The prawn dish was ridiculously amazing. Kennedy didn't eat hers, she was a little worried about what she could and couldn't eat, and in the end I managed to coerce the waitress into seeing if the chef could make her something different. The chicken salad the waitress arrived with, lit up Kennedy's eyes. She liked chicken right now, it was her 'safe' food so it was the perfect meal. Everything was presented beautifully, and the sounds of delight coming from my companion were wreaking havoc with my senses. Once most of the guests had finished eating, the dance floor filled again, and Kennedy finished her meal, relaxing against the back of the ornate chair she sat on, feet barely touching the floor.
'That was delicious.' She looked at me, with dreamy eyes, and I felt a lump in my throat to match the one in my pants. She looked beautiful. I don't know what it was, the blush on her cheeks, maybe the redness of her lips, or that elusive pregnancy glow I'd never believed to exist before. For a moment too long, we held one another's gaze, and then her eyes dropped to my lips and I sucked in a breath. Fuck me, it was hot in here.
'Do you want to dance?' I mumbled, barely aware of the fact that I was speaking. Man she was doing some freaky shit with my brain.
'Yeah, okay.' That smile again. Shit.
Well the dancing was a bad idea. I had to angle my body away from hers. I started wondering whether she was emitting some hormone that biologically, I just couldn't get enough of. I was glad when she broke the silence, if she hadn't, I might have spent the rest of the night trying to avoid staring at her boobs. Almost as tempting as that pert little derrière of hers.
'So, how many girls in this room have you fucked? Not counting me.'
I looked down at her, my hand currently resting on her waist, the other holding hers, in a waltz position. Thankfully our bodies weren't touching. I couldn't help but be a little taken aback by her forward question.
'Come on playboy, how many women have you fucked in here?'
Did she really ask me that?
I took a quick glance around the room, my brain warned me not to divulge the real answer in case it elicited even more disgust from her. At the same time, another part of me really didn't want to lie. I took a swift glance around the room.
'Seven.'
She let go of me, mouth falling open. Again, all I could think about was how adorable she looked.
'How many were married?'
'I don't do that.' I said, firmly, taking her hand again. 'I don't break up marriages. I have rules.'
'Ah so the playboy has rules.' There was a little sarcasm there. I heard it.
'Don't call me a playboy.' I had no idea where that little comment came from, but it slipped out, and I let go of her hand instantaneously. Suddenly irritated, I walked away from the bewildered looking Kennedy and a bemused looking Christian Beaumont standing on the sidelines, probably awaiting a little drama. Something I wasn't going to give the sly son of a bitch. I needed to cool off.
I heard Kennedy's feet clipping after me, on the marble floor. She grasped my wrist as we slipped into the cold night air.
'James.'
I carried on walking, trailing around the circumference of the building. I could hear her becoming more breathless, and that's when it hit me. I was being a real drama douche about this. So what? She called me a playboy. There were worse things, and the fact of the matter was, that I kinda am. I get around, I like to spread my seed. I like variety. So why did I react that way? Was it a combo of being close to my rival and feeling overcome with some weird hormonal scent being thrown off by my pregnant one night stand room mate?
'James stop, I'm having stomach pains, please stop.'
I turned to find Kennedy soaked by the rain I hadn't even realized was falling, her hair matted to her face, and her hands clutching her sides.
'Shit, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me.' I flustered, running my hands through my hair. Yep. I was definitely losing control here. 'Come on, lets go home. We had dinner, right?'
.......................
I took a slow, elongated journey home. I hate to say it, but I was worried. Not so much for the baby, although I kind was, but for her. After a few moments she seemed calmer, and I touched her forearm briefly. I tried to ignore the fizzle of hot, raw sexuality that filtered through my veins every time I touched her, but it was difficult. I let go, gripping the wheel so hard I could almost feel the friction burning my palms.
'Are you okay? Do we need the hospital?'
'No...no hospital and no tampons.....I think it's just growing pains.' She smirked at me, and breathed in sharply as she tried to get a little more comfortable in her seat.
'Growing pains? As in the kid, like stretching your stomach?'
'The baby is like an inch long right now James, if he or she was stretching I wouldn't feel it.'
'Oh.' I really did know fuck all about babies and pregnancy. I made a mental note to do a little research, just so I could feign a little more interest.
........................
Inside the apartment, I gathered together some towels and brought them through to the living room. She graciously accepted them, drying her hair and exposing that neck. I wanted to kiss her there, make her knees weaken and leave her at my mercy. I wanted to see in her eyes that she wanted me. There was that loss of control again. Spinning way out of control over a woman who was soon enough going to look like a human blimp. A woman who'd only slept with me the first time because she was as drunk as they came. I needed a new rule. Only fuck slightly inebriated women, whilst only slightly inebriated yourself. Otherwise condoms fall by the wayside and you wind up living with a very frustrating woman.
She lowered herself onto the couch and I joined her, towelling off my own hair. I heard her snigger and throwing her a 'what are you laughing at' look, she pointed at my hair. The designer bed head look was standing on end, hence why I always opted for gel. Now I looked like einsteins better looking great grandson. Her giggling intensified into full hysterics, she clutched her stomach, tears rolling down her face and before I knew it, I was laughing too. I'd never laughed that hard, or for that long, my ribs ached and my jaw felt numb. Looking at her beside me on my $5000 couch was the weirdest sensation because something felt right. This moment felt like therapy.
She brushed her hair off her face, and I leant forward, wiping away a tear, still rolling down her cheek. She passed me a smile that affected my desperate cock, but also something in my brain. I don't know what changed in those few milliseconds, but I suddenly felt like this was the start of an adventure, an excitement skittered inside my stomach and I felt hopeful. I felt enlivened.
'I'm sorry I called you a playboy.'
'I'm sorry I acted like an idiot. We might still be there, dancing to Lionel.'
She chuckled, 'Lionel doesn't do it for me....'
'Is that so?'
'Yeah....I mean back in his hey day.....maybe.'
I laughed, throwing a plush sofa cushion at her. 'Admit it, you were getting hot over Lionel Richie.'
'Was not.' She stuck out her lower lip, and I fought with myself over leaning forward and capturing that little sulky lip with my teeth, before plundering her mouth with my tongue. 'What about you anyway? From what I've researched you like to find a pretty little someone to take to bed....and I haven't seen anyone around here so far....'
I shrugged, 'yeah there might have been a few possibilities.'
Hold up, she'd researched me? We needed to come back to that.....
'Pervert.' She threw the cushion back, and I saw amusement in her eyes. 'Did I cramp your style?'
I shook my head, thinking of all sorts of mischievous directions this conversation could go in. I momentarily forgot the whole research thing. 'No....I was happy with my choice of companion.'
I watched as her mood changed almost instantaneously. Her shoulders stiffened on cue.
'You're doing it again. Thinking too much.' I blurted out, and instantly wished I'd kept my trap shut. She turned to me, lashes lowered over her brown eyes and I was getting closer and closer to needing something more.
Needing to just touch her if that's all I could get.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
It was the hormones. The provocative female hormones. Nothing else.
'I think it's best if I head off to bed, boss.' She gave a weak smile, and stood up, her chestnut hair shimmering like spun gold in the moonlight. As she passed by me, I touched my fingers to the inside of her wrist, capturing her arm with my hand. She stopped moving and looked down curiously at my fingers.
'How are you feeling now?' I croaked out, a desperation in my voice that I heard loud and freakin clear. 'Do you feel any better?'
I came to standing, and drawing her closer to me, I tucked a strand of her silky hair behind her ear. I felt like all the air had been evicted from my lungs, the way she looked at me made me shiver. Then I saw it, the subtle change in her eyes, the way her pupils darkened her eyes almost black. At precisely that moment, she pulled away.
She wanted me. Fucking hell, Kennedy Clark wanted me.
'I'm fine....I'm....' She broke off, her fingers touching her lips and as she did so, I saw the alarm in her expression as she realized that lust was pooling inside her. Her molten caramel eyes begged me to come closer, but her body language worked against all her urges. And I fell back, like a soldier told to abort his mission. As she walked down the hallway, I couldn't help but call out to her.
'You looked fucking amazing tonight.'
I don't know why I said it. I don't know what possessed me right now to do anything. My mind was so overwrought with images of her now, those clouded dilated pupils and what might have been going on in her head. As I undressed for bed, I imagined her sitting in the guest bed, fingers trailing down her belly, eager to release the wave of need she felt. And I felt it. God I felt it. Pacing up and down I knew I had to do something or go absolutely, clinically insane.
Straight jacket, padded room, the motherfucking works.
So I broke every rule in my book. Stepping into the shower, I blasted myself with warm water, and I let my thoughts wander. I prayed for the train blonde, Stacey, Janine, or one of the many recent, (but not recent enough) conquests, but all I got was an image of Kennedy. Slipping off that green strapless number, and those volumptuous breasts springing free. I thought about making her wetter than I'd ever made anyone, sliding into her and fucking her sweet pussy, demanding that she repeat my name like some freakin mantra.
Hand gathering speed, images of her flooding my mind thick and fast, I came so hard I dropped to my knees. Kneeling in the shower, the water splaying off my back, I knew I was done for. After all of that, I still wanted her. But deep down, I knew I didn't deserve to have her ever again.