Chapter 11: Pregnancy Scare + Thanksgiving Tease

The two pink lines stared back at me from the plastic stick I’d finally forced myself to pee on at dawn, the faint second stripe blurry under the bathroom light but impossible to unsee. My period—three days late now—had turned from a nagging whisper into a scream echoing inside my skull while the stretch marks across my lower belly, freshly kissed and worshipped in the hotel mirror just nights ago, suddenly felt heavier, alive with terrifying possibility. I tucked the test deep into the tampon box at the back of the drawer, hands shaking so badly the plastic rattled, and whispered to my reflection, “What if it’s his ... what if I’m carrying Derek’s baby right now while Ethan’s still calling me Mom like nothing’s changed?”

The freelance inbox pinged with relief that tasted like ash—client raving about the final rebrand files, another bonus wired overnight because I’d stayed up until three a.m. polishing every pixel after Derek slipped out of the marital bed, my body still slick with his last load. Money was safe. The panic attacks had finally eased. But none of that mattered when every step I took made his earlier creampie shift warm and sticky between my thighs, reminding me how raw and deep he’d flooded me while I sobbed “What if it’s yours?” against his mouth.

By mid-week the scare had me raw and aching for proof, for connection, for anything to quiet the roar in my head. Derek snuck over while Ethan was at late practice, the house quiet except for the faint tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway. I led him straight to the marital bed—the same king mattress where I once lay beside my ex-husband, wedding photos still faintly outlined on the nightstand where I’d taken them down but never fully erased the ghosts. The sheets smelled of laundry detergent and old memories, but Derek laid me down like he owned every inch of it now.

He folded me slow and deliberate into legs-over-shoulders missionary, ankles hooked near my ears, my curvy thighs spread wide so nothing was hidden. His thick length nudged once, teasing my swollen folds, then sank home raw and deep in one velvet glide that stole the breath from my lungs. The stretch burned perfect, the angle pressing every ridge against that spot that made stars burst behind my eyes. His hips rolled in long, grinding strokes, never rushing, each push forcing another gush of wetness around him while his mouth found mine in deep, hungry kisses—tongues tangling, breath mingling, foreheads pressed tight like he was trying to crawl inside my soul.