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The guilt creeps in again, just like it always does when my thoughts about Hunter turn inappropriate. After our time in Utah and these past six months, I don’t know that I have any energy left to fuel the remorse.
As I push those thoughts away, I focus on my body and think of Hunter next to me—watching me, touching me, fucking me. With my belly, I can’t get the angle right, but I say fuck it and try anyway. The handle on the wand isn’t long enough so I grab a pillow, stuff it under my ass, and angle my hips to push my pussy higher.
I will Macgyver my way to an orgasm if I have to.
With my legs parted, I bend my knees and close my eyes. Focusing on reaching my climax, it builds higher, growing more intense as I arch my hips into the vibrator. I increase the speed, and soon, I’m screaming into my pillow, not worrying or thinking about the fact Hunter is on the other side of the wall.
It’s not the best I’ve ever had, but until I have this baby and can find my own vagina again, it’s gonna have to get me through.
Sigh. Vibrator dick has nothing on real dick.
It’s been two weeks since Jenna’s surprise visit to Hunter’s work. He tells me not to worry, and I’m trying not to, but until it’s proven with a paternity test and resolved, it’ll always be in the back of my mind. The closer I get to my due date, the more anxious I get.
I can’t believe Halloween is tomorrow. Hunter and I bought loads of candy to hand out to the kids who live in the apartment complex. Last year, it was crazy, so I’m hoping we have enough to last the entire time.
I’m thirty-two weeks pregnant, and the baby will be here in a blink, so I’ve been trying to use my spare time to prepare. Work has been great so far with no major problems, and many of my colleagues are excited about the arrival of the baby, but it could be because winter break is around the same time. I’ve been counting down and can’t wait to meet my little miracle.
After work, I sit on the couch and prop up my feet because they’ve been swelling more than usual lately. Standing most of the day isn’t doing me any favors, and though I try to sit when I can, it’s not comparable to having them elevated. I’m so tired, I nearly fall asleep, but when I hear the door swing open, I pop up with a grin. As soon as Hunter walks in, he goes to take a shower, and I start pulling items from the fridge for burgers. On Fridays, we typically order out, but tonight, I volunteered to cook because he’s been doing so much for me. Each room has been completely baby-proofed from top to bottom; hell, it’s even adult proof at this point.
Just as I put hamburger meat in a skillet, Hunter walks into the kitchen wearing a pair of shorts that hang off his hips and a shirt that leaves nothing for the imagination. I try to force myself to focus on the food, but he catches me stealing glances and smirks.
“Damn, I’m hungry,” he groans, leaning over the skillet, taking in the scent of the sizzling meat. His arm brushes against mine, causing goose bumps to form along my skin.
“Me too,” I admit as my stomach grumbles, but I want more than just the food. He shifts on his feet as his eyes meet mine, and I shamelessly enjoy his closeness. He lingers for a moment longer, allowing me to soak in the scent of fresh soap on his body. Hunter asks how my day was, and before I can say anything, I hear a knock on the door.
Hunter looks at me. “Expecting someone?”
“Maybe Sophie finally ordered me a male stripper or gigolo,” I half-joke, then shrug.
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” he tells me with a chuckle, then goes to answer it. The first thing that comes to mind is Jenna. At this point, I wouldn’t put anything past her.
By the tone of Hunter’s voice, I know it’s not. I hear him nervously laugh, and then I recognize a voice that has my stomach in knots.
“Wifey, look who came to visit us,” Hunter says with eyes as wide as saucers as my mother peers around him.
“Mom!” I force out, searching her face as she walks toward me. I wipe my hands on a dish towel before she pulls me into a hug.
“What a surprise!” I squeal, hoping she doesn’t feel how tense I am. “What are you doing here?” I keep my tone light, though I’m silently losing my freaking mind. My mother is here, standing in my kitchen. What the actual fuck?
