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He smiles and wraps me up in his arms. Then we turn and walk back to the living room and sit on the couch. He turns his body to me, grasps my hand and smiles.
“It’s stupid, it’s an insecure thought. I don’t want to say it out loud.” I stall.
“Then if it’s stupid, we’ll laugh about it. C’mon out with it woman.”
“Okay, well a part of me is scared. You got bored, so you bought a motorcycle and now you want to get rid of it. What’s to say that you won’t get bored of me and the baby and go find another girlfriend who doesn’t have baggage?” I don’t even recognize my voice and I avoid all eye contact with him right now, afraid of what I will see in his expression.
He breathes evenly, closes his eyes and then re-opens them to focus solely on my face.
“Tatum, there is no chance in hell that I need to find another girlfriend. I got the motorcycle in a time when I needed to feel something. I was empty, lost and needed to quench the thirst. Since you’ve come into my life, I’ve been full, found and well… I’m thirsty for a different substance. You aren’t and will never be considered as baggage, neither will our daughter. I don’t want anyone else but you and peanut.”
His hands squeeze mine and I blink back the tears that are fighting with me to erupt.
“Wasn’t I just an impulse though?” I ask, knowing how immature I sound.
“You are a desire, a desire that I love. A desire that continues with each and every day and grows stronger just as that baby inside of you grows.” His eyes have not wavered from mine.
“Okay.”
“Okay? Are you sure? I can do some more persuading you if you would like, you know in other ways?” He winks.
“Are you sure you’re not into maiesiophilia?” I tease.
“Come again?” He coughed.
“You know, into pregnant chicks. One of those weird fetishes that some people are into.” I further tease him.
Max gets that gleam in his eye when he gets playful and he practically pounces on me. He nuzzles into my neck and as he leaves bites along my neck.
“Is there a fetish name for this?” He asks running his hand down my thigh.
“Yeah, it’s called being male.” I snicker as Max’s fingers turn from caressing and sexual to tickling and playful.
