I'm Pregnant

I woke up not feeling well in my studio; it’s Sunday, but I needed to finish the miniature for my requirement in the Visual Arts subject. But I was not in the mood to do it, maybe because I caught a slight virus that left me tired and nauseous. And it seemed to want to hang around.

I went to the bathroom and opened the drawers below the sink when I saw a sanitary napkin. My heart stuttered when I realized I was late. I've never been late. Maybe…. Oh God!... I walked towards my bed again and lay there as I stared at the ceiling. Until I finally decided that maybe this was more than just a virus.

I dressed quickly, wearing only a white hoodie, shorts, and rubber slippers, and started walking towards the nearest drug store to buy home pregnancy test kits with my heart on my sleeve.

A watched kettle might never boil, but a watched home pregnancy test obviously wasn’t shy about revealing its results. I stared at the pink line that appeared beneath the pink control line. This is not so good. The events are what I know I should be thinking about and what is repeated in my mind because of the event between me and the guys I spent a month ago during my wildest eighteenth birthday night.

I sank down onto the edge of the bathtub and tried to feel alarmed and panicked. Instead, I felt almost happy. Granted, getting pregnant had certainly not been in my plans, and I knew it hadn’t been in the men’s plans either. But still, I am carrying my child.

I placed my hand over my stomach. Flat. There is no change there, but it is too early for one. The only evidence I had was a missing period—which I had tried to attribute to the stress of losing my grandmother—and breasts that are more tender at this time of the month than usual. Being more tired than usual and nauseous. And the little pink lines

I will visit the family doctor and have a test run there. If the results come back as I expected, I will accept them wholeheartedly. This is the consequence of my mistake that night. I never knew if I might find myself pregnant and unable to explain my condition or unsure who the father might be. I never knew if I might simply want to cross paths again—although I realized the latter would be incredibly unlikely. We live in a very different world, with me in the middle and them at the top.

Money is not a problem for me; my grandmother and my late parents left me sufficient funds to last a lifetime, if I am frugal with them. I'm not only frugal, I'm wise in how I spend my money. This studio is the product of my hard work and the industrial art pieces I sold online through my website. I knew taking care of my child would be challenging, but I knew I could handle it. Finances would be the least of my problems. But what about the father? I am not even sure... I shut my eyes firmly and started to reminisce about the events of that day that had led to my present condition. But before I could do that, someone was knocking on my door.

I am not in a mood to entertain visitors right now. I don't have any friends except Damian, my classmate, and my project partner. The knocks are persistent. I sighed and stood on the edge of the bathtub and slowly crept to the door of my studio apartment, wearing only a towel.

When I open the door, the person I've been trying to forget since that day is there. His handsome features are still visible even while wearing his signature sunglasses. He removed it and is now looking at me intensely, like he wants to devour me in front of my apartment.

"May I come in?" he asked gently after awhile. "I am alone here," I said nervously. He chuckled, "I know, and I don't bite," he replied, and then added sensuality, "hard." He winked at me as if he was enjoying my inconvenience. I shook my head, but my hand didn't obey me as well as my heart. My heart keeps fluttering like a happy butterfly, and my hand has a mind of its own as it moves to open the door.

"Next time sweetheart, don't open the door with only a towel on," he said softly but firmly.

"I..." I stopped. I didn't know what to say. I couldn't tell him. I have had only one friend crash at my house and he's gay.

I noticed the three black Mercedes parked on the street with six men in black suits outside the cars. Something inside my stomach is creating havoc that makes me tremble. Their leader, wearing something similar to them but exuding more authority and power, is standing in front of me.

"Would you like to tell me something?" He asked, The father of my child, or perhaps he isn't, and he's speaking softly to me. His smile captured my attention. ... it had been warm, sincere, and had drawn me in. His deep blue eyes held me captive. His low voice carried through me when he spoke. There was power in the way he moved, but I’d never felt threatened. I’d felt attraction: hot, burning, immediate. It was more than just his good looks and physique. It was the way he made me feel safe. And I ended up in his bed. In his secret garden, to be exact. A night of rendezvous in his sanctuary, as he told me.

"What?" I asked.

"You bought a pregnancy test kit today. Show me the result, sweetheart," he said again gently.

"How did you find me?" I asked instead.

"No one can escape me, Felicity Morgan, especially those whom I plan to be with for some time." He grinned, a devastatingly handsome grin. "Now tell me the result, sweetheart," he whispered. Turning, I lifted my gaze to his, "Well—"

He cradled my face between his hands, as I only too well remembered, and lowered his mouth to mine. The heat is immediate, the sparks as bright as any fireworks launched on the first day of the year. His tongue swept through my mouth while his thumbs caressed the corners. My trembling knees grow weak, and I wonder where I'll find the strength to stay standing. My body grows hot as sensations swirl through me. He ended the kiss as abruptly as he’d begun it, his harsh breathing echoing around me, his forehead pressed to mine."

"Axel…" I started but was distracted by the quirking of his lips, like he likes it when I say his name.

"I’m pregnant," I said finally.

"I know," he said as he lowered his head and kissed me again. His mouth pleaded provocatively over mine. I stiffened when he pushed his tongue between my lips and swirled velvet over the silk, then relaxed as his skill seduced me. He did not force them, but he invited them. I accepted the invitation. His flavor is rich and strong, wine and whiskey mixed into a darkness that is as intoxicating as the caress of his tongue. He ravishes without brutality. He causes every nerve to tingle and every inch of my body to respond as though he slowly strokes me from toe to chin.

I’d dreamed of him sweeping me off my feet a thousand times since that night. But in spite of my various imaginings, I’d not been prepared for the compelling nature of his kiss, delivered with such urgency. I returned it in full measure. Life is short, opportunities are few, and I've yearned for this closeness for too long to be demure now. I step into his embrace and feel as though I have finally returned home, to the spot where one night with him had shown me I could be. As his arms came around me and drew me even closer, I knew I was where I was supposed to be.

I’d feared that he’d left his memories of me on that night, but he kisses me now as though he is intimately familiar with the contours of my mouth. He left no part wanting for attention. His feral groan echoes around us, and he deepens a kiss that I thought could go no further.

Intense heat swarmed through me.

If I didn’t know better, I would have thought I would suddenly get sick. My stomach clenches, and between my legs, warmth pools with the promise of more pleasure and eventual arrest. He drags his mouth away from me, his breathing harsh and heavy. I draw in great draughts of air as his hot, moist lips trail to the sensitive spot below my ear and nibble there.

It’s a wonder I still stood. If not for the sturdiness of his arm at my back, I suspected I’d be on the floor now, a silken puddle of heated desire. Then he returned his mouth to mine with an urgency that matched mine. I wanted this; I wanted whatever he would grant. A kiss, a touch, a caress, and more.

I’d come too far and taken too many chances. I will surely ruin my reputation. I had nothing else to lose and everything to gain. The man I’d met on that night may be worthy of my devotion. We both heard the grumble of my stomach. He tunneled his fingers through my hair; his mouth left mine with an abruptness that startled me. His breathing is labored, as though he’d just run up a hill. Mine is no better. My pulse thrummed an unsteady beat. I wanted his mouth to return to mine.

"Get dressed and let's get you food; I don’t want my son to be hungry and ravish you instead of food," Axel Garcia, the Mafia lord, said. My worry returns. What if he’s not the father of my child? How could I know? Axel is a dangerous man. He would kill me, I am sure of it, and maybe kill my baby too.