The President's Wife

Chapter 162: The bad breakfast

The sound of Pram's cell phone rings repeatedly, distracting his pleasure and Kailla who is about to reach her peak.

“Honey, the voice of your phone is noisy,” protests Kailla, still trying to enjoy but the voice of the phone really disturbs its concentration.

“Who is so ignorant,” grumbled Pram, also disturbed when he saw his wife had divided his attention.

Pram's eyes widened, seeing his mother's name appear on the screen. Angrily gathering, the man received a call while racing with his wife.

“Iya Ma,” sahut Pram, with a stinged breath. After turning on the speaker and putting the expensive device on the bed.

“What time is it? I especially invite you to enjoy my handmade breakfast directly. It's almost ten, let alone people, the shadow is not visible,” Mother Citra's nagging. His voice sounded so loud, disturbing the pleasure of a couple who were still reluctant to stop.

“Mana Kailla?” ask Ms. Citra from across.

Hening—

There was no sound from Pram or Kailla. Only faint tippak unification flowed regularly. Pram had to bite his lips, holding back his delicious voice not coming out. While Kailla closed her mouth, holding her sigh so as not to be heard.

“Pram!” Ibu Citra shouted, a thunderous voice came back out from Pram's smart phone. Instantly meyedot the two people who were drifting into the clouds back on the ground.

“I-iya ... Ma,” Pram's voice stamped, restraining his desire. Forced to stop driving.

“Where is your wife?” asked Ibu Citra, innocently.

Hearing her name called the second time, Kailla opened her mouth.

“I'm here Ma. What's up?” kailla asked, closing her eyes, still enjoying her husband.

“You talk to Mama, I'll end it. Already so far, if you have to repeat again, just waste time.” Pram whispered softly in his wife's ear.

Kailla with her surprised expression looked at Pram with her madness. Even at times like this, her husband is not willing to stop. Not yet had time to protest, Pram had started jerking back the core of his body, as if he did not care about the noisy voice of his mother. The mature man chose to pay attention to his hearing.

“Kai, what time are you up?” ask Mother Citra.

“This ... already ... want to arrive, Ma.” Pram answered the origin, hoping his mother would finish. Stammering with the breath at the end of the body. Scandalous.

Kailla bit her lips, her hands squeezed her husband's naked back, stuck her taper nails in Pram's smooth skin. Sensation towards the climax that he would reach together.

Making pregnant women crazy, speechless. As the pounding for the blinding beat down there. It destroys consciousness that is almost at the end of the line. Kailla's common sense has wandered, yawned somewhere.

“Pram, don't get too la ..” Mother Citra's voice came back after a few minutes of restraint. However, the elderly woman's sentence stopped when she heard Kailla's voice that sounded strange, mixed with spoiled sighs calling the son's only friend.

“Ah .... Darling ...” said Kailla sighed violently while holding Pram tightly, at the top of her pleasure.

No longer care about her mother-in-law. She was almost crazy because the act of the husband that made her soar at this time, left behind a disjointed breath with a happy face implies ultimate satisfaction.

And Pram followed, moaning at the end of his hard work in the last few minutes. Forgetting the mama who eavesdropped at the end of the call.

“I love you guys, Honey,” said Pram slowly, peeling his wife's forehead after rearranging her breath. The kiss on the forehead turned to Kaila's naked stomach, where the babies were fast asleep.

“We also love you,” said Kailla, with breath up and down that he had not had time to appease.

Ibu Citra who still eavesdrop, can only stroke the chest. The strange sounds he had heard just now were enough to answer what had happened to the child and his daughter-in-law. I don't know who's crazy and doesn't know who's here. The woman chose to give in, turning off her cell phone connection secretly in her case.

***

Kailla and Pram arrive at their mother's house at noon. The breakfast invitation was missed and Pram knew in a moment that he would hear the shrill screams of Mother Citra as they stepped into the house.

“Ma ..” Pram said hello, followed by Kailla who tailed behind by carrying a food box containing her own handmade vegetable bakwan.

“Main how many rounds until the clock as soon as new until?” mother Citra asked ketus, her hands folded on her chest with a sharp look.

Both swallowed saliva at the same time. Kailla was embarrassed and bowed, as the secret of her bed was discussed by her mother-in-law. In contrast to Pram's response, the man looked relaxed.

“Don't your youth be more amazing!” continued Pram. This time it can make Mother Citra resist embarrassment.

The man had already walked towards the dining room, staring at the dining table that was already full of food.

“Mama cook by yourself? Or ...”

“Mama cook alone, Mas.” Kinar cut the word. The girl just made Pram's favorite black coffee.

“This is the coffee,” said Kinar put a cup of coffee on the table.

“Thanks.”

Kailla who followed until aghast stared at the full meal. I can't believe it's all the mother-in-law's cooking.

“For what cook this much, Ma?” pram asked in surprise, frowning.

“Mama would like to ask to buy a bag like Kailla,” said Ms. Citra, suddenly already standing behind her son and daughter-in-law.

“Yes, Ma. If only ask to buy a bag, no need to bother cooking,” said Pram. The 44-year-old man had pulled out a chair for his wife and invited Kailla to enjoy a meal on the table. Then, he himself followed sitting next to.

Ibu Citra glared, not believing what she heard.

“I gave Kailla that gift to appreciate her intention to learn and begin to understand her main duties as a wife,” explained Pram, taking an empty plate.

Just about to fill it with white rice, but Kailla has already taken over. Filling her husband's plate.

“Also do not be judged the price is fantastic for a bowl of clear vegetables and omelet. I gave her a gift she liked. If my wife likes marbles, of course I will give her a marble,” continued Pram chuckled.

“So?” ask Mother Citra.

“Tas what mom wants? Why collect so many bags. Isn't mama's bag already much?” ask Pram.

“Take it with Kailla, whichever you want. My wife won't mind. Isn't that right, honey?” tanya Pram.

Kailla nodded, putting a plate full of food in front of Pram.

“Thank you, dear,” said Pram, grabbing the nape of his wife who was so obedient and presenting a warm kiss on the forehead.

Mother Citra had already dropped her body on the chair right in front of the son and was staring at the two people in front of him. And Pram, the man stared fixedly at his mother.

“Kailla is indeed the daughter of Riadi, a property entrepreneur with a wealth that can not be spelled out a little. My wife since childhood lived a life of treasure, but I admit to the size of a rich man's daughter, Kailla is still fairly mediocre.” Pram opens the sound. Di felt the need to explain so that his mother did not misunderstand and thought Kailla had only spent the money.

Kaila eats like a commoner, she lives like a commoner. He's still eating meatballs. He hangs out with ordinary people. Even he rarely ate at fancy restaurants, never traveled abroad. The only thing that makes him look classy just because his hobby is collecting luxury bags,” explained Pram.

“That's not for the styles either, but because she does like it. Just kept in the closet. What's wrong, I as a husband make my wife happy. As long as he was with me, he didn't ask for anything, didn't demand anything. Even he once cared about all his assets.”

Pram finished his talk, smilingly looking at his wife. “Spend your food, Honey. Our children need a lot of intake in there,” said Pram smiled.

Ibu Citra could only gawk while digesting Pram's words. Unable to speak anymore, choosing silence.

The busyness at the next dining table is only filled with the sound of clinking spoons and forks that collide with ceramic plates. Suddenly the ringing of the cell phone broke the silence.

Pram's eyebrows met, narrowing his gaze. Make sure the call number is on the phone screen before placing the thin square object in his ear.

“Iya, good afternoon,” greet Pram with his flat voice, focus on listening to the information conveyed by the caller from across.

A second later, Pram's gaze froze staring at his wife. The calm countenance turned pale, directly hugging his ignorant wife.

***

TB