Chapter 15: Team Voyeur Night

The client’s glowing email still sat open on my laptop screen when I finally shut it down at midnight, the bonus deposit notification chiming softly like a distant bell of normalcy. My fingers still trembled from typing the final revisions while Derek’s fresh load dried in faint streaks along my inner thighs under the thin robe. The rebrand was saved—client raving about the rushed late-night polish, new contract attached, money flowing again after weeks of near-collapse. Relief should have felt sweet. Instead it tasted metallic against the heavier weight low in my belly where the pregnancy test had sat hidden for days, its faint lines still haunting every breath.

Saturday night arrived with the usual victory roar. The guys filled the house like a living current—Xbox blasting victory montages, pizza grease scent thick in the air, cold bottles clinking and laughter bouncing off the walls. I moved through the familiar rhythm in a loose sundress that clung just enough to every curve, no bra, no panties, the hem brushing high on my thighs whenever I reached for another tray of snacks. My stretch marks showed openly now beneath the fabric when I bent low, no longer something I tugged to hide. The team’s eyes lingered longer each time—knowing, hungry, protective. Mike’s subtle nod from across the room sent a fresh rush of wetness coating my bare folds. Josh kept Ethan distracted upstairs with a perfectly timed “Captain wants you to review that last play on the big screen, bro—stay up there, we’ll handle the food run.” The lie rolled off his tongue so smoothly my son just grinned and settled in, oblivious.

My pulse thrummed between my legs the entire evening. The air felt heavier, charged with the shift that had been building since Mike’s silent smirk in the kitchen and the group texts that now carried subtle winks about “Mommy duty.” They weren’t shocked anymore. They were invested. Fiercely so. The knowledge made my nipples tighten against the thin cotton and my clit throb with every casual brush of a teammate’s arm.