Fuck this is so wrong.
“Stand up,” he pulls at my hand to assist me; then pushes me backwards until my bum is at the edge of his desk. Assisting me on top of it he pushes me to lie down.
His hands come under my bump to the top of my trousers, and gently pull them down my legs. “I’ve never fucked a pregnant woman before, this is going to be fun.” His reminder of my current situation makes me realise how disgusting this is, how vile I am for doing this to Leighton and my baby, and even more so for enjoying it a little. Has my childhood really fucked me over that much that I can’t even be used for sex without enjoying it? Or is it the tablets impairing my frontal lobe to the extent I now seem like a dirty cheating whore. My thoughts keep changing between wanting this to end, to cut his dick off and stick it in a blender and then pop a round into his skull, to needing him so badly I would give anything to just cum once, to relieve some burn within me.
I am sprawled atop the wood, naked from the waist down, my bare shaven pussy on show for him. His fingers trail around the edges of my stomach and then between my legs, gliding gently over my wet cunt.
“Hmm, I think someone’s a little slut who likes to be used and fucked?” he penetrates me with his fingers, filling my aching tunnel, the lubrication from my wetness assisting the glide easily.
I can’t stop the moans of pleasure rippling from within my chest and throat, escaping through my mouth louder than I want them to. I close my eyes and imagine it is Leighton’s fingers filling me, my love and my soul mate.
“You are one sexy little Slut. God if I had known I could have you this easily I would have shot that cunt months ago.” The mention of my best friend Antonio has me feeling violent for a second or two but that is soon diminished when Phillips long fingers stroke at my g-spot inside.
I can feel the pressure building to a dangerous level, I am about to explode. My pussy clenches around his fingers, preparing to release the coiled tension. I feel a sudden emptiness as Phillip removes his fingers from within me.
It is soon replaced with an unbelievable tightness as his thick cock fills me. “Oh God,” I cry out not meaning to. I don’t want him knowing how much I am enjoying this. Not that it is him; it’s just my natural reaction to a dick in me. I always become wet and want more when I’m filled to capacity like this.
“That’s right you little bitch, take my dick and fucking like It.” his hands fist into my hips, digging and biting into the flesh, the pain only spurs my arousal more.
My orgasm is building again and I am about to topple over, “I’m gonna cum,” I shout out as my climax tears through me, I feel dizzy and lightheaded, my cunt is pouring around his dick, tensing tightly sheathing him.
“God you are so fucking tight.” He carries on plunging violently inside of me, each and every thrust driving me crazy and delirious.
“I’m going to cum in this tight little cunt, then you’re going to go home with it in you, a reminder of who fucked you, and how much you liked it you little slut.” He thrusts four more times hard, hitting my cervix before spilling inside of me.
His cum hits my walls, drenching them before trickling around his girth and onto the inside of my slick thighs.
I collapse back on the desk, all energy apparently having left me.
“Fuck that was so good.” Phillip helps me to stand before assisting me to dress. “Now about this whole leaving you alone thing?” he stands before me, bringing his hand to stroke my cheek before sliding it down to wrap around my throat.
I start to panic, my airway is becoming restricted, and my brain is fogging. I can’t see properly.
I can feel myself falling, asleep? I don’t know what is going to happen to me. “There isn’t any stopping this. You saw my last message that still stands you dirty little slut, we have only just begun.” I feel my eyes closing tightly shut and sleep drowning me.
“Now when you go home tell that dear Leighton, it won’t be long until another one bites the dust okay? Sleep well whore.” He lightly slaps my face before lying me down. I feel myself black out on the couch.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I wake up in my car at around four in the afternoon. My head is hurting so much, I feel like it is being squeezed in vise. I look at my surroundings; I am in the huge circular drive of my home. How I got here I have no clue, and that is the most frightening thing of all.
I start the car and drive it through the grounds and towards the underground parking garage; the effects of my tranquillisersare still prominent in my blood stream, causing me to feel dizzy and fatigued. I just want to get indoors and wash myself.
I park the Audi in its space, thankful to see a car is still missing; meaning Leighton is still at work or out somewhere unaware of my little visit today.
After turning off the ignition and getting out, a dizzy spell takes over me, threatening to bring me to the ground. I rub my throat where a slight sting still remains, the skin feeling raw and sore.
I manage to straighten myself out as I start the walk towards the entrance of the mansion. A wet sticky fluid gushes down my thighs as I walk. The feeling brings vomit to my mouth. I double over and spew the contents of my stomach onto the concrete.
I feel disgusting, used, dirty and guilty as fucking hell. How was I going to be able to look at Leighton ever again? I haven't figured out if I should tell him. It hasn’t made the slightest bit of difference. They are still out for our blood. I am just thankful I made it home safe without any harm to my child.
I rush through the large hallways of the house towards the stairs, trying my hardest to avoid the Security guys who are lingering around here somewhere. There is no doubt in my mind that Leighton has been informed, that he is either worried out of his mind or so fucking angry that it was best I lock the bedroom door and hide away until he has cooled off.
I make it to the bedroom and into the en-suite in record time. I run the shower and strip myself of my clothes before practically diving under the spray to rid my body of the scent of betrayal and Phillip. I want to be sick again, the thought of him inside of me, having me, having what is Leighton’s and only Leighton’s, has me wanting to wake up and for it to be the morning again.
I lather my hands in soap and begin to wash my body, under my arms, my shoulders and aching neck. When I reach my bump I jump as pain sears through me.
Along my pregnant, baby filled tummy is a wound, a blade slice. Approximately four inches in length and deep enough to cause me to want to cry every time the hot water drips onto it. The blood running into the water makes me realise the extent of the monumental mistake I have made today. How will Leighton ever forgive me, I have risked our baby’s and my life just to try and be the Hero. I should have just left Leighton to deal with it like he said he would.
I slide to the floor of the shower, the tiles now warm. I bring my feet into my bottom and cry into my knees. My life has dramatically shifted on its offset axis, and I’m completely and utterly to blame for it.
After ten minutes of self-induced sobbing I drag myself from the floor and rinse the bubbles and shame from my skin.
After gently towel drying myself and dressing the gash on my stomach to stop it from seeping blood onto my clothes, I dress myself in my usual comfy leggings and long top comfort me when inside I feel so broken.
As I look in the mirror at my pregnant form I sigh, unable to believe that in less than a month my little squishy will be here, he or she will be introduced to this mad world as we know it.
By the time I make it downstairs to the kitchen it is gone five o’clock and dinner isn’t even cooked. The three men on shift are sitting around the island as per usual looking at things on their laptops and talking to people on their phones.
“Hi guys, you okay?” I ask them casually hoping that they don’t know of my disappearance and that they think I was in bed all day.
“Afternoon Abbi, feeling okay?” Jim, one of the older guys asks me; not giving off any signals that he knows of me being gone.
“Not too bad, baby’s kicking my ribs today.” I lie.
“Sounds painful.” He says sympathetically.
“I’m going to make a quick spagbol, did you guys want some?” I question them, retrieving the mince, onions and tomatoes.
“Sure why not,” one replies, “Go for it,” another replies and the last of the three just nods his head.
“Okay, cool, I’ll get to it.” I distract myself from the pending blow out between my fiancé and myself by cooking and cleaning, dusting and cleaning some more.
By the time seven pm rolls around, Leighton is due to walk through the door, dinner is ready and just being kept hot. I am sitting in the lounge trying to calm my erratic nerves.
I hear the opening and closing of the front door through the mansion. I shuffle in my spot of the sofa anxiously. I count the steps until he reaches me. A total of sixty nine steps, yes I know, how very rude.
I see in my peripheral vision the broad, mountainous shadow of Leighton, his form stood still. I turn my head nervously to look at him. I gulp down my fear and try to keep my arousal at bay as I look at him.
I take in the sight of him, my beautiful fiancé. His tall muscular frame fills the entire doorway. The huge bunch of bright red roses clenched in his hands infuses the room with their sweet aroma. It is a daily thing to return home from 'work' with some sort of gift, a reminder that he is still here and he still loves me. The flowers today are just another reminder of how unfaithful I have been to him and how disgusted I am with myself.
The days’ worth of stubble he had this morning, after returning from the hospital has grown even more, shadowing his handsome face. The masculine scruff draws my eyes to those perfect lips, the bottom one currently being nibbled on furiously by his sparkly pearly white teeth.
“Good evening sweetheart.” His deep husky voice fills my ears, causing a flood of wetness to soak through my knickers.
“Good evening yourself” My short reply has him placing the bunch of flowers on the side and striding across the large expanse of the lounge towards me. He knows something; he has to know something is up.
Sitting up taller on the couch I turn my head to his onslaught.
Leighton stops above me, his hand reaching to caress my cheek. His callous fingertips leave a burning trail against my skin, trailing from my cheek to the tops of my breasts. My nipples stiffen instantly awaiting the further caress.
“Abigail, a little birdie has informed me that you were outside the house today, without supervision, that you have disobeyed my direct orders. Is my little informant correct?” He questions me, the previous romantic tone to him disappearing instantly and the controlling, dominant man I have grown to love taking his place.
“Erm, well, I, err,” I try my hardest to search my brain for a way to cover up my little expedition today. I come up with the first thing I can think of, “I ran out of tampons. I needed some desperately so I had to go to the shop. But that's all I did, then I came back and haven't been out since. I took my piece with me; I had my alarm and phone. I would have called you and taken someone with me but I was in a hurry and didn't want to bother anyone” phew, that was close. I take a deep breath to calm myself back down. I smile at my spontaneous lying ability.
“Sounds feasible,” he walks around the sofa, standing in front of me. His hand clasps my lowered chin and inches my face up to his “well it would if you had fucking periods Abigail. You see it’s kind of hard to when your over eight months pregnant don't you think?” His anger is now seething through his pours.
“NOW TELL ME THE FUCKING TRUTH ABIGAIL ADAMS OR SO HELP ME GOD!” His voice bellows through the room, causing me to fold into myself. I’m not scared of Leighton, he will never hurt me, but the blatant viciousness and malevolence he can portray is rather frightening. If he knows where I have been today I'd hate to think what will happen.
I have committed the ultimate betrayal today, the one thing I promised I'd never do. The past month things have become so bad between Leighton’s men and those sadistic bastards, that they were threatening my very existence. I took the time to sit with Phillip Blackman, the leader of the gang, today, to try and figure out a way to stop this nonsense. I want my baby to grow up safe and healthy, with its father here, not having to worry to whether I might have the police at my door tomorrow telling me my fiancé has been murdered.
No enough is enough, no more violence, no more hatred and bloodshed.
If only today had gone as planned, if only the four inch long cut along my pregnant stomach wasn't there and if only in approximately two hours when we got into our bed Leighton wouldn't see it. He would know I had lied, he would know what had happened; he would know that it was a message for him.
If I thought the bloodshed was bad now it would be nothing compared the massacre that would take place as of tomorrow.
I can only pray to The Lord above that he protects my fiancé and my child, because World War Three is impending and all because I can’t obey one fucking order.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The night goes as planned, he has questioned me further about where I had gone, my answer still the same. I was adamant with him that I had spot bled and needed tampons. I convinced him that he didn’t understand how a woman worked so therefore wouldn’t have a clue whether I’d need them or not.
He eventually gave up and we sat down, ate our dinner, and caught up on the day’s activities, me obviously lying through my teeth at my ‘boring day to day things’ I apparently did.
At ten in the evening Leighton helps me to bed, supporting my aching back as I traipse up the large staircase leading to our room. As is usual I pass my baby’s nursery, looking inside the beautiful and perfect room Leighton has created for our child. The love he feels for his unborn squishy is so heart melting I can feel it in my heart and stomach. The guilty feeling I have managed to push aside the last few hours is flooding back full force into my heart, causing my eyes to water.