Her
I hadn't expected to come to bed after dinner to a room lit by candles or Kenny G playing on the turntable. I certainly never expected Em to kiss me the way he did or say what he said.
"Let's make a baby, Bella."
It took a moment to find my breath, and many more to find my voice. He'd never, ever, wanted to discuss children, and suddenly he'd approached me on the subject. There were moments when I was in awe of the way the stars aligned, and they just kept doing so for me. The first time was when that handsome, delightful man asked me to dinner a year earlier, the second was when he married me, and the third was that very moment.
Our lovemaking was always … Well, what I hear lovemaking is supposed to be, but this time was different. He was a man on a mission; gentle and rough in the same moment. He gave and took, and ensured I had all of him. I could see the concentration on his face. He wanted this. Truly.
And the passion took me all the way.
I screamed out as the pleasure he gave me rippled around the part of him within me, and he did the same. The way he moved over me, remained inside and kept his semen deep within me, told me this was the real deal.
We were going to make this baby, and our life would be perfect.
—-
Him
I wished the sky would fall on my head. It pained me to use her in such a way, but my patriotism was stronger than my concern for this woman. I was more obliged to them than to her. The needs of the many trumped the needs of my little American wife.
When her eyes fluttered close and her breathing grew heavy and steady, I slipped from the bed and dressed with haste. I hoped the seed in her womb took and blossomed quickly, because I felt like a bastard for doing it. It was true that I enjoyed our physical relationship; it was the only part of the entire situation I found enjoyable. Making love to a woman I didn't love, made me the greatest actor; no, it made me a well-trained officer.
I gathered the intel I'd prepared and notated the acceptance and confirmation of the initial process of insemination. Taking the life and intimacy and emotion out of the process helped remove me from my body's desire to care. Moscow reached as far as my bed, and their power knew no bounds. Even my wife's womb was not off-limits.
The drop was simple; a quick slip to the men's room at Vicki's Diner and the package was left for pickup in the toilet bowl of the second stall. I even made it home before Bella roused and asked me to turn on the ceiling fan.
I knew the routine.
Routine kept me alive and undetected.
Until it didn't.
—-
