by Naomi West
“I didn’t say I was pregnant,” I say.
“You don’t have to,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Your tits are huge and you’ve puked every morning for the last week.”
“I haven’t even taken a test,” I say.
“Well, take one, but I think you already know what the result will be,” she says. After a pause, she asks, “Will you tell him?”
“Axel?” I ask.
“No, Phillip,” she says, rolling her eyes again. “Yes, Axel.”
“I’d have to actually see him to tell him,” I say. “And I haven’t seen him in four weeks.”
I miss him. I shouldn’t, but I do. And I feel more than a little used. Maybe the sex really was just payment on a debt owed. Maybe it meant nothing.
It should’ve meant nothing.
***
Axel
I know I’m taking a risk, showing up to Millie’s place of business. I’m not the kind of man who can walk into a fancy office building without being stopped by security. I certainly don’t want to embarrass her or jeopardize her job. But I need to see her. Now.
When she walks out of the building, I’m instantly hard. She’s dressed a little differently, her dress a little more low-cut, her cleavage a little more prominent. And she’s got this bright peachy-colored lipstick on. She’s a bombshell, and I want to beat up every guy to stares at her as she walks out in her knee-high stiletto boots. And there are a lot of guys who stare, because she is a fucking angel.
Her eyes nearly pop out of her head when she sees me. She stops short, about ten feet away. I close the gap.
“Hey, Millie,” I say, because I am a fucking poet.
“Axel,” she says.
“I’m … uh … sorry I haven’t been around lately.” I say.
“Four weeks,” she says. “It’s been four weeks. You can’t pick up a fucking phone?”
“Whoa, the f-bomb outta you?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
She raises an eyebrow, an adorable, kissable pout on her face.
“My boss ghosted the club, left me in charge. Everything was fucked up. I had to fix some shit. I’m sorry. I’m a bastard. It don’t mean I didn’t think about you every second of every day.”
“I thought we had a connection,” she says. “More than sex, maybe. I guess I was naïve.”
“No,” I say. “No.”
“No what?” she asks.
“No, you’re not naïve,” I say. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”
“No, she’s not going anywhere with you,” says a male voice from behind me.
I turn. “Oh great, it’s Wonderdick,” I say. “Fuck off, asshole.”
Phillip, in a full dress suit, says, “Can I give you a lift to your car, Millie? Make sure you get home safe, maybe?”
“She’s fine with me,” I say, getting in his face. “How many times does Millie have to remind you that your relationship is kaput?”
“At least once more,” he says. “After she tells you to get your greasy ass out of here. She’s too good for a piece of illiterate shit like you.”
“I’m going to beat your face in,” I snarl.
“Yes, because brute violence is the only language you speak,” he says, sneering at me. “What a piece of garbage you are. Millie, what dumpster did you pull this guy out of? Let me help you put him back.”
My fist is raised—cocked and loaded and ready to slam into that idiot’s face. Millie reaches up and grabs my arm. My attention temporarily diverted, I back off, just a little. I don’t even care that he thinks I’m trash. I’ve been called worse. I just don’t want him anywhere near Millie. And she’s been too damn nice to him. She needs to tell him, in no uncertain terms, to leave her alone.
“Phillip,” Millie says, annoyed, “I told you eighteen times that Axel hasn’t hurt me. I told you we fucked and it was good and you need to stop acting like it was anything else other than me having hella good rebound sex.”
I grimace at this, even though I’m proud of her for telling him off. It feels like a slap in the face, being called rebound sex. I guess … maybe it was. For her. Maybe a good bonin’ was all she needed. Maybe she doesn’t feel the way I feel.
Still, I snarl at Phillip. “Fuck off, asshole. You heard her; take a hike.” I’m not ready to walk away just yet. Not until she tells me to.
“Come with me,” he says, holding out a hand. Millie stares at it like it’s a dead fish.
“I’m not going anywhere with you, Phillip. Stop coming around. Please.” She looks at me, her shoulders sagging slightly. “Fine, let’s go talk.”
She takes my hand and marches me off toward Public Square, a green space that’s buzzing with people as they end their days. She turns to look at Phillip as we walk away and says, “Don’t even think of following us, Phillip. You think you’re sneaky but you’re not, and I’ll call the cops!”
It’s not until we get well into the park that she slows down. She looks all around, presumably looking for Phillip. I look too, and there’s no sign of him. Satisfied, she turns, and her face is contorted with rage.
“How dare you show up like this, out of the blue?” she asks. “How dare you come in me three times and then just walk away like I don’t matter?”
“I wanted to see you.” I say. “I had a shit-ton of club business to manage. I couldn’t get away.”
“And every minute of every one of the twenty-four hours of every day for twenty-eight days was so full that you couldn’t send a text? Dial my phone number?” she demands.
This feisty Millie is really sexy. I really like it and so does my cock, which is rock hard and twitching in my jeans. I should not be thinking of sex right now. I should be on my knees, groveling.
“I’m an ass,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean you need to run back to that douchecanoe.”
“Nobody says douchecanoe anymore,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Though he is one, and he’d probably piss his pants if you so much as blew on him sideways.”
“I’m jealous of that fuck,” I admit. “I’m jealous he had you for so long. That he got to go to bed with you and wake up with you. I’m jealous he got to put a ring on your finger.”
“It was a shitty ring,” she says. “He barely put any thought into it, like he barely put any thought into our relationship. He wants what he can’t have. I’m over him. At the very least, you helped me realize that for sure.”
“What do you mean, at the very least?” I ask.
“I mean that a good rebound fuck was all I needed to stop even considering taking him back,” she says, arms folded over her chest.
“I was not a rebound fuck,” I say.
“Oh, right,” she says. “I forgot, I was a whore for you. There to give you pleasure and pay back the great debt I owed you. What was three fucks worth, Axel? A thousand each? Seven more to go? Well let’s go, then. Let’s fuck.”
I’ve got her pinned against a tree before she can figure out which way is up. I don’t grovel, not exactly. But I do fall to my knees, shoving my head up her skirt, my breath hot against the lace of her panties.
I bite and lick at the fabric, finding her clit, agitating it through the thin fabric. She pushes it away, freeing a newly bare cunt. She’s fully waxed, all that hair gone. Her skin is gorgeous and brown, her lips perfect, her clit exposed and ready. I eat her out like a dying man with his last meal. I ravage that pussy, my tongue everywhere, on her clit, in her lips, down her taint. I don’t care where we are. I want her to come on my face, I want her to swallow my name when she’s ready to scream.
She lets out little mewling sounds, trying desperately not to be too loud. The moment she sounds like she’s choking, I push harder, working her through her orgasm before rising, putting my wet lips on hers, making her taste her own juices, smell her own scent.
Then my hand is under her skirt, under her panties. My fingers find her sopping wet cunt and I finger her violently as my lips crash against hers, my tongue forcing its way inside her mouth.
“You taste that?” I ask against her lips. “That’s you. That’s your cunt you’re tasting. That’s desire. You want to be fucked? I’ll fuck you. And you’ll like it.”
She doesn’t fight me. Doesn’t say no. I expect her to slap me. This is a public place and while we are slightly hidden here, between two large trees, anyone could walk by. She should slap me. Push me. Fight me off.
But the slap doesn’t come, and instead, she’s unzipping my pants, her hands cool on my overheated cock. She lifts one leg and I push her underwear to the side, shoving my cock into her with such force that her head smacks back against the tree. One hand holds her up, on her ass. The other holds the back of her head. God, I’ve missed that hair.
“Don’t make offers like that,” I say. “Unless you want to be taken up on them.”
When I move inside of her, it’s with anger and frustration and want and lust. I want her, all of her. I want to fill every inch of her, and I tell her so.
“Take it all in,” I snarl. “You like that? You like it rough?”
“Harder,” she says. “Faster.”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I pick up the pace. She has to bite her lip to keep from screaming as I pound into her without mercy. One of her tits pops out of her bra, the brown nipple peeking out of her cleavage-bearing blouse. I lean down and take it in my mouth, biting at it.
“Hurt me,” she commands.
I bite harder, enough that she yelps. I lick that nipple in apology just as she says, “More. I’m almost there.”
I bite her again, pumping as fast as I can, well aware that we could have an audience, that someone’s likely calling the cops as I fuck this woman here in broad daylight. There’s something sickening about it, really. It’s not a nice thing, not a loving thing. It’s just base and dirty and sexual and chemical. I needed her. I was angry. She was angry. We’re fucking because we’re angry and frustrated. And as much as I hate myself for it, it feels so good, and I want nothing more than to make her come, right her in a public place, because I want her to know I can do that to her.
Just as I explode, her orgasm clenches my cock like it’s in a goddamn vise. It’s so intense that I think I forget where I am in the moment. She can do that to me, as well.
Spent, I put my forehead to hers. My eyes are closed. I feel her breath, hot on my lips. “You’re mine, Millie.” I breathe. “Mine and mine alone. Not Phillip’s. Not some other asshole’s. Mine.”
“I’m not something to be owned,” she says softly. I’m not a piece of property.”
“No,” I say. “You’re not.”
“You make me feel like I am. Like I’m some toy you can come play with when you’re bored.”
“I’m not bored,” I say. “But I missed you. I wanted to see you.”
“So what is it you want, then?” she asks.
***
Millie
“I want … something,” he says.
I feel my eyebrow arch into my hairline. “Something?” I ask sarcastically. “That’s not very specific.”
“Millie, I am not good at this,” he says.
“At what? Acting like a human instead of some big brute who pins women against trees in public parks? Do you realize how insane it is that you just did that?”
He exhales through his nose, his lips in a flat line.
“You have no right to claim ownership over me, Axel,” I say. “We had sex. That’s all. I’ve got a little money. I’ll write you a check for part of what I owe you. Just tell me where to send a check each month and we’ll call it a day.”
“I don’t want your fuckin’ money,” he says.
“That what do you want?” I ask.
“I want you, Millie. I want you. I want to fuck you on the bed and against trees and on the back of my Harley,” he says. “And … more. More than sex.”
I believe him. I believe he wants all these things, but he can’t even articulate what more means, and I know what it has to mean. The two things don’t match right now.
I fight back tears when I tell him to go home. I tell him to go back to the club and his business and to leave me alone. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
He says, “Millie, this is a mistake. Letting this go, whatever this is, it’s a mistake.”
“Yeah, Phillip says that all the time,” I say, just to be vindictive.
He sees right through it, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not Phillip.”
“No, you’re not,” I say. “Phillip would never disrespect me like you just did. He would never take me in a public place like a goddamn animal.”
“You told me to fuck you, so I did.”
“You don’t have to be so literal, you big ape,” I say.
“Well, how’s this for literal: I want you. In every possible way. I’ll do anything to have you.”
“Anything? Like walk away from the club?”
He doesn’t say anything. Likely he can’t—because he won’t want to lie.
“I thought so,” I say. “Goodbye, Axel.”
As I walk away, it takes everything I have in me not to cry. I cannot cry in front of him. And why would I? Why would I cry over a guy I hardly know? It’s not like I’m in love with him. He’s no one to me. He’s no one, period, just some thug who likes to fuck his way through life’s problems. Well, he got what he wanted, then. He got sex.
Against a tree. He got sex against a tree in a public place. Holy ever-loving hell, what was I thinking? What does that man do to me? Make me forget my brain?
I’m an idiot.
Chapter 9
Millie
I literally groan out loud when I see Phillip’s car outside the house. As I get out of the car, I am bone weary and simply not in the mood to deal with him.
Oh, and he’s let himself in, instead of waiting outside. Fabulous.
As I stomp inside, I’m feeling a bit like a tornado. I raise a finger at him as he sits on the couch. “You cannot just let yourself in here, Phillip. This isn’t your house.”
“Technically, it’s still half mine,” he says. “You never removed me from the mortgage.”
“Well you don’t pay the mortgage, now do you?” I ask, venom in my voice.
“I could,” he says. “I’ve offered to help. Just because we’re having problems doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be willing to help out with the costs. We took on this house together.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t try to be some knight in shining armor, Phillip. And stop trying. Stop stalking me. We are through. When will you get that through your thick skull?”
Phillip is quiet for a moment. He stands and walks over to me, something in his hand. My stomach drops beneath the floor.
When he holds up the pregnancy test, two lines are clearly visible.
“Do you think a man like that can provide for you, Millie?” he asks. “Do you think he’ll even care that he’s gotten you pregnant?”
I’ve thought of that, but there is no way I’m telling Phillip that. I’ve thought about it a lot, actually. Axel is a ride-or-die kind of guy. He doesn’t wear a suit. He doesn’t do company dinners. He doesn’t play at the park and paint the porch and watch football on Sundays. He just isn’t that guy. How could he possibly be that guy?
And I’ve felt it since that night we spent together, that he’d buried his seed inside of me, that I’d be pregnant and he’d be gone, off to something more dangerous and exciting than boring Millie Jones could ever provide him.
I don’t even mind being pregnant. It wasn’t on my list of things to do at twenty-three years old, but I don’t mind it. I’m … protective of it. I want it.
Truth be told, I want Axel, too, but that seems like too much of a stretch, asking a guy who barely has a home, barely has a job, to be a father. To be a partner. To be here at all. I mean, shit, four weeks. I saw him four weeks ago. And he never called. Never texted.
Of course, neither did I. Because I was too proud, even in all the moments whe
n I ached for him, I would not allow myself to reach out, to see what he was doing.
“Do you love him, Millie?” Phillip is asking, pulling me from my thoughts.
“I don’t think so,” I lie.
“Come on,” Phillip says. “Let’s make some dinner, watch some TV. A quiet night, and then we can figure things out.”
I nod, emotionally unable to fight with him anymore right now. We shuffle into the kitchen and I go through the motions of making us dinner. We eat and, slowly, the mood lightens. Just slightly. Because this feels familiar and normal. Sitting here, having boring conversation about banking and the law firm is normal. It feels like every other night we’ve spent together.
