ILLICIT DESIRES | 18 +

38: Run, Rita, Run

RITA

We arrive at the Residence of the ID Man.

He eases the car to a halt in front of an apartment building, his hands resting idly on the wheel before he turns toward me. 

His gaze is steady, but tender.

"Wait here for me. I won't be long — ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and I'll be back." He leans in and presses a kiss to my head as I nod. "If anything troubles you, just punch the wheel and honk."

"All right," I murmur, savoring the warmth of his lips on my temple.

He steps out, the door clicking shut and locking behind him. I let out a small sigh, aware the lock is meant to shelter me, not cage me.

He knows I don't run. Not from him. Because he doesn't imprison me — he exhilarates me. With him, I feel like I could take off. I wish I could remain his little flower forever. 

But what I want hardly matters.

So I do what I have to do: I suppress my desires and bury them deep inside. He's already risked too much. The least I can do is not suddenly tear through his life like a storm, after he lets me go. 

The sharp click of the door jolts me from my thoughts. He slides back into the driver's seat, a small booklet in his grasp. Without a word, he hands it to me — almost tosses it into my lap.

"I got it."

I take the passport, my fingers brushing the forged cover before flipping it open. My eyes fall on the name inside. Clever.

Atira Thompson.

I lift a brow. "Atira Thompson?"

He smirks. "Do you like it?"

"Now I'm truly glad I'm not carrying your seed — your eccentric taste in choosing names is as deplorable as your poor, recycled, fickle woman, or slut."

"My brother incriminated her," he mutters, steering through the quiet streets. "And the name — it was a spur-of-the-moment thing."

"Thank you." I exhale, assuming we're heading home — or so I think — until he suddenly pulls into a parking lot and stops in front of a drugstore. "What are we doing here?"

"I might have to pick a baby name," he says, his gaze cutting through me. "Because it's unlikely you're not pregnant, since the first one I got was broken, and I came in your tight pussy. Remember?"

"Yeah." I nod, quickly looking away.

He steps out of the car, shuts the door, and heads toward the drugstore. 

A second later, the lock clicks.

"You puzzle me," I whisper, biting my lip.

Through the glass of the shop window, I watch him. First, he suggests erasing his seed, if there is one growing inside me; the next, he's already thinking up baby names.

"Got them," he announces, slipping back in and tossing a stack of pregnancy tests onto my lap, leaving me speechless.

"Why on earth did you buy so many? I'm not sure I'll have enough pee..." 

One, two, three — twenty!

And then he complains about me wasting money on plants.

"My boss's wife always said you should buy several, just to be sure — whenever she thought she might be pregnant or her period was late." 

He tilts his head toward me, his eyes narrowing. "Is your period late, Rita?"

"No," I lie, my body tense. "It's due next week."