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“I agree, Gladis. I love your daughter. I can’t turn that off.”
“I know, Hunter. Everything will work out. I’m sure of it.”
“Thanks,” I tell her.
“Hang in there,” she says, ending the call.
I hang up the phone and drive over to Gwen’s house. I climb the tree outside her window. She’s sound asleep. All I want to do is climb inside and curl up with her like I used to, but I don’t. Most nights, I used to climb inside her room and quietly fuck her to sleep. My cock hardens just thinking about it. I know I’ll be jerking off as soon as I get home. Seeing her, making sure she’s okay, is enough for now.
chapter three
Gwendolyn
It has been only a few hours since I last saw my mom, and I am patting myself on the back for succeeding at dodging her. I have been at the tutoring center all day, which is where I am coming home from, and she has been away on business. Normally, she makes the clients come to her, but sometimes, she travels to them under special circumstances.
Parking my car, I check the mailbox only to see it is empty. My dad must be home. He is the only one who checks it consistently. I take a deep breath and walk in. Now, let me say my father is amazing. I am totally a daddy’s girl. He can read me like no one can, which is why I am so nervous. My father is Cuban and all man. He is tall like a Skaarsgard, which is pretty rare for a Cuban, but he is built like a man built for lucha libre. I have my suspicions that is what he used to do before he came here for college, but he will never confirm it.
“Ah. Ahí está mi niña,” he says in Spanish with his arms open wide. I walk right into them and burrow myself in the safety of his arms, not worrying about my belly. He pulls me back from him almost instantly and my upper lip begins to sweat, thinking he has figured it out because I was careless. Instead, he looks at me with concern. “Cariña, ¿qué pasó? You look different.” I giggle as usual with how he switches from Spanish to English.
“Cansada, papi. Muy consada,” I tell him I am tired, and it is not a lie. My body no longer belongs to me, and neither does my mind. Every thought I have now is about this baby and what I am going to do. I never intended to be a single mom, and definitely not by my choice, but here I am.
Eventually, the hug with my dad ends, and he kisses me before I head upstairs to shower and get in my bed. Once I am naked, I take a look at myself from the side and rub my hardening belly. “What are we going to do, little one?” I would be a liar if I didn’t say I can't wait for the day I feel him or her move; then it will all be real.
Once I am clean and dressed, I can feel the stress of the day wearing off. I pull my secret stash of Oreos from the bed and moan when the chocolatey goodness hits my tongue. Lately, I have not wanted food, and the times I have eaten have been because my mom has been watching me like a hawk.
Still eating them, I pick up the remote, wanting something to watch while I eat and the first thing that comes on is Fifty Shades of Grey. I roll my eyes at the movie as a whole, but the way Christian holds himself reminds me so much of Hunter. His presence is consuming. When he walks into a room, people stop and pay attention. He is the track star at school. Recruiters come from all over trying to get him. They believe he has the potential to go to the Olympics. I believe he can. See the reason I can’t tell him?
I turn the channel, finally giving up and going to one of my streaming services. I keep sliding until it comes to something I can roll my eyes at Homicide for the Holidays. See why I like these kinds of things? They never disappoint. Satisfied with the TV, I slide my Oreos back under the bed and lay down.
The television is playing a show about families massacred on or around holidays, but my mind can only focus on the many times he has climbed through my window and held his hand over my mouth while he slid in and out of me. God, I need that.
With my eyes closed, I picture him on top of me, telling me I am his and I belong to him. My mouth is muffled, but I am confirming his words, never wanting to belong to anyone else. He used to order me to turn over, pushing my head into the pillow to make me quiet, knowing I get extra slippery when he tells me what to do. He gets totally bossy when we are together. Even if it is just going out. He is a very dominant guy and not in a creepy sort of way.
My hands move like a recovered memory over my newly sensitive nipples. I gasp at the tingling it elicits. Roughly I roll them between my fingers just like he would before sucking on them like he is being fed. When my pussy feels nicely saturated, my hand moves over the life we created and to the junction of my thighs. I never sleep with underwear on, a habit from him always coming through my window, not wanting to waste precious time, he used to say.
I move further until my fingers slide through the sticky dew and groan at how good it feels. I rub my finger through the slit, and my back bows off the bed. Greedily I use a finger to abuse my clit, and as good as it feels, I know I won't be able to come. It has been like this since I broke up with him. I can get there, but then it is stealthy out of reach, deflating me again. Pissed, I roll over, tuck my hand beneath my pillow and pout my way to sleep. Maybe I need a B.O.B.
chapter four
Hunter
The Next Day
I know as soon I walk into the kitchen that today is going to suck. My mom gives me a pitying look, but that doesn’t stop her from laying in on me again for what seems like the fiftieth time since Gwen broke up with me.
“What did you do?” Mom asks as I sit down with a bowl of cereal at the kitchen bar.
“What do you mean?”
“What did you do to Gwen?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Bullshit. Men always do something.”
“Jesus, Tracy,” my Dad, Trent, says while fixing his coffee.
“Not you, Trent. Other men. Most men.”
