Fold

"You and me and never us: a complicated series of almost interactions." ―William Bolitho

“Oh, God, baby face. You're go

Words can't express how much I hate it when she calls me that. Especially during sex.

She throws her head back and I grab her hips and slide into her again.

On instinct, my eyes drift from her ginormous tits down to her now visible belly.

I look away quickly, though. Last time we had sex and she caught me staring at it, she went crazy, and not in a good way.

Instead of enjoying myself, I spent the next ten minutes explaining that I wasn't staring because she had gained weight, but that the sight of her carrying my child, although still overwhelming, was beautiful.

It's like she didn't even hear me, because she went on and on, blaming the baby for making her look like a whale. My only option was to stick my head between her legs and get her off, because at least then she was too distracted to keep bitching.

I watch as she rides out the rest of her climax, and right when I'm preparing to take over—she arches her back and starts fucking me into oblivion, screaming a slew of dirty things that would make a porn star blush.

Usually, I'd be into it, but this performance of hers reeks of disingenuity.

I rest my head on the couch, letting the waves of pleasure take over as I try like hell to ignore the little nagging voice in the back of my mind.

She's only fucking you so good because you get the paternity results next week.

When she first told me she was pregnant, I demanded the test, but I dropped it after she said that having an amniocentesis would be harmful to the baby.

But the more time that passed, and the more attached I became, the more the need to know the truth gnawed at me.

Even though she swears up and down that it's mine, I just want to know for sure.

My head has been so fucked up over this lately; I started placing bets with underground bookies that I know better than to ever mess with.

I tried to stop, but I can't.

I need the distraction. I need the rush.

But most of all? I need something to make me feel invincible and level me out—because whenever I stop and think about how much it will crush my entire world if the little boy I've spent the last few months loving and calling my son turns out not to be mine...the deeper into the spiral I go.

It's gotten to the point where I'm starting to lose bets. It's nothing major and nothing I don't recoup with my next bet...but still.

I'm starting to lose. And if this baby isn't mine...I'll lose that too.

If all that wasn't stressful enough, things with Becca and me have gone from tolerable to horrible.

A few days ago she brought up getting married for the millionth time, and everything came to a head between us. I flat out told her that was off the table until after our son was born and I had a guarantee he was mine.

Of course, she argued and tried to convince me getting married after she gave birth was the wrong thing to do, but I was relentless.

No paternity test. No marriage.

She yelled and threw things, begged and pleaded. And when none of it worked—she reminded me once again I was a shitty person and a bad father for even considering the dangerous procedure. But unbeknownst to her, I've been doing research and there's a non-invasive paternity test that won't harm the baby.

When I told her, she tried to deflect it again, which only made the boulder of anxiety sitting in the pit of my stomach grow bigger, but I knew how to convince her.

I put a ring on her finger and promised once I got the results we would get hitched.

The next day we had an appointment for the blood test.

I shift as she continues to ride me, acid rising in my stomach like a volcano.

I have to believe she's telling the truth at this point. Becca knows how much I love this kid already. She knows how much it would fucking kill me if it weren’t mine.

However, what she doesn't know? Is how much I'd be risking by coming clean to my father about her being pregnant.

If things don't go as pla

Because then everyone will know.

But I have no choice—I'll do whatever it takes to make sure my son is taken care of and protected.

“Harder,” I demand because these thoughts are enough to turn my dick limp and if I don't get my release soon, I'll end up puking my goddamn guts out all over her and this couch.

When she doesn't alter her pace, I motion for her to change positions.

As soon as she's lying on her back, I pump inside her again, focusing on the way her pussy grips me and the way her tits bounce, drowning everything else out.

I reach between us and play with her clit, bringing her closer to the brink.

“Becca,” I say, my voice strangled as I take the bud between my fingers. “I'm go

She loves it when I beg her to come, and I know she gets off on it...but then again, she doesn't realize it has nothing to do with her pleasure and everything to do with mine.

I need to hear her moans. I need to watch her body lose control as it writhes underneath me.

I need all those things to remind myself that I'm in this moment...and this moment only.

She bucks her hips but remains silent with a smug smile on her face.

I thrust harder, trying not to go to that place, but I'm slipping, falling, and if I'm not careful...pretty soon I'll be there.

I pinch her clit and slam into her. “Either stop the bullshit and cream my dick like a good girl, or I'll never fuck this cunt again.”

“Oh, God,” she gasps. Seconds later, her eyes roll back and she convulses as her moans fill the living room of our apartment.

I focus on the sounds, the scent of sex in the air, and the sight of her heavy breasts jiggling.

My balls draw tight and I slip out of her. “I want to come all over your tits.”

Her gaze turns smoky and I rip the condom off and quickly stroke out my release, watching as she swirls it around her nipples.

When the last drop hits her skin, she sighs and looks at her engagement ring. “Just think how much hotter our sex life will be once we're married.”

The calm state my body was easing into is long gone with those words.

Thankfully, she's not expecting a response because she shoves me away and rises from the couch. “I'm go

Yeah, she's pulling out all the stops this weekend.

With a curse, I yank up my sweatpants.

A moment later there's a knock on the front door. I wasn't expecting company, but I answer it anyway.

Only to come face to face with the last person I ever expected to see.

“Sorry,” Kit starts before I can get a word in. “I know this is weird...me coming here and all. I—um.” She motions to the small box she's holding. “My lease is up on my apartment soon and when I was packing, I came across some of Becca's stuff.”

She looks down. “Actually, that's not right. A few months ago I packed up her stuff, but I've only recently mustered the guts to give it to her. I mean, I suppose I could have just waited until after winter recess is over and the new semester starts, but I have no clue what her new schedule is, so I figured this would be easier and—”