Chapter 20
Alistair
It seemed to be going well with her housemates.
I set the binoculars on the counter with a sigh. She’d been so nervous, swaying between bravery and cowardice. Acceptance shouldn’t have been an issue—but my girl was too softhearted. She hid beneath silence and snark. I studied the three girls gathered around her. She was in safe hands.
Satisfied—for now—I returned to the hallway and grabbed the suitcase full of her laundry. If she was moving in, she needed to see the benefits I brought.
I paused mid-task, staring at the machine.
A father.
We’d have a baby in this house.
I looked around the utility room and frowned.
Was this place baby-safe?
My stomach churned.
Was university safe for Callie?
Just watching her walk down the lodge stairs had made me panic. She could’ve slipped. Twisted her ankle. Hit her head.
Why hadn’t I thought this through?
Would my second option be safer?
I resumed loading the washing machine, slower this time.
No.
She definitely wouldn’t take to kidnapping.
Too much stress for the baby.
Fuck. I needed to speak to Eric. He was a relatively new father.
No. Then Sophie would find out.
Fuck. I needed to research this. Online. Forums. Blogs. Something.
I couldn’t be the only man losing his shit over baby safety.
?? ?? ??
The front door opened and closed. I heard her lock it, and the chain slide into place.
“How did it go, baby?” I called out, snapping my laptop shut.
The research had soothed my neurotic safety spiral—until the pregnancy risks pulled me right back down the rabbit hole.
When she walked in, glowing and beaming, I didn’t need to ask again. She was all chatter and light, recounting everything her housemates had said. I held out my arm and she curled into my lap like she belonged there.
“You know we have a cat, right?” she said, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah,” I replied with a small smile, tightening my arms around her.
“It would have died on the streets, Alistair.”
“Hm.” I buried my face in her neck. “Tragic.”
“When the girls move out, can we bring him here?”
I paused. How dangerous was a cat for a baby?
“I’ll think about it.”
She rocked her hips, dragging her ass against me in just the right way.
I grabbed her by the back of the neck and pinned her flat against the couch. She giggled.
“Where’s your barrel of lube?” she teased, cupping my face.
Any thoughts of safety-tested baby gear disappeared.
I narrowed my eyes.
“Are you fucking with me, Callie?”
Her smile was wicked. She rolled her hips again, grazing my swelling cock.
“No. I want to—” she hesitated, gaze flicking away, then returning—“feel you inside me again.”
I leaned in, catching her mouth with mine. She tasted like tea and something sweet. Her tongue brushed against mine, teasing and soft. I deepened the kiss, then pulled back, panting.
“Ask me properly, baby.”
I spread her thighs and rubbed my length along her soaked seam.
Her laughter echoed down the hallway as I strode toward the bedroom—our personal war zone.
The place where she surrendered. Where I conquered. And where her poor little holes came to sweet, beautiful ruination.
This house was no longer just walls and windows. It was full of her scent, her voice, her laughter.
For the first time, it felt like a home.
?? ?? ??
The conflict was real.
Since Callie had moved in, I’d learned all her little quirks—and we’d adjusted. Evolved. Compromised.
But this?
This had to be deliberate. A trap.
She shifted on her yoga mat, rolling onto her back as if she had no idea I was watching. One knee bent. Her hips lifted. She planted one foot while the other leg stretched into the air like a dancer mid-performance.
Her shoulders stayed grounded, arms flat on the mat like she was meditating. But I wasn’t fooled.
I watched her calf muscle tighten. Watched the line of her thighs flex and tremble.
It could’ve been a workout.
Some kind of girly fitness thing.
Or it was a goddamn seduction ritual.
Either way, I was fucked.
She swapped sides and lifted the other leg, inhaling slow and deep like this was some innocent stretch.
I edged a little closer to the doorway. Couldn’t help it.
Her belly was still frustratingly flat. No swell. No bump.
The sooner she started to show, the better—it’d be a fuck-you to every leering bastard within a ten-mile radius.
Men.
No.
Boys.
Horny little fuckboys on her campus who didn’t know she was already taken, bred, and ruined from the inside out.
She moved again.
Rolled over and pushed herself onto her hands and knees.
Then her ass shot up into the air.
Bent down.
Palms on the mat. Knees apart.
I took another step forward. Silent. Predatory.
The light grey Lycra was a fucking crime.
The way it disappeared between her cheeks made her look naked. It was devoured by the curve of her crack, stretched so tight I could see the outline of everything that belonged to me.
Every breath made her body shift, and her ass wobbled like an invitation.
My cock throbbed.
And still, she had the audacity to act like this was exercise.
This wasn’t yoga.
This was a war cry, and I was ready to answer.
I silently removed my T-shirt and dropped it on the floor.
Fucking her on the living room floor wasn’t ideal.
Neither was dragging me away from work mid-strategy review.
But this? This was a personal attack.
I moved in behind her, knees bracketing her mat as I rested my cock between her cheeks. Her soft gasp told me she’d felt every inch of it—hot, hard, and already leaking. My hands gripped her hips like they belonged there, guiding her back so I could slide between her slick heat.
She pretended to be startled, letting out a pitiful cry and fumbling her palms against the mat like she hadn’t been putting on a goddamn show.
“I thought you were working,” she said, breathless.
I leaned in close, dragging the head of my cock along the seam of her leggings. My dick jerked beneath my shorts.
“I came to make a coffee,” I growled. “But I was sabotaged by a dirty little slut.”
Her back arched—reflex.
Her body always gave her away.
“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” I whispered against her spine, biting the words into her skin. “This wasn’t yoga. This was a fucking summons.”
She whimpered as I pulled back, only to watch her arse cradle my dick. It fit perfectly between her cheeks. My hands locked tighter around her hips.
“Tell me, baby,” I murmured, kissing the back of her neck. “Did you want to get fucked face down on this mat? Or were you just stretching for fitness?”
She didn’t answer—couldn’t.
Too busy trembling.
So I reached between her legs and rubbed the truth out of her.
“What are you on about?” she moaned.
But her hips—
Those sinful, traitorous hips—rolled back against me like she hadn’t just spent the last fifteen minutes air-humping the mat in Lycra.
Liar.
I gritted my teeth and ground my cock between her, going lower until I caught her pussy. It was just enough to make her sob.
“Oh, so now you’re innocent?” I murmured darkly. “Just doing your innocent little workout while your fiancé tries to concentrate in his office, yeah?”
Her fingers clenched the edge of the mat. My ring sparkled on her finger.
“This is fitness, not foreplay,” she snapped, breathless.
I grinned. “Really? Then explain why I could smell your pussy from six feet away.”
She shuddered. I slipped one hand from her hip and slipped it beneath her leggings to cup her cunt. Swollen. Soaked. Throbbing.
A landmine dressed in yoga pants.
“You were bent over,” I whispered, dragging my fingers up and down her slit, “tight little leggings jammed so far up your crack I thought you were trying to get fucked by the sun.”
She gasped as I pressed one finger into her slowly. “Tell me the truth, baby. Did you stretch because you wanted to feel healthy, or because you wanted to make me snap?”
“I—” she tried to lift her head, but I slapped her ass hard.
She moaned. Loud.
“Try again. And don’t lie to me. I’ve got a cock full of blood and a whole bottle of lube waiting on the table.”
A beat passed. Then another. Then she whispered—
“…I wanted to make you snap.”
I let out a quiet, deadly laugh.
“There’s my little brat.”
My mouth dropped to her spine, biting. Licking. Worshipping. Her tiny crop top didn't hide anything.
“You stretched your tight little ass in the living room like bait. You think I wouldn’t bite?”
I shoved my finger in deeper, groaning as she tightened around me.
“Now you’re going to get your reward, baby. A long, brutal lesson on what happens when you use yoga as foreplay.”
I reared back, peeled her leggings down to her knees and stared.
“Don’t move,” I said, pushing off her lower back as I rose. My palm lingered—possessive, a warning—before I stepped away.
She whimpered.
Good girl.
I grabbed the bottle from the coffee table, the same one she’d teased me about hauling in bulk. I released the pump, shook it once, and returned to her like a man preparing for a ritual. Because that’s exactly what this was.
“You stayed in position,” I murmured, kneeling behind her again. “So obedient… after being such a manipulative little whore on the mat.”
She turned her head slightly. “Whore’s a bit much.”
I pressed the pump until a thick stream between her cheeks, watching it glisten as it pooled and dripped.
“You wore fuck-me leggings and did ass-up stretches directly in my eyeline,” I said, coating my fingers before massaging it in. “Baby, you might as well have written ‘fuck me’ across your back in marker pen.”
She squealed and buried her face in the mat.
I leaned in, fingers pressing deep, slow. “Now breathe for me. You’re getting fucked like the deviant little yoga slut you are.”
Her thighs trembled. Her asshole tightened around my fingers, trying to resist—but it was pointless. She was already mine. I smirked when she exhaled shakily, her body relaxing with a moan.
She knew exactly what she was doing when she raised that ass for the sun gods. And now I was the one answering.