Page 17 of Brood
I need it if I’m ever going to get pregnant.
But it’s more than that. It just feels good.
So good that I’m slightly disappointed when he finally pulls out. Like yesterday, he uses his hand to make sure I don’t lose any of his semen.
“It feels like there was a lot,” I say.
“Itwasa lot.” He strokes the curve of my bottom, which is still poised in the air so nothing leaks out.
“Good.”
I feel better than I have all day. Not only physically but emotionally too.
Weirdly satisfied.
At least there’s a purpose to being stuck with this man.
ChapterThree
Three weeks later, and I might be pregnant.
My period should have started three days ago, and it hasn’t yet.
I have an exam and blood test scheduled for two days from now. They won’t waste the resources until a woman’s period is five days late. But I’m hopeful. I’ve been kind of blah and tired and stomach-churny all day. Maybe because I’m pregnant.
Will and I have been having sex every evening, and I assume we will this evening too, even though I’m not energetic.
If I’m not pregnant already, tonight might be when it happens. I’m not going to let this heavy fatigue get in the way.
Other than that hope, the past three weeks haven’t been great. While not miserable, I go through each day with a tense uncertainty I’ve never experienced before. I’m unaccustomed to not knowing what’s expected of me. Not predicting how the people around me will speak and act. I’m constantly waiting for some sort of bomb. It never explodes, but the floor still feels shaky beneath my feet.
Will and I haven’t fought since the day after our spousal ceremony, but I don’t think he’s been happy with me.
And I can’t help wishing I could have married Danny instead.
It’s almost bedtime, but Will hasn’t returned to our quarters yet after dinner. I saw him talking with Chiefs Rosamund and Brody, so the conversation probably went long. I’ve already cleaned up, brushed my hair and teeth, and taken off all my clothes except my underwear and camisole.
My stomach doesn’t feel good. It’s too early for morning sickness, but I’m not sure why else I would feel like this. I ate oatmeal for breakfast, a sandwich for lunch, and baked tilapia and mixed vegetables for dinner. I’ve eaten the same meals countless times, and I know all the ingredients were fresh because I helped prepare them.
I cross my arms over my stomach and lean forward until the rumbling in my belly stops.
The door slides open as I’m straightening. Will pulls to a stop a few steps into the room. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you sick?” I’m not sure he’s smiled since we married. He’s not broody or intimidating right now, but he’s eyeing me soberly.
“No. Just kind of tired today.”
“Did something happen?”
“No.” I work not to sound impatient. Sometimes he can be pushy. “Like I said, I’m tired.”
“We can take a break tonight if you need it.”
If he’d worded the comment differently—if you wantinstead ofif you need it—I probably would have taken him up on the offer. But his word choice implies I lack the endurance to be a dutiful spouse, and that’s not true.
It’s not true.
