Fred’s hand was still on her hip, his breathing ragged against the back of her neck. He shifted, his softening cock slipping from her with a wet sound. He turned her over.
Her face was flushed, strands of sandy hair stuck to her temples. Her green eyes were heavy-lidded, but they met his without hesitation. He kissed her. Hard. His mouth claimed hers, tasting salt and sweat and the faint copper of blood from where she’d bitten her own lip.
He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against hers. “I always wanted a big family,” he said, the words rough, unplanned. “Every date I went on… it was the first thing I’d ask. Scared them all off.”
Tom’s hand came up, her fingers tracing his jaw. The silver ring was warm against his skin. “You don’t have to ask me.”
“I know.” He kissed her again, slower this time. “I can’t wait to put a baby in you. I can’t wait to see you round with it.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But Tom… what the hell do we tell people?”
She smiled, a lazy, contented curve of her lips. “Check my wallet.”
“What?”
“My jeans. On the floor. Check the ID.”
Fred pushed himself up, his body protesting. The fire had burned low, the room a cave of amber light and deep shadow. He found her torn jeans, the denim split at the seams. The wallet was in the back pocket. He flipped it open.
The driver’s license was plastic, warm. The photo showed her face—her face now, with the softer jaw, the fuller lips. The name read TOMMY CARTER. Female. The same birthdate. The address was his grandfather’s house.
He stared at it. He turned it over. The hologram shimmered. It looked real. It felt real.
“It changed,” he said.
“It was always that,” she murmured from the rug. She stretched, her breasts shifting, her stomach a smooth plane in the firelight. “The world just… caught up.”
Fred dropped the wallet. He crawled back to her, settling between her thighs. They were slick, his own spend mixed with her wetness. He didn’t care. He pressed his palm flat against her lower belly.
“Here?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Soon.”
“Yes.”
He leaned down and kissed her stomach, his lips brushing her skin. He could smell her, musk and sex and something sweet underneath. His cock, spent and sensitive, gave a feeble throb against her thigh. He ignored it. He kissed a path upward, over the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, until his mouth found her breast.
He took her nipple, already hard, into his mouth. He sucked, gently at first, then harder. She arched, a sharp gasp escaping her. Her hands tangled in his hair, holding him there.
He switched to the other breast, his tongue circling, his teeth grazing. One of his hands slid down her body, through the wet mess between her legs. He didn’t push inside. He pressed the heel of his hand against her, a firm, steady pressure.
She moaned, her hips lifting off the rug. “Fred.”
He released her nipple, his breath hot on her damp skin. “Tell me you want it.”
“I want it.”
“What do you want?”
“Your baby.” Her voice was a ragged thread. “I want your baby in me. I want to be fat with it. I want everyone to see.”
He pushed two fingers into her. She was so wet, so open, her cunt clenching around him instantly. He curled them, finding that spongy spot inside. She cried out, her back bowing.
“You will be,” he promised, his voice low. He worked his fingers, in and out, the sound obscenely wet in the quiet room. “You’ll be so full of me nothing else will fit.”
Her climax built fast, her thighs trembling around his hand. He watched her face—eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, every muscle taut. He didn’t let up. He pressed his thumb against her clit, rubbing tight, fast circles.
She came with a choked scream, her cunt pulsing around his fingers, a fresh gush of wetness soaking his hand and the rug beneath her. He kept moving, drawing it out until she was shuddering, pushing weakly at his wrist.
He withdrew his fingers, glistening. He brought them to his mouth, tasting her—sharp, salty, utterly her. Her eyes opened, watching him.
“The world changed,” he said, licking his fingers clean. “Good.”
He lowered himself onto her, his weight settling into the cradle of her hips. His cock, half-hard again, nestled against her swollen folds. He didn’t push. He just held there, skin to skin, his face buried in the curve of her neck.
Outside, a car passed. Headlights swept across the heavy velvet curtains, a brief stripe of white light that traveled the room and vanished.
Inside, the fire cracked. Embers settled.
Her hand, the one with the ring, came to rest on the back of his head. Her fingers stroked through his hair.