Sperm Count** **Chapter 2: The Blow Pop and the Follow-Up**

**Sperm Count**

Chapter 2: The Blow Pop and the Follow-Up

I found them the next morning exactly as promised.

My shredded rose-print thong was stuffed into the bottom of my locker, carefully wrapped around a bright red Blow Pop. The sticky candy had already left a faint cherry smear on the torn cotton. Tied to the stick with a piece of exam-table paper was a note written in Dan’s careless scrawl:

Still warm. Still mine. Urology wants a second sample. Same time. Same room. Don’t wear anything you care about.

I stood there in my clean scrubs with the locker door half open, heart slamming against my ribs, and felt the dull, sweet ache between my legs that had kept me awake most of the night. Andy had been home when I got back. I’d showered twice, scrubbed until my skin was raw, and still imagined I could smell Dan on me. I’d climbed into bed beside my husband and let him hold me while the evidence of what I’d done dried on the clothes stuffed in a grocery bag in the trunk of my Jeep.

I should have thrown the panties away. I should have reported Dan. I should have transferred to another clinic.

Instead I unwrapped the Blow Pop, stuck it in my mouth, and tasted cherry and the faint metallic tang of whatever was left of him on the fabric.

By afternoon I had already cleared the last slot of the day.

Dan walked in at 4:45 looking like he’d slept better than I had. Same black Under Armour briefs, same predatory calm. He locked the door this time—someone had finally installed a deadbolt after “maintenance” noticed the missing one—and leaned against the exam table like he owned the room.

“You kept the candy,” he said.

I didn’t answer. I just set the specimen cup on the counter and started unbuttoning my lab coat.

He stopped me with a hand on my wrist. “Not yet. Turn around. Hands on the table.”

I did. He pulled my scrub pants and the fresh white cotton panties I’d worn that morning down to my knees in one motion. Cool air hit the still-tender skin of my ass. His palm cracked across the left cheek hard enough to make me jump.

“That’s for trying to pretend yesterday didn’t happen.” Another sharp slap on the right. “And that’s for walking out without looking at me.”

I was already wet. Embarrassingly, humiliatingly wet. He slid two fingers between my legs, found the proof, and laughed under his breath.

“Still dripping for the guy who can’t knock anybody up. That’s almost romantic.”

He didn’t bother with the cup right away. He bent me further over the table, kicked my feet wider, and pushed inside in one long, brutal stroke. I bit the paper covering the table to keep from making noise. He fucked me the way he always had—deep, punishing, like he was trying to leave a permanent mark. Every thrust shoved me forward until my hips bruised against the edge of the vinyl. When I started to come he clamped a hand over my mouth and kept going, grinding against the spot that made my legs shake until I was sobbing into his palm.

Only when he was close did he pull out.

“Cup,” he ordered.

I reached back blindly. He took it from me, guided the head of his cock to the rim, and finished with three short, heavy pulses. The cup filled. Warm. Thick. More than yesterday.

He screwed the lid on, set it aside, then dropped to one knee behind me. His tongue dragged through the mess he’d left, cleaning me with long, deliberate strokes while I trembled and tried not to make another sound. When he stood again he pressed the Blow Pop against my lips.

“Open.”

I did. He pushed the sticky red candy into my mouth, then leaned close to my ear.

“Urology called this morning. First sample was low volume, low motility. They want another one in three days. You’re going to collect it again. And this time you’re going to film it.”

I spun around, candy still between my teeth. “Are you insane?”

He smiled the same smile he’d worn the night Susan found the barn video. “You already broke the contract once. What’s one more rule?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out my stolen bra from the day before, still warm from being carried around all day. He dropped it on the table beside the cup. “Wear this next time. Nothing else under the scrubs. I want to see the stains when you walk out.”

I left the clinic twenty minutes later with the sealed specimen in a brown paper bag, the Blow Pop still in my mouth, and the taste of him lingering under the cherry. Jessica met me in the parking lot again. She took one look at my flushed face and the way I was walking and smirked.

“Second sample already? You two are dedicated.”

I didn’t answer. I just handed her the bag and drove home with the windows down, trying to let the evening air erase the smell of exam-room sex and red candy.

Andy was waiting with dinner. Samantha was already asleep. I kissed my husband on the cheek, told him the clinic had been crazy, and went to shower for the third time that day.

In the mirror, faint red handprints still marked my ass.

Three days.

I already knew I would clear the schedule again.