Margit's fork clatters onto her plate. The sound cuts through the hum between my thighs, through the roaring in my ears, through the weight of every eye at this table turning toward me like I'm the only thing in the room.
Liv gasps. Actually gasps, her small hands flying to her mouth, her eyes going wide as dinner plates. "A baby? Uncle Kaelen, you're having a baby?"
Elara says "Pregnant?" like she's testing the word, rolling it across her tongue, watching me with those sharp grey eyes that see too much. Her husband Soren just stares at me with an unreadable expression, his coffee cup frozen halfway to his mouth.
The vibrator hums steady. Not increasing. Not stopping. Kaelen's thumb is still on the remote, holding the dial exactly where it is, watching me from the corner of his eye like he's waiting to see if I'll shatter under the weight of all these eyes.
I press my thighs together. Hard. The pressure pushes the toy deeper, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound.
"Dagmar?" Margit's voice cuts through the haze. "Is this true?"
Everyone is looking at me. Waiting. The vibration is a constant pulse against my most sensitive place, and I am balanced on the edge of something I cannot afford to fall into—not here, not now, not in front of his whole family.
I force my voice steady. "Yes. I'm pregnant."
The words hang in the air like smoke.
And then Kaelen's hand finds my knee under the table. Squeezes once. Possessive. Claiming. Before he lifts his coffee and takes a slow sip, like he didn't just detonate a bomb in the middle of breakfast.
Margit's face breaks into a smile. Not the polite social smile she wears for guests—a real one, warm and bright, the kind that makes her look ten years younger. "A grandchild." She says it like a prayer. "I'm going to have another grandchild."
Elara sets down her fork. "How far along?"
Kaelen answers before I can. "Early. First trimester." His voice is calm, controlled, the perfect picture of a proud husband. "We wanted to wait until we were sure before telling everyone."
Soren finally speaks. "Congratulations." Flat. Neutral. Like he's still processing. "That's—that's good news."
"It's wonderful news." Margit reaches across the table and takes my hand, her fingers cool and papery against my flushed skin. "I knew it. I knew the moment I saw you two together that something had changed."
Liv bounces in her seat. "Can I hold the baby? When it comes out, can I hold it?"
"Liv," Elara says gently. "That's a long time from now. Let them finish breakfast first."
But Liv is already making plans. "I'll teach them how to draw. And how to build forts. And—"
The vibration shifts. Just slightly. A fraction of a turn on the dial, and suddenly the pulse is deeper, slower, pressing against that spot inside me that makes my breath catch.
I grip the edge of the table.
Kaelen takes another sip of his coffee. "You okay, sweetheart?"
I can't answer. If I open my mouth, I'll moan. I'll gasp. I'll make a sound that everyone at this table will recognize, and then they'll know exactly what he's doing to me under the table.
"She's probably tired." Margit squeezes my hand. "The first trimester is exhausting. I remember with Kaelen—I couldn't keep my eyes open past seven o'clock."
"She fainted yesterday." Elara's voice is sharp, clinical. "Has she seen a doctor?"
Kaelen nods. "She has. Everything is normal. Just—" He pauses, and I feel his hand squeeze my knee again. "She needs rest. And less stress."
The vibration pulses. Builds. I am so close, so unbearably close, and I cannot come. Cannot. If I come, I will make a sound. I will lose control. I will shatter into a thousand pieces right here in front of his mother and his sister and his niece and Amanda, who is watching me with those dark knowing eyes from across the table.
Amanda.
I hadn't looked at her since the announcement. Now I force my gaze to her, and what I see makes my stomach clench.
She's smiling. But it's not a congratulations smile. It's a cat's smile, slow and pleased, like she's just been handed something she's been waiting for. Her eyes travel down my body, linger on my chest, and I remember—she touched me. In the kitchen. She wanted to taste me, and Kaelen stopped her.
"Congratulations," Amanda says, and her voice is honey and broken glass. "Both of you. This is—unexpected."
Kaelen's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "Life is full of surprises."
"Isn't it just."
The vibration spikes. Just a pulse, a single deep throb that makes me gasp and cover it with a cough. I feel the heat rush to my face, feel the flush spreading down my chest, feel the wetness pooling between my thighs around the toy that is still inside me, still humming, still pushing me toward an edge I cannot fall over.
Margit is talking about baby names. Elara is asking about due dates. Liv is drawing something on a napkin—a picture of a baby with a smiley face, I think. Soren has gone back to his coffee, his expression carefully blank.
And Kaelen's thumb is still on the remote.
He leans in, his mouth brushing my ear. "You're doing so well," he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear. "So beautiful. So fucking perfect."
I want to slap him. I want to kiss him. I want to scream and beg and cry all at once.
"Kaelen." My voice is a thread. "Please."
"Please what?"
I don't know. Please stop. Please don't stop. Please let me come. Please don't let me come. Everything is tangled together, the humiliation and the arousal and the terror of being seen, and he is holding all of it in his hand like a toy he can wind and unwind at will.
He kisses my temple. "Not yet."
Breakfast continues. I don't taste a single bite of the food someone puts on my plate. I move eggs around with my fork, take a sip of orange juice that burns going down, nod when someone asks me a question I don't hear. The vibration is constant, a low thrum that has settled into my bones, keeping me balanced on the razor's edge between control and collapse.
Margit notices. Of course she notices. "You're pale, dear. Why don't you go lie down? Kaelen can bring you some tea."
Kaelen's hand squeezes my knee. "I'll take care of her."
"I'm sure you will." Margit's voice is dry, knowing, and I feel my face burn even hotter.
The meal ends eventually. Liv is pulled away by Elara for a bath. Soren disappears into the study. Margit wheels herself toward the garden, and Amanda lingers at the table, watching me with that same cat's smile.
"Get some rest," Amanda says. "You look like you need it."
The way she says it makes me feel like prey.
Kaelen's hand slides from my knee to my waist. He pulls me up, steadying me when my legs wobble, and I feel the vibrator shift inside me with every step. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you comfortable."
He guides me through the house, past the kitchen where Liv is laughing at something, past the study where Soren is on the phone, up the stairs to the master bedroom. The door clicks shut behind us, and I finally let out the breath I've been holding since breakfast.
The vibration stops.
The sudden silence is almost worse. I feel the toy still inside me, a foreign object, a reminder of how completely he controls this body.
"Turn around."
I turn.
Kaelen's grey eyes are dark, hungry, fixed on me with the intensity of a predator who has finally cornered his prey. He steps forward, cups my face in his hands, and kisses me—slow, deep, possessive, like he's drinking me in.
I melt into him. I can't help it. My hands find his chest, gripping his shirt, holding on because if I let go I might dissolve.
When he pulls back, his thumb traces my lower lip. "You were perfect down there. Did you know that? Every time you almost broke, every time you held it together—God, Dagmar. I wanted to fuck you right there on the table."
The words send a shiver through me. "Kaelen."
"Tonight." His voice is a promise. "Tonight I'm going to take care of you. But first—" He pauses, his eyes flicking toward the door. "There's something I want to try. With Amanda."
My heart stops. Then races. "What?"
"You trust me?"
I should say no. I should say I don't trust anyone, least of all him, least of all after everything he's done. But the word that comes out is: "Yes."
He smiles. It's not a kind smile. It's the smile of the Animal, the predator, the man who has spent years learning exactly how to take what he wants.
"Good."
The rest of the day passes in a haze. I sleep, or try to—my body is exhausted, but my mind is racing, replaying his words, imagining what he has planned. Amanda's face floats through my thoughts, her knowing smile, the way she looked at me like she already knew what I tasted like.
When evening comes, Liv is in bed, Margit is reading in her room, and the house has settled into the quiet hum of night. I'm in the master bedroom, wearing nothing but one of Kaelen's shirts, when he opens the door.
Amanda is behind him.
She's wearing a silk robe, deep red, the same color as the dress Kaelen didn't buy me. Her hair is loose, falling over her shoulders, and she's not wearing anything underneath.
I know this because the robe is tied loosely, gaping at the chest, showing the curve of her breasts, the dark nipples, the pale skin.
"You said yes," Amanda says. Her voice is soft, almost surprised. "I didn't think you would."
I didn't think I would either. But Kaelen is watching me with those grey eyes, and the toy is still inside me, and my body is already responding to the heat in the room.
"She said yes," Kaelen confirms. He crosses to the bed, sits on the edge, pulls me onto his lap. I settle against him, feeling his cock hard through his jeans, feeling the slickness between my thighs. "She said yes to everything."
"Everything?" Amanda's eyes meet mine.
I don't know what everything means. But I nod anyway.
She smiles, slow and pleased, and lets the robe fall from her shoulders.
Her body is perfect. Of course it is. She's a porn star, built for cameras and eyes and desire. High breasts, flat stomach, the curve of her hips, the dark hair between her thighs. She could have anyone.
She's looking at me.
"Come here," Kaelen says, and she does, crawling onto the bed, settling beside us. Her hand finds my thigh, warm and tentative, like she's asking permission.
Kaelen's hand cups my breast through the shirt. "She's been curious about you," he says, his mouth against my ear. "Haven't you, Amanda?"
"Very curious." Her voice is low, husky. Her fingers trace patterns on my thigh, moving higher, finding the hem of the shirt. "I wanted to taste you the first time I saw you."
My breath catches. "Why?"
"Because you're real." She leans in, her lips brushing my shoulder. "Everyone in this industry is fake. Fake tits, fake orgasms, fake smiles. But you—you blush. You tremble. You feel everything."
Kaelen's hand slides under the shirt, finds my nipple, rolls it between his fingers. I gasp, arch into his touch, and Amanda's mouth follows the arch of my neck.
"Tonight," Kaelen says, his voice a low growl, "Amanda is going to drink from you. Like I did. And you're going to let her."
The words take a moment to register. Then my milk lets down, a sudden hot rush that soaks through the shirt, and I feel the wetness against my skin.
Amanda sees it. Her eyes go dark. "Oh," she breathes. "Oh, that's—"
Kaelen pulls the shirt up, baring my breasts, the milk beading on my nipples, dripping down the curve of my belly. "She's been producing since yesterday. First trimester hormones."
Amanda's tongue traces her lower lip. "Can I—"
"Ask her."
She looks at me. Those dark eyes, hungry and hopeful, and I realize she's not sure I'll say yes. That beneath the porn star confidence is a woman who has been told no before.
"Please," Amanda says. "Please let me taste you."
I should say no. This is wrong. She's my husband's co-star, the woman he fucked while I watched, the woman who touched me in the kitchen when I wasn't ready.
But Kaelen's hand is on my breast, and my body is aching, and the milk is flowing, and I am so tired of saying no to what I want.
I nod.
Amanda's mouth closes over my nipple.
The sensation is electric—a sharp, pulling heat that goes straight to my cunt. I gasp, my hands flying to her hair, gripping without meaning to, and she moans against my skin, drinking deep, her tongue working the nipple, her hand cupping the other breast, squeezing, milking.
"Fuck," Kaelen breathes. "That's beautiful."
I can't speak. Can't think. Amanda's mouth is on me, pulling, drinking, and I feel the milk flowing, feel the slight ache of empty filling, feel her swallow against my skin.
She pulls back, milk on her lips, a drop running down her chin. "You taste—" She shakes her head, like she can't find the words. "Sweet. Warm. You taste like her."
Kaelen shifts me on his lap, and I feel his cock, hard and thick against my ass, still clothed, still waiting. His hand slides down my belly, between my thighs, finds the vibrator and pulls it out in one smooth motion.
I moan at the loss. The emptiness.
He tosses it aside. "No more toys. I want real."
Amanda's mouth finds my other breast, and I cry out, the sound swallowed by the room, by the night, by the weight of two bodies pressing into mine.