Hannah covers her mouth to hold in the giggles.
“We can use your woobie as a cushion.”
“You mean, like…while you’re giving birth?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, fuck no! You are not going to give birth on my woobie!”
Hannah bursts out laughing this time, and I scowl at her. Her mood swings are going to give me an ulcer. I check the time and figure it will be about ten minutes before she starts crying over something else. It’s become the pattern.
She stands up on her toes and presses her lips to mine. I kiss her back, opening my mouth as I feel her tongue against my lips. She runs her hands over my chest, and I can feel the rest of my body—one part in particular—beginning to respond. I gently grab her hands and pull them down to her sides.
I haven’t touched her in that way since I brought her here. It’s not for lack of desire. Frankly, I’m terrified to attempt sex with her again. I have no idea how she’s going to react, and I’m afraid I’ll trigger something inside of her.
There’s more to it as well.
I can’t stop thinking about how long she was a prisoner. I have no idea how many men have been inside of her since I was with her or exactly what they’ve done to her. The bruises are healing, but the evidence is there. I know she was brutally raped multiple times. I know she was sodomized. I can’t even imagine everything they may have done to her. I don’t blame her for any of it, of course, but it’s still in my mind.
There’s also a tiny, completely irrational part of me that thinks the baby might grab on to my dick.
I know enough about anatomy to know the idea is ludicrous, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking about it. I’m also afraid I’ll do something that will hurt the baby, but more than anything,
I can’t stop the image from invading my brain of having sex with Hannah and then feeling a tiny hand grab on to the end of my cock.
Hannah stares at me, her expression confused. It quickly changes to anger as she rips her hands away from my grasp and stomps away.
“What?” I call out after her.
It’s not like she can get very far from me in the small shelter. She’s only twelve feet away when she reaches the other side of the main room and turns on me.
“Do you still want me at all?”
Shit. Yeah, I’ve fucked this up.
“Of course I do.”
“So why won’t you touch me?”
“I didn’t want to…shit, Hannah.” I stop talking and run my hands over my face. “I don’t know what to do here. Yes, I want you. I want to pick up right where we left off, but I don’t know how to do that.”
“Because of everything that happened to me in between?”
“Yeah.”
“Or is it because I’m fat?”
“Christ, Hannah, you’re not fat. You’re pregnant.”
“Same thing.”
“It is not!”
There is no way I can win this argument.
I rack my brain for the right words to say but come up with nothing. She’s been through so much, and I can’t take it all away. There’s nothing I can do or say that will make any difference.
Tears start streaming down her face. I go to her, wrap my arms around her, and hold her against my chest. It isn’t easy with her stomach in the way, but I manage. She leans into me, circling my waist with her arms.