No she doesn't

Mandy’s blue eyes flicked down to the heavy, unmistakable outline straining against the front of Dunk’s gray sweats—then snapped right back up to his face, hardening.

“No,” she said sharply, the word slicing through the thick silence of the kitchen. “No. You don’t get to stand there, flash that—” she gestured vaguely without looking again, cheeks burning hotter now “—and expect me to just… buy some sob story about ‘medical necessity.’”

She took a small step back, arms tightening under her chest, making the already obscene swell of her 30GG breasts push even higher against the thin white crop top. The fabric was so stretched it looked seconds from giving up.

“I’ve been watching you for days,” she continued, voice low and fierce. “You come and go like you own the place. You smell like different women’s perfume half the time you walk through that door. And now, when I finally corner you, the first thing out of your mouth is some porn-level fantasy about your dick being too big to jerk off? Really, Dunk?”

Dunk didn’t flinch. He kept his posture relaxed, hands loose at his sides, but his dark eyes stayed locked on hers—patient, almost amused beneath the mask of concern.

“I get why you don’t believe me,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t either if I was you. But I’m not lying, Mandy. Not about this.”

“Prove it,” she shot back, chin lifting defiantly. “Not with… that.” Her gaze darted downward for half a second before she **** it away again. “Show me actual proof. Doctor’s notes. Test results. Something real. Because right now, all I see is a twenty-one-year-old who’s been sneaking around on my pregnant daughter, and now he’s trying to play the victim so I won’t tell her.”

Dunk exhaled through his nose, the sound almost a chuckle he didn’t quite let out. He reached slowly into his hoodie pocket and pulled out his phone—screen already unlocked.

“I don’t carry paper records around,” he said. “But I’ve got emails. Specialist names. Dates of appointments I’ve canceled because I can’t afford the co-pays on top of everything else. You want to see?”

He held the phone out toward her, screen facing her, thumb hovering over the email app.

Mandy hesitated. Her protective instincts screamed at her to grab it, scroll through every message, every contact, every excuse. But another part—smaller, quieter, buried under layers of maternal fury—felt the first tiny crack of uncertainty. What if he wasn’t entirely lying? What if there really was something wrong, something that could **** him to hurt Candy later?

She didn’t move to take the phone.

Instead she crossed her arms tighter, the motion making her huge breasts jiggle slightly despite how firmly she tried to hold herself together.

“Even if any of that’s real,” she said, voice dropping, “it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been lying to Candy. Hiding… whatever this is. You should’ve told her from the beginning. You should’ve told both of us.”

“I was ashamed,” Dunk replied, and for the first time his voice carried a convincing tremor. “You think I like admitting I can’t even take care of myself? That the woman I’m supposed to marry and protect can’t handle me because she’s carrying our kid? I’ve been trying to figure it out alone so she never had to know how broken I am.”

Mandy’s lips pressed into a thin line. She hated how reasonable he sounded. Hated how part of her—the part that had spent eighteen years putting everyone else first—wanted to believe him just so she could fix it.

But she still didn’t believe him. Not fully.

“Then why tell me now?” she asked, eyes narrowing again. “Why not go to a… a professional? A nurse? A clinic? Why corner my daughter’s mother in her own kitchen and ask her to—what? Help you get off so you don’t cheat?”

Dunk lowered the phone slowly, slipping it back into his pocket.

“Because I trust you,” he said simply. “Because you love Candy more than anyone. Because I know you’d do anything to keep her from getting hurt—even if it means doing something you never thought you’d do.”

He took one measured step closer. Not threatening. Just enough to make her have to tilt her head back further to keep glaring up at him.

“And because,” he added, voice barely above a whisper now, “I can see how much you’re shaking right now. Not just from anger. You’re scared I’m telling the truth… and scared even more that you might actually consider helping.”

Mandy’s breath hitched audibly.

Her nipples—traitors—had stiffened into hard points beneath the thin white fabric, visible even through the padded cups of her bra. She felt the heat blooming low in her belly, unwanted and confusing, and hated herself for it.

“I’m not shaking,” she lied, voice cracking just a little. “And I’m not helping you with anything until I know you’re not full of shit.”

Dunk studied her for a long beat. Then, very slowly, he hooked a thumb into the waistband of his sweats and tugged them down an inch—just enough to reveal another inch of the thick, dark root of his cock, already half-hard and impossibly wide.

“Ask me anything,” he said. “Google the condition. Call my bluff. But if you really want the truth… you’re gonna have to look closer.”

Mandy’s heart slammed against her ribs so hard she was sure he could hear it.

She should have screamed. Should have slapped the phone out of his hand earlier. Should have run upstairs and woken Candy.

Instead she stood rooted, staring, pulse roaring in her ears, torn between fury, protectiveness… and something darker, hungrier, that she refused to name.

The kitchen clock ticked loudly.

Neither of them moved.