Chapter 18: The Unexpected Call
The grey light of morning seeped around the edges of the heavy curtains. Jenny woke sandwiched between their warmth, a deep, pleasant soreness humming through her lower body. Aidan’s arm was a heavy weight across her ribs, his breathing even against her hair. Catriona’s soft snores came from behind.
For a moment, it was perfect. A cocoon of skin and breath and spent passion.
Then her bladder, insistently full, made itself known. She stirred, trying to slip free without waking them. Aidan’s arm tightened instinctively, then relaxed as he came awake. He grunted, a low, sleep-rough sound, and let her go.
The floorboards were cool under her feet. In the bathroom, the fluorescent light was cruel. She saw the faint shadows under her eyes, the love-bite purpling on her collarbone. When she sat on the toilet, a thick, whitish trickle escaped her, followed by another. The evidence of the night, of his multiple claims, was undeniable. She felt a flush that was part shame, part fierce pride.
She cleaned up, splashed water on her face, and pulled on Aidan’s discarded flannel shirt. It smelled like him—soap, cedar, male sweat.
In the kitchen, she filled the kettle. The silent house felt different. Charged, but also settled. The clinical anxiety of the last few years had evaporated, replaced by this raw, physical aftermath. She was carrying a child. She had been thoroughly, repeatedly fucked by the child’s father. The two facts were intertwined, one rational, the other profoundly not.
She heard soft footsteps. Catriona entered, wearing only her panties and a soft smile. She went straight to Jenny, wrapped her in a hug without a word, and then began pulling ingredients from the cupboard. Flour, yeast, salt.
“I’m making bread,” she announced, as if that explained everything.
“It’s seven in the morning,” Jenny said, leaning against the counter.
“Exactly. Something normal. Something with yeast that rises predictably.” Catriona’s hands were already dusted white. She moved around Jenny’s small kitchen with a proprietary ease.
Aidan appeared in the doorway, wearing his jeans, his chest and feet bare. He looked from one woman to the other, a question in his tired eyes.
“Bread,” Jenny offered.
He nodded, as if this made perfect sense, and went to fill the kettle she’d already filled. Their hands brushed. A static jolt passed between them.
They existed in a quiet, suspended state. Catriona kneaded dough on the flour-dusted countertop. Aidan made tea, finding mugs without asking where they were. Jenny watched them inhabit her space, and it felt less like an intrusion and more like a graft—something new taking root.
The sun climbed, burning off the mist, casting long, golden rectangles across the floor. The scent of yeast and toasting wheat began to fill the kitchen, layering over the lingering scent of sex and lavender from the bedroom.
Jenny’s phone, charging on the windowsill, buzzed.
The sound was like a pin dropping in a silent room. All three of them froze.
It buzzed again, skittering on the wood. The screen lit up. MARK.
Catriona’s hands stilled in the dough. Aidan set his mug down carefully.
Jenny’s mouth went dry. She wiped her hands on the oversized flannel and picked up the phone. Her thumb hovered. “I have to answer. He’ll worry.”
“Of course,” Catriona said softly, but her eyes were wide.
Jenny swiped to answer, turning slightly away. “Hey, you.”
“Jen! Hey. Just wanted to check in before my first meeting. How are you feeling?” Mark’s voice was bright, concerned. A voice from another world.
“I’m okay,” she said, forcing lightness. She felt Aidan’s gaze on her back. A fresh, hot trickle escaped her, a visceral reminder of his presence inside her just hours ago. She clenched subtly, feeling the ache. “Just a bit tired. Didn’t sleep great.”
“Your body’s probably just adjusting. It’s a big deal.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I wish I was there. I’ll be home by six. We’ll order in, yeah? Celebrate properly.”
“Yeah,” Jenny breathed. Her eyes locked with Aidan’s across the room. He was leaning against the sink, motionless, his green eyes unreadable. “That sounds good.”
“Love you, Jen.”
“You too.” She ended the call. The silence she put down was ten times heavier than the one she’d interrupted.
She placed the phone back on the sill, screen down.
“He’s coming home at six,” she said to the window.
Catriona exhaled slowly. “Okay. We’ll be long gone by then.” She resumed kneading, but the rhythm was sharper now. “We have to be more careful. This… us being here together in the morning… it’s a risk.”
Jenny turned around. The flannel shirt gaped open, revealing the bruise on her chest. She saw Aidan’s eyes drop to it, then snap back to her face.
The careful bubble was popping. Reality was Mark’s key in the lock at six, his gentle touch, his narrow bed. The thought of it—of him touching her where she was still stretched and tender and full of another man—made something rebel violently inside her.
“I know,” Jenny said. Her voice was quiet but clear. “But he’s not here now.”
Catriona paused. “What do you mean?”
Jenny’s heart hammered against her ribs. She looked directly at Aidan. “I want you to breed me one last time. Before he comes home. While I can still feel it all day. While I can sit across from him at dinner and remember what’s inside me.”
Aidan didn’t move, but a muscle ticked in his jaw. His gaze flicked to Catriona, a silent query.
Catriona’s lips parted. She wiped her floury hands on a towel, her movements slow, deliberate. She wasn’t shocked. She was calculating. The nurturing friend warring with the woman who had watched, enthralled, all night. The woman who had put this in motion.
“It’s reckless,” Catriona finally said.
“I don’t care,” Jenny said. “It’s what I want.”
Catriona looked at her husband. A long, silent communication passed between them, full of history and understanding. Finally, Catriona gave one short, sharp nod. “Quickly.”
That was all the permission Aidan needed.
He crossed the kitchen in three strides. His hands, big and warm, seized Jenny’s waist and lifted her onto the cleared edge of the countertop. Flour puffed around them. Jars rattled. He pushed the flannel shirt open, baring her completely to the golden afternoon light streaming in.
“Spread your legs,” he commanded, his voice a low rasp.
Jenny obeyed, hooking her heels on the edge of the counter, exposing herself utterly. She was already wet, her body responding to the sheer dominance of his action. Catriona stood a few feet away, her back against the fridge, watching. Her breath was shallow.
Aidan unbuttoned his jeans, freed himself. He was thick and heavy, already fully hard. He rubbed the broad head through her slickness, not entering, just painting himself with her.
“Tell me,” he said, his eyes holding hers.
“I want your last load,” she panted, beyond shyness. “I want to carry it with me. Breed me, Aidan. Now.”
He thrust forward, a single, deep, conquering surge that stole the air from her lungs. The stretch was exquisite, a bright, familiar pain-pleasure. He filled her so completely it felt like a replacement of her very core.
He didn’t wait, didn’t build slowly. The urgency was upon them all. He set a brutal, driving pace, his hips slamming against the inside of her thighs, the countertop creaking in protest. Each stroke was a claim, a punctuation mark on the night, a final seal.
Jenny gripped his shoulders, her nails biting into his skin. She watched Catriona watch them, saw Catriona’s hand slip inside her own panties, her face a mask of fierce arousal and quiet anguish.
“Yes,” Jenny hissed, meeting his drives. “God, yes. Give it to me.”
Aidan’s control was frayed, his rhythm turning ragged. He buried his face in her neck, his breath hot and ragged against her skin. “Gonna fill you up,” he groaned. “One more time.”
His orgasm hit him like a quake. He stiffened, drove in to the hilt, and held. A hot, pulsing rush flooded her, distinct and intense even after the night’s repetitions. Jenny clenched around him, milking him, wanting every drop, her own climax a sharp, dizzying peak that rippled through her abused, sensitive tissues.
For a long moment, they stayed locked, breathing raggedly. Then, carefully, he pulled out.
The immediate, thick release of fluid onto the countertop was obscenely audible. Jenny stayed spread, letting it happen, feeling the internal flood. Claimed.Marked.
Aidan stepped back, tucking himself away, his face flushed. Catriona handed him a damp cloth from the sink without a word. He cleaned himself, then gently began to clean Jenny.
The tender act was at odds with the frenzied coupling. Jenny flinched at the touch, oversensitive. She took the cloth from him and finished herself, her movements shaky.
That’s when they heard it.
The distinct crunch of gravel. A car engine, too close, idling just outside.
Then a car door shutting.
Jenny’s blood turned to ice. Her eyes flew to the clock on the microwave. 5:58.
“No,” Catriona breathed, her face white. “He’s early.”
Footsteps on the garden path. Cheerful, whistling footsteps.
Aidan moved first. He snatched up his t-shirt from the floor, pulled it on. “The back door,” he whispered harshly, pointing to the mudroom off the kitchen.
But it was too late. The front door lock clicked.
“Jen? I’m home! Traffic was a nightmare so I ducked out early!”
Mark’s voice, calling from the hallway.
Panic, pure and paralyzing, locked Jenny in place. She was naked on the counter, legs still apart, Aidan’s seed cooling on her thighs and the wood below. Catriona was in her underwear. Aidan was shirtless, his hair a mess.
The bread dough, forgotten, rose silently in its bowl.
Mark’s footsteps came toward the kitchen.