Chapter 28: The Unexpected Call
The vibration was a trapped bee against the marble countertop. Jenny stared at the screen, at the photo of Mark smiling in front of a waterfall from a holiday that felt like it belonged to someone else. Her body was a map of tender places, a quiet, throbbing archive of the night and the frantic morning. Between her legs, she was still deliciously sore, swollen from use, a faint trickle of Aidan’s latest release a sticky secret against her inner thigh.
She swallowed and swiped to answer. “Hey.”
“Hey, gorgeous.” Mark’s voice was light, breezy. “How’s my girl feeling? You were out of it last night.”
She’d told him she had a migraine, had gone to bed early. The lie had slipped out as easily as a breath. “Better. Still a bit fuzzy.” That part, at least, was true. Her mind was fogged with spent pleasure and a low, humming want that never quite shut off.
“Want me to come over? I can bring soup. That Thai place you like.”
The image of him here, in this kitchen that now smelled like sex and Aidan, sent a jolt of panic through her. Her eyes darted to the hallway. “No,” she said, too quickly. She softened her tone. “I mean, don’t trouble yourself. I’m just going to take it easy. Maybe later?”
A warm, calloused hand settled on her hip. She jumped, a tiny gasp escaping her lips before she could stop it.
“Jen? You okay?”
Aidan’s body pressed against her from behind, solid and heat-radiating. She felt him, hard already, nudging against the cleft of her bottom through his jeans. His other hand came around, his fingers splaying possessively over her lower belly, right over the subtle curve where his child was growing.
“Yeah,” she breathed into the phone, her voice tightening. “Just… a cramp. Probably need to eat.”
“Okay. Call me if you need anything. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” The words tasted like ash.
She ended the call and let the phone clatter onto the counter. Her head fell back against Aidan’s shoulder. His lips found the pulse point beneath her ear.
“He’s on his way,” she whispered, though it was a question.
“Not for an hour, at least.” Aidan’s voice was a low rumble against her skin. His hands began to move, one skimming up to cup her breast, the other sliding down, past the waistband of the loose cotton shorts she’d pulled on. “You’re still wet. From me.”
She was. Drenched. Her hips pushed back against him involuntarily. “He’ll know.”
“Know what?” Aidan’s fingers delved into her, finding her slick and swollen. She cried out, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. “Know that you’re happy? That you’re healthy? That you’re finally getting everything you need?”
His logic was a wrecking ball to her guilt. He turned her around, hoisted her onto the cold marble as if she weighed nothing. The forgotten loaf of bread sat in its tin, cooling. He pushed her shorts down her legs and let them drop to the floor.
“Aidan, we can’t—“
“He’s not here,” Aidan said simply, stepping between her spread knees. His gaze was intent, focused. “I am. And you’re not done.”
He unfastened his jeans, freeing himself. In the plain golden light of her own kitchen, he looked even more immense, a thick, veined reality that made her mouth water. This was hers. This was what her body craved with a depth that dwarfed reason.
“You need to be filled again,” he stated, not as a desire, but as a fact. He guided himself to her entrance, the broad head notching against her. “Don’t you?”
She could only nod, her eyes locked on his.
He pushed in. A deep, stretching, conquering invasion that stole the air from her lungs. It was different here, in her domestic space, surrounded by the mundane artifacts of her life with Mark. The kettle, the calendar with its dentist appointments, the little pot of herbs on the windowsill. It made the violation—no, the claiming—feel more absolute, more real.
He set a ruthless, penetrating rhythm, his hands gripping her thighs, holding her open. Each thrust was a punctuation mark in an argument her body was winning. The counter dug into her back. A wooden spoon rattled in a ceramic jar.
“This is what you think about when you talk to him,” Aidan grunted, his control fraying. “This.Me. Being full of me.”
“Yes.” The admission was torn from her. It was true. Even as she’d spoken to Mark, the phantom memory of Aidan’s girth had pulsed between her legs.
“You belong to this.” He drove deeper, his pelvis grinding against her. “To us. Tell me.”
“I belong to it,” she sobbed, the pleasure coiling, terrifyingly close. “I belong to you.”
Her orgasm ripped through her, a silent, screaming thing that arched her off the counter. He followed, his own release a hot, flooding rush that seemed to go on forever, pumping into her already flooded depths. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, as his body emptied into hers.
A car door slammed outside.
The sound was a gunshot in the sudden quiet.
They froze. Jenny’s eyes, wide and terrified, met Aidan’s. His were alert, calm. He slowly withdrew. The evidence of what they’d done dripped audibly onto the maple floorboards below the counter.
Footsteps on the front path.
“The back door,” Jenny hissed, scrambling off the counter, grabbing her shorts. Her legs were weak, treacherous.
Aidan fastened his jeans with deliberate movements. He didn’t run. He walked to the sink, ran the tap, splashed water on his face. He looked like a man who’d done some heavy lifting, not a man who’d just impregnated his friend’s wife on her kitchen counter.
The front door lock turned.
Jenny was still half-naked, trembling, the smell of sex and sweat billowing around her. Aidan moved to her, took her face in his hands. His thumbs wiped at the tears she hadn’t realized were falling.
“Breathe,” he said, his voice utterly steady. “You had a cramp. I came over to check on you. Cat’s at the store.”
He kissed her forehead, a firm, possessive stamp. Then he turned and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms, just as Mark walked into the kitchen.
Mark stopped, his cheerful expression faltering. He took in the scene: his wife, flushed and disheveled, pulling up her shorts. Aidan, impossibly large and calm in the middle of the room. The charged, thick air.
“Hey,” Mark said, his eyes flicking between them. “I thought you weren’t feeling well. I brought the soup anyway.”
He held up a paper bag. The mundane offering felt surreal.
“Aidan was just… helping,” Jenny said, her voice a thin wire.
“Cramp,” Aidan supplied, nodding. “Catriona worries. Sent me over as a medic.” He pushed off the counter and clapped a friendly hand on Mark’s shoulder. “She’s okay. Just needs to rest. I was heading out.”
Mark looked at Jenny, searching her face. She forced a smile, praying he couldn’t see the riot inside her, the fresh heat trickling down her thigh. He saw the tear tracks.
“You’ve been crying.”
“Hormones,” Jenny and Aidan said in unison. An accidental, damning harmony.
Aidan gave a short, easy laugh. “See? Listen to the expert.” He moved toward the back door. “Take care of her, Mark. She’s carrying precious cargo.”
The words hung in the air, layered with a meaning only two of them understood.
Aidan left, the screen door sighing shut behind him.
Silence flooded in. Mark set the soup bag down. He stepped closer to Jenny, his concern palpable. He went to hug her, but she stiffened, a reflexive flinch.
“Whoa,” he said softly, stepping back. He looked down. His eyes caught the glistening splash on the floorboards, right by the counter’s edge.
He stared at it. A slow, cold confusion dawned on his face.
Jenny followed his gaze. Her heart stopped.
“Jenny,” Mark said, his voice very quiet. “What is that?”