CHAPTER 3

I missed my big baby. I sniffled.

I missed hugging him so much.

I missed him pressed on my chest.

I missed his voice and his naughty hands.

I missed his steel grey eyes.

It was four in the morning. No matter how hard I tried I could not keep him out of mind especially when I was alone.

I dreamt of him, again.

I dreamt of us, again.

There was no more him, there was no more us.

But...

Jason really thought us talking would solve the problem.

What was there to talk?

He made his ‘wife’ pregnant.

Even if we ever got to talking, she would still be pregnant.

I could ask him to leave her and be mine.

What if he said he would never leave her? I would be in hell of a pain.

But what if he would leave her, his pregnant wife, because I asked? I would be devastated to the point I would rather die.

An innocent baby who had not even born yet, and I was stealing the most important person in his life.

I sobbed.

Why was I in so much pain? Where did my anger go? Where did my determination to destroy him to ashes go?

I just missed him, so much.

If I ever got to be his again, I would not be able to pull away one more time.

I knew it.

I was surprised I could be away from him this long.

I did not want to compete against his kid for his attention.

And I would if given a chance.

Yes, I would.

Because I had.

I remembered what happened all those months ago.

His wife started a beauty clinic with the financial help of my mom. Mom was ecstatic that she was finally doing something that could be good for her own future.

Aunt Marie was against it and that created a huge family issue.

Finally, the amount was given as a loan.

Nevertheless, the shop was done and there was a huge inauguration.

Of course, ‘the husband’ needed to be there.

What did I do?

I pulled every trick in my book to keep him with me.

He obviously spent the weekend with me in ‘our’ hotel room.

Yes, he was showering me with his attention on me for those two days.

Yes, we did the dirty last night but I was irked he was leaving to his wife.

Yes, I knew he would get in big trouble with my mom if he skipped.

I was facing away from him naked and awake while he got dressed.

I could feel his stare on me.

I gently stretched my leg to the blanket and hooked it on my toes and tried to cover myself while purposely exposing my jewel.

He growled and pounced on me before I could execute all of my plan.

I ‘demanded’ that I wanted to sleep.

I ‘begged’ him that I was tired.

I ‘reminded’ him of his flight.

I ‘told’ him that he was expected there.

I ‘asked’ him to leave.

He did not leave.

Not once, not twice until I made sure the flight had left.

Was I happy then? No, there were other ways for him to leave, I had to make sure that he would not... no... could not leave.

I was tired and the room was still spinning from my ecstasy but I fought my body’s need to rest some more.

The moment he left the bed, I got dressed.

I wore his sweat shirt which came to my mid-thigh and slipped off my shoulders, that showed every love bites, nail scratches and bruises he had left on my body.

If there was anything that could drive him crazier than fucking me, it was seeing me wrecked, after he had fucked me.

I followed him to the balcony, wincing with each step.

And he stared, not at the beautiful rising sun behind him, but at me.

Like he was sexually frustrated for so long that a brush of wind would snap his control.

I rolled my eyes. I wanted to smack him.

He came to me like a predator in hunt. When he reached me to pick me up, I whispered to his ears in the most seductive voice I could muster.

“Gently. I am sore.”

He smirked. The self-satisfied smirk on hearing that I was indeed still feeling him inside.

His fingers crept under my sweat shirt and touched the naked flesh, I whispered again, blushing “Really sore.”

And he did pick me up gently but his eyes. His eyes were devouring me alive. It held pride, satisfaction, care, and... at the time I thought it was ‘love’.

He did not leave me.

No, I did not let him leave.

He stayed to look after me. Pampering me with anything I craved.

And I craved him.

He was there, like the smug bastard he was.

With every twitch, every pained wince, every struggle to close my thighs, I could hear the predatory animal him, roaring and preening.

And the possessive mate in me was mewling and rolling with satisfaction.

I won.

And I won several times, over the time of our relationship.

I won against who?

An adult who was a cripple in financial management and ruined the said shop.

She had the maturity and age to handle rejection like I did.

But this time, who was I competing against?

An innocent kid.

A baby girl waiting for her daddy on her first piano recital or a ballet dance.

A baby boy searching for his daddy in the bleachers to see his first catch or a goal.

A teenage kid waiting for daddy to explain why the world was changing so much that heads were so full and hearts too empty.

Why it was just mommy at the dinner table but never daddy?

Where would he be?

With me.

I would keep him in because I could not handle the thought of him away.

I would colour black on the rainbow dreams the kid had and destroy an innocent and hopeful soul.

The baby needed him.

I had to be away.

Even if it killed me, I had to stay away.

And it was indeed killing me.