by Kat Addams
“I can’t help it. Just this once. Pull out. We’re good,” she squeaked out. She wiggled her hips, struggling against me.
I didn’t need convincing. I drove into her like my life depended on it. She wrapped her legs around me and held on tight, still wincing. Her fingers dug into my back as she took me like a pro.
“Fuck!” she screamed.
“Am I hurting you?” I paused, breathing into her ear.
“Hell yes, it hurts! Anyone ever tell you that your dick is as thick as a railroad tie?”
“No. Can’t say anyone has ever compared it to that.”
“Well, it’s the truth. Don’t stop though. I like it.” She bucked against me.
I rammed myself into her over and over again. I quickly pulled out before I lost the capability of doing anything other than collapsing on top of her, and I spilled out all over her thighs. I looked down, seeing her pussy for the first time. She was soaked, red, swollen, and downright edible. This time, I couldn’t help it. I buried my face between her legs and finished her off. She squirmed over the edge in no time.
“Well, mate, I’d say that was the best damn dance lesson I’ve ever had,” she said as I reached into the console for a tissue.
I wiped her thighs clean and pulled her dress back down to her knees, patting her in the friendliest gesture I could.
“Yep. Never danced with a friend like that before but glad I did. That was … you are …”
“A super friend,” she finished.
“Yep. A super friend.” I tucked myself back into my pants and opened the door to let us out.
We had scheduled salsa lessons twice weekly over the next two months.
“Knock, knock!” Layla said, peeking around my office door.
“Come in!” I stood up to greet her. “Here, let me get that!” I said, grabbing a greasy paper bag from her fist.
“I brought chicken shawarma. And also jelly doughnuts!” She sighed, plopping herself into a chair.
She wore the same spring dress that she had worn that first time we did it in the backseat of my car. The same one I’d been fantasizing about moments ago.
“Jelly doughnuts? Sounds delightful!” I rummaged through the bag, taking out the containers and setting them on my desk.
“I had a craving.” She shrugged, shifting her eyes to the door. “Do you mind if I close this door?”
“Of course. I’ll get it. Something the matter?” I pushed the door shut, grinning and raising my eyebrows in her direction. I hadn’t thought we would take things to the next level by having sex somewhere other than my car, but who was I to turn down hot sex at any time of the day?
“I’d just like some privacy, is all.” She picked at the food, loading her plate with two doughnuts and a spoonful of chicken shawarma and rice.
“Okay. I’m guessing you want to either sex me up or talk about the sexing me up you’ve been doing.” I spooned a heaping serving of food on my plate and groaned after the first bite. “Damn, this hits the spot.”
“Not really about sex. Well, it’s kind of about sex.” She put her fork to her mouth and cringed before sniffing it and turning a putrid shade of green.
“What is it?”
“This smells terrible! What’s wrong with it? Smell!” She shoved her plate in my face.
The spicy scent of our meal had my mouth watering and my nose running.
“What are you going on about? It smells just like mine. Divine! Taste it! Do you not like Indian food? We could have eaten something else,” I said between greasy mouthfuls of buttery rice and spiced chicken.
She set her plate down, shoving a doughnut up under her nose and breathing in heavy.
“Are you going to eat that doughnut or sniff it all day? What’s going on? Do you want me to make you a cocktail? Are you nervous about something? Is it school? DTF?”
“No!” she shouted. “Well, yes, I’m nervous, but no, I can’t have a cocktail! Let me sniff this doughnut. Maybe give it a lick. Don’t think I can eat anything right now, but this smells so good.” She slid her bubblegum-pink tongue up the side of the doughnut before sticking it in the jelly hole and winking at me.
That was one thing we’d yet to get to. I had never slipped my cock in that mouth of hers. We had been too busy fucking like rabbits to explore. Not that I was complaining. But watching her lick her sticky lips right now made me let out a growl I hadn’t seen coming.
“You’re teasing me now. Is that what you’d like me to do to you?”
I set my fork down and pushed my plate to the side. She also pushed her plate to the side and reached across my desk, grabbing my tie and tugging my mouth toward hers.
I slid my tongue between her lips, breathing in her intoxicating honeysuckle scent. She pushed my tongue away and recoiled, whimpering.
“I’m going to be sick,” she cried before running out the door.
Bloody hell. I’ve never made a woman feel disgusted before.
I blew my breath into my hands and nodded. I didn’t mind the smell of chicken shawarma. My breath didn’t smell minty fresh, but it didn’t smell like a trash compactor either. I packed up the food and took it to the kitchen, so she wouldn’t smell it anymore. Maybe she had a better nose than me, and the chicken really was bad. It hadn’t tasted bad though.
I stopped at the ladies’ restroom and knocked on the door. “Layla? Are you okay? Can I help?”
“Just a minute,” she groaned from the other side of the door. “Just putting cold water on my face. I’m not feeling well.”
“If you’re sick, I can take care of you. Let me help.”
She pushed the door open. Her complexion had turned a ghastly shade of white.
“You mean that? You want to help?”
“Of course, mate. You need to sit back down. I got rid of the offensive chicken. Come back in the office. I’ll get you some water or Vegemite. You know that cures everything! My mum used to serve it to me anytime I felt ill.”
“Please don’t say Vegemite.”
She stumbled. I grabbed her arm, walking slowly back to my office and sitting her in the chair.
“Let me get you some water. Be right back.”
I ran back to the kitchen.
“What’s going on? Why are you running?” Jay asked.
I waved off Jay’s questions. “No time! Layla isn’t feeling well. Chat in a bit.”
I filled a glass up and rushed it back to Layla.
“Here you go. Do you have a fever?”
I put the back of my hand to her head. She didn’t feel warm, but her skin gave off a sticky feeling that made me shudder.
“I’m not sick.” She gulped the water down.
“Are you sure? Because you look sick.”
“That is something you don’t ever tell a woman! I don’t care if I’m on my deathbed; you don’t tell me I look terrible!”
“I didn’t say terrible! I said sick. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. You just look clammy, is all.”
“Clammy? Do I look like a crustacean to you?”
“I think they are mollusks but—”
“Ugh, never mind! My hormones are out of whack. Sorry I’m losing it on you. It’s just that—”
“Ahh, the mysterious female period. You need ample amounts of chocolate, cuddles, and chick flicks.”
“Damn it, Aiden. You aren’t making this easy. That’s a stereotype of menstruating women.”
“So, you’re saying you don’t want chocolate, cuddles, and chick flicks?”
She broke down in tears. Heaving, ugly sobs. Her nose crinkled up, her mouth opened into a wail, and her face turned pink. “I do! I do! I want chocolate and cuddles and chick flicks. I wanted pink peonies and a white wedding dress. I wanted someone down on one knee in the middle of a snowfall, giving me a vintage ring and asking for a commitment. I wanted anniversary pancakes in bed and a room full of kids in pajamas, bouncing on the bed and driving my husband and me nuts. I wanted Christmas dinner with the family and
handwritten birthday cards. I wanted to write my own vows and have DTF dress up in the pinkest boujee bridesmaid dresses just so I could see Betty pissed off at me. I wanted all those things!”
I scratched my head, avoiding her eyes. I had no idea where to look or what to do or what was happening. I didn’t know much about women’s menstrual cycles. I thought it was a joke that the demon hellspawn arose from them and they were all over the place. I’d never experienced it before, but now, all I wanted to do was throw chocolate and tampons at Layla, give her a quick kiss on the cheek, and run for my life. I choked back terror.
“Honey, Layla. What’s going on? Talk to me. Why can’t you have those things? You’re young, you’re beautiful, you’re amazing. You can have it all. I can get you chocolate now, but the other stuff … I don’t think I can get Betty in a boujee pink dress.” I wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead. Maybe the chicken was bad.
Layla laughed, cried, and laughed again.
This is out of control.
She is out of control.
Should I call DTF?
“Getting Betty in that dress would be much easier than what I’m facing. This isn’t at all how I had this planned out. I’m sorry, Aiden. I came here for this.” She pulled a black box from her purse and pushed it toward me.
“What’s this?” I grabbed it, prying it open.
“It is a boring, nondescript box that’s going to change your life. I really wanted to make a glittery pink box or a bedazzled box or something flashy and fun. But not like this. That dream is gone. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I was supposed to be married and …” Her voice muffled into one long run-on sentence before trailing off.
I had no idea what she’d said. I was too busy trying to make sense of what I was looking at. I’d seen a pregnancy test before. And long ago, I had been in a similar situation as this one, back home in Australia.
I’d excitedly supported my ex-girlfriend, Monica, throughout her entire pregnancy, only for her to tell me in the hospital that the baby wasn’t mine. I shut down after that, refusing to talk to anyone about it but Jay. He was my rock, pulling me through that shame. I couldn’t even face my parents much after disappointing them with that fiasco. Luckily, they never mentioned it, although I knew they desperately wanted grandchildren. Now, they wouldn’t get that chance.
I was humiliated, ashamed, and heartbroken after Monica’s deceit. I never brought it up to anyone before, and Jay kept his mouth shut, only speaking about it if I started the conversation. That was a time in my life I tucked away, just like my dreams of being a husband and father. After having my heart ripped out and stomped on, I wasn’t sure I could risk that pain again. Instead, like always, I’d buried myself into my work. But now, I couldn’t bury myself into work when I had a baby—a real baby. My baby. My unhealthy coping mechanism was out of the question. I’d have to raise my child, put my career on the back burner, and man up. I didn’t have another choice.
Bloody hell.
I set the box down on my desk and rose from my chair. My vision began to blur, causing me to stumble before catching myself and struggling to the door. My feet dragged behind me like I wore heavy iron shackles. I felt as if she’d punched me in the gut.
“Aiden?” Her voice came out small, tearful, scared.
I already wanted to apologize for the disservice I’d surely given her. She deserved better.
“I think that was some bad chicken after all, mate,” I said before tripping over my feet to get to the men’s room.
THREE
Layla
I hadn’t mentioned my appointment with the midwife, Celeste, to Aiden. After his initial shock, I didn’t want to send him running away, and then our friendship would become even more awkward. Besides, I could handle this baby myself. I had a great support system. My parents and DTF had all told me they would help me, no matter what. And even though Aiden had promised the same, I’d heard the falter in his voice.
I took a deep breath and walked into Celeste’s office. I’d thought a midwife was some type of hippie voodoo witch who used poultices, spells, and chants. But surprisingly, Celeste’s office gave off the dull, sterile vibe of any ordinary doctor’s office.
“Ms. Layla Jenkins?” the woman at the front desk asked while I filled out the check-in sheet.
Her lips parted into a goofy grin, and I immediately felt at ease.
“Yes. I believe my mother called in a rush appointment for me to see Celeste,” I said, handing over my insurance card.
“Yep. Thought that was who you were. You look just like her. Same hair, same eyes, same smile. Barbara couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice when she called.”
At least someone was excited about this predicament.
“Do you know her from Celeste?”
“Oh! Yes, and no. Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Deb. Both Celeste and I are in the biker club with your parents. I’m also a doula, working with Celeste. We’re a team.” She stuck her hand out for me to shake. “Congratulations on your little one. I’m so excited to meet another Jenkins!”
“Oh. Yes. Well, thanks,” I mumbled. “What’s a doula?” I shifted my weight on my feet and sighed.
I shouldn’t be wearing heels. Just this morning, I’d noticed my feet were either slightly swollen or had magically grown overnight. I’d stuffed them into my black leather pumps anyway and hobbled on with my day. Now, I regretted that dumb decision.
“A doula is someone that every pregnant woman needs. I give you both emotional and physical support. Celeste will work more on the medical side, but if you want to cry because your vagina looks like a big purple balloon animal, you call me. I’m like a friend. With some medical benefits.”
A friend with benefits. That was what had put me in this whole situation in the first place.
“Sounds good,” I lied. The thought of my vagina swelling to the size of a hot-dog bun stuck in my head. I grabbed the ledge of her desk, steadying myself.
“Sit! Celeste will be out shortly. I’ll come in and talk to you once she’s done, and that’s that. You’ll be on your way to a healthy bundle of joy.” Deb’s eyes sparkled as she squealed and did a little dance in her seat.
She seemed like she was a perfect match for this job, or she’d swallowed some type of super-happy pills. Either way, at least I would have some positive coaching throughout this ordeal.
I knew DTF would hold my hand, but none of them knew anything about pregnancy or babies. If I told them all about my huge vagina, they’d likely cringe and back away before swallowing their fear and forcing themselves to help me. I nodded at Deb and walked over to the dingy, striped couch in the waiting area. I lost myself in a baby magazine as two other very pregnant women waddled into the room and shot the shit with Deb. Their voices muddled together into a long, low hum. Similar to the noise machine that I used to lull me to sleep at night.
I leaned my head back on the couch and glanced at the clock. It was nine o’clock in the morning, and I already needed a nap.
“Layla Jenkins?” a woman said, peeking from behind a door. She stood at least six feet tall with legs that seemed to go on forever. Even under her mid-length skirt, I was sure those legs only stopped at her neck.
“That’s me.” I gulped.
“Follow me.” She smiled. “I’m Celeste. Your midwife.” She stuck her hand out for me to shake before turning on her heels toward an exam room.
She wore her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail that hung at her waist. I couldn’t picture Celeste on a motorcycle. She looked as if she vacationed in the Hamptons, not revved up a Harley.
I scurried behind her, my four steps to her long-legged two.
“Barbara told me that you think you’re about three months along?” She opened the door and motioned for me to climb onto the examination table.
I tried to open my mouth to speak, but I could only nod.
“That’s a bit late for your first appointment, but we will get you fixe
d right up. Today, we’re going to go over a few things, do some labs, and get an ultrasound before you go. You’ll get to see your baby!” she said, sitting down in a rolling chair and scribbling on a clipboard.
“What? I can see it today?” My pulse thumped in my ears. I wasn’t prepared to actually see my baby. I’d thought today was just vagina stuff. I’d thought I’d put my feet in stirrups and scoot down the table to show Celeste my entire playground. Balloon knot and all. I’d shaved for this. I didn’t have a gnarly hair anywhere, lest she think I was a cavewoman.
“Yep!”
Unga fucking bunga.
Celeste rattled off questions about my health history, my parents’, and then … the father’s.
I wrung my hands in my lap, realizing I didn’t know a thing about Aiden’s health history. It wasn’t exactly like our friendly talks had led to conversations about bloodlines and genetics.
“He’s Australian,” I stammered. “So … maybe he has some underlying thing that is common in Australia. Like … I don’t know.” I closed my eyes, trying to think of everything I knew about the Land Down Under. I had nothing.
“So, he has a sexy accent. Check. Can’t wait to hear it. What else ya got?”
“Oh no. Well, we aren’t together. We are … were … friends. I don’t know what he has. His parents—” I started, but my phone began ringing in my purse, playing “Down Under” by Men at Work. I cringed, holding up my finger for a quick break.
Celeste’s mouth twitched. “Perfect timing. Ask him really quick for me. I’ll need to get that info over to our pediatrician. You’ll meet her closer to delivery.”
“Uh, okay.” I fished my phone from my purse.
I had no idea what was going on at the moment. I’d met a doula and a midwife, and now, I needed a pediatrician. I was tired, my feet ached, and the father of my child was calling me in the middle of my first prenatal appointment. I bit my lip, holding back tears.
“Hi, Aiden,” I squeaked out, putting the phone to my ear.
“Layla! Hey, look, we need to talk about yesterday. I’m sorry I freaked out. I want to tell you something,” he squeaked back.
