Page 89 of Sexting His Son's Ex
She giggles, covering her mouth with her hand to muffle her loud bellows.
“I can’t help it. You look so fucking beautiful pregnant. Knowing you’re carrying my child awakens something primal inside me.”
“You better stop.” She fans herself, her cheeks flushing a bright red. “My pregnancy hormones are a rollercoaster and now I want you so bad, I could cry.”
I lick the shell of her ear, watching the judges come closer and lock eyes with me. “After you win, I’ll fuck you in your masterpiece.”
“Santino, you cannot fuck me here,” she hisses. “Absolutely not.”
The judges are only a few feet away now.
“We will see about that.” I get the final word in before the judges stop at our table.
“We would like one last walk through of your exhibit, Ms. Morgan,” A man with small round frames perched at the end of his nose informs us with a bright smile. He holds a clipboard to his chest, the bright lights reflecting off the polished bald head.
“Of course, please. Take your time. Let me know if you have any questions,” she replies, holding out her arm to welcome them into the exhibit.
“Can you please confirm the name of your exhibit, Ms. Morgan?” A woman with dyed black hair that resembles hay, asks, her red lipstick smeared across her front teeth.
Jovie clears her throat and grunts, her hand pressing against her stomach where the baby kicked. “Apologies. She’s active and just kicked me in the ribs. I lost my breath,” she chuckles.
All of the judges’ eyes fall to her belly, grinning like most people do when they are encountered with a pregnancy. It’s a happy occasion and most of the world loves to celebrate it.
“When are you due?” The woman with fried raven hair asks, taking a step closer to my soon-to-be fiancé.
If she dares to touch Jovie’s stomach without her permission, I’m going to put a bullet between her eyes.
“Two more months,” Jovie answers.
“How lovely. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. Whew, I am so sorry about that. I needed a moment.”
“No problem at all, dearie,” an older man with a rotund stomach practically bellows. “Take your time.”
Jovie takes a deep breath. “The name is Salvati’s Enchantment,” she answers. “My goal was to feel at peace, to be surrounded by love and safety. The concept of love and safety seems to be rare in reality, so I wanted to create an exhibit that teleported you to another world where you got to experience peace. Real peace.”
They each give us a nod as they walk by. The woman parts the weeping willow branch curtain, entering the world she created to mimic how she feels with me. There isn’t a better compliment knowing my love for her would look like this in physical form.
The judges whisper to one another inside. A minute passes, then two, then ten, and the judges are still inside the exhibit. Jovie is becoming antsy.
“It’s okay. They are taking their time. That’s good.”
“They didn’t stay this long in the other exhibits.” She chews on her thumbnail; a habit I’ve been trying to get her to break.
I lower her hand from her face. “That’s good. It means they are enjoying it.”
“Or hating it,” she mumbles, groaning again when my daughter kicks her in the ribs.
While I love Jovie being pregnant, I know it hasn’t been easy. I can’t imagine the discomfort.
I roll a padded leather chair I bought for her specially for this even and pat it, signaling for her to sit.
“I can’t sit down,” she scolds me. “That’s not professional.”
“Sit down,” I order with a tone that leaves no room for argument. “She will keep kicking you until you sit. That’s what always happens.”
She blows air out of the side of her mouth, a piece of hair flying out of her face before she reluctantly sits. Once she does, she groans so loud, a judge peeks his head out from the exhibit.
