I’m sitting in the lobby; I can see my husband and another man seated at a table behind the glass, talking. A yellow-lined notebook sits in front of the man, a pen lying diagonally across it. A nice pen. And a large manila envelope next to it.

My stomach is sick. Why did he call me here? I mean, I know why. He must have hired a PI, which means he knows about me and Jax’s affair, and my world is about to implode. I’m struggling to catch my breath. My heart is racing, my palms sweaty. Breathing is hard enough with this giant baby doing somersaults on my lungs.

As I sit here waiting for my fate to unfold at Hebert Derringer Private Detectives' office, I think back on what happened just hours before.

Earlier today started as any other.

“Do you want more coffee,” I asked, suppressing a gag. Thirty-six weeks pregnant, four more to go. Why the fuck do they say nine months? It’s ten. TEN!! Fucking liars.

“I’ll take it to go. What are your plans today,” he asks, through a mouthful of bagel and cream cheese.

I can’t. I stare, lip curled. Eye roll.

“What,” he scoffs.

I take a deep breath, shake it off, and smile. “Lamaze class, aren’t you coming?”

“Fuck, babe, you gotta remind me of this shit,” he spits, shoving the barstool into the kitchen island.

“It’s fine, there’s time. I’m sorry.” I’ll write it bigger on the calendar you walk past a hundred times a day and remind you ten times instead of nine next time, I think, handing him his to-go coffee.

“And don’t roll your eyes at me; you’re always trying to make me feel bad. You know I’ll forget, and still you don't remind me. What the fuck, babe?”

He leans in to kiss me, makes a face, and wipes my mouth.

“For fuck’s sake, El, wash your face. You’ve still got my cum on your mouth.”

He scoffs, gives me a quick peck on the cheek, and grabs his coffee.

Yes, by all means be disgusted; fucking me is off limits, but blow jobs are fine.

“Anyway,” he continues, walking toward the door. “I got this call; apparently there’s something we have to take care of, and I need you to meet me downtown later. I’ll text you the address.”

And with that demand, he walks out the door, slamming it. Unintentionally, it still made me jump.

Later that morning, I park for Lamaze class and start walking across the busy street when my heart stops.

I see him. Jax. Leaning against a lamppost, looking like freedom and a thigh-shaking orgasm. Two things I’ve been denied for months.

I stop dead in the middle of the noisy street. He straightens and starts moving toward me, but I’m frozen; my ears ringing. He’s there in seconds, just as a car horn snaps me out of my fog. He grabs my hand and pulls me out of the street.

“What the fuck, El?”

I stand staring; I haven’t seen him in nearly four months. Not since that day I fell asleep at his place and woke up to 22 missed calls and texts from my husband, the last one saying I’m about to call the police.

So I had to make the call- it was a tough call, but let’s be honest: I’m pregnant, I have a husband. Was it really that tough? Fuck yes, it nearly tore my insides out, but it was the right thing to do. So I broke it off with Jax and fell back into my life.

The thought of how huge I must look to him had hardly formed in my mind before he put his hands on my stomach and crouched down on one knee and kissed my belly. Right there on the sidewalk. Looking up at me with these dewy pools of tar, “Goddamn, El, you look like life itself. Fuck, you're beautiful.” That thick Southern accent settling heavily in my chest.

I swallow hard and look around. “What are you doing here, Jax?”

He stands up and takes my hand. “I’ve seen you here the last few weeks. Alone.”

He nods toward something behind me, and I turn to look. An MMA studio. New. He must have joined. Because of course he did. As if he could get any fucking sexier. I roll my eyes, take a deep breath, and turn back to him.

I shrug, “So you're stalking me, or you want to fight?” I raise my eyebrows.

He holds up his fists and smiles, making me laugh.

Suddenly, it dawns on me. He noticed me coming here, hugely, enormously pregnant, to a fucking Lamaze class. Alone. How pathetic. Without warning, the tears start flowing.

He grabs me and pulls me into a hug, barely managing to get his arms around my enormous belly. I sob for a few more minutes before finally pulling away and using his shirt to wipe my face.

He looks down, peels the saturated fabric away from his chest, and grins.

“I see your hormones are on point.”

I shove him.

“Can I come?” he asks, brushing back a few strands of hair off my face.

“To Lamaze?”

He nods and pulls me against his hips, sending heat between my legs for the first time since I last saw him. My face flushes.

Fuck.

Inside, everyone assumes he was my partner. The last few classes, I was alone, so everyone greeted him as Dad. I’m mortified; he just smiles and winks at me.

More heat.

The instructor tells our partners to get behind us so they can teach us a swaying technique. Jax positions himself behind me and runs his palms over my abdomen and pulls me back against his hips. I feel his stiff erection against me.

“Oh my God… Jax,” I moan loudly. Too loudly, and my head falls back hard against his chest.

Jax laughs and whispers in my ear,   “Shhhh, everyone’s looking.”

I turn around in his arms and look up at him.

“Let them look,” I murmur, rising onto my tiptoes and pressing my open mouth to his. Our tongues immediately fall into that familiar rhythm, and I forget for a moment that we’re standing in the middle of a Lamaze class.

A few giggles break out around us, followed by an enthusiastic, “Get it, girl!” from one of the other moms.

“Want to go back to my place,” Jax mumbles into my lips.

I nod, and within seconds we’re gathering our things and out the door.

He holds my hand as we cross the street, and he leads me to the MMA studio and pushes the front door open. He looks back at me. “It’s mine; I bought it a few months ago. And before you think it, no, I didn't know you were attending class across the street.”

I did think it.

I follow him through the door into the studio, and I'm immediately hit by the smell of sweat, leather, and rubber mats, while the rhythmic smack of fists against punching bags competes with the music blaring overhead. My eyes scan the open room, catching two men tangled together on the mats before a voice barks, “Get off the mat!” I quickly jump back.

He smiles back at me as he leads me to the back and through a door on the back wall, into an office.

Inside, it's industrial and masculine, with concrete walls, a large metal desk, and a black leather swivel chair. A big dry-erase board covers one wall, listing class times and, mixed in on Wednesday, between MMA and jiu-jitsu, says El-Lamaze.

I stand and stare at it as he closes the door and the blinds. He comes up behind me and buries his face in my neck and breathes in deeply.  “God, I've missed you,” he murmurs. I point at the calendar and open my mouth, but he cuts in before I speak.

“El,” he spins me around to face him and lifts my shirt in one quick movement up over my head. “I know you, baby; I could see it in your face, you’re sad and feeling lonely.” He reaches behind me and unfastens my bra. My heavy, engorged breasts spill free. He cups them and immediately brings one, then the other, to his mouth, licking, sucking, and gently grazing his teeth over them.

I can see my milk leaking and covering his lips. He hungrily laps it up as he caresses and plays.

I'm absolutely flooded with need. Jax lowers his attention; his hands glide over my stomach as he trails kisses. I'm backed against the metal desk, and Jax kneels in front of me; he cups his fingers into my waistband and pulls my pants and panties off. I inhale sharply. He nudges me up and helps me onto the desk; he sits on his swivel chair and pulls my legs up onto his shoulders. I'm spread wide, fully exposed.

He smiles up at me, “Lie back, El, let me remind you what a real man can do for his baby girl.” He winks, and with his tongue, he circles my rosebud a few times, drawing deep moans, and then runs it up my labia to my swelling clit.

It’s hard to get comfortable when I’m this big, and I swear I don’t even care if I look like a whale. Whatever insecurities I have about my body seem completely insignificant right now. For the first time in a long time, the pleasure of being wanted outweighs everything else. Pun intended.

Jax leans back, my desire all over his face. He removes his still tear-soaked signature black fitted T-shirt and wipes his face. Then he plunges two fingers into my saturated core, making me nearly come up off the desk.

“Fuck baby,” I moan; my loud squeals and cries are drowned out by the rhythmic thud of fists against punching bags echoing in from the gym.

He does his magic, turning his fingers upward, pushing forward while his thumb and tongue circle my bud. For a second, the pressure makes me feel like I'm going to pee, and the thought unnerves me, but within seconds, before it could take hold, I'm shaking, and a flood of heat gushes uncontrollably all over him, his face, hair, the desk, chair… “Jesus!”

Jax doesn't skip a beat; he stays there, his mouth warm against my skin, softly open-mouthed kissing and licking me all over as I tremble and try to regulate my breathing.

Tears start flowing again. What the fuck, El, I say to myself, trying to wipe them before he sees, without tipping over to my death on this slippery metal desk.

Jax stands, sees me, pushes me back slightly, and moves between my legs.

“What does this make me?” I ask, fighting back a shudder in my chest.

“Human,” Jax replies.

I swallow hard, looking up at him.

“Fuck, El. You've been this constant ache in my chest. I feel like I can finally breathe,” he murmurs against my lips.

He undoes his belt, pants, and pulls himself free. I swallow hard, more silent tears as he slides himself into me. With both hands on either side of my face, he wipes my tears, leans down, and kisses me.

A million thoughts are racing through my mind. I hear my phone buzz in my bag. I ignore it and wrap my hands around Jax’s neck as he pumps harder and faster inside of me. His mouth is everywhere- my lips, my neck, my breasts like he can't get enough of me.

“El, can I cum inside you, baby?” he whispers in my ear.

It’s wrong, fucking him while pregnant with another man’s baby; it’s wrong letting his seed fill me; it’s all wrong, but I don’t care. I want it, I need it, and I practically beg for it as he groans, “Fuuuuuuuck,” loudly and pushes so deep it almost hurts, releasing his hot desire inside me.

Jax settles against me for a long moment, his breathing slowing, our skin pressed together, sweaty and hot.

My phone buzzes again. “You’ve got to get going,” Jax announces matter-of-factly as he stands, pulls out, kisses my forehead, and hands me a hand towel from the shelf.

I narrow my eyes.

“Damn, a pump and dump?! You’re kicking me out?”

He laughs. “No, but you have an appointment.”

I shrug; I didn’t remember telling him. I clean up and get dressed.

We don’t say much afterward; what could we possibly say? He knows I’ve made my decision and accepted it. This was just… whatever this was.

I leave with a peck and a look that says everything we didn’t.

I open my husband's text with the address where I am supposed to meet him and rush to the office. And that’s where I sit now, looking at my husband through the glass office wall. He stands abruptly, shoving the envelope across the table, scattering documents. He walks out into the waiting room; I stand, but he storms right past me. I look from him to the man in the office and back to him walking down the street.

The man calls me into the office; my mind is reeling, heart racing as he introduces himself. He gathers up the documents and places them in front of me. I stare at photographs. My husband with some blonde. In precarious positions and various places. Kissing, walking into hotels, holding hands.

What the fuck?

"Who hired you?" I ask.

The investigator looks at me for a moment. “Jackson."

My phone buzzes. You deserve to know the truth, El. What you do with it is up to you, baby.

I stare at the message, tears filling my eyes. This fucking man. Jax.

Great. Now I know we both cheated. We both made choices we can’t take back. And guess what? Knowing doesn’t change a fucking thing.

What sucks about being buried under expectations and promises we’ve made is knowing exactly what your heart wants. What it needs. Because once you know what it feels like to breathe, going back to suffocating feels like a fucking choice.

And in just a few weeks, a baby is coming into this world who didn’t ask for any of this. So it doesn’t matter anyway.

I know what I want to do.

I know what I have to do.