Brian

Olivia passed away in a car accident six months ago. I was in New York at that time for a meeting to attend with Robbie. I was there for a week. During that one-week separation, we remained connected through calls and texts. We even had phone sex the morning of her death.

I cracked the deal; it was a significant one for the company and mostly for my masculine ego. We had a modest dinner with the clients after that; I went to Tiffany and Co., yes, to purchase a ring for Olivia.

I had no clue what came to me that night. It just felt right. After all, she was with me all the time, she never complained, smiled every time, even the two times I brought her home for Sunday dinner. She was so friendly with everyone. So I thought the next step of marriage between us made sense, maybe.

I chose a cushion-cut sapphire with small diamonds all around it for her, an emerald, and a sparkling ring. She once disclosed her love for the material, so I figured out why not give her something that she would cherish.

I was at the airport, waiting for my flight that got suspended because of turbulence. I tried to call Olivia, but her phone was switched off. I texted her, but no reply came. I knew she was supposed to be with Samantha and her girl group. Maybe her phone died, that happened with Olivia a lot. She used to forget to charge her phone.

I was at the lounge of the airport with Robbie, watching football and passing jokes when my brother Owen called me. Owen calling didn’t feel weird, but when he didn’t speak for a few minutes, that felt creepy.

“Olivia is at the hospital. She was in an accident. Hit and run. A truck driver hit her car and ran away.” He hesitated for a second. “The car was wrecked when the medic reached there, and Olivia was gone. According to the doctors, Olivia died on the spot. The police identified the truck driver but said Olivia was driving carelessly. Also, because of the rain, the highway was slippery. He couldn’t see the car coming. They found liquor in her blood, police confirm that drunk driving causes the accident. The driver was free to go as the police looked at the CCTV footage of the accident. They think the driver has no-fault.” Owen stopped for seconds again. I heard him taking a big breath as if he was bracing to inform me of the worst.

“Olivia was four weeks pregnant. The baby and Olivia are no more. I am sorry, Brian.”

My gaze was on the 60-inch TV of the airport lobby. Italy scored a goal, all the players were celebrated by group hugging. They were ecstatic. A massive grin on all of their faces while I was distant. At that moment, I felt someone spilled a bucket of ice water all over my torso.

Then there was pain, a harsh, sharp pain. I couldn’t locate the place, but the pain was so much that I almost hated myself for feeling that.

She was dead. Olivia was gone. I touched the ring box that was in my pants pocket. This was supposed to be in her hand, but she was gone. Olivia is no more.

Then the second wave came in. A child, four weeks of pregnancy. That was the time nausea hit me fast and hard. It’s impossible that she got pregnant with a child. We never used condoms or any kind of protection. She took pills, and I knew she was on them. But having a child is out of the question, at least for me. So, the answer was obvious: she cheated on me with another man.

No way in the world can explain that I am the father of that child. Impossible.

I went to my doctor immediately on my return to Chicago; I tested all the things they told me. If the results came positive, then I would be the father. Somewhere in my heart, I wanted that to be true. My brain already labeled Olivia as a cheat, but my heart wanted that to be wrong.

I felt hopeful, damn I wanted to feel that. Maybe I wanted to be a father, a child of my own would be a great idea, so I hoped. But truth and reality are way different from our so-called hope. I knew that after hearing from my doctors.

The result was as clear as day and night. There is only a 2% chance of me becoming a father.

The verdict was clear, and Olivia was the traitor.

“Was she pregnant with your child?” Inessa covers her mouth in horror.

“What? No, that little limp on her belly wasn’t mine.” I snap.

“What?”

She is confused, comprehensible. I was out of my fucking mind when I found out the truth, so I don’t blame Inessa for her bewilderment. Wish I could find the father of her child or the man with whom she cheated. I swear I would bury that bastard with her in the same grave. The only difference will be she was dead, and he was alive.

Isn’t it lovely? Two eternal lovers lying on the same ground together, what a match made in heaven that would be.

I tried to find him, but I didn’t know where to start, whom to talk to, where to find him. I manhunt her apartment to find a small piece of information or anything that would help me track down the man; however, nothing came out. I failed. After a week of rummaging through her apartment, I gave up.

I didn’t even attend her funeral; I didn’t think she deserved that respect from me. People thought I was so much in grief that I couldn’t see her going. Hell, my own family still fancy this idea.

They all are wrong as usual. I hate her so much that even her entombment made me vomit.

I left her all alone, that’s way better than how she left me, broken, shattered, wrecked, in darkness, losing trust in the female gender once again. History repeats once again, pure déjà vu.

“How do you know the baby was not yours?” Inessa starts arguing with me. “You two were sexually active, so there is a possibility you made her pregnant.” She keeps going with her useless theory, defending my treacherous dead girlfriend. I wonder how well she will react when I reveal the truth.

“I just know, my dear wife.” This stops her.

We both sit in silence for a few heartbeats. She is furious, I can see the fire in her eyes. She is ready to jump from the other side of the table to kill me with her outrage the next chance she gets.

I think of revealing the truth, but what’s the point? It’s not like that will do any good now, so I stay quiet and try to enjoy the food on my plate. They are good, by the way.

The rest of the dinner goes by, food comes, we eat, then another course, then another.

We eat, no talk. I can feel the accusation in her eyes, she is talking to herself in her mind, cursing me for what I believe or did to Olivia. A few times, I find her staring at me, but I keep my mouth shut. No point fighting with her about something that I knew. Only if she knew the truth.

We come back to our room and Inessa shields herself in her favorite place, the bathroom. I don’t know she has some kind of fetish, kink, or she is really inside there to fresh herself.

I stand in front of the balcony, checking the email that Linda was supposed to send me for reviewing the contract we are going to sign with a Chinese company.

I was in the middle of work when Inessa comes out of the bathroom in a white see-through nightgown. The garment is flimsy. I can see her black thong and pale pink nipples. In a sense, she is naked in front of me, this dress is made to kill the male nation without using any hint. Inessa wears this as an act of revenge on me.

If this is the punishment of avoiding her all day, then, baby, I am glad to take it.

“Come here.” My voice is harsh, sharp as a knife, cold as ice.

Inessa stares at me. We both are communicating through our eyes. Where we are talking, arguing, I see the hesitation in her eyes, the twitch of her lips, the strain on her face, the desire and lust. She slowly comes to me.

Under the starry night, she takes my waiting hands, and I lead her to the middle of the balcony. I want to have her here under the starry sky, with the witness of the little stars in the sky. The darkness of the night adds miscue to our situation. I don’t care or mind; I am happy to have her here or anywhere as long as she doesn’t object.

With a swift snapping, her dress fell to the ground, her breathing becomes rough. I can hear the sound getting lousy with my every touch. What will she do if I reveal my actual intention to her? I am sure that will freak her out.

All the fantasies that I am having the time I am away from her will scare her. So I keep my mouth shut and my hand at work on her elegant naked body.

Tonight I don’t go for foreplay. I don’t know if I will last that long if I choose to go that way. I toss her into the air; her legs come around my waist and she locks them just near my butt. I pin her on the wall and kiss her senselessly; I don’t care about anything else, just her and me, the kiss and the stars.

Inessa responds to my kisses with kisses, she tugs me by pulling my hair with her soft small hand, her hands are messaging them roughly, her body is shaking with needs, and, dude, I am loving this moment.

I free my cock from my brief, it’s hard and motionless as a rod. I need to have this thing inside her wet pussy, otherwise, it will kill me, tear apart the lace thong she was wearing her dress, Inessa moans, and with a quick thrust, my cock is inside her.

“Brian.” She cries out.

I wait for a second, kissing her temples, giving her time, then I move, fucking slowly for a minute before thrusting as hard as I can, as fast my body allows.

“You are so beautiful, baby.” I push myself more inside her. “Every time you are in the room, I lose all my control.” I kiss her beautiful, swollen lips. “All I think about is your pussy and me being inside your lovely pink hole.” I shovel my entire length into her tight opening. This makes Inessa scream.

“Shh. It’s fine.” Stop my activities for a few seconds. I kiss her nose and start moving again.

Between the kisses and rough thrust, we both have our orgasm. The climax hits us like lightning, strikes the right place without the notifications, and I spill my hot seeds inside her.

Inessa comes undone, she falls over my chest like a paper doll; I hold her tightly in my embrace and take her to the bed. Our body is clinging to one another, the sweat makes it worse; however, neither of us mind that.

Inessa keeps her head on my chest, her breathing becomes even, and I realize she is falling into the land of dreams.

I stay awake a little bit more; I listen to the rhythm of her breathing, feel the touch of her hand that is placed on my sternal, listen to the music that she is making by inhaling oxygen, and slowly drift to sleep with peace in my heart.