It’s hell because I’ve been dying to talk to her since that night in the kitchen, but the bloody woman scampers off and avoids me at every turn. She wants nothing to do with me, and who can blame her. I can’t, because while I’m curious about what she’d been about to say, I can’t promise that my intentions are good. I still won’t entertain the thought that the child in her belly is Rob’s, not until I have irrefutable proof. But that doesn’t stop me from noticing her seductively swollen body, and the way her face has filled out from that gaunt, haunted pallor to a nicely curved, rosy cream. And then I haven’t even begun on the list of things my cock has perked up and noticed. Like the way her tongue peeks out and worries at the top corner of her lip when she smiles or laughs. I’ve never wanted to taste a tongue so badly in my life, but the thought of sucking that pink muscle into my mouth and letting her take mine in turn makes me so hard I’ve spent whole nights jumping between tossing and turning and ice cold showers.
