Chapter 9: Team Starts to Know

The client’s praise email still glowed on my screen when I finally closed the laptop at dawn, the bonus notification chiming like a hollow victory. My body still hummed from the kitchen island, that faint ache between my thighs a secret reminder of how close Mike had come to witnessing everything. I stood in the shower longer than usual, letting hot water cascade over the silvery lines across my belly, no longer scrubbing them raw but tracing them slowly with soapy fingertips. The acceptance felt strange, almost fragile—like something Derek had planted there with his lips the night before. Yet the guilt waited just beneath the steam, coiled tight as Ethan’s footsteps creaked overhead for breakfast.

By game night the house pulsed with victory energy again—sneakers squeaking faintly in memory from the court, Xbox explosions rattling the walls, the sharp tang of fresh pepperoni and cold hops cutting through the thick male warmth that always followed wins. I moved through the familiar rhythm of team-mom duties, passing chilled bottles, wiping spills, bending to gather empty cans while my sundress clung just enough to remind me I’d skipped anything underneath. My skin felt electric, every brush of fabric against my curves stirring the memory of Mike’s casual smirk and the way Derek had stayed buried deep right in front of him. I should have been horrified. Instead, when I overheard Mike whispering to Josh in the hallway—”Dude, Derek’s actually banging Ethan’s mom ... I walked straight in on it last night in the kitchen”—a rush of liquid heat flooded my core so sudden and shameless that my knees nearly buckled. My nipples tightened instantly against the thin cotton, a fresh slickness coating my inner thighs. Not terror. Not disgust. Just pure, humiliating want. They knew. And it made me drip.

I pretended to organize snacks on the counter, cheeks burning, but my pulse thrummed low and insistent between my legs. The living room felt smaller, the air heavier with unspoken glances. Ethan lounged upstairs gaming, oblivious for now, while the guys filtered out one by one—except Mike, who lingered with a knowing nod toward Derek. “I’ll keep watch on the door,” he muttered low enough that only we heard. The words sent another shameful gush soaking my bare folds.