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I narrated the next few as he looked at them, his smile only growing wider with each photo.
“The day she came home,” I said. “The first time she put her head up on her own. Her first try at solid food. She didn’t like it.” I laughed, and he joined me. “Her first birthday. Her first steps.”
He came to a photo of Kadie just staring at me. “What’s this?”
“That was after she said her first word. Mama.” I shrugged. “I have a video of it on my computer at home, but no way to print it out.”
Alex chuckled and nodded once, taking another look at all the pictures.
A long sigh escaped my lips. I’d taken all these moments from him. If only I’d tried again after she was born or asked Carl to tell him, then he could have had the chance of choosing, and it was obvious now what he would have chosen.
Three years of feeling anger and self-righteousness, and now I felt guilty for taking the choice away from Alex. The anger lingered, even if I wanted to push it away, but now I could work on finally getting rid of it for good.
I’d just need time. We’d both needed time.
He stood, marching toward the end of the table.
“Alex?” I said, uncertainty in my voice. He’d been smiling before, but the smile had disappeared. He wasn’t frowning either, though. A blank, distant expression rested on his face.
I gulped. Maybe he’d finally snapped after looking through the pictures.
Was he angry with me for keeping his daughter? Had he had enough and was going to storm out? I could understand why he might feel that way, but it seemed weird that he’d suddenly get mad after being so happy before.
“Alex?” I repeated, as he turned and strode toward me.
My heart kicked up. I wasn’t afraid of him, but I also didn’t like that I didn’t know what he was doing, and he wasn’t saying anything back. It was creepy.
Alex stopped right in front of me, towering over me.
“Is something wrong, Alex?” I said, my voice almost squeaking.
“I’m gonna do something I should have done the minute I got back in town,” he said, his voice low. “Som
ething I was too afraid to do.”
I blinked, totally confused. “And w-what is that?”
Alex pulled me roughly out of the chair. Before I knew what was going on, his hungry mouth was on mine. His tongue parted my lips, and he pulled me flush against him, his firm chest muscles flattening my breasts as he kissed me. Even through the layers of clothing on both sides, my body responded to the friction against my nipples and warmth pooled in my center.
My mind blanked as he continued to kiss me.
I should have pushed him away. I should have slapped him. Maybe I should have kicked him in the balls. Just something, anything to let him know he couldn’t kiss me out of nowhere. Instead, I did about the exact opposite. I let my tongue slide over his.
A torrent of memories flooded into my head, as if the kiss was a key that had unlocked a part of my brain I’d hidden away for years, a part that I’d almost feared.
I remembered watching a much younger Alex from afar in high school, admiring the firm muscles of his swimmer’s body. An older Alex then appeared in my mind, from when we’d danced together, laughing after sneaking some beers. Last, I saw adult Alex, muscles and tattoos, over me, grunting, sliding into me, making me moan until I orgasmed and cried out.
A crush. That’s what I’d told myself when I was younger. My feelings for him were nothing more than a crush. But was that it? Why had it destroyed me so much when he hadn’t called me back? If it was only a crush, it shouldn’t have weighed me down.
Even before I found out I was pregnant, I’d cried when I thought Alex didn’t care and was ignoring me. I asked myself what I’d done wrong and why he wasn’t calling me back.
In the present, his hands trailed down to my sides, until they reached my skirt. His rough hands squeezed my ass. I loved the feel and wished those rough hands could be on my skin.
Did I love him? Maybe I had since high school. That night of the reunion, we’d slept together. A lot of people would call it making love. Whatever it was to him, it wasn’t just screwing to me.
Did I love him now? I didn’t know. Three years of anger was hard to ignore.
Our eager tongues competed. Warmth spread from my center, and I wanted to rip off his shirt and run my hands along the tattoos on his arms all the way to his pecs. Then I wanted to go lower and feel that hard cock of his both with my hands and inside me.
