the appointment. That way you can scout for yourself. And I’m surprised yourfuturewife isn’t all over this.”

My future wife hasn’t spent the past week enthused about the news. She goes through the rituals of everything with me. She appreciates my promise not to cover her ass with bruises throughout the duration of her pregnancy… but she has no emotions towards me. No feeling at all. No amount of showing Keyshawn that I care makes a difference.

Yet.

I answer asfew of Tanner’s questions as I can get away with and then call a doctor closer to Tulsa than our rural town. Once I have the appointment made, I search for Keyshawn around the house. She keeps a low profile lately, and stays out of the way. When I walk into the living room, she changes the channel.

“What were you watching?”

“Nothing.”

“Keyshawn…”

“Pregnancy already changed my television tastes. If you must know.”

“Really?” I approach her and reach for the remote, whichKeyshawn stuffs between her boobs. Like I would have a problem reaching into her shirt… But sheispregnant and if I want to show her that I have a soft side, I’d better try.

“Yup,” she says. “And it’s none of your business.”

“So you weren’t watchingReal Housewives of Salt Lake City?”

She glares at me. “I was watchingseriousnews, not like you care about the outside world.”

I knowher ass was watchingReal Housewives of Salt Lake City. She falls asleep with it on sometimes, sprawled out on the couch with her mouth wide open… But I let Keyshawn keep her secret and the remote in her titties.

“Fine,”I grumble. “Keep watching Fox News or whatever it is. We’re going to the doctor in a week.”

Keyshawn raises her eyebrows and shifts to a more defiant posture. Each time she does this, I have to fight urges to handle her attitude the most effective way. The thought of bruising Keyshawn’s ass after this much time gets me instantly hard, followed up by guilt at the thought of our game causing any harm to our baby.

“Why do I need to go to the doctor?”

“Because you’re having a baby. It’s what you do.”

Keyshawn looks confused. “Not where I come from.”

Okay,it’s my turn to express some confusion. Doesn’t she come from… wherever Oske comes from? Then again, she isn’t a Creek Indian. Or is she? I sit down on the couch, letting Keyshawn clutch the “emotional support pillow” she keeps against her chest between us. That remote is still there between her tits and sitting this close to her while looking at her like this, andthenremembering she’s pregnant is almost too much for me to handle.

“We’re going to the doctor.”

“Why? Doctors and black women don’t mix.”

What?Now this is a race thing? I have to tread carefully here, although I already sense my ears getting red. And my whole face. This entire time I’ve been with Keyshawn, I’ve kept my opinions on race to myself even though most of the time, my opinions are pretty good. It’s hard to be racist with the softest lips I’ve ever felt wrapped around my dick. Or when Keyshawn’s crazy mass of curls threatens to suffocate me while I sleep with the best scent on earth.

“I don’t careif you’re black or white. You need the doctor.”

“I’m not having this conversation.”

She throws the pillow at me and prances off towards our bedroom. What the fuck is happening right now? Part of me knowsexactlywhat’s happening. Now that I can’t punish her, Keyshawn isrebelling against me.I hold onto her emotional support pillow. And squeeze.

This is a huge problem. And it’s not a race problem.

I followKeyshawn’s path to our bedroom, but when I lower the handle, the door doesn’t open.

“Keyshawn?”

No response. I rattle the handle again.

“Keyshawn, open the door.”

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