Chapter 17: The Celebration Begins
The clinic doors sighed shut behind them, sealing off the sterile world of numbers and certainty. On the sidewalk, the ordinary air felt charged, each breath tasting of damp pavement and possibility. Jenny stopped, tilting her face to the grey sky, letting the fine mist cool her skin.
Catriona dug her keys from her purse. “My car’s just there. Aidan’s at home. I texted him we were on our way but didn’t say why.” She glanced at Jenny. “Still want to?”
Jenny nodded, mute. The weight in her abdomen felt more real now, a tiny, anchored secret. She slid into the passenger seat of Catriona’s sensible sedan, the familiar scent of lemon cleaner and old coffee grounding her. The drive was quiet, punctuated only by the swish of wipers and Catriona’s occasional, soft commentary on the traffic.
When they pulled up to Jenny’s small, terraced house, Aidan’s pickup was already parked out front. He was leaning against the hood, arms crossed, wearing a faded flannel over a t-shirt. He pushed off as they approached, his green eyes scanning them, reading the tectonic shift in their posture.
“Well?” he asked, his voice gravelly with a tension he hadn’t allowed himself to show before.
Catriona beamed, a radiant, unstoppable thing. “Eighty-five.”
Aidan’s breath left him in a rush. He looked at Jenny, and for a moment, the rugged planes of his face softened into something awestruck. “Yeah?” he managed.
“Yeah,” Jenny whispered, a fresh wave of tears prickling her eyes. “It’s really… it’s in there.”
He didn’t hug her. The space between them was too charged, too new. But he reached out and squeezed her shoulder, his grip firm and warm. “Good,” he said, echoing Catriona’s word from the clinic with a depth of feeling that made Jenny’s knees weak. “That’s… good.”
They filed into the house, the clutter of Jenny’s life—throw pillows, stacked books, a discarded cardigan—suddenly looking like artifacts from a past era. The lavender scent in the bedroom was stronger here, mingled with the faint, metallic tinge of her loneliness.
Catriona kicked off her shoes. “I’ll put the kettle on. Or something stronger. Jenny?”
“Tea,” Jenny said automatically, hovering in the doorway of her bedroom. Aidan lingered in the hall, a large, quiet presence.
Catriona disappeared toward the kitchen. The house settled into a thick silence. Jenny walked into her bedroom, her sanctuary that no longer felt entirely her own. She trailed her fingers over the faded roses on the wallpaper.
“How do you feel?” Aidan asked from the doorway.
She turned. He was leaning against the frame, watching her with that astronomer’s focus, as if she were a distant, fascinating star. “Terrified.Elated. Strange.” She hugged herself. “My body feels different. Already. Softer. More… porous.”
He nodded slowly. “Cat said you wanted to tell me together.”
“I needed to see your face when you knew.” She swallowed. “Thank you. It’s not a big enough word. It’s a pathetic word. But thank you.”
Aidan pushed off the doorframe and took a single step into the room. “You don’t have to thank me. It was….” He shook his head, searching for his own words. “It was a privilege.”
From the kitchen, the whistle of the kettle screamed, then was abruptly silenced. Normal sounds in an abyss.
Jenny’s mind raced, skittering away from the monumental to the brutally, absurdly physical. The deep, pleasant ache between her legs. The memory of his staggering size stretching her, filling her so completely she’d seen stars. The vivid, shameful contrast to Mark’s gentle, inadequate ministrations. A hot, reckless current surged through her, fueled by hormones and liberation and sheer, wild gratitude.
When Catriona appeared with three mugs steaming on a tray, setting it down on the cluttered dresser, Jenny blurted it out.
“I want to know how many.” Her voice was too loud in the hushed room.
Catriona paused, her hand still on the tray. “How many what, love?”
Jenny’s face flamed, but she held Aidan’s gaze. “How many times. How many loads. This pregnant pussy can take in one night. I want to find the limit.”
The air in the room crystallized. Catriona’s breath hitched, a soft, sharp sound. Her eyes, fixed on Jenny, darkened, pupils swallowing hazel. Aidan went utterly still, but Jenny saw the instant, brutal response strain against the denim of his jeans.
“Jenny,” Catriona said, her voice a low thrum. “The doctor said—”
“The doctor said celebrate,” Jenny interrupted, the recklessness hardening into a kind of calm. “This is how I want to celebrate. With the two people who made it happen. I want to feel it. I want to be sure.”
Catriona looked at Aidan. A silent, electric communication passed between them—a question, an assent. Aidan gave a barely perceptible nod, his jaw tight.
“Okay,” Catriona whispered. Then, louder, “Okay.”
She moved first, crossing to Jenny. Her fingers were deft, unbuttoning Jenny’s blouse with a practical tenderness that made Jenny shiver. Aidan closed the bedroom door softly, then came to stand before her as Catriona undressed her. He shrugged out of his flannel, pulled his t-shirt over his head. His chest was broad, sprinkled with dark hair, his shoulders powerful. Jenny’s mouth watered.
When she was bare, Catriona led her to the bed, the heavy curtains of the four-poster casting them in intimate shadow. Jenny lay back on the cool, rumpled sheets. Aidan stood at the foot of the bed, unbuckling his belt, the rasp of the leather loud. He freed himself, and Jenny’s breath caught. Even semi-hard, he was immense. The memory of taking him, the blinding fullness, made her core clench with visceral need.
Catriona settled into the worn armchair in the corner, curled up like a spectator in a private theatre. Her hand slipped under the waistband of her leggings, her eyes never leaving the bed.
“Tell me when,” Aidan said, his voice rough. He climbed onto the bed, kneeling between her splayed thighs.
“Now,” Jenny breathed. “Always now.”
He didn’t rush. He was methodical, as he had been the first time. He touched her first, calloused fingers skimming her belly, pausing over the subtle, imagined swell. He parted her folds, finding her slick and ready. Her sensitivity was amplified; every brush of his thumb was a lightning strike. When he guided himself to her entrance, the broad, blunt head a familiar pressure, she whimpered.
He pushed in slowly, a relentless, stretching invasion that made her eyes roll back. “God, yes,” she gasped, her back arching. It was even more intense than before. Her body, changing already, welcomed him with a desperate, gripping hunger. He filled her utterly, a completion so profound it felt like a fundamental truth.
He set a deep, rolling rhythm, each thrust a deliberate claiming. Jenny clutched at the sheets, then at his arms, her cries muffled by the bed curtains. She watched Catriona watch her, saw the feverish flush on her friend’s cheeks, the quickening movement of her hand beneath her clothes. The voyeuristic heat in Catriona’s gaze poured gasoline on her own arousal.
Aidan’s control was a live wire. His thrusts grew harder, faster, driven by a raw edge that hadn’t been there the first time. This was possession, pure and simple. Jenny met him, rise for rise, taking everything he gave. The coil in her belly tightened, spiraling toward a peak that felt seismic.
“I’m gonna come,” he grunted, the words torn from him.
“Do it,” Jenny begged. “Fill it up.”
He drove home, buried to the hilt, and held. A hot, pulsing flood erupted inside her, wave after wave, a claiming that went bone-deep. Jenny shattered around him, her climax a silent, white-hot rupture that left her trembling.
He collapsed atop her for a moment, his weight a sweet anchor, before rolling to the side. Jenny felt the immediate, hot trickle between her thighs. One.
They didn’t speak. Aidan’s breathing steadied. Catriona’s soft, wet sounds from the chair were the only noise. After a few minutes, Aidan’s hand slid back over Jenny’s stomach, down through the mess. He was hard again, impossibly, testament to a stamina that was as much mental as physical.
“Again,” Jenny murmured, turning onto her side, drawing her knee up.
He took her from behind, his arm banded around her waist, holding her close. This time was harder, more urgent. The slapping of skin, the wet sounds of their joining, filled the room. Jenny reached back, clawing at his hip, urging him deeper. Another boiling flood. Another trembling collapse. Two.
Time lost meaning. The bedside lamp cast their moving shadows on the wallpaper, a silent, erotic dance. Aidan took her on her knees, her face pressed into the pillow. He took her with her legs hooked over his shoulders, his mouth devouring her cries. Each time, he emptied himself into her with a growling intensity, and each time, Jenny’s body greedily accepted it, the overflow leaking onto the sheets beneath them.
She lost count. Her world narrowed to the stretch and burn, the flooding heat, the approving glow from Catriona’s corner. At some point, Catriona undressed, joining them on the bed, not to participate but to be closer. She kissed Jenny’s sweaty temple, her fingers intertwining with Jenny’s as Aidan moved in her.
The ache was profound, a delicious, used fullness. Jenny’s mind floated, untethered. She thought of Mark, his kind, eager face, his slight, careful body. The comparison was obscene and exhilarating. This was what her body had always wanted—this brutal, beautiful saturation. She was made for this.
Aidan’s pace faltered. He was slick with sweat, his muscles quivering with effort. He was pushing himself, for her, for Catriona, for the life they’d made. With a final, massive thrust, he stilled, his release a weaker pulse that felt more like a sigh. He slid out, collapsing beside her, spent.
Jenny lay on her back, utterly wrecked. The sensations were a riot: throbbing tenderness, the cool air on her wet skin, the multiple, distinct trickles escaping her. She was a vessel, brimming.
Catriona rose on unsteady legs and fetched a warm, damp cloth from the bathroom. She cleaned Jenny with a gentle, ritualistic care, wiping her thighs, her belly. Then she tended to Aidan, wiping his brow, his softened cock.
No one asked for a number. It didn’t matter.
Aidan pulled Jenny against his chest, her back to his front, his big hand splayed over her lower abdomen. Catriona curled behind Jenny, spooning her, her breath warm on Jenny’s neck. They lay there in a tangle of limbs and spent desire, the only light the crack from the lamp.
Jenny placed her hand over Aidan’s. Deep within, something was knitting together. Cells dividing. A future forming.
“I don’t think there is a limit,” she whispered into the dark.
Aidan’s arms tightened around her. Catriona pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
Outside, a car passed, its headlights sweeping across the ceiling and then gone. The house settled around them, holding its breath.