“It was a reasonable assumption,” she argued once the pain passed again. “I had them like this for almost two weeks straight when I was pregnant with Ryan.”
I picked her up again and carried her out of the elevator and through the lobby. “True, but he was our first. When you were pregnant with Nate, you only had a random Braxton Hicks here and there. Then when you went into labor, it only took a few hours before you were ready to push. Who knows how long we’ve got this time?”
Fenton was waiting for us at the curb with the back door open. As I got Charlotte settled on the seat, he circled the car to jump in the driver’s seat. She squeezed my hand when another contraction struck, and I barked, “Get us to the hospital as fast as you can, Fenton.”
“I. Don’t. Want. To. Have. My. Baby. In. The. Car,” she panted between breaths.
“Neither do I,” a horrified Fenton agreed.
It was a damn close call, but we made it to the hospital with only minutes to spare before our daughter, Clara, was born. We would’ve had to pull over to the side of the road if Fenton hadn’t driven like a bat out of hell to get us there, for which I was extremely thankful and gave him a big bonus.
I reminded Charlotte about the close call six weeks later when I bent her over our bed to spank her ass red before giving her an orgasm. Then I slid into her drenched pussy for the first time since she gave birth to our daughter and warned her that she’d better tell me about any contractions she has the next time she was pregnant. Ten months later, she did exactly that...and then we spent twenty-three hours in the hospital waiting for our fourth child to be born. But at least Carver wasn’t almost born in a car.