by Kat T. Masen
Haden turns his head to watch me, his eyes peering like a curious meerkat. I still my body movements, not wanting to draw further attention. Stupid big nipples.
“Why do you look like you’ve got a spider down your back?” he questions with dark amusement.
“It’s my bra,” I tell him, fed up with the persistent itch. “It’s uncomfortable, and the stupid strap is driving me insane.”
“Then, take it off.”
“Honestly, you got a screw loose. That’s so awkward, and no, I won’t do that.”
“Just do it. I won’t look, okay? Besides, there’s going to be more uncomfortable moments than that when the baby comes barreling out of your vagina.”
“You’re not going to be in the room.”
“Why not?” he argues back. “I’m the father. I have that right.”
I laugh at his comment. “You don’t have the right to look at my vagina. If you have to be in there, then you’re standing in the corner.”
“But don’t I have to hold your hand and shit?”
“Maybe you need to watch Father of the Bride II.”
The credits roll on, the illumination from the television screen providing the only light in the room. All of a sudden, some foreign film comes on with nudity. Breasts, to be exact. It is laughable and extremely tacky. Oh, and downright awkward. There is bush… plenty of bush.
“This is so lame. People don’t screw like that,” I say to myself.
“I’m sure people do.”
“Yeah, smartass, name one.”
He hesitates for a brief moment. “Me.”
Silence.
The movie is showing a couple having sex against the wall in the shower. The man has lifted the woman, and with her legs wrapped around his waist, he continues to drill into her while she lets out the fakest moans.
I can’t take my eyes off the bush. You could run a brush through it and style it with cornrows, it’s that long.
“What’s wrong? You don’t believe me?” he continues, not letting go of this awkward subject.
“Oh no, I do,” I mutter. “It’s just the type of conversation you don’t have with a pregnant woman without a partner. You know, it’s just not advisable.”
“Oh, right, the hormones.” He grimaces hopelessly. “Is it that bad?”
He’s asking the question that should remain unanswered because the more I think about it, the more I work myself up.
“Yeah, pretty bad. Bad enough I’d probably do you again.” I swat him with a pillow, teasing him in a friendly and relaxed way.
He doesn’t respond immediately, and when I glance at him, he is removing his glasses and placing them on the nightstand. He’s roughly running his hands through his hair, and I feel the sheets move until the heat attacks my skin, and his body is in line with mine.
My heart is beating a million times a minute, and my vocal cords appear to be out of order as I beg him silently to back off, knowing full well I am the weak one.
“Presley?” he murmurs gently into my ear.
With his body close, the words cannot be communicated, so I turn my head until our eyes are locked onto each other.
“Then do it,” he whispers, against my lips.
Three little words and my world comes undone.
Sixteen
Did he just say he wanted to have sex with me? Baby brain, a miscommunication, or maybe I’m reading this all wrong?
His lips are feverishly locked onto mine, our tongues twisting in a manic frenzy. The suction is strong. I attempt to pull away to maintain my morals, yet his grip around my shoulders pushes me further into the mattress, unable to break free.
I reach for a quick breath and try to stop him.
“Haden, we can’t… you have—”
His lips find their way back onto mine, and without answering me, he continues to passionately tease my mouth with his. I beg myself to stop, but every flick, every swirl of his perfectly soft tongue is signaling every inch of my body to react with desire.
The ache below is taunting me, but I need to be the strong one here, the mature person who can push him away because I have self-control. His strong weight against my body overpowers any self-control I have though, and my feeble attempts to wriggle away from him appear fruitless.
“No one will know,” he whispers against my lips, offering me a bite of the poisonous apple he is holding. It is red, delicious, and with just one bite, I know I cannot stop.
“We’ll know.”
The cool air graces my mouth, and he has pulled away, yet still lingers only inches from my face. Staring deeply into my eyes, his pupils dilate, and I see the fire burning deep within, the passion and desperation reflecting back at me. With his glasses removed, his bare face draws me in, and this intimate moment between us allows me to study his face in a way I have previously only dreamed about. Running my fingertips along the contour of his cheekbones, I teasingly drag my finger against his bottom lip. I adore his lips.
“Presley,” he commands my name, owning it as if I belong to him, but then he bites the corner of his lip and softens his gaze. “I want to do this for you.”
Wait, he wants to do it for me?
Rational Presley would punch the Jerk in the face for such a comment!
How dare he turn this around on me, like he is doing me a favor. My body automatically tenses, and my fists curl. That beautiful face of his is about to see stars.
I place my hands against his chest to open the distance between us.
“I just think that—”
Frustratingly, he interrupts me once again. “Don’t think, Presley.”
He’s resting his palm against my cheek, and I lean into it, uncertain how my emotions have so quickly shifted. I’ve longed for the comfort and touch of the man who was inside me. His blood is running through the veins of our unborn child. This intimate moment between us, this simple touch, is the validation I need to allow my body to completely give into him—once again.
The tip of his tongue runs across my bottom lip until it sneaks into my mouth and slowly gains momentum. Soft, sensual swirls heighten the throbs persisting in all the spots that haven’t been touched for a long time. I can’t control the way my body is responding to him, and being pregnant is surprisingly driving my hormones to a level of pure insanity from how much I want him inside me right now.
He knows what he does to me.
I know he knows.
But do I do the same for him?
Moving his palm to the base of my neck, I gasp into his mouth at the sheer intimacy of his touch. His mouth lingers around my chin, moving slightly to his left until he is positioned at the base of my earlobe. The anticipation, his words, they will no doubt destroy me and take me to a place of pure ecstasy that I have never experienced in all my years.
“I want to take this slow. Make every fantasy I’ve had of you come alive.”
My breath hitches, and my body presses against his. His hardness against my thigh is driving me crazy. The fantasy of his cock, pierced and sitting in my mouth, is becoming a reality, and my patience wears thin. My hands move on their own accord, running through his soft hair and scratching down his back, causing him to arch and flex his muscles into my hands. Burying his weak moans into my shoulder, his teeth grip onto my skin with a gentle bite, and his hands lose all sense of control as they travel into the gap of my tank, exposing my breasts.
Even in the dark, his eyes glow fiercely, and the ravaging noises escaping his throat drown with the frantic kisses placed all over my very full breasts. My nipples are hard, and every flick of his tongue drives me to moan louder into his hair as I try to control the way my body is reacting.
“Let yourself go, Presley. Let me have all of you.”
He continues to fondle my breasts, taking turns, not wanting to unfairly leave any part of me unattended. I allow my body to relax, enjoying the attention and new sensations. I shift to the side, and my sudden movement throws him off. Without a word, he searches my
face for an explanation.
“The baby… I don’t want to squash the baby.”
Truth be told, I’m terrified of it happening.
Haden appears amused yet continues his mission of having all of me. His hands slowly wander down my torso, caressing the bump in my stomach.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs. “And mine.”
Trailing kisses down my body, he stops at the top of my boxers and waits, leaving me to do the unthinkable—beg him to go down.
With a playful grin, he tells me, “You don’t play fair, Malone.”
“Who said anything about playing fair?” I smirk, gently tugging his hair.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
Simple words that stop me in my tracks. Is he talking about the baby or my feelings? I thought we covered hurting the baby already. Emotionally, I am resilient, or at least that’s the lie Kitty feeds me. This is a pity fuck, a spur-of-the moment-need-to-release-the-tension fuck. We aren’t going to get married and live happily ever after. Physically, I want him to give it all to me.
“You won’t,” I almost beg of him.
Momentarily, his hands slide past the edge of my shorts and into my panties. The low grumbling sound he makes, followed by a deep moan, push him further against my clit until his fingers find their way inside.
I gasp at the pure pleasure of the deep thrusts, moving my body in a slow rhythmic motion, bucking my hips against his hand.
“Hot fucking damn, Malone, you’re completely soaked,” he tells me, thrusting a third finger deep within.
I’m going to explode. I’m just one finger away from gushing all over his hands. In an attempt to control my breathing, I relax my body and enjoy how good it feels until he warns me that he’s about to enter me.
“I need to be inside you now,” he demands, and with a swift and steady drop of his shorts, he commands me to sit on top of him. “I want to see all of you, riding me, hard, till you can’t take it any longer and explode all over my cock.”
I’m quick to jump on top of him as he holds his cock with that shining silver barbell, teasing me before gently sliding it inside me. The fullness of him completes the emptiness that I felt earlier. He moves slowly, gaining momentum as I arch my back, gripping his thighs for support.
His hands trace the base of my neck and follow down my chest and between my full breasts, stopping just shy of my nipples. The anticipation becomes frustrating, so I take control, resting my palm on his and dragging it on top of my nipples.
He moans in delight. “You feel just as I’ve always imagined you… tight, wet… your body craves me to fuck you.”
My head won’t even nod, so possessed by the strong build-up of pressure forming below that I cannot string together my thoughts or words.
He stops, and instantly my eyes flick open, staring widely at him, wanting to know why. This better not be his signature calling card—abandoning women on the brink of an orgasm.
“Tell me you want me,” he demands quietly, running his hands along my thigh. His beautiful eyes stare back at me oddly, and I can only imagine he is riddled with guilt.
I lift his hand and kiss his fingertips. “I want you.”
“Tell me it’s only me that you want to fuck this beautiful pussy of yours.”
“It’s only you.”
My uneven breaths echo throughout the quiet room, and I move against him, only for him to stop me once again.
“Tell me,” he whispers. “Tell me it’s only me that will ever be inside you from this moment on.”
My eyes connect with his, attempting to understand what he’s just demanded of me.
He wants me for the rest of his life. Or am I signing a contract to dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?
His eyes show no mercy, fixated on my lips and waiting impatiently for my answer.
This is a heavy question from someone buried inside me, and from someone who’s engaged. Everything we are doing is completely and morally wrong. We are hurting others. We are the driving force in this sick and twisted game, leaving the pawns to hurt and suffer from our indiscretion.
But I don’t care.
I want him.
All of him.
And right now, in this deep and intimate moment, I want only him for the rest of my life.
“It’s only you… you will be the only one ever to be inside me and make me feel this way from this moment on.”
Promises are just promises made to be broken if they are built on lies.
Not wasting any time, he pushes me back as the tip of his pierced cock rubs against my wall. He pulls me forward again, this time fast and steady. I ride him, and just when I know my body is ready to explode, I warn him in a high-pitched breath, “Haden, I’m going to…” Releasing my inhibitions, I scream as the orgasm spreads throughout my whole body, causing me to see only stars in the dark room.
He follows, picking up the pace, holding a deep breath until he releases and cries out, “Fuck!”
Slowing down the pace until I’m at a standstill, my tired body falls onto his, careful of my protruding stomach.
In silence, with him still inside me, we lay together, my head lying against his chest. His heart is beating loud, and I wonder if it beats for me. Maybe only me?
“Presley,” he murmurs, running his hands through my hair.
“Mmm…”
“Presley…”
I open my eyes, and Haden is sitting on the chair beside the table, dressed in his jeans and a tee. The sunlight is filtering through the sheer white curtains and into the room. I squint my eyes and then open them abruptly.
“We need to leave in an hour, and I’ve already ordered your breakfast.” He moves his attention to his phone, typing without looking at me.
It was just a dream.
Shit! What the hell did my imagination go and do? It made me think Haden would give me the best sex of my life, and worst of all, that he wanted only me, and I was in love with him.
In my awkward and compromising position, I roll toward the other side of the bed which is closer to the bathroom door. I quickly get out and lock the door behind me. Staring in the mirror while I allow the water to run, my body appears flushed, my hair is a tangled wild mess, and my lips look swollen and plump. I have no choice but to take a cold shower to wash off the intense desire I have for him.
It all felt so real.
The way he touched me.
The words he spoke.
I exit the bathroom, dressed and with my hair pulled back into a ponytail. Food sits on the table, and if it weren’t for the baby, I would be out of this room so fast, hungry or not. I eat my toast in silence and follow by polishing off some juice.
“You ready to go?” he asks, a little too politely for my liking.
I simply nod, unable to make conversation.
“Are you okay? You were having a restless sleep.”
I grab my purse and pull my suitcase along. “Just a nightmare.”
“Me, too. Must be the heat in the room.”
“Maybe. Thank God it wasn’t real.”
It’s the last thing I mumble before we exit the room and head back to reality.
Seventeen
I was quiet the entire flight home, trying my damnedest to ignore a dream that felt entirely real. Luckily, we weren’t sitting together. The overweight man next to me and his body odor were more pleasing than the Jerk himself.
At the airport, it was an obligatory goodbye before we parted our ways.
I made it my priority upon our return to attend to the paternity test. It was the only communication we’ve had, and even then, it was short and to the point. Soon, he would have the answer he so desperately craves, and maybe luck would be on both our sides, and the baby’s Jason’s.
Yes, I am that screwed up that I prayed for the easier way out of this whole mess.
Days passed without us talking at work or even via text, and after a week, I let it all go. Whatever bond, friendship, or connection we had
over that weekend has now passed. It’s strictly business, and even then, he won’t make eye contact with me. I am not sure what I did wrong. After all, he was the one who invaded my dreams and gave me the best sex of my life.
Distracting myself came easy when I focused my energy on moving into Kate’s. Boxes were all packed and ready to go, neatly organized into categories, color-coded, and alphabetically in order. I placed the remaining boxes into storage along with some furniture until I can figure out my next move. The apartments are overpriced in the city, and while we got top dollar for ours, I have a child to think about—a whole new life I need to think about for at least eighteen years.
It begged the question of whether or not I will settle down in the city. I do have a job to think about but am certain I can pick one up on the West Coast. I also took the liberty of researching my rights as the primary parent and whether or not I can make a decision like that.
Still in my second trimester, what I thought would be a walk in the park is turning out to be more like a trip down Agony Lane. My ankles, or should I say ‘cankles,’ have disappeared along with my waistline. The only thing that keeps me sane is Kate. She’s a hell of a lot of fun, tells ridiculous stories about herself and her wild friends, plus she is a great listener.
“So, did the Jerk speak to you today?” she asks, biting into a stick of celery.
“Yes, but it was only to ask me where we kept the scissors in the stationary room. Trust me, it was as formal as any stationary room exchange could be.”
“Then you didn’t tell him about the scan next week? Presley, I can come if you need me,” she offers.
I have learned a very important thing about Kate—she is a great friend. Not only does she listen to me complain about the Jerk for countless hours, she is willing to rearrange her schedule to attend my appointment with me. In all fairness, I spent countless hours listening to the drama unfold with her secret lover. The thing I didn’t get about the whole situation is, why Kate allows this pathetic excuse of a man to manipulate her. She is gorgeous and tall with an athletic build. Her shimmering blonde hair is cut just below her chin, perfectly straightened like she just stepped out of a salon. She has these cute freckles that spread across her cheeks and nose, covering her pale British skin. Plus, she has this cheeky smile with a dimple on the left side of her face.
