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“Why not?” he argues back. “I’m the father. I have that right.”
I laugh at his comment. “You don’t have the right to look at my vagina. If you have to be in there, then you’re standing in the corner.”
“But don’t I have to hold your hand and shit?”
“Maybe you need to watch Father of the Bride II.”
The credits roll on, the illumination from the television screen providing the only light in the room. All of a sudden, some foreign film comes on with nudity. Breasts, to be exact. It is laughable and extremely tacky. Oh, and downright awkward. There is bush… plenty of bush.
“This is so lame. People don’t screw like that,” I say to myself.
“I’m sure people do.”
“Yeah, smartass, name one.”
He hesitates for a brief moment. “Me.”
Silence.
The movie is showing a couple having sex against the wall in the shower. The man has lifted the woman, and with her legs wrapped around his waist, he continues to drill into her while she lets out the fakest moans.
I can’t take my eyes off the bush. You could run a brush through it and style it with cornrows, it’s that long.
“What’s wrong? You don’t believe me?” he continues, not letting go of this awkward subject.
“Oh no, I do,” I mutter. “It’s just the type of conversation you don’t have with a pregnant woman without a partner. You know, it’s just not advisable.”
“Oh, right, the hormones.” He grimaces hopelessly. “Is it that bad?”
He’s asking the question that should remain unanswered because the more I think about it, the more I work myself up.
“Yeah, pretty bad. Bad enough I’d probably do you again.” I swat him with a pillow, teasing him in a friendly and relaxed way.
He doesn’t respond immediately, and when I glance at him, he is removing his glasses and placing them on the nightstand. He’s roughly running his hands through his hair, and I feel the sheets move until the heat attacks my skin, and his body is in line with mine.
My heart is beating a million times a minute, and my vocal cords appear to be out of order as I beg him silently to back off, knowing full well I am the weak one.
“Presley?” he murmurs gently into my ear.
With his body close, the words cannot be communicated, so I turn my head until our eyes are locked onto each other.
“Then do it,” he whispers, against my lips.
Three little words and my world comes undone.
Sixteen
Did he just say he wanted to have sex with me? Baby brain, a miscommunication, or maybe I’m reading this all wrong?
His lips are feverishly locked onto mine, our tongues twisting in a manic frenzy. The suction is strong. I attempt to pull away to maintain my morals, yet his grip around my shoulders pushes me further into the mattress, unable to break free.
I reach for a quick breath and try to stop him.
“Haden, we can’t… you have—”
His lips find their way back onto mine, and without answering me, he continues to passionately tease my mouth with his. I beg myself to stop, but every flick, every swirl of his perfectly soft tongue is signaling every inch of my body to react with desire.
The ache below is taunting me, but I need to be the strong one here, the mature person who can push him away because I have self-control. His strong weight against my body overpowers any self-control I have though, and my feeble attempts to wriggle away from him appear fruitless.
