Chapter One

I felt my guts contract, and the baby kick again, and I reflected back on the last 9 months. It had started out innocently enough; a young secretary being infatuated with her salt-and-pepper supervisor. He had seemed so wise in all the ways of the world, and the more I got to know him the more he seemed to be. But there was more there than just an infatuation. Deep down we each wanted the same thing — to find someone to settle down with, to find someone to start a family with, and someone to call wife or someone to call husband.

But that part came later.

At first it was simply chemical—working late, alone together, after hours. We ordered a pizza, and when I got some melted cheese on my chin he helped me wipe it off with a napkin. Two people, working together that closely like that for that long, something was bound to happen. Some people come to blows, others to shouting, and still others to separation. But not us, for us it lead us closer.

At first it was just innocent touches; a hand lingering too long on a shoulder. Then a glance held a beat longer than appropriate. Then hands being places they wouldn't normally be in a professional setting — on my butt, and on his butt even more so. As much as I could; I liked to hook my fingers in his expensive leather belt and pull him towards me using just the belt.

Once day, I pulled him all the way to me until our bodies were touching — my younger early-thirties-but-don't-ask-for-the-number-please body against his chiseled this-man-should-lead-the-PTA-and-why-doesn't-he-have-a-child-yet-early-40s one.

He tasted like a man should taste: whiskey and aftershave. He was so masculine I was surprised to learn later that his weekend hobbies included bicycling and bowfishing, instead of carpentry and ironworking. Still, in every life some rain must fall, and for mine knowing he wasn't the exact man of my dreams was a small price to pay when I realized that he was still the man of my dreams.

But I'm getting ahead of myself, as usual. I just get so excited about things, you know?

As I was saying, when we first kissed it was electric. It was everything you wanted in a kiss — exciting, reassuring, sensual and interlaced with seductive promises of more. His lips were firm and commanding, but not dominating, and he didn't use too much tongue, but he did use enough to let you know he was into it, that you were wanted, desired. I may have fallen in love with him right there.

"I.. I'm sorry." he'd said afterwards.

"What for?" I'd asked, genuinely.

"For..." he tossed and sliced the air with his hands.

"It's OK, Michael." I said and laid my hand on his forearm. "I wanted you to kiss me."

"Are you sure?"

"Am I sure? Is the sky blue?"

"Well, not right now." Michael said, and peered out of his office window overlooking the snow-covered parking lot shrouded in darkness. His truck, parked near the entrance, and my compact were the only two cars left in the lot this late. "But I didn't want to overstep my bounds. We have a fantastic working relationship and..."

He continued in that vein for awhile and I just smiled to myself. Despite his contacts, I could see the shy, nerdy boy with glasses who just liked drawing in high school behind the facade of his expensive suit, nice watch and usually polished public relations bearing.

I decided that, while cute, I should intervene before he talked himself blue in the face, even with that impressive tan.

So I laid down on his desk, shoving his keyboard out of the way.

"Take me Michael." I said, and spread my legs, my ankles dangling. "We're all alone up here late on the 11th floor. Let's take advantage of it."

I practically blushed saying those words, but they had the ring of truth. I did want Michael to ravish me, to take me, to claim me. And it wasn't just because I was a 33-year-old woman with no prospects on the horizon. In fact, I was quite happy with my life as it was — lots of books, two adorable cats, and a tight circle of friends.

But, even I had to admit, that circle of friends wasn't as tight as it used to be. Everyone, even the most career-focussed of women in my friend group, had settled down with a man and started making babies. But, while I've never been one to follow the crowd, the truth is, I've always wanted a white picket fence, a husband to see off to work in the morning, and to welcome home again in the evening. I've always wanted a baby on my hip and a house to care for. Sure, I enjoy having a career, a fat retirement account and a stable job as much as the next gal, but I just didn't think that I would ever find a man who would complete me.

But I had. And now I was laying on his desk with my head next to his keyboard, looking up at him with wide open eyes, and wide open legs.

I almost laughed at the shock on his face, if I hadn't been so scared.

What were you thinking, Brittney? Did you honestly think your boss would just throw your legs over his shoulders and pull your panties to the side, and consummate your relationship right there?

Well, yes.

Of course, that's not how it happened.

There was five seconds of shocked silence, and then the adorable nerd snapped out of it and was replaced by the confident weekend bow hunter who knew exactly what to do with this short, curvy, woman in a pencil skirt and a button-up blouse.

He leaned over me and touched his lips to mine again, and I put my arms around him and I clutched at his neck like I was dying and needing a rescue. Looking back on it now, perhaps I over-did it, but in some ways he was my rescue and brought me to the life I always wanted.

My belly contracted again and I groaned. I'd have to tell him soon, but he was in the middle of concluding an important deal—the important deal, really. We'd been working on it since I started at the firm—and I really didn't want to interrupt him. I could always call an ambulance for myself if I needed to goto the hospital before he could take me. But it wasn't emergent; the contractions were far enough apart that I'd be fine far a while.

Where was I?

Oh yes, he leaned over me and I put my arms around his neck. He touched his lips to mine and kissed me softly and I started to lift my legs when he broke the kiss with a shake of his head.

"No, not like this."

"No?" I asked, breathless.

"No, I have something better in mind."

 

 

Chapter Two

He slid his hands under my round bottom and lifted me off of his desk as if I weighed nothing. He even used his knees, I noted with satisfaction. Good lifting form, this man had.

Why I paid attention to that instead of the 5 o'clock shadow on his cheeks or how he flipped the lights off with his elbow as he passed the wall panel, or how gently and carefully he laid me down on the black leather couch against the windows, I still don't know.

The couch was in front of floor-to-ceiling executive windows that covered two walls of his office. And I suppose he turned the lights off so we wouldn't give anyone driving by below a show. Probably wise, if we wanted to keep this to ourselves, whatever this was. I hoped it would become everything I'd ever dreamed of.

He started our first lovemaking by kissing me tenderly, and it was so intense I nearly cried from the feelings. His lips were as gentle as a baby's breath, and as soft as new-fallen snow. I know we had been growing closer — and working later and later when we didn't really have a reason to — but he practically said 'I love you' with his lips. It made me hungrier for the man.

As his kisses moved from my jaw and down to my neck, I reached down and palmed the bulge in his pants.

"Is this for me, Michael?"

"If you want it." He panted.

"It's not a matter of if" I said, "it's a matter of where"

The poor man didn't have enough blood in his brain to figure out what I meant. So I made it simple for him.

"I want you inside me, Michael. Now." I said and opened my legs for the man, as much as my skirt would allow anyway.

The growl that came out of Michael was like an animal caged too long.

"Do you want me, Michael?" I asked, eyes wide and innocent.

"Fuck yes." he growled. He reached under my skirt and quickly divested me of my panties. I was so grateful I'd done laundry yesterday and had a pair of sexy fuck-me panties (to go with the fuck-me heels I'd worn all day). Not that he saw them for long, mind you. He reached down and worked my skirt up my hips so he could spread my legs as I was madly fumbling with his belt, pulling out the tongue of leather, unbuttoning his black slacks, and reaching inside for my hot, hard prize...

I blinked as my body convulsed again with the pain of labor, knocking me right out of my happy memories.

"Damn it, child. Can't you wait a little longer? Why are you coming early? We had everything prepared for you to come next week. But not this week, not now!" I told my belly, although I doubted the little tyke in there was listening.

I slid off of conference table next door to Michael's big conference with the Chinese investors and started waddling slow, ponderous laps around the room, and concentrated on my breathing. In. Out. Deep breath. Hold it. Controlled exhale. In. Out...

And I thought back to one of the first nights he claimed me. Really claimed me. We hadn't meant to do it that way, but we were so in love and wanted a future together anyway. I had already stopped taking my pills because we already knew what we wanted, together, and we knew it could take months for my body to reverse the effects of the pills and start my eggs releasing again.

Little did we know how soon that would happen.

Months later I fumbled with Michael's belt over lunch in his office. "Are you sure it's safe?" he grunted, as my lips found his. "I ran out of condoms."

"I don't care." I said, after I broke the kiss. "Do you?"

"Not really. I know I want to make you a mother sooner or later, so I guess we'll take our chances."

"I'm sure it will be fine." I said, and I really wasn't sure if I meant fine and I won't get pregnant or if I meant fine and I would get pregnant

In any case, it was fine. We didn't have a lot of time, in his office between meetings. It was supposed to be a rushed 'lunch' meeting, but the sandwiches were getting cold, abandoned by the door that he pressed me against with the force of his kisses.

Michael's lips found mine again and again, with just enough saliva to keep everything moving, and his tongue dualed with mine so well that I felt possessed, I felt owned, I felt like I was his. He pressed me against the door to his office like I was his to do with as he pleased, like there was no one in the world except the two of us.

And, for a few minutes, there wasn't.

I reached down and found exactly what I expected in his pants, and unzipped him and fished him out through the fly. Why get fancy when you don't need to? And don't tell me the fly in a man's pants can't be used for sex, because I believe in using every resource at your disposal. We won't mention what his pants will look like after I ride him, so yes, it is probably best to remove a man's pants first when fucking in the workplace, in case you're taking notes at home.

But neither of us cared about that, I was just delighted to have his throbbing hardness, his manly readiness, there in my hand waiting for me. I jerked him a couple of times with my eyes closed, my head laid back against the thick wood of his door, his lips on my neck, and his cock in my hand. It was heaven.

"Let's get this off." Michael ordered me, as he tugged at my blouse, pulling it out of the waistband of my skirt.

I raised my arms and let him pull it out of my waistband, while his fingers fumbled with my buttons. I snuck a glance at my watch while his cock painted wet trails of arousal on my bare, soft belly and his fingers pulled at my buttons to release my goods.

Once he had my breasts revealed, his hands went to them, even fully-encased in a patterned bra I had also been happy to wash yesterday after work. I darted a glance at his face — delirious with happiness and lust — and down at the dick in my hand. It was leaking all over the place, and the head was so dark I was worried it would explode all over me if I kept touching him. That wouldn't have been unwelcome, certainly, but my own damp need demanded more than just a handy today.

But, even as I wanted to be his wife and lifelong partner, I still had a job to do.

"We.. we.. we have to.. meet again in 10 minutes, sir." I panted, between kisses.

"Goddamnit." Michael growled. "Can't we cancel it?"

"If you... ohhhhh" I moaned, and then avoided his lips on my neck long enough to say: "If you weren't so horny you wouldn't be asking that question, Michael!"

"It isn't a matter of lust." Michael said, and re-captured my right earlobe between his lips.

"It's not?" I panted. It sure was for me.

"No, it's a matter of love. I love you in a way that the Ferguson deal simply can't compete."

"Of course not." I said, and groaned as his lips trailed lower, past my collarbone. "But we need that deal. You've been telling me about it for weeks, and bringing love into it simply isn't fair."

"It's not?" Michael asked, and pulled his head back. The nervous nerd was back for a moment. I reached up and caressed his face.

"It's not unfair, if that's what you're worried about, lover." I said, with a gentle smile, "It's simply that saying things like that really makes me want to have sex with you, and I don't like being all vulnerable to you right before you have to spend the afternoon in an important meeting, and—"

I couldn't finish because he spun me around, marched me forward and bent me over his desk.

"I'm sorry, Brittney, I'll make it up to you. I'll text you during breaks, but I simply must have you."

"We only have nine minutes, sir." I panted, before my own lust overcame me.

"Then I'll make it quick." Michael said, and nudged my legs apart with his knees.

I opened my legs, obligingly. I felt myself getting wetter at the thought of him taking me, taking me unprotected. We could get pregnant. We probably would get pregnant if my dripping snatch was any indication.

I didn't have time for any more thinking before Michael spread my lower lips with his fingers and then slid his manhood home inside me.

"Oh, fuck Michael." I breathed as I felt him bare and spreading me for the first time.

"That's what I was going to say." He grunted. "You're like wet velvet. I mean, you're really good. You feel great. I mean, I love you?"

"So long as that's not a question." I said, and fluttered my walls around his straining, leaking hardness, "Fuck me, my love."

"Yes, ma'am." Michael said, and dragged his thick, veiny cock deep inside my soft cunt. I thrilled where he touched me, his instant hardness, his hands on my hips, the small sounds he made (to hell if anyone hears us); they all combined to fan my own arousal. He was buried into me upto the hilt, and then back out again and again and again.

I felt complete, I knew this man loved me, even as he mashed my sensitive nipples against the cold, hard glass top of his executive desk. Even as he took me roughly over our combined lunch break. Even after he left me there with a quick kiss on my left buttock, his cum slowly sliding out of my inflamed cunt after he'd closed the door.

I was grateful, that day, that the inner executive offices locked automatically. So no one would see me like that; dishevelled, sweaty, with cum dripping down the remains of my pantyhose.

 

Chapter Three

And that's how our first child was conceived; a five minute pump-and-dump followed by a week of lingering glances, long walks in the park, slow kisses at sunset, and more movies and bottles of wine than I can count. Given the opportunity, I'm not sure I'd change a thing, even if my feelings were a little bruised that day.

The rest of the week was soft and tender and missionary, but that lunchtime fuck was just that — a hot fuck. I still get butterflies and heated cheeks when I think back on it.

But I was interrupted from my warm thoughts (I admit my hand my have drifted lower and possibly grazed my clit between my heated thighs) by another strong contraction, that nearly doubled me over in pain. Things seemed to be happening faster, much faster than I expected. Wasn't birth supposed to be long, arduous and excruciating? So far this was short, manageable, and painful. But surely I was still at the beginning? It would get worse, right?

I hoisted myself off of the toilet, wiped myself down as best I could, and flushed the wad of toilet paper down. It was a unique experience to be walking down a darkened hallway, lost in my thoughts, and have my water break on me. Thankfully, I had keys to the custodial closet and put a wet floor sign up. More importantly, it was a back hallway our guests would never see. I checked my watch as I washed my hands and hoped that Michael's negotiations were going as planned. He could barely sleep last night, even after I'd done my best — with my mouth and hands — to 'relax' him. And swallow his load, like a good partner.

Turning off the light, I resumed my walk around the perimeter of the conference room, and started to lecture my baby. What would surely be the first of many:

"Your mama is a planner, and I planned for you to come next week. So why can't you follow the script?" I hissed at my belly, as I listened to the murmur of Michael's meeting next door.

I knew it was futile. At this point, the baby was coming, whether I was ready or not. It was only a question of when.

I thought I had time. I hadn't studied the birthing as much as Michael had, but I thought I had time. The water only breaks early in the process, right?

I placed my hands on my lower back and continued my waddle, until I heard the chatter next door shift and turn into a buzz of chatter. I opened the door to my conference room and peeked out through the crack.

Michael came out of the main conference room, shook hands with someone and excused himself. He walked into the small conference room I was inhabiting and closed the door behind him.

"How are you doing?" He whispered, and took me — and my giant belly — into his big, strong arms and pulled me close. As much as he could, anyway, with my aforementioned belly. He looked so handsome in a full black suit, crisp white shirt and a nice crimson tie for a splash of color.

"I'm doing alright." I replied as I closed my eyes and rested my head on his shoulder.

"And how's the baby?"

"Fine, I'm having some contractions."

"You're having contractions?"

"Nothing I can't handle." I added hastily. "I have the agendas and the pamphlets ready for you in Conference Room B."

Michael gave me a long look, but kissed my forehead and said: "You're a star. Call me if anything changes, OK? I can take you to the hospital at anytime."

"You go and close your deal, I know this is important to you. I'll text you if I need you."

Michael patted the breast pocket of his suit and smiled. I smiled back. So much of our relationship was conducted via text, even though we worked together everyday, because so much of our time working together was just that — work, with hardly any time for anything but business. We were a good team, and I loved getting little texts from him throughout the day. Patting his pocket was another way of saying: I love you, and you're close to my heart.

With one final lingering glance Michael turned, strode through the door, and shut it behind him. I resumed my pacing, and my remembering...

It was a quiet ceremony, at the courthouse, with just our parents and a few friends. It wasn't what I'd dreamed of, but it turned out to be perfect for us — so we could focus on building our lives together, with a new house and, soon, a new baby.

The honeymoon was equally sedate, given my condition. A quiet week at the lake where we didn't do much of anything but relax, catch a few movies, and do standard date-like things. It was surreal and wonderful all at once. To simply be able to show each other how we felt at any time instead of pretending to just be secretary/boss, as we did every day at the office.

The contractions were coming frequently now. I couldn't pretend that I wasn't going to have this baby, today. There wasn't anything else for me to do down here, so I waddled to the elevator and punched the button for the 11th floor. When it came, I rested my forehead on the cool metal walls of the executive elevator, and placed my hands on my belly. A single tear escaped my eye.

It was wonderful to be birthing my first child, but I had to admit I was a little scared. I'd never done this before, and now I was alone.

Once the elevator binged and I was alone on the executive level, I let out a long low moan.

"Oh goddddd this hurts." I panted as I resumed my walk, except this time around the entire perimeter of the floor; executive hallway after executive hallway.

"Fucck this hurts." I moaned, holding my belly. I could feel the contractions from both sides; a strong clenching fist deep inside me, and the undulations that I could feel just below the skin of my belly. I sat down and started to cry, hot wet tears falling and drenching my maternity blouse.

How was I going to do this all by myself? It was such a huge task, turning this baby, dropping him out head-first and pushing him, inch by painful inch out of my stretched vagina. I shivered at the thought. I reached for my phone, unlocked it, and opened a new text to Michael. My fingers hovered over the keys for a long time, long enough for me to have to put the phone aside and grunt and breathe through another contraction.

No, I could do this alone. Women had been doing it for years. I wouldn't bother Michael during his moment of triumph. He'd worked on this deal, we'd worked on this deal for too long to abandon it now. He had married me and I wanted him to know he had a strong, capable woman for a wife. I could do this, my body knew what to do.

I stood up, slowly, bent over in pain, one hand holding my trembling belly.

I started walking. One foot, then the other, my left hand holding the base of my belly, where the pain was focussed, and my right tailing along the rough wallpaper to keep me centered.

One step, another. Ten. Pause and lean against the wall, eyes closed, as my guts roiled, clenched and spasmed.

One step, another. Twenty. Pause and lean, belly taut, so full of baby and tight muscles making a tense knot in my belly, over and over again.

One step, another. And another. Turn at the end of the hall, start back, ten steps. Rest my forehead on the wallpaper, hold my belly and moan, my hips bucking. Drop into a squat, it feels natural, but doesn't help the pain. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Two hours later, a text from Michael.

How are you?

OK I managed to text back, and then droppe the phone, and fell to all fours. This feels more natural. Right. I can do this.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Don't hyperventilate. Keep breathing. Slow, measured breaths. Moan into it.

Drop my head, almost curled up on the floor from the pain. Keep moving. Force myself upright. Keep moving.

One step, another.

Can I feel the baby move lower? Surely not.. but I massaged my belly. My pelvis feels full. Could I be dilated yet? Could he be coming out already? Surely not.

Keep walking, stumble along the dark hallway, alone. Alone against the pain. One step, another.

An hour later, squatting in Michael's office, elbows resting on the edge of his desk.

Is my pelvis big enough? Can he make it? Why was this a good idea. I'm a small woman, only 5'1". I should be at the hospital, but it's too late. I don't want to bother Michael. Just keep breathing. Just keep breathing.

Your body knows what to do. It will be OK. Just keep breathing.

I hear the elevators in the distance, feel the room vibrate since Michael's office backs up to the shaft. Keep breathing. Massage my belly, rest my head on the dark wood grain of the edge of his desk.

I hear the door open, turn my head slowly through the haze of pain.

 

Chapter Four

"Oh my God, Brittney, are you alright?" Michael asked. He put his strong arms around me and lifted me.

"I'm.. fine..." I slur, and the world falls out of focus for a moment.

"You're soaked with sweat."

"I'm pushing our baby out." I said, happily.

"Yes, I can see that." Michael said, as he laid me down on the large leather couch where we first kissed. "Here, drink this."

I lifted my head and sucked at the straw of a chilled can of Sprite that Michael gave me. It was cold and sweet and delicious.

"Oh, that's good." I said, and kept sucking, my cheeks hollowed. Soon half the can was gone, and Michael lifted it away. His hands caressed me, and he murmured "Oh Brittney, Brittney, why didn't you text me sooner."

"Big deal." I murmured, the words turning into a groan as another contraction wracked my body.

Michael's brow furrowed as he knelt on the floor next to me.

"How far apart are your contractions, babe?" he asked, gently.

"I don't know. Do you have any water?"

"I'll go grab some." Michael said, and rose, his slacks impeccable. I felt like a hot, sweaty mess. He'd unbuttoned my maternity blouse at some point, and the cool air on my superheated skin felt good.

Michael returned after a minute with a glass of ice with a little water to hold them together.

"Can you help me with this bra?" I asked, and barely lifted myself as Michael used one hand to hold me up by my shoulder, and the other to expertly unlatch my fancy leaf-patterned bra.

"Thank you." I sighed as he removed it. "I hadn't realized I'd gotten so... ughhhhh."

Michael glanced at his watch.

"That's what I thought." Michael said, grimly. "You're past active labor, you're nearly to transition."

"What does that mean?"

"I might have the terms mixed up," my husband admitted, "but the key point is that you're giving birth."

"I've been giving birth for hours!"

"I meant, you're actively giving birth and you could deliver at any time."

"It doesn't feel like it." I groaned, and my hands went to my heated belly once more. "It feels like he's going to be stuck in here forever."

"Don't worry, I'm sure he'll be out soon."

"Shouldn't we go to the hospital, Michael?" I said, with a sudden spike of worry.

"We could, but do you want to risk delivering in the car?"

"Not really." I said.

"Do you want people to watch you while you give birth?"

"Hell no." I said. "Help me up."

Michael smiled, one of his small, loving smiles. This one was tinged with a little bit of 'I know my wife well'. Had it only been two years since I'd started working for him? And yet here I was carrying — no, birthing — his child? How time flies.

"I have to go." Michael said, after he had me on my feet. "Just for a few minutes. The Chinese are leaving. They booked a red-eye out of JFK and I need to see them off."

"Did—you—get—the—deal?" I panted through a contraction.

"Yes, babe. We got the deal. I couldn't have done it without you."

"Good. Now. Hurry up." I panted. "I don't know if I can do this without you, babe."

"You're managing just fine. Keep drinking your water. There's more in the mini fridge."

"But then I'll have to pee."

"You don't want to collapse and have to be taken to the hospital do you?" Michael warned me, his hand on the doorknob.

"No, I'd rather stay here, in the privacy of your OFFFFFFFICCCCCCCE" I screamed, as a cramp in my belly forced my voice to match the pain.

Michael smiled, and ducked out.

An hour later, things didn't feel like they had changed much. I had watched Michael see the Chinese off from the safety of a window up in his dark office, while they shook hands below in the floodlit parking lot. Why were they flying out at 2 in the morning? Oh well, they were out of our lives, just names attached to email address and, thankfully, multi-million dollar contracts.

Another contraction hit me and I moaned, and pressed my forehead against the cool glass. I was grateful that Michael had kept the building's air conditioning running overnight for the meeting, but I still felt hot. I felt nauseous. I felt like I was going to be a terrible mother.

I was walking in little circles on Michael's thin-pile office carpet when, hot tears splashing down my face when he came back.

"Well," he said as he opened the door, "I'm glad that we have that—what's wrong, Brittney?"

"Nothing." I blubbered. "Everything. Get this baby out of me. But I'm going to be a terrible mother. We should put him up for adoption!"

"Oh babe," Michael said, and wrapped me up in his arms. I cried into his shirt. "It will be alright. We'll learn to be good parents together. You'll be a great mother, it just takes practice."

"No, I won't." I said, my voice muffled by his shirt and my nose full of snot. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand.

"Here." Michael said, and handed me a wad of tissues.

I pulled away and noisily blew my nose.

"This is all your fucking fault anyway!"

"Yes, I inseminated you."

"Don't be so damn clinical about it." I punched his shoulder.

"What would you rather I say, babe? I knocked you up? I bred you? I filled you with my spunk?"

"There's no need to get all gutter about it." I said, and crossed my arms and turned my back.

"Fair enough." Michael said and walked to his desk and logged onto his computer.

"What are you doing?" I asked, after a minute.

"Catching up on email. Did you need something?"

"Only the support from the father of my child." I said, and placed my hand on my belly again, as another contraction started deep in my gut.

"You have it." Michael said, and stood up and walked around the edge of his desk to take my free hand. "Anything I can do for you."

"Give birth for me?" I asked, deflated, hot and sweaty; all the fight gone out of me.

"Here, go sit down." Michael said, and steered me towards the couch again. I let him. Suddenly I was just very tired, and my head ached. When Michael pressed a glass of ice water into my hand, it was all I could do to take a few gentle sips.

I moaned.

"Good girl." Michael said. "I know this is hard, but we're getting closer to the end. Just take it one contraction at a time. Just keep breathing and we'll get through this. And then we'll get to meet our baby."

I groaned and placed a hand on my belly.

Michael stood and crossed to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled a pair of scissors out. Then he crossed back to me.

"Keep drinking water." He said, gently. "You need it. It's important for you and the baby."

I sighed and had another sip. The cool water did feel good on my overheated tongue. While he was doing that, Michael slipped his hand under my skirt.

"What are you doing?"

"Making you more comfortable, and preparing for birth. For the birth of our son."

I sighed and settled back into the couch cushions.

"I'm so glad you're here, Michael. Even if you're ruining my skirt."

"I'll buy you three more before our next pregnancy."

I nodded. It was one of the few really good pieces of maternity clothing I now owned. It fit me like a glove. Or, I corrected myself, it had fit me like a glove. Now, after Michael has sliced his way up both sides of my skirt, it didn't fit like much of anything except a loose set of black rags held together at the waist into some sort of primitive attempt at a skirt.

"I must admit, the airflow feels nice." I managed to say, before the next contraction hit me.

"Good." Michael said, and lifted several strips of black fabric away from my body before he carefully cut the waistband, and tugged as much of that as he could away from my body.

I grunted through another contraction.

 

Chapter Five

An hour later, stripped naked and still covered in sweat on the couch, I started to remember some of the things I had said an hour ago, when things first got really intense. When I blamed Michael for everything. When I was sad and angry.

"Oh my God, Michael. I'm so sorry for all those things I said." I said, fresh tears starting to form.

"It's OK." Michael said, as he crouched at my feet. "Now just take a deep breath and keep pushing and he'll be out soon."

"I know, but I want you to understand. It was horrible of me to say all of those things." I reached for him, and all I could get was a little of his hair.

"I know, PUSH, it's part of, KEEP PUSHING, part of birth process to have anger and wild emotions."

"Really?" I said.

"Yes, PUSH!"

"OK." I said and gritted my teeth and bore down. I gave into my instincts and listened to my husband and pushed as the contraction rolled over me and my entire birth canal spasmed, trying to shift the baby lower and, eventually, on out and into the world.

"Good." Michael coached me. "You're doing wonderfully."

"Are you sure?" I panted. "You've never done this before."

"Yes. You're textbook. And I'd never closed a multi-billion-dollar deal with the Chinese either, before today. And I did alright with that."

"True." I moaned as another contraction started, "But those aren't transferable skills. Success and expertise in one area doesn't translate to success and expertise in another area."

"Granted. NOW PUSH." Michael commanded me. I closed my eyes and pushed my tired body to squeeze squeeze squeeze that baby out.

"I don't think we're getting anywhere." I panted, after a minute of pushing. I was hot, I was tired. And my belly and lower back were exhausted from all of the work.

"I think we are, but you may very well know better than me. You are the mother, after all." Michael said. "What does your body tell you to do?"

"I don't want to listen to it."

"Listen to it, babygirl." Michael said, and sat down next to me on the couch. "You have millions of years of evolution inside of you, you know what you need to do." He touched my chin gently and drew my lips to his. I melted deeper into the couch at his tender touch.

I sighed. "I do want this baby out of me, Michael."

"Good. Then listen to your body. What's it saying?"

"It's saying I'm tired and hot and cranky and I need a break."

"I wish I could give you that. I really do. But right now you need to focus on pushing, on getting that baby out."

"You're sure I can't take a little break?"

"Not of the kind you're envisioning." Michael said, with one of the lopsided smiles of his, the kind I loved. "No pool floats, and definitely no alcohol."

"Alright. Then help me up. I think I need to be moving a little more. Moving my pelvis. Rocking."

"Mmm." Michael said, as he put one arm around me and held my hand and carefully helped me up off of the couch. "You make that sound sexual."

"I think it is, actually, in a way." I said, with a laugh.

"Maybe I should bend you over my desk again, like I first did all those months ago."

"That was wonderful. Kiss me." I said, and pulled Michael's face down to mine and touched his lips to mine.

"I thought I bruised your feelings, doing it and then leaving?"

"You also bruised my cervix, and I blame you for the abuse it's currently suffering, by the way." I said, and punched his shoulder gently again. "But it was a very enjoyable fucking. I do hope you'll do it to me again."

"Just not today." Michael said, a statement that became a question in the form of a statement when I noticed the gleam in his eye.

"Just not today." I repeated, "Everything is pretty busy downstairs, but I may be able to fit you in in a month."

"If that soon. I don't want to tear anything."

"Let's not think about it." I said, and gritted my teeth. "Help me walk around your office."

"Aye aye." Michael said, and touched off a mock salute to me.

Thirty minutes of slow laps together around Michael's office and I was tired.

"Let's sit down for a minute." I panted.

"Alright." Michael said and steered me towards the couch. "Do you think walking has had an effect?"

"Other than making me tired? Yes."

Michael nodded, then fetched and handed me a fresh glass of ice water. I nodded my thanks. His eyes asked me for more detail, but I gulped the water down first. It tasted so good, like a mountain stream filled with molten runoff from pristine alpine snowfall. Michael crouched in front of me, his eyes full of questions and concerns. I did my best to give him an update:

"I think the baby has shifted lower, like maybe he's even past my cervix, or at least his head is. I know it's weird that I can say that—"

"It's not weird at all." Michael said, and clasped my hand between his. "It makes sense that you, as a woman, would know exactly where the baby is. You can feel it."

I offered Michael a smile, even as the next contraction hit, but that was all I could manage.

"Uhhhhh fuck it hurts." I groaned, my hands braced on my belly as I rocked back and forth in pain.

"You can do it." Michael said, as he squatted in front of me. He smiled encouragingly and I focussed, alternatively, on the light that reflected off of his white teeth and the flecks of grey in his salt-and-pepper hair. "I believe in you."

"Belief isn't going to birth this baby, darling." I grunted through gritted teeth. Fuck it hurt.

"On the contrary," Michael started to say and then shut his mouth.

"Smart man." I grunted, and leaned forward as best I could. "Help me up."

"OK." Michael said and rose smoothly off of his haunches to a standing position. He held his hands out and I grasped them. He hoisted me off of the couch without any apparent effort and I was soon standing in front of him. I didn't even come up to his shoulder.

"I need to push." I grunted. "Take two steps back and don't let go of my hands."

Michael obeyed and soon we were standing in the middle of the office. I widened my stance a little, and then slowly pushed my butt out and bent my knees. I lowered myself slowly and carefully into a squat, still holding Michael's hands. He bent with me and soon I was squatting and birthing for my boss. In his office, even. I felt a little shiver of excitement go through me at that thought; the sheer naughtiness of it all.

"Bring that chair over." I ordered Michael, with an uplift of my chin. "I need something to lean oooonnnnnnn." I said, the sentence devolving into a moan as my guts clenched again in an urgent effort to bring my baby into the world.

Michael carefully released my hands, turned, and practically ran to grab one of the straight-backed guest chairs from in front of his desk.

"You might want to get a towel, too. Or several."

"I have some in my truck." Michael said and started for the door. He turned back and looked at me. "Will you be OK?"

"I'll be fine." I said with a small smile, and confidence beyond my years, as if I had all of my female ancestors lined up there behind me in the room, giving me confidence.

While Michael was gone, I focussed on my breathing and not on the forces trying to tear my tiny pelvis apart. Suddenly, I wished we were at the hospital. There they could give me blessed pain relief, and someone could measure my cervix to make sure I was dilated enough, and someone else could work to make sure my pelvis was big enough for this baby. Sure, my OB had told me at my last checkup that women even more petite than me had been delivering babies for millenia, but that was small comfort now. In the calm, antiseptic brilliance of the white exam room where I perched on the table (in my own clothes, even!), with my doctor right there, I felt empowered like a modern woman capable of anything.

Now I just felt pain. And fear. I didn't feel the comforting presence of my ancestors anymore, I just felt fear. And pain. And concern.

Why wasn't I at the hospital? What if something went wrong with the baby; how would we know? We had no monitors, no way of telling.

A fresh wave of pain engulfed me before I had answers and, amazingly, held the panic at bay.

I returned to breathing. In. Out. Grunt. In. Out. Shift position, on all fours now. In. Out. Fuck that hurts. In. Out. In. Out.

I kept breathing, as the minutes stretched on, trying not to think too much.

 

Chapter Six

"Where do you want the towels?" Michael asked again.

I blinked up at him through a haze of pain.

"U-uh—under—under me." I managed, as another spasm hit me. "To catch the fluids."

"Right. Got it." Michael said, and moved. He deployed the rough towels under and around me, with a dark one between my legs.

I arched my back as another contraction added itself to the building crescendo in my body. It felt like my whole body was trying to squeeze and push this baby out of me.

"Are you pushing?" Michael asked.

"My body is." I said, "I'm just along for the ride."

"Babe," Michael said and reached out to towel the sweat from my forehead. "You have to push. Your body can't do it unless you help."

"Are you sure?" I asked him, squinting through the pain. "I just want this to be over."

"I know, darling." Michael said, and stroked my face.

"Don't touch me!" I screamed, "It's too much."

"S-Sorry." Michael said, after he yanked his hand back.

"It's OK. You didn't know." I mumbled under my breath, my nerves still on fire.

"OK, now, I'm going to coach you through it." Michael said, his hands balled into fists and jammed into his pockets.

I couldn't help it. I laughed, despite the overwhelming pain.

"You look like an anxious schoolboy trying to ask a girl to the high school dance."

"I do?" Michael asked, and glanced down at himself. "I guess I do." he said, sheepishly. I saw the nerd in him again, for a moment.

I smiled at him, and rocked my hips. I felt so full, like my pelvis was full of baby.

"In any case," Michael said, hastily, "I need to coach you through this." The confident bowhunter was back.

"OK." I managed weakly.

"Take a deep breath and listen to your body. What's it doing?"

"Winding down from a contraction." I panted, and tried to draw in enough air into my squashed lungs.

"Good, now keep breathing deeply and when you feel the urge to push, don't ignore it; give into it and push, push push that baby out."

"I think I got it the first time you said push, babe." I said, and tried to roll my eyes, but a sharp cramping start to the next contraction interrupted me.

"Another one?" Michael asked.

I nodded, breathlessly.

"OK, good, now push push push. Push our baby out, Brittney!"

I listened to him and pushed. I clenched everything I could clench, and pushed myself up on the seat of the chair in front of me, so I would have a better angle. Let gravity help.

"Ahhhhghhhhhh" I shouted, my weight resting on my haunches now.

"Keeeep pushing." Michael shouted in my ear.

I flinched, but obeyed. I took a deep breath and pushed pushed pushed everything I could push down there, damn the consequences.

"Oh, oh my God." I yelled, and grabbed the side of my belly. "He shifted."

"Good?" Michael said, triumphantly, but with an air of questioning in his voice.

"Yes." I gasped for air.

When the next contraction came, I pushed and pushed harder, and felt like I was finally making some progress.

"Oh fuck." I moaned. "He feels like he's about to come out."

"What, already?" Michael asked. "Are you sure?"

"I think so." I said, and reached down and pushed my hand inside my aching vagina and ... touched his hair. I squealed.

"What's wrong?" Michael asked, and gripped my arm.

"The baby!" I gasped, and sucked in a lungful of air and watched my husband turn pale faster than the moon comes out from behind a cloud. "No, it's OK. It's OK." I repeated. "I can feel the baby. I can feel his head. I touched his hair."

Michael's eyes widened and his color slowly drained back into his face.

"So, everything's OK?"

"Yes!" I cried, before the next contraction hit me. But I was ready for it this time.

I put both hands on the chair in front of me, pulled myself up and rested my arms on it. I dropped my head and rested my forehead on the rough, commercial, fabric and closed my eyes. Michael stayed quiet, which is good; that's what I needed. I imagined the baby, head down in my birth canal. I reached into myself for more willpower and that tenuous connection for my female ancestors. Most of all, I reached deep into my core for the strength that all women share. For that bedrock confidence that's hiding there.

And when the next contraction came, I rode it like a wave, squeezing and pushing and grunting to get that baby out.

"I can see the head now!" Michael cried from behind me.

"Oh my God." I panted. "I'll keep pushing."

"No." Michael said. "Let yourself stretch. Just rest and let the baby rest there. Just let him sit there."

"But I'm so fulll." I pleaded. "I need him out of me. I need to meet our baby. I need to finish giving birth. I'm so close, babe. Please."

"Just for a few minutes. Let him crown, and let yourself stretch around him. It will burn, but just ride it out."

"Remind me again why men can't give birth." I said, through gritted teeth.

Michael didn't respond to that, which was probably for the best. I rocked my hips some more, and reached one hand down to marvel at the head splitting my lips open. Then I glanced around the office.

"It's fitting really." Michael said and handed me a bottle of water. I sucked it down eagerly, and rode out a contraction.

"What?" I asked, once I'd finished the bottle.

"Well, this—this room—is where it all started, and this is where we are going to meet our baby."

"We don't know that for sure." I said, and dropped the empty plastic bottle as another involuntary clenching hit my body. "Can I push now?"

"Not quite yet." Michael said, from behind me. I felt his breath on my bare butt. "But soon."

I sighed, not relieved yet, but knowing that the end was near.

"We don't know he was conceived here. It could have been anytime that week."

"I know." Michael said, "But I bet you were ovulating that day and that's why I needed to take you so badly, and why you let me. You were sopping when I got to you that day."

"Perhaps." I said, with a coy smile, before I whitened my knuckles and gripped the metal legs of the chair where the met the seat.

"I'll have to remember this moment when I write your performance review next month." Michael teased from behind me.

"You wouldn't dare." I teased him. We'd kept our relationship quiet at work, not even updating our tax status on anything HR could conceivably see, because we didn't want me to be transferred to another executive. I wore my ring on a necklace, and told anyone who asked it was my grandmother's. Michael kept his in a drawer at home, and got a secret tattoo on his inner thigh. That fucking hurt.

"Oh, I can see it now." Michael said, his voice growing louder as he painted the scene with his voice. "Something like: 'Brittney consistently goes above and beyond to meet the operational goals of our company."

I snorted into the chair. "Ha! That makes it sound so boring."

"You do, though. We wouldn't be here tonight if you weren't such a hard worker." Michael said softly, and touched my hips carefully with his fingertips. This time I didn't flinch away.

"I'll try to remember that next time I'm in a situation like this."

"And I won't schedule such blockbuster deals when you're pregnant."

"Going to be a good, attentive family man, now, Michael?" I asked.

"You bet." He said, from behind me.

"Then are you ready to meet your baby?" I asked.

"Yes, push for me."

I gritted my teeth, swung my hips, crouched and pushed. The head was out soon thereafter.

Michael cut the cord with a pocket knife he sterilized and the office was soon filled with our son's startled cries. I put him to breast and he settled down, and we fell asleep in Michael's arms. Thank God the next day was Saturday and the office was empty.

I don't think we'd ever want to do that again, but aside from having an unattended birth on Michael's office carpet, I think it went pretty well for a first birth. Don't tell my son, OK?