ILLICIT DESIRES | 18 +

36: Results

RITA

This man Is so Whimsical.

Far too acquainted with my body for his own good, he's still lounging in the tub as I step out, padding over to the counter to grab the pregnancy test.

He doesn't even grant me the smallest shred of privacy.

I flick him a sidelong glance as I peel the test and instructions from the box. He shifts at last, showing a hint of decency by climbing out of the tub — only to knot a towel loosely around his waist and lean against the cabinet, arms folded, watching me.

"What are you waiting for?" My question comes out sharper than intended, though it's rhetorical. "I'm not going to pee on a stick in front of you!"

"Why not?" he frowns. "You came on my tongue plenty of times. No need to be shy about this."

"I just can't," I huff, "spread my legs and pee on a stick in front of you. I need privacy."

I head toward him and tug at his wrist, trying to pull him out.

"You sure? I could help you pee. Doesn't gross me out to hold the stick. Kinda kinky, don't you think, little flower?" His rambling flusters me even more.

"You're such a kinky bastard," I mutter, finally pushing him out — though he lets me, granting me a sliver of privacy, because this is personal.

"I know... You sure you have to pee? Some sticks you have to, you know, stick in. Don't worry, I won't be jealous if that's the case."

He leans in, the words dripping with suggestion. "I can help you stick it in too..."

"There's no door, by the way," he adds. "Doesn't matter if you push me out."

I glance over — sure enough, the door is lying on the ground. My shoulders sag in exasperation as he lingers at the bathroom threshold.

"Adiós, Roman."

I march out of the bathroom and head to the guest room, where I know there's a bathroom with an actual door — one his minx occupied before Mother Nature claimed her.

"Where are you going?" He follows.

I slip inside the guest bathroom and slam the door in his face, grinning wickedly as I blow him a kiss on top.

"All right, I'll wait outside," he grumbles on the other side.

"Not like you have much of a choice," I call back, voice echoing in the bathroom as I scan the instructions, praying I don't have to stick it in and only need to pee on it.

Relief floods me — I just have to pee on the stick and wait five minutes. My hands tremble as I take the test. When it's done, I set the stick on the washbasin's edge and wash my hands.

I wrap a clean towel from the cabinet around me, shivering from both the chill and my own anxiety, pacing back and forth as the minutes crawl by.

A sudden sharp rap at the door jolts me, my breath catching. Tension spikes. At this moment, he's less a lover and more my living, breathing pet peeve.

"Rita? Are you done?"

His words come firm but laced with curiosity, eager for the results. He sounds far more relaxed than I feel, my hands fidgeting uselessly at my sides.

"No, I'm still reading the instructions," I lie, more like stammer as I clutch the stick, my eyes fixed on its tiny window, bracing for a line to appear.

"You're still reading the instructions?" Skepticism drips from his tone.

"Yes!" I snap a sharply toward the door, then exhale heavily and bite my lip.