I push her downwards to the metal again, spread her thighs wider and put my left arm under her shoulders so I can control her body. I insert two fingers into her honeyed pussy.
‘Yes,’ she moans.
But I don’t give her what she wants. She wants speed, thickness. I deny her both. I keep my fingers moving slowly and using my thumb work her clit, feeling the frustration mounting in her body.
She thrusts her pubic area restlessly towards my hand.
Just as she’s about to climax, I stop and withdraw my fingers from her begging pussy. Rearing back, I swipe the water from my eyes and wrap my mouth around one of her erect nipples. Sucking hard, I plunge my throbbing cock into her depths.
‘Oh. My. God. BJ!’ she screams, her body arching like a pulled bow.
I swoop down on her other nipple and bite it. She screams again. I lift my head and watch the rain flow over the bitten nipple. I move closer and her whole body tenses as I trail my tongue on the other nipple. She trembles with anticipation.
She raises her head and looks at me, water running down her slack features.
‘Were you flirting with that waiter?’
‘No.’ She swallows.
I slide my hands along her wet thighs.
‘Are you sure?’
She nods.
‘Don’t lie to me, Layla. We can’t move from here until you tell me the truth.’
She licks her lips. ‘All right. Yes, I did it to make you jealous.’
I squeeze her thighs and ram my blood-filled dick deep into her.
‘Ahh…’
‘You like that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know what is going to happen to you if you do that again?’
She shakes her head.
‘I’m going to fuck you for days. I will fill your belly with my cum and have it running out of every orifice. Do you understand?’
She nods.
‘I didn’t hear you.’
‘Yes. I understand,’ she mutters.
‘Good,’ I say and bite her other nipple. Her mouth opens in a scream and I cover it with mine. I plunge my tongue into her warmth, hook her tongue into my mouth, and suck it hard as I thrust into her.
I feel her pulse change and her muscles tighten around the base of my shaft. I release her tongue. She digs her fingers into my ass cheeks as the erratic spasms of pleasure erupt deep within her body.
‘Oh God,’ she cries, ‘I’m coming.’
I feel her nails embed themselves into my ass, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m oblivious to any pain as I hear her cry out in ecstasy as her orgasm rips through her body.
My cock pulsates and throbs and I drive to the hilt one last time. With a jerk I start filling her pretty little pink pussy with my hot cum. Wrapping her legs tightly around my waist she milks my body expertly.
-You are the color of my blood-
THIRTY-ONE
Layla
My mother says I must have been born under a lucky star: I’ve not experienced any morning sickness. I wanted to carry on working until the baby was due, but neither my family or BJ will stand for it. What’s the point if you are planning on giving it up after the baby is born anyway? I suppose they have a point. Still, I would have preferred it to be my decision.
I stand in the shower, water sluicing down my shoulders onto my braided hair and dripping over my growing belly. In the fast-moving water, my growing mound looks like an eyeball. I imagine his tiny transparent fingers clutching and unclutching at nothing. An animal instinct makes me curve my hands around my belly protectively.
It is a constant source of wonder for me, knowing that a human being resides inside me. I think of his tiny little heart beating, his mouth opening and gulping amniotic fluid. During the ultrasound, it showed as a black bubble in his stomach. But the miracle that makes me smile the most is the thought that every half an hour or so his tiny bladder is emptying. My rude son is peeing inside me!
I wonder what he will smell like, how his story will unfold.
BJ wants to call him Tommy. Over my dead body, I informed him in no uncertain terms. I want my boy to be called Oliver or one of those really cool American cowboy names like Sundance or Texas Jack. At the very least, something proper like Charles or Phillip.
But Tommy is a proper Irish name, BJ insisted.
I love my husband to death, but Tommy? Ugh. No. Never. Like I said, over my dead body. I get out of the shower and rub rich coca butter on my tummy and hips before I get dressed. BJ is in the gym. A one-hour loop of Lost Frequencies Are You With Me is playing in the background. I listen to it so often I am sure my son will be born humming this tune.
The phone rings. It’s the hospital.
‘Mrs. Pilkington?’
‘Yes.’
‘This is St. James Hospital. This is Nurse Mary Varenne.’’
‘Hello.’