Jayden yanked his jeans up so hard the zipper caught.
“Dad. It’s not what it looks like. She came for the file. I didn’t plan—”
“Stop talking.”
Aiden had not raised his voice. He did not need to. He stood in his own living room with the packet against his ribs and his eyes doing a slow, terrible inventory: my swollen mouth, the skirt twisted at my hips, the wet running down the inside of my thigh where his son had just been. I was still pulsing. The orgasm Jayden had stolen from me by pulling out sat in my belly like a cramp. I wanted to close my legs. I wanted to hide. I also wanted Aiden to keep looking, and that second want made my face hot.
Jayden tried again.
“We can explain.”
“You cannot.” Aiden’s gaze cut to him, then back to me, and stayed. “You’re both adults.”
It did not s
