“Are you serious?” Rush asked the huge, imposing man currently standing outside his weird jail cell. The guy was about six-four and built. Rush figured they kept sending him down here because he was scary looking.
Except the man wasn’t really scary looking. He didn’t give off that vibe. He even winced as if the last thing in the world he’d wanted to do was bring this plastic cup down to the basement and demand that Rush jerk off into the receptacle.
The man took a deep breath. He looked tired. Exhausted. As if he hadn’t slept in a few days. Why? “Look, man. Neither of us has the power to stop this situation, so just fucking do it.” He continued to hold the clear cup, shaking it in his extended hand that reached through the bars.
Rush stood from the cot and flattened himself to the far wall. He stared at the large man, trying to decide if he was friend or foe. He’d said “neither of us” as if they were in this together. Maybe they were. “And if I don’t?”
The guy lifted a brow. “You know that’s not an option.”
“I’m not a fucking sperm donor,” Rush hissed, infuriated. He’d heard stories of men forced to impregnate women, but he’d never imagined becoming one of them. The thought made the blood rush from his face, leaving him light-headed.
“Yeah, you are.” The man shook the cup again.
“So, let me get this straight. I wasn’t brought here for my medical skills. I was brought here because someone can’t get it up and I’m the replacement?”
The big guy jerked his hand back and grabbed the bar with his other hand, leaning in close, his gaze narrowed, his expression fit to kill. “This has nothing to do with whether or not a man can get it up, asshole, and you know it.”
Rush flinched. The guy was awfully defensive. “Is she your woman?”
The guy gritted his teeth, his chest rising as he inhaled slowly. Finally, he growled. “Do I look like I shoot blanks?”
Interesting response that didn’t answer his question. “You know virility has nothing to do with sperm count,” Rush countered. “Plenty of men can easily orgasm without getting anyone pregnant.”
The guy narrowed his gaze further. “No one in this house would disappoint a woman in bed, asshole. But if I were the one needing a replacement, I don’t think they’d choose a scrawny white guy.”
Rush couldn’t keep from chuckling. He had a point there. Nothing about this was remotely humorous, but he decided he liked this guy. He had nothing to base it on, but the man was obviously protective of whoever needed the sperm replacement or he wouldn’t be so defensive. Perhaps even the woman involved too.
“So, you’re saying I look like the guy who needs my sperm. Is he planning to pass my offspring off as his own then?” Clearly. This went without saying, but Rush wanted to continue to engage this man in conversation.
The guy sighed, his shoulders dropping. “Just fill the damn cup, will ya?”
“You planning to watch?” Rush continued without budging from his spot against the far wall.
“No, asshole. I’m not interested in your junk.”
“Rush.”
“Rush what?” the big guy asked, confusion on his face.
“It’s my name.”
“Rush is your fucking name?”
“Yes. Now you don’t have to call me asshole. I can assure you I’m not. I’m a doctor. Until three months ago, my life has been all about helping people.” He had no idea why he was telling this man anything, but perhaps if the guy saw him as a human being, it would help.
The guy snorted. “Fine. Fill the cup, Rush.”
“What? No jokes about why my parents named me Rush?”
“Maybe they were in a fucking hurry. What do I know? I was apparently born during a storm.”
Rush sucked in a breath. They were getting somewhere. “Your name is Storm?”
“Yeah. Now for the love of God…”
“So you believe there’s a God in this fucking world?”
Another groan, louder. “No. I don’t. If there ever was a God, he abandoned us.” Storm finally tossed the cup across the room.
Rush caught it out of midair, but he didn’t move from his spot. “I guess you aren’t required to watch me. It’s not like I could replace my sperm with someone else’s from inside this jail cell. Although, I suppose if you don’t like impregnating your woman with my sperm, you could replace it with yours.”
“She’s not—” Storm cut himself off.
“Look,” Rush said, trying to school his voice. “How do you know my sperm count is high enough?”
“We don’t. This first batch is for testing. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” He turned toward the stairs.
“Ten minutes? Dude, I’m in a cold, damp basement. You haven’t provided me with video equipment filled with porn nor old Playboy magazines, so ten minutes is going to be a stretch.”
“Just fucking do it,” he muttered as he stomped up the stairs.
This entire situation was a damn shitshow. Rush was still reeling from the new information. It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d been brought here to provide sperm. Not in his wildest imaginings.
Dropping onto the cot, Rush flipped the cup over in his palm several times. He was no stranger to jerking off. He lived in a world without enough damn females to go around, for Christ’s sake. Like he’d just told Storm, he wasn’t an asshole. He’d never taken a woman against her will and never would.
The closest he’d ever come to violating a woman was about to happen if these crazy motherfuckers used his sperm against his will to impregnate someone.
Hell, it could be worse. They could’ve also forced him to fuck her while they watched. Or did they think that was going one step too far? Jesus.
Rush was a skilled medic. He hesitated to refer to himself as a doctor since he had no formal training, but these days most doctors didn’t, so he supposed he was as close as they came. At least the man who’d taught him everything he knew was indeed an educated MD. That counted for something.
For three months his skills had been wasted while he sat in a prison cell doing nothing. Now he’d been purchased by this rich family, and their only use for him was his sperm?
If anyone from the actual family ever showed their faces, he’d plead his case. Surely he could convince them he was useful and get them to let him out of this cage. Until then, he had no chance of escaping.
A new set of questions came to mind. How long did they plan to keep him here? What if he wasn’t successful in impregnating the woman? Fuck, what if he was? Then what? Did they intend for him to father all of her children?
He shuddered. He wasn’t worried about his sperm count. He’d examined it himself. He knew exactly what they would find. His swimmers were alive and well. Fertility wasn’t an issue for him.
“What the fuck?” he muttered under his breath. He really was in a bind. What if he couldn’t do this? Like physically. Forget the emotional turmoil he was suffering. He wasn’t at all sure he could fucking masturbate in a jail cell on command. Who did that?
He didn’t even currently have a woman in his life he could use as inspiration. He hadn’t seen a woman in three months. There were women he’d met at The Wanderers bunker, but none who had caught his attention.
At the sound of the door opening at the top of the stairs, Rush flinched and jumped to his feet, leaving the unused cup on the cot as he stood. The sound of feet descending the steps a moment later didn’t belong to Storm. They were too soft.
Finally, a woman came into view. She was carrying something wrapped in brown paper. She had a stern look on her face that seemed out of place. Rush didn’t think the woman was ordinarily as stern as she was trying to look.
When she reached the cell, she held out the paper item through the bars. “Storm said to give you this.”
Rush lifted a brow and smirked as he realized what it would be. He sauntered toward the woman, keeping his gaze on her face. He needed to know what kind of people he was dealing with. “And who are you?” he asked without touching the item.
“That’s none of your concern.”
Rush shrugged. “Seems like it is. What difference does it make if I know your name? It won’t change anything.”
She sighed. “Storm said you were inquisitive. I’m not here to chat though, so you’re out of luck.” She bent down and set what he knew would be a Playboy on the floor.
“The owners of this estate aren’t very hospitable to their guests. I’ve been here two nights and not one person has come to welcome me besides the hired help.”
She snorted. “What makes you so sure I’m not the owner? Or Storm for that matter.”
Rush lifted his brows. He swung his gaze around the room. “Based on the size of this basement, I’d say I’m in a rather large private estate. One in which someone needs to get pregnant because her husband is infertile. He must look like me since this is all on the down-low. I’m going to guess he’s even my age. Which means the woman is probably in her early twenties.”
He let his gaze roam up and down this particular woman’s frame. She appeared to be close to fifty. “You don’t strike me as the owner of this estate since you’re wearing an apron and your shoes are several years old. I doubt you could afford to buy a sperm donor.”
She smirked, standing to her full height, which was about five-five. She was of average build with graying hair pulled back in a bun. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, do you?”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, does it? I’m just trying to entertain myself. Does the Master and/or Mistress of this estate have any idea what I could bring to the table that would be far more valuable than my sperm?”
The woman narrowed her eyes. On second thought, she looked older than she probably was. He’d still guess her to be about fifty, but she was tired and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes spoke of hardship and sadness. What has she lived through?
Rush continued. “I’m a doctor. Your situation would be better served if you let me examine the parties in question who’re trying to have a baby rather than pumping my sperm into the woman without enough information.”
“The family already has a doctor. Your medical services aren’t needed. Your sperm is. Get to it.” She pointed toward the cup on the cot before she turned and headed back up the stairs.
Rush ran a hand over his face before he bent to pick up the magazine. He could see it was a magazine without opening it. He was running out of arguments and options here.
He had, however, gathered more information. Keep them talking. The more he engaged, the more he would learn about whoever owned this estate and what their intentions were.
He chuckled as he opened the brown paper from around the magazine and held up a nineteen seventy-five Playboy. Storm was a resourceful guy. What else could the man come up with on request? How about a key to the cell.
Rush flipped open the magazine and thumbed through the pages. These women didn’t appeal to him. This was going to be a challenge. His head wasn’t in the right place for a good fuck right now. His brain was spinning, trying to figure out a way out of this situation. Sex was the last thing on his mind.
And yet, he had no choice. He unzipped his jeans, palmed his junk, and dragged his hand up and down the shaft, trying to bring the unwilling appendage to full staff.
Ten minutes wasn’t going to cut it, and if Storm opened that door and headed down the stairs prematurely, Rush would be screwed. He’d have to start over. Considering how eager he was to ejaculate into a cup for strangers, he didn’t much care, but he imagined eventually someone was going to care a whole lot, and he didn’t think he wanted to entertain that someone today.
He dropped down onto the cot, lay on his back, and closed his eyes. Surely he could convince his cock to participate with a bit of coaxing. He was a dude, after all.