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Now, the imagination can’t make up for a man who is not there entirely. I have to heave myself over to the bed (after checking that my door is locked of course; even in my adulthood, Dad has a habit of walking in unannounced). I dive under the covers and squeeze my eyes shut, sliding my hand into my underwear.
Come back…come back…
My imagined Orlie returns with all the passion and desire he had before I had to interrupt my fantasy. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
I’ve googled this. Sex is perfectly natural during pregnancy and, since everything is going to plan, according to my doctor, it would be fine. “You won’t.”
Orlie kisses my neck as his hands run down my budding curves and then sinks himself into me.
My fingers don’t do his cock justice, but it will do for the fantasy of it.
I miss his body on top of mine. Miss the way we fit together perfectly as if we were made for each other. I’d never felt that way with a man before. Like my pleasure was his and vice versa.
Orlie pulls my legs around his waist and continues to caress my body with his hands, one wide palm finally resting over my stomach. “You’re mine, Kira.”
My body jolts.
Shit, that feels good.
“Everyone will know that you belong to me now.”
I move my fingers faster. The orgasm is rushing through me, a torrent of energy, ready to break the dam.
“And I…”
Oh god.
“I belong to you.”
The pleasure rips through my center, bursting to life with tickling heat that leaves me gasping. My eyes pop open and…
The fantasy is over.
Orlie was never here. Orlie never wanted to be the father of my child. Orlie is just a liar who thinks I sleep around.
I don’t belong to him. And he certainly doesn’t belong to me.
My eyes prick with tears. “No, no, no. Stop crying.” The crying comes much more often than I’d like.
I want to forget about him completely.
But I can’t. Orlie is my boss. And he’s indelibly a part of me, his seed planted inside me. Growing.
I feel like I belong to him in the deepest sense. Before the baby, even. It’s all I’ve wanted since the cabin.
And I can’t have it.
I close my eyes and tears rush down my cheeks into my ears.
I’m going to be a mom. A single mom to a child who is unwanted by their father.
“But I want you,” I whisper. “I want you enough for the both of us.”
That much is true.
As if to abuse myself further, I hope it’s a boy.
A Wynters boy. Part of the legacy.
