Afternoon

Emily lay still, her muscles limp with satisfaction, her skin sticky with sweat and the mess between her thighs. The light in the room had shifted—early afternoon now, warm gold pouring in through the window, painting shadows across the sheets. Eli was asleep beside her, breath deep and slow, arm slung across her waist like he was afraid she might vanish if he let go.

He wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon. Not after everything they’d done.

It had started that morning and hadn’t really stopped. They’d taken breaks—water, stretching, laughing breathlessly into each other’s mouths—but then he’d look at her again with that new heat in his eyes, the hunger of a boy who’d just discovered he could make a woman moan for him, and it was over. Again and again, until her throat was sore from gasping his name and her thighs still ached from riding him through every orgasm.

And she’d loved every minute of it.

But now, with the quiet thick around her and her body humming in the afterglow, another thought crept in.

She blinked up at the ceiling, still breathing slow and even, and started counting backwards in her head.

Her period had ended… a little over a week ago. Ten days, maybe. She hadn’t been tracking it exactly lately—her routine had slipped ever since Chloe was born—but she knew her body well enough.

And she knew what that meant.

She stared at the ceiling, one hand resting on her belly, her legs still parted slightly under the sheet. Her pussy was sore and wet and leaking with the last of him—he’d filled her over and over, every time they fucked. Not once had he pulled out. Not once had she even considered asking him to.

Because she hadn’t wanted to.

And it wasn’t that they hadn’t talked about pregnancy.

They had. That first time, when she was pinned beneath him in the mating press, her thighs folded back against her chest and his cock slamming deep into her over and over, impossibly deep, perfect.

She’d told him.

“This position’s meant to get a woman pregnant,” she’d gasped, barely able to breathe.

She remembered the way his rhythm had changed then—how he fucked her harder, deeper, how he made a sound she hadn’t heard from him before, something ****, feral.

And she’d told him more.

“I’m probably fertile right now—fuck—you want to breed me? Then do it. Do it now—”

And he had.

She hadn’t stopped him. Hadn’t taken it back. Hadn’t even pretended she didn’t want it. She’d held his hips and dragged him deeper, moaning through her orgasm while he pumped her full and collapsed on top of her like he was never leaving.

Now her fingers drifted lower, resting just below her navel, tracing light patterns over skin still slick with sweat.

There was a chance.

A real one.

She could still take care of it. There was a pharmacy a few blocks away. Morning-after pill, easy.

But she didn’t move.

Didn’t panic.

Just lay there with Eli’s cum still deep inside her, and the memory of her own voice whispering—breed me, fuck, please, give it to me—still fresh in her head.

It hadn’t been a plan.

It hadn’t even been a kink, not really.

But now, lying here in the quiet, her body flushed and spent and utterly full, she wondered what she’d say if it did happen.

She turned her head, looked at him sleeping.

And still… she didn’t move.