My wife tossed the mask aside with a panicked cry. “It’s not working!”
Checking the gauge on the tank, I cursed under my breath when I saw the dial pointed toward empty.
“What? What is it?” Rory clutched at my forearm, her desperation palpable.
“I’m sorry.”
Her brow furrowed. “Sorry? What do you mean, you’re sorry?”
Swallowing thickly, knowing it was going to be hell from here on out, I delivered the bad news. “It’s all gone.”
“Nooooooo,” Rory wailed as her head dropped back, her spine arching. Every muscle in her body locked, fighting hard against the contraction. Tendons straining in her neck, her scream of ”Fuck!” floated toward the ceiling.
Though I would never admit it aloud and incur the wrath of my wife, I was suffering as much as she was. As a man of action, sitting on the sidelines, utterly helpless, was pure fucking torture.
Panting as the wave of pain began to pass, Rory groaned, “My ass feels like it’s about to explode.”
My eyes bulged, swinging around the doctor hovering near the bottom of the bed. I wasn’t exactly an expert on childbirth, but I knew with absolute certaintythatwas definitely the wrong hole.
Thankfully, Dr. Corsi explained, “The pressure you’re feeling is the baby moving down the birth canal. Listen to your body. If it wants to bear down on the next contraction, go ahead and give pushing a try.”
He’d remained pretty hands-off to this point, only stepping in occasionally to check the baby’s heart rate. The decision to let Rory labor with minimal medical intervention had been madeafter she kicked Corsi in the jaw the first time he attempted a cervical check. He now sported a purple bruise that demanded I tack on a bonus for his services on his way out the door. Once the roads were passable again, of course.
We were nearing the finish line, but Rory was quick to realize the agony she was in would only get worse before it got better.
“Gio,” she sobbed, tears straining her flushed cheeks. “I can’t do this. Please don’t make me.”
Climbing onto the mattress, I took her face in my hands. “Do you know why I call you mytigrotta?” When she shook her head, I answered my own question, “Because you are fierce, you are strong, and youneverback down from a fight. If there’s anyone who can bring our son into the world with no drugs, in the middle of a snowstorm, it’s you.”
My wife’s eyes slammed shut, even as wetness leaked from beneath the sealed lids. “It hurts so bad.”
“I know.” I dropped my forehead to hers. “But the reward is going to be so worth it. We’re so close, baby. I just need you to keep fighting for a little while longer. Can you do that for me?”
Her lashes lifted to reveal fear mixed with determination in the sapphire gems staring back at me.
Before she got a chance to answer my question, another contraction gripped her.
Channeling the extreme agony she experienced, Rory tucked her chin to her chest, her face turning a deep shade of scarlet as she attempted to push. But almost immediately, she stopped, a shrill cry spilling from her parted lips, followed by a huff of “Something’s wrong. It doesn’t feel right.”
I turned to Corsi, who was already pulling on a pair of latex gloves.
“I’ll need to examine you. And I’m afraid it will be more than a little unpleasant at this late stage of labor.”
“What can I do?” I offered my assistance.
“Actually . . .” the doctor began. “If you can get up on the bed and keep her legs held back, that would help immensely.” His eyes lifted as he spoke to my wife. “Would that be all right with you, Mrs. Bellini?”
“Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice,” she muttered, already rising on her elbows to make room for me.
Climbing up behind her, I positioned her arms around the back of my neck so that her nails dug into the exposed flesh there. Against her temple, I said, “Give me your pain. I can take it.”
Rory understood the assignment, curling her fingers so that her sharp talons pierced my skin.
“Her legs,” Corsi prompted.
Reaching down, I spread Rory’s thighs wide as the doctor moved between them. There were streaks of blood coating the insides, which I’d come to learn was normal as dilation progressed.
I gritted my teeth as the doctor’s fingers pushed inside her, more from the discomfort of Rory clawing the shit out of my neck than my need to cut the man’s hands off for touching my wife intimately. The reminder that he was only doing his job, and that there was no pleasure to be found in it, was the only thing keeping my inner alpha at bay.
