Chapter Fifteen - Emma
Six Months Later
This wasn’t a good idea. As Gillian and I wade through the throngs of happy moms and dads, I feel myself trying to think of an excuse to go back home. “I’m hungry.” “There are too many people here.” “Everything’s too expensive.” Anything but the truth. Seeing all these happy couples reminds me just how I’ll be spending my pregnancy and, likely, the rest of my life: alone.
Who gets pregnant the first time they have sex? Me, that’s who.
“What about this one?” Gillian asks, lifting a baby blue onesie with a narwhal on the chest.
“Cute,” I say, letting her dump it into the cart with all the other cute, adorable marvels I can’t afford. Although, let’s get real, the biggest expense I can’t afford is sitting in my belly.
“Em?” Gillian’s looking at me with worried eyes. I give her a valiant smile.
“Really, I’m fine, Gil.”
“Em―”
“I mean it. I’m just tired. This is my first day off in weeks.”
Gillian squeezes my arm. “I told you that bookstore job was no job. Seriously Em, you’re going to work yourself to death if you keep this up. Eighty hours a week is too much for a hardy person in good health let alone someone 6-months pregnant.”
I nod dully, shrug, pat my belly fondly. “I have to afford this little guy somehow. I want to give Damien the best life possible.”
Gillian’s the one who nods now, squeezing my hand. “And we will.”
Now we’re at the cash register, where a quick scan of the items reveals that Gillian and I either misunderstood the prices or the items were discarded in the wrong places. Whatever the reason, I can afford basically nothing.
“This one,” I tell the unimpressed cashier, handing her the narwhal onesie, “I’ll take this one.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, chewing her gum for a good half-minute before snatching it out of my hands to re-scan it.
Then, I hand over my credit card that’s $100 away from being maxed out ($80 after the onesie). The cashier flings the fuzzy little thing in a plastic bag and we’re good to go.
Gillian drops me off at the apartment, she’s meeting Karl for dinner at Chico’s. They’re such a perfect couple, I’d resent them if Gillian wasn’t such an angel. Anyway, it’s not her fault my life’s turned out to be such a dud.
Instead of going straight up to the apartment, I go into the lobby to sit on the creaky rocking chair in the corner. I just need a minute to think, to calm myself down. It’s silly but, if I go straight up there, I’m going to just end up bursting into tears. Here in public, I can be trusted to not cry for at least a few more minutes. I’m too proud to cry in public.
Who would’ve thought one little mistake would’ve caused all this – would’ve caused my entire life to fall apart? I can remember that morning as if it were yesterday: waking up and stumbling out of my room to find my livid dad. He literally threw me into his car with a bathrobe. Who, after yelling at me for a few hours, then dropped me off at Gillian’s, along with all my things a few hours later?
I shake my head, thinking of the months that followed. Thank God for Gillian; she’d been there through it all. Only a few weeks later, I was curled up on the bathroom floor, sobbing, clutching the 2-lined positive pregnancy test in my hand. Then came weeks of wandering from one minimum wage job to another, hoping for the second job I couldn’t handle but had to have for the baby I still wouldn’t be able to afford. And she’d be there for me today too, helping me do the baby shopping I had been putting off until the last minute, buying the supplies I would undeniably need but, month after month, still couldn’t afford.
Even my Mom couldn’t be bothered to visit these past few months, only wishing me a drunken “best wishes” over the phone.
And then there’s Luke. Luke, the father of my child. The only man I’ve ever slept with – and maybe even loved. The man who, even now, I can’t stop dreaming or thinking about. The man who I’ll never see again.
God, all of it – these past six months – it’s just too much. Now, my eyes full of tears, I rise. Looks like it’s time to go upstairs. I can hardly hold in the tears another second.
I take the elevator. Stairs have been a no-go since month four. Getting on, I press the 12 button and then the creaky old thing shrieks its way up. At my floor, the doors clatter open. I walk out, and then I see him. There’s a man waiting at my door.
He looks well-built; familiar somehow. When he turns around, I know why. It’s him. Luke.
“Oh my God. It really is you,” he says.
I stare at him because I don’t want the tears in my eyes to stream down. More than that, I don’t know what to say at all, to say about anything.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he says.
And the funny thing is, seeing him here like this, so impossibly, I almost believe him.
“Come inside,” I tell him as I open the door. Whatever he’s got to say, better inside than out in the hallway. Once the door’s opened and we’re inside, Luke’s gaze goes from my belly to the rest of the apartment.
“This is your place?”
I shake my head. Striding into the living room, gesturing at the sheet that half-successfully partitions me from the rest of the room, I tell him, “That’s my room.”
“Emma,” he says in a low voice. When I step to him, he says, “Kiss me.”
I do, because there was never any choice, really. He isn’t gentle this time. His lips are hungry and impatient. They bite at mine as his hands savor my body like it’s the last time. Which makes sense, since it probably will be. Once he finds out the truth, once I tell him just whose baby is in my tummy, he’s going to walk out that door and never come back. But not right now. No. Right now, it’s his body and mine, his hands and mine, moving all over each other, peeling off clothes. It’s his tongue and mine, picking up the old dance, the old swoop and slide, the foreshadowing thrusts of what’s to come.
Now my shirt’s off and his shirt is too – and he’s as muscled as he ever was. Our chests are pressing together, but his hand is shoving between them, peeling off my bra too – an ugly skin-color one because this was the last thing I expected. It doesn’t matter. As he presses his pelvis to me, I can feel his excitement, his rock-hard rod of excitement. My breasts are free now and he’s batting them like a cat, grabbing them like a child, sucking them like a babe. This isn’t a good idea, and yet, it’s the best thing that’s happened to me in months.
Now my tit’s out of his mouth, so he can say, “We’re going to finish what we started.”
And, with one swift yank, my pants are on the floor too. Then, my panties.
I’m naked and he’s still got his pants on, but he likes it that way. When I grab his belt, he swats my hand away, kisses my neck.
“I fuck you when I want and not a second before, you understand?”
When I frown, he spanks me, hisses in my ear “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” His hand darts between my legs. The wetness there gives me away and soon I’m moaning too. It’s too late to stop this. Not that I’d want to stop this feeling – this delirious, drowsy, pussy-tingling feeling. No, I need this. I need this escape.
And so I lead him into my room, my sheet-partitioned joke of a room. He pushes me onto the bed. The sound of a belt, zipper, clothes dropping to the floor. And then his naked form is crawling over mine, pressing me into the bed.
“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he growls into my neck.
And now he’s flipping me around, shoving me to the top of my bed, so my head’s propped up.
“I never got to fully experience you, you see,” he says as he slips his dick in my mouth. When I start to suck, he pats my head and shakes his. “You’re there to take it, understand?”
I nod, open my mouth wider and he shoves his dick in all the way. It mashes against the back of my throat and my whole body quivers. He pats my head. “Good girl.”
And then he repeats the motion, in then out, back and forth, deep then deeper. I move my tongue around while he slides and he groans. His cock keeps getting harder and harder, he keeps shoving his dick deeper and deeper down my throat, until I’m practically choking and he’s patting my head.
“Now, my dear innocent Emma, I’m going to give you a little snack.”
By this time, I’m dripping wet myself. I can’t help but nod when he asks, “Would you like that?” Smiling, he pats me again. “Of course you would.”
And then he’s shoving his dick in as far and as fast as he can, ramming the back of my throat over and over again. His dick starts quivering and then he shoves it all the way in, so far that I’m gagging, but he’s cumming. And he grabs my head and holds it there, choking on his dick and his cum and loving every second of it.
“Lick it clean,” he instructs once he’s done. I do. Then, collapsing back, Luke wraps me in his arms.
“Give me a few minutes,” he says and I do.
We snuggle ourselves together, our fingers dancing all over each other, still locked in the tempting old rhythm. I’m burning with questions I don’t want the answer to, with questions that will only ruin things, that I’ll ask at the end, once I’ve gotten what I needed. Already, Luke is extricating himself, throwing his lips over mine, tracing his hands over my sides, my hips, my thighs. His kisses start to slide down, over my chin and neck, then my front. They envelop every inch of my tits, do a zigzag down my front until, finally, they reach my pussy.
They slip over my outer then inner lips, trace all the way down to my ass then back up to my clit. His finger slides into my pussy just as his tongue starts licking my clit. All the while it’s the same excruciating slow, teasingly tantalizing pace, the same tongue-flicking, finger-jerking dance of ecstasy I can hardly stand.
The “more” slips out of my lips before long, and so he gives it to me, amping up the jack-hammering finger and the clit-circling tongue. And soon I’m twisting with delighted agony, needing “more,” begging him for it. Luke – my one and only, my punisher and deliverer. And so, he finger-bangs my pussy more and tongue-mashes my clit more until my pleasure is built to an unbearable anguish. I’m howling “more” and he’s doing it more than more. I’m not on the edge but over it, my whole body shaking with shrieked-out orgasm after orgasm.
Even when I fall still, however, my rest is only a minute or so before Luke’s pawing at me again.
“Hell, did I miss you.”
I say nothing, because I’m aroused again, the way his hands are snaking over every part of me. Saying it, mentioning that him missing my body is not missing me, would ruin it.
So, I lay there and give in to the sensation once again building through my body, the warm buzzing feeling I’m shaking with once again.
“Turn around,” he orders me suddenly, and I do. Now his hands are all over my back, massaging my shoulders, his kisses not far behind.
“Luke―” I murmur.
“What’s that?” he asks, his hands sliding down to my ass, “You want more?”
Me shoving my ass out is the answer. With his hands all over each cheek, it feels so good. Moans gurgle out of my mouth as his one finger starts tracing my crack, while the other slips into my pussy.
“Nice and wet, just how I like it,” he says as he starts fingering me.
His other hand, however, is starting to nuzzle into my other hole.
“Luke . . .”
He pauses. “Don’t worry, we’ll go slow for the tight little ass.”
He continues fingering me, ramping up the pace, while his other hand plays with my hole. It’s weird. It feels wrong, and yet . . . it almost feels good, too. Besides, now his finger is vibrating in me so rapidly that I’m twisting in pleasure while his finger at my ass starts to go in deeper and deeper and . . .
“You’re right, maybe we should stop,” Luke says, falling still.
My whole body shaking with the building pleasure, I groan and shove my ass out. “Please.”
And Luke happily complies. He starts fingering me again, each time going a bit deeper in both holes. And I’m groaning and moaning because it feels good and bad, painful and pleasurable. His finger in my ass feels instinctively like it shouldn’t be there. It hurts but I like it.
And so, soon both fingers are sliding in and out once more, even the one in the ass going all the way in then out. When Luke slides out both fingers I know it’s time.
At the sound of splurting, I turn back to see Luke holding his cock, now shiny with lube. “You ready?” he asks.
Just as I’m about to respond, he pins me to the bed and shoves his dick in. I cry out, yet its progress is relentless. Deeper and deeper in it goes. I’m twisting away from it and into it at once. His dick is now ripping into me while that same cry is ripping out of me. My whole body is shaking and yet, as it hurts, as it really fucking hurts, I can’t deny the sensation underneath that – the pleasure. No, I can’t deny that, even as I grit my teeth with the pain. I like it.
And so, in and out he slides, each time the pain diminishing and the pleasure increasing. More and more it builds, faster and faster he thrusts. Our groans mingle into one soundtrack of delirious delight. The faster and harder and deeper he goes, the more warm hot pleasure overtakes my body until I’m on the edge and my groans are now yells. He’s slamming into me, digging his dick into me. And, all at once, he grabs my hips and thrusts all the way. Now we’re both yelling, both cumming, one flow, one feeling, one nirvana fuck-yes of a feeling exploding into both of us, shaking us together then shoving us onto the bed, one on top of the other, breathing together, half-awake, spent.
Afterwards I lie there, the pleasure seeping out of me, waiting for him to make some excuse, leave. For him to not even make an excuse, just slip away. But Luke’s arms stay wrapped around me, and, when I twist to look at him, his eyes are closed.
“Why did you do it?”
I scan his face, but there’s no change since he asked the question. “What do you mean?” I ask, and he opens his eyes.
“Can I take you somewhere?” He sits up and, his arms still around me, continues “There’s this place I’ve been visiting these past few months; I think you’d like it.”
I’m about to respond when, as if reading my mind, he says “It’s not a club or bar. You’ll like it.”
I stare into my room’s sheet partition. Being here, I already feel stifled and embarrassed. “Ok.”
We change back into our clothes quickly, then, taking my hand, Luke leads me out of the apartment.
“I’ll drive, if that’s alright.” I nod because it’s not like I have a car.
When will this dream end? Sure, I’ve missed Luke, spent nights crying over Luke – he’s the only man I’ve slept with and I’m carrying his child, for God’s sake. But that doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to think that we could actually work together, that he has ever actually cared for me.
No, these past few months I may have been stupid, but I’m still not stupid enough to think he may actually give a damn about me.