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I take a deep sigh. My feet have started to bother me more and become more constrictive in my shoes. I place my weight to give my other foot a break.
He notices and he frowns. “What’s wrong?”
My feet are starting to swell like pumpkins each day but I don’t tell him that or that my clothes hardly fit and I don’t make enough to buy bigger ones that fit. It is not his problem but mine.
“Nothing. Now order, or I’ll take the next customer.”
“Fine, I would like—” He scans the menu. “A burger with fries and a Coke.”
“We have Cherry Coke. It’s your fave.”
He gives me a grin. “I’ll take it,” he says.
I go put his order in and get to work for the next three hours until my break.
After a month, I notice he is getting antsy. After placing his order, Lane picks at his food and sits at the booth the whole time until he sees me head to the back toward the restroom. I’m about to close the door, and he barges in and closes it behind him and flicks the lock.
I gasp. “What are you doing?”
“Turn around,” he says in a hard tone. “I’m not going to ask again. I said, turn around.”
“Lane—”
He doesn’t let me finish. He spins me around and bends me slightly, and I grip the sink. He slides his hand under my skirt of my uniform and rips my panties. I gasp and squirm. I close my eyes and clench my thighs.
Because of the pregnancy, I’m sensitive. Everywhere. I’m wet and my thighs are sticky from my arousal. I read in the book I got at the clinic that offers health care for single expecting moms needing free health care, that hormones form pregnancy make you want to have sex more. I guess what I read was true, I’m extremely sensitive and want to have sex.
A few times in my tiny depressing shower inside of my apartment, I pleasured myself. Most of the time I thought of Lane and then one time I guilty thought of Kalum. I immediately stopped, shut off the water and cried myself to sleep. I was ashamed of myself and my thoughts. In the morning, I blamed on my hormones but deep down, I wasn’t so sure. One thing I did know, I didn’t get off in his memory and immediately stopped.
Lanes looks at me through the mirror. I can hear the zipper of his pants slide down and I close my eyes. I want him to touch me. I need him to touch me. My skin prickles with anticipation. Goose-bumps form all over my skin and my stomach flutters. Not because of the baby but because of Lane.
“Lane,” I whisper.
He slides the tip inside and, in one swift movement, slides into me so fast my feet almost lift from the ground.
“Hold on, baby. I need you. I can’t be without you. I’m sorry for hurting you. Please, Aura. I’m so sorry.”
I don’t protest and he feels my walls clamp around his thick shaft. He moves inside me, and I clench around him in a tight vise that makes him groan. The slapping of our skin echoes in the small bathroom, and I moan softly.
He slides his hand over my stomach and he whispers against my hair.
With every thrust, he says each word in a caress, “You’re so beautiful. I’m so lucky to have you carrying my baby. You have given me so much, Aura. There is nothing I could give you that amounts to what you have given me. I love you, my angel. I will always love you. Please forgive me. I can’t lose you. I’m not the same without you.”
I moan when he plays with my clit, and I arch my back.
“Come for me. I want to feel you.”
He thrust in me while frantically playing with my clit, and I shatter his name escaping my house. “Lane.”
He places his hand over my stomach, so it doesn’t hit the sink with his movements, protecting me, protecting our son.
When my shift is over, he opens the door for me to get inside his car.
“Lane?”
“Yes, my love,” he says, buckling his seat belt.
He calls me his love and the fact that I’m seated in his car, he knows I have forgiven him. The orgasm he gave me in the bathroom proves to him that I have. He knows I wouldn’t have let him touch me if I hadn’t.
