The Office Rival: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

“Weird? Okay…” I take a long breath. “This… is very… I need to ask you a question.”

He sits back into the sofa. With a composed yet undermining stare, he waits patiently if not eagerly for me to speak. I’ve become a little distracted, imagining myself sitting on top of him, riding his beautiful pierced dick, and then, fuck these damn hormones! Focus!

“That night in the alley—”

“You said we weren’t to talk about that,” he is quick to remind me.

“I know I said that, but I have to ask you something, and I don’t want you reading more into it.”

“What are you going on about, Malone?”

Here goes, my eggs all in one basket—literally.

“Did you…” God, how do I ask this? “Did you… you know, finish?”

&nb

sp; “Finish?”

“Finish… do the deed. Shoot your load.”

There is a wicked grin on his face and rubbing his barely-existent beard in an annoying yet smoldering manner, he has me stumbling on my thoughts.

“Let me get this straight, Malone. You’re asking me if I came?”

Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, I feel so juvenile, nodding to suppress the sheer embarrassment.

“I’m curious as to why you’re only asking me this now?”

“Because I just need to know.”

With his arm draped along the back of the sofa, he inches closer, intimidating me with a persistent stare. He doesn’t realize I’m in the prime of the pregnancy, loaded with hormones, ready to pounce and beg him to fuck me because I am so damn horny I can’t even think straight.

“It’s a personal question, and you’re demanding an answer without explaining why you need to know.”

“Cut the bullshit, Jerk. We passed personal when you decided to screw me in the alley.”

“You cut the bullshit, Malone. Why do you wanna know?”

“I’m pregnant,” I blurt out without thinking, without any emotion.

There.

Done.

Phew.

I release a breath, finally able to breathe a little.

It’s not just one ball of tumbleweed, but a whole colony that rolls past as the silence falls over the room. I don’t dare look at him, his heavy breathing enough of an indication that he’s about to have a stroke.

“Why weren’t you on the fucking pill, Malone?” he demands, raising his voice and catching me off guard while jumping off the sofa.

“I was on the pill! Why would you come inside me and assume that?”

He is pacing the floor, his hat thrown onto the table as he runs his fingers through his hair in utter despair. His eyes are wild with panic, and he looks ready to smash the first thing in sight.

I’m right.