Mr. President You Are The Daddy Of My Triplets novel Chapter 142

Chapter 142: 142- When Rafael Sinclair Makes Love

"Maybe you can show me how to love... oh ooo..." she started singing as soon as she got down from the car.

"Marissa, wait!" she didn’t even give him a chance to open the door for her.

"I can open my Goddamn door. Hehe..." she twirled and then tried to shake her ass, "Maybe you can show me how to love, maybe... I’m going through with drawls... maybe you can show me..."

She stumbled a little and was about to fall when two strong arms were at once around her waist.

"Dear, old Rafael. Always on time. Like a superhero!" she was so loud that Rafael was sure the neighborhood could hear her announcement.

"Give me your purse, honey," he spread his palm in front of her eyes. Marissa who was leaning into his hard body scrunched her nose.

"My purse? No! Go get your own money. Haha. It’s mine," she was in stitches.

"Marissa!" Rafael rolled his eyes, "I need the door keys. Now come on, sweetie."

"Sweetie! Did you call me sweetie? Nobody ever called me sweetie, Rafael!" her eyes welled up.

She wanted to cry but then stopped and frowned to herself, "I think I’m forgetting something."

"Forgetting what?" he demanded.

"I don’t remember what I’m forgetting, silly. Ha-ha."

Gritting his teeth, Rafael tried to take her purse, but she pulled it away, tightening her grip, "No. It’s useless for you anyway. It’s a lady’s purse. Or are you planning to present it to your dear wife? Ha-ha." Again, she found it funny.

Rafael managed to get hold of her purse and started fishing for the keys.

"Tell me, Rafael," her voice was barely above a whisper, "Will you give my purse to her? To Valerie?"

"And why would I do that?" he was having problem with the contents inside it. Everything could be seen there except the damn pair of keys.

"Because you love your wife. Right?"

"Dammit, Marissa. She isn’t my wife," out of frustration he flipped her purse and emptied the contents on the concrete trail outside the entrance door.

There it was.

He looked over his shoulder where the suited men were standing, "Place everything back in there."

He leaned over to scoop her up in his arms and started walking to the door.

"You are asking him to place everything back," she made a pout, "Flash news, Rafael. Not everything could be placed back now."

He quietly opened the door and got inside.

"Put me down," she stifled her nose, "I still don’t remember what I’m forgetting." She made a pout, "I want to cry," she then glared at him, "I said put me down!"

"Not here," he managed to switch on the lights and walked to her room.

"So, what was I saying?" she thought hard.

"To put you down," he tried to twist the handle of the door.

"Nah! Before that,"

"Not everything could be placed back," he reminded her and then placed her gently on the bed.

"Yeah. Not everything can be placed back... and you can’t place me back. And no one can’t place me back too."

She was chattering like a toddler not realizing about the sentence formation or the grammar.