Vesper: I’m ready.
Monty: I can attest that her pussy’s still wet.
Vesper: You walk through that door, Cally, and I swear, you’re gonna find me bent over the bed, begging you both to ruin me.At the same time.So bring your A-game.I want to feel you in my pussy while Monty stretches me open on his cock.
Cally: Fuck ...I’m alone in the jet and I’ve got my cock in my hand.You two really expect me to make it home without coming?Ves, you better be dripping and ready—because I’m not stopping until you’re shaking around me with his cock in your ass.
Monty: Babe, don’t come yet, or you’ll be empty before you’re ready to fill her pretty pussy.
More if you want your husband’s tongue teasing your ass before claiming you, and your girlfriend’s thighs around your face—or to fall asleep tonight with cum leaking out of me.
Cally: Fuck, you two are really horny today.
Vesper: Sorry, we’re just teasing you.We’re actually at the grocery store.
[Vesper has sent an attachment]
Cally: Great, a picture of broccoli and a shopping cart.My dream come true—not.Way to deflate my ...ego.
Monty: We wanted to see if you’d get kicked off the plane for arousal-related turbulence.
Cally: You two are cruel.
Vesper: You still love us and ...we’ll make it up to you :wink emoji:
Cally: You’re menaces, I’m telling you.
Vesper: In our defense, here’s our grocery list: Eggs, wine, Monty on all fours, Cally with his cock out.
Cally: Do not let him touch himself until I get home—also, let’s not forget your pussy.
Monty: This goes both ways.No touching yourself until she’s ready for us.Wanna be split open and fed your cum like it’s what’s keeping me alive.
Vesper: Come ruin us.
Cally: I’m going to fuck you both until we forget what day it is.
Monty: Hurry.
ChapterFifty-Five
Vesper
The Orcas lose the second round in Game Six and, weirdly, the world doesn’t end.
It tries, though.It throws itself on the floor and kicks its feet like a toddler who just got told “no” at the toy store.Sports channels turn it into a blame buffet.Social media blames everyone from the safety of their keyboard.The new guys.The injuries.The coaching.The goalie.The captain who isn’t captain yet.
Let’s be honest—Cally and Monty did everything short of bleeding on the ice in a ritual offering to the hockey gods, and it still wasn’t enough.There were too many bodies missing.Too many taped-up joints.Too many guys playing through pain because pride is a drug and playoffs is its prettiest needle.
Inside our place, it’s quieter than the arena ever was.Not peaceful.Just ...suspended.Like grief has a countdown clock, and I can hear it ticking from the other room.
Because the season isn’t the only thing that’s been growing.
I’m eighteen weeks pregnant.
Eighteen weeks and we’re expecting a baby girl.
I’m going to be a mother to a beautiful daughter.An actual human being who has decided my body is now her home and my emotions are now her personal playlist—on shuffle, max volume, no skips.
