Chapter 3

“Well. Someone finally got the dessert they’ve been starving for,” Jessica says, setting the blackened tray down gently and pulling off the oven mitts one finger at a time. “Close your legs, sweetheart. You’re dripping on my marble.”

I instinctively squeeze my thighs together, but a thick drop of Tyler’s cum still hits the floor with a soft, obscene sound.

“It just… happened. Tyler was drunk and—”

“Tyler was exactly how I wanted him to be,” she cuts in, her voice soft but steady. “I replaced half the bottle of whiskey with Everclear three hours ago.”

The words hit me like ice water. Tyler had acted drunk, but not blackout drunk. He knew I wasn’t Jessica. He had wanted me.

The realization twists something dark and victorious in my gut.

“What’s this about?” I mutter, heart hammering against my ribs.

She steps closer, her eyes flicking to the red handprint on my ass. Not with anger, but with something almost sad.

“I needed you fertile.”

Fertile? What the fuck?

“I needed the two of you to have sex,” she whispers, her voice cracking slightly. “That’s why I pretended to leave the house. I knew you’d crack eventually… just not this early. But my mission is accomplished.”

I stare at her, still naked, cum drying on my skin, trying to process.

“I’m infertile, Joyce. I can’t carry a child.”

What? Since when?

She slides an envelope across the counter with trembling hands. I snatch it, rip it open, and scan the pages, my sticky fingers leaving marks on the paper. An ultrasound stares back at me—Jessica’s womb, empty. Barren.

“It’s empty,” I say, voice flat.

“I thought you and Tyler already had sex.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” she replies, eyes welling up. “I can’t give birth, and Dad won’t accept it if I adopt and lie. I haven’t told Tyler yet. I was planning to tell him next week after the wedding.”

“Okay… and what does this have to do with me and Tyler fucking?”

“So… I came up with a plan,” she continues, voice dropping to a desperate plea. “You and I are identical—down to blood type. I was hoping you’d carry for ten weeks, we transfer the embryo to my uterus, and I give birth in March like nothing ever happened.”

She reaches out, brushes a smear of cum from my lip with her thumb, and licks it clean without breaking eye contact. Her touch is gentle, almost loving.

“You’ve already done the hard part, twin. All you have to do now is keep your legs open for a few more loads… and then hand my baby back when it’s time.”

Her smile is shaky, desperate.

I finally find my voice, sharp and cold. “So let me get this straight… you want me to be your fucking oven for ten weeks, then go through surgery just to hand the baby over to you?”

“Yes… exactly. Now you’re getting it,” she says, eyes pleading. “Please, Joyce. You’re my sister. I’ve always been there for you—Cambridge, the money, everything. Do this for me. For us. I can’t lose Tyler over this. I can’t lose my family.”

“No,” I snap, backing up a step and slamming my hand on the counter. “Fuck no. You set me up like a lab rat? I’m not your surrogate incubator, Jess. Find someone else to play baby factory.”

Her face crumples. Real tears roll down her cheeks.

“Joyce, please,” she begs, grabbing my arm softly but tightly. “I’m begging you. This is my only chance. We’re twins—we share everything. Remember Mom? She always said we were two halves of the same soul. If you say no, I lose everything. Please… I’ll do anything. I’ll give you half the house, the yacht, whatever you want. Just say yes.”

I yank my arm free and pace the kitchen, bare feet slapping against the cold marble. The smoke still stings my eyes—or maybe it’s the tears I’m fighting back.

She’s my sister. My twin. The one who saved me after Mom died. The guilt twists like a knife in my chest.

“Fine,” I mutter, stopping and crossing my arms over my bare chest. “Whatever. But this is fucked up, Jess.”

She pulls me into a tight hug, whispering “Thank you” over and over like I just saved her life. I stand there stiffly, not hugging back, but not pushing her away either.

I pull out of the embrace and head upstairs on shaky legs, leaving her in the kitchen.

My mind is a storm.

Do I have a choice? For now, I go with the flow.

I slip into her room. Tyler is sprawled on the bed, dead asleep, as if we hadn’t just fucked for two nonstop rounds. Must be the spiked liquor.

I grab one of Jessica’s blouses—the same one I’d been wearing earlier—and slip it on, fingers fumbling with the buttons as I stare at my reflection. Her face stares back at me.

This isn’t my room… not yet.

I take a long, scalding shower, scrubbing my skin raw, turning the water hotter until it burns. I slam the soap bar against the tile in frustration.

“Who would have guessed… the all-perfect, stunning, always-lucky Jessica can’t give birth.”

And I’ll have to give her the child.

I press my forehead against the cool shower wall, one hand resting on my flat stomach.

Ten weeks? Surgery? Hand it over like a library book? And I’ll be left with nothing. Still the failure. Still not perfect.

Fuck that.

I can’t be her shadow forever. I have to change that.

“And you’re going to help me with that,” I whisper to the probably-not-yet-fertilized egg, tracing slow circles on my skin. “Am I crazy or what?”

I step out, towel off roughly, and slip into nightwear. It’s 3:17 a.m. Sleep refuses to come.

I pace my room, fists clenching, then creep to Jessica’s room for a peek. She’s asleep. Tyler lies naked in the middle, sheets barely covering his cock.

Still out cold.

I slip inside, tiptoe to the bed, and gently slide under the sheet next to him. The mattress dips as I press my body against his. My hand slides over his chest. He stirs but doesn’t wake.

I go back to my own room, stare at the ceiling, mind racing.

If I give her the baby, she wins forever. If I keep it… I win everything.

The memory of her licking Tyler’s cum from my lips flashes through my mind.

Cocky bitch.

I’m keeping the baby. Tyler. And everything that’s supposed to be hers.

The Next Day

“Aahh—mmph…”

I jolt awake, tangled in sheets. “Fuck… my body feels like I got hit by a bus.”

I sit up, smiling through the delicious ache. Every sore muscle reminds me of Tyler’s hands, his thrusts, the way he groaned my name when he came.

I roll over and press a hand to my stomach. “Still flat,” I whisper, fingers lingering there, wondering if something is already changing inside.

I kick the covers off and pace to the window. Jessica’s car is still in the driveway.

Good. She’s not running from her own mess.

Downstairs, Jessica is in the kitchen, moving like nothing happened. She’s making coffee.

“Oh hey, Joyce. Good morning,” she says, voice jolly. “Coffee?”

I nod, sliding onto a stool and crossing my legs tight. “Black. Strong.”

She pours it, slides the mug over, and leans on the counter. “I meant what I said last night. Thank you, Joyce. This means everything.”

She reaches across and squeezes my hand. I let her, but my fingers stay limp.

Tyler stumbles in, hair a mess, eyes squinty from the hangover. He rubs his head and groans. “What the hell happened? My head feels like a jackhammer.”

He spots me and freezes, gaze dropping to my nightwear like fragments are coming back.

“Joyce? Last night… was that you?”

Jessica jumps in, wrapping her arms around him from behind and kissing his neck. “You were celebrating, sweetie. Our family. I’m having a baby!”

Of course she breaks the news without mentioning me. Fucking whore.

I stab my fork into the stack of pancakes, twisting hard.

“Wait, you’re pregnant?” Tyler asks, stunned.

“Yeah,” Jessica replies, bubbly as ever.

“But last night I… with Joyce…” he trails off, looking at me.

He reaches across the counter to touch my hand. I pull back slightly, smiling sweetly. “Congratulations on the baby.”

Under the table, I uncross my legs and let my foot brush slowly up his calf. He jerks, eyes widening, but says nothing.

Jessica beams, plating more pancakes. “Eat up. We have doctor appointments to book. This is going to be perfect.”

I chew, the sweetness turning bitter in my mouth.

Perfect for her, maybe.

As Tyler steals glances at me, I think: One month. That’s all I need to make it perfect for me.

The weeks blur together.

We take the pregnancy test in the bathroom. I pee on the stick. We wait. Jessica paces, biting her nails, far more anxious than I am.

Two lines appear.

Positive.

Jessica cries and hugs me so tight I can barely breathe. “My hero,” she whispers.

I hug back, but my hands fist in her shirt.

She swaps the test with one labeled in her name and shows it to Tyler. He picks her up, spins her, laughing with joy.

I step in for a congratulatory hug, pressing my body against his. “Remember,” I whisper in his ear.

He stiffens, but hugs me tighter.

I help with the rushed wedding—adjusting her veil in the fitting room, smiling in the mirror while secretly twirling in my own dress when she isn’t looking, imagining it’s my day.

One night, while Jessica showers, I corner Tyler in the hallway. I push him against the wall and kiss him hard.

“That night was us,” I breathe.

He kisses back for a second, then pushes me away, guilt flashing in his eyes. “We can’t.”

But his eyes say he wants to.

That’s the first step—make him remember who was really on his cock.

The wedding is small and intimate. I stand at the altar, hand subtly on my belly under the bouquet, forcing a smile as they kiss.

At the reception, Tyler pulls me aside. “Hey Joyce… what’s really going on? That day… I remember you. Is everything alright?”

I step closer, fix his tie, letting my fingers linger on his chest. “It was real, Ty.”

I trail my finger down to the outline of his cock through his trousers. “Meet me in my room tomorrow night. 2 a.m.”

Clink-clink-clink.

Jessica taps her wine glass for a toast. “We are all gathered here for a special event. It’s not just the wedding we’re celebrating,” she says, hand on her stomach. “A new family member is joining us very soon.”

The room erupts in cheers. Dad looks so proud. “So proud of you, hon. Your mom would have been too.”

After the toast, as we sit together eating and drinking, a small piece of my plan clicks into place.

A week before the embryo transfer, Jessica books everything, excited, showing me calendars and timelines.

What she doesn’t know is that I’m going to ruin every last bit of her happiness.

“And it’s just a matter of time,” I whisper to myself, grinning.

“At long last… this fucking wedding is finally over,” I mutter, barefoot, toes curling against the cool tile as I head to the kitchen for something to eat.

Tyler had been glued to me the whole damn day. Every dance, his hands sat low on my waist, fingers digging in like he already owned every inch. I can still feel the pressure of his palms, the way his thumbs kept rubbing slow, lazy circles right above my ass. It made my stomach do this stupid little flip, heat pooling low even now. God, I’m grinning like an idiot just thinking about it.

Soon it’ll be only us. Him. That thick cock I’ve been dying for. His house, his yacht, his last name—mine.

I bite my lip hard to kill the smile.

Footsteps come down the hall. Speak of the devil.

Tyler rounds the corner, shirt half undone, tie gone, whiskey sharp on him. We almost pass each other when his hand shoots out and catches my wrist, grip firm, warm, possessive.

“Don’t forget,” he says, voice low and gravelly, the kind that makes my thighs press together. “Midnight. Your room. I want the truth tonight.”

I step right into him, letting my swollen belly brush against the front of his pants. My fingers trail down his bare chest, nails scraping lightly until I feel his muscles jump under my touch.

“Of course,” I whisper, leaning up so my lips brush his ear, breath hot. “Husband of the year.” I drag my tongue slow over his earlobe, tasting the salt on his skin. “I’ll be naked and waiting, baby. Don’t you dare be late.”

He makes this rough sound in his throat, eyes going dark. “Won’t be,” he growls, then forces himself to walk away toward the master bedroom, shoulders tight.

Get ready, Jess. Tomorrow’s gonna be hell for you.

I’m still grinning when my stomach growls again. Right. Food first.

2:00 a.m.

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, completely naked, one leg crossed over the other, heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. The lamp casts this soft gold light over everything. My skin feels too warm, too tight.

The door creaks open.

Tyler steps in, shirt hanging open, chest rising and falling fast like he’s been pacing. He closes the door behind him and just stands there, eyes locked on me.

“Lock it,” I say, voice quieter than I expect.

He reaches back, twists the lock without looking away. The click is loud in the silence.

“You actually came,” I breathe.

“You think I could sleep after that shit you whispered at the reception?” His voice is rough, strained, like the words hurt coming out. “Tell me it’s bullshit, Joyce. Tell me my wife didn’t lie to me for months.”

I stand up slowly, hips swaying just a little as I walk to him. I press one finger to his lips, feeling how warm they are.

“Shh… Get on your knees first, daddy.”

He lets out this deep, broken groan and drops right there on the carpet. His big hands grab my ass immediately, squeezing, spreading me open. Then his mouth is on me—hot tongue dragging slow and filthy up my slit before he latches onto my clit and sucks hard.

I’m dripping already. I can feel it running down my thighs, smearing across his chin as he eats me like he’s starving. My fingers slide into his hair, gripping tight, pulling him closer while I roll my hips against his face.

“Fuck—right there,” I gasp, grinding harder, legs starting to tremble.

He pushes two thick fingers into me without warning. They slide in easy, curling just right, pumping fast. I shove his face deeper and ride his tongue shamelessly, breath coming in short, needy pants.

“Oh shit—yes—don’t stop—”

I come hard, thighs shaking, hips jerking as I flood his mouth. He groans against me and swallows, throat moving, messy sounds filling the room while it drips down his chin onto his neck.

I yank his head back by the hair, chest heaving, trying to catch my breath.

“Pants off. Now.”

He stands up fast, hands fumbling with his belt, zipper ripping down. His cock springs out—thick, hard, the head shiny and leaking. It slaps heavy against his stomach.

I turn quick, climbing onto the bed on my hands and knees, ass up high, back arched, belly hanging heavy beneath me, face buried in the pillow.

He grabs his cock, rubs the fat head over my clit once, twice, teasing until I whine and push back. Then he lines up and presses in just enough to stretch me.

“Start talking,” he growls, voice wrecked.

“She’s infertile,” I pant, pushing back onto him. “Been lying for months. Tomorrow she was gonna have them cut the baby out of me at ten weeks—”

He slams in deep in one brutal thrust.

“Fuuuck!” I cry out into the pillow, fingers twisting in the sheets.

He doesn’t go easy. His hips slap hard against my ass, balls smacking my clit with every thrust. My tits swing heavy, belly bouncing under me, the bed creaking loud. I’m so wet it’s messy—creamy arousal coating his cock, leaving white rings every time he pulls back.

He grabs the veil still tangled in my hair, yanks my head back like reins, and fucks me harder, deeper.

“Say it again,” he grits out through clenched teeth.

“It’s our baby—only ours—she was gonna steal it—”

He flips me onto my back so fast my head spins, throws my legs over his shoulders, folding me in half. I’m wide open, helpless, his weight pinning me down.

“Ultrasound’s in the folder—look—”

He snatches the papers with one hand, eyes scanning while his hips keep slamming into me, relentless.

“She lied to my fucking face?” he snarls, throwing the papers aside.

His hands grip my hips tight, pounding so deep I feel him in my stomach.

“Yes—daddy—yes—”

I squirt hard, soaking his abs and thighs, my whole body shaking. He pulls out, slaps his wet cock against my clit twice—sharp, stinging—then buries himself again and comes with a deep, broken groan. Thick, hot spurts flood me as he keeps grinding through it, cock twitching inside.

We collapse together, both panting, his heavy body pressing me into the mattress, cock still buried deep, pulsing.

I reach under the pillow, grab the pen, and push it into his hand.

He signs every page without pulling out, cum leaking around him with every scratch of the pen.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers against my mouth, voice raw, “she’s gone.”

I smirk and clench around him, milking that last drop.

“Good boy.”

7:00 a.m.

I walk downstairs barefoot, the shirt I stole from Tyler barely covering anything. Fresh hickeys cover my neck and chest, and my thighs still feel sticky from last night.

Jessica’s already in the kitchen, tote bag on her shoulder, that little white tennis skirt riding up slightly, ponytail swinging as she hums like nothing’s wrong. She thinks we’re just running errands before tomorrow’s “procedure.”

Tyler comes down first—barefoot, sweatpants hanging low, face cold as stone. I follow right behind him.

Jessica turns, smiling bright. “Hey honey, good morn—”

The smile drops the second she sees me—half-naked in his shirt, belly obvious, looking freshly fucked.

“Is it true?” Tyler asks, voice flat and cold.

Her face goes pale. “Is… what true?”

“That you’re infertile. That tomorrow you were gonna have doctors cut my son out of Joyce and pretend it was yours.”

The tote bag slips from her fingers and hits the floor with a dull thud.

“Tyler—”

“Answer me.”

Tears start falling immediately. “Y-yes,” she chokes, voice breaking. “I was scared you’d leave me. I didn’t want to lose you—”

She drops to her knees, hands grabbing at his sweatpants. “Please… please don’t—”

Her eyes dart to me, full of hurt and rage. “You… After everything? The double shifts so you could go to Cambridge? Paying your tuition? Writing your essays while you were out partying? I gave you a home, a future… and you do this? Steal my husband and my baby the day after my wedding?”

I lean against the doorframe, one hand slowly rubbing my belly, watching her crumble. It feels so fucking good.

Tyler steps closer to her. “None of that matters anymore,” he says coldly. “I needed a son. Joyce is giving me one. You two look the same anyway. It’ll be like nothing changed.”

He pulls the signed divorce papers from his back pocket and drops them at her feet.

“Out by noon.”

Jessica breaks completely—sobs tearing out of her as she crawls forward, clutching his legs, begging through ugly, shaking cries.

Tyler turns away from her like she’s nothing. He walks straight to me, slides both hands over my belly, and kisses me deep and slow, tongue sliding against mine while she sobs behind him on the floor.

“P-please… Tyler… Joyce… don’t do this…”

I break the kiss just enough to look over his shoulder at her.

“It’s over, bitch. You’ve got until noon to get the fuck out of my house.”

I lace my fingers with Tyler’s, and we walk away together, leaving Jessica shattered and crying on the cold kitchen floor.

Maddison’s POV

I tug my skirt a little higher up my thighs under the desk and bite the inside of my lip, trying not to let my face show what’s happening. A new chapter of Sinful Fantasies dropped an hour ago and… fuck, I’m already gone.

“Ahhh… yes Daddy! Pound that sloppy cunt,” Mandy begged in the story while Norman pinned her wrists above her head, choking her as he slammed into her so hard the headboard cracked.

I whimper softly, thighs squeezing and sliding together. My pussy is soaked, making that quiet, wet sound every time I shift. God, I can practically feel Norman’s thick black cock splitting me open.

Sigh… “But I’m stuck with these,” I mutter under my breath, holding up my five fingers.

I glance around the lecture hall—everyone’s heads are down, scribbling notes or staring at their laptops. No one’s paying attention. My hand slips under the desk, fingers rubbing slow circles over my clit through my soaked panties.

“Hss… not enough,” I hiss between my teeth, hunching my shoulders like I’m super focused on my screen.

My eyes flick left, then right. Clear.

I hook the edge of my black panties and pull them aside. Cool air hits my slick, puffy folds and I shiver. Using two fingers, I spread my cunt lips wide open, exposing my swollen pink clit completely.

The thrill shoots straight through me. “Fuck, that feels good,” I think, imagining it’s his tongue instead.

Then I feel it—that heavy, burning stare crawling over my exposed pussy like a physical touch.

I don’t look up right away. I let the moment stretch, let the heat of his gaze lick over my clit. When I finally raise my lashes, there he is.

Mr. Marcus.

The new literature lecturer.

He’s standing at the front like he walked straight out of the damn story. Tall, broad, dark skin glowing under the lights. Shoulders that look strong enough to hold a girl up while he fucks her senseless. Thick forearms flexing as he grips the podium, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, veins popping every time he moves. His chest strains against the buttons of his shirt like it’s about to lose the fight. And that jaw—sharp, shadowed, clenched so tight the muscle jumps.

He looks exactly like Norman. Same quiet power. Same big hands made for choking and gripping and owning.

And right now, those dark eyes are locked between my legs. He sees everything—my glistening pink clit, my beefy lips spread wide by my own fingers, the slick shining on my inner thighs.

His throat bobs hard as he swallows. His lips part like he forgot how to breathe. One hand tightens on the edge of the podium until his knuckles go pale.

Fuck, I want him.

I bite my lip, slow and seductive, a crazy idea sparking in my head.

He clears his throat and tries to go back to the lecture, but his voice is rougher now. Barely holding it together.

I push two fingers inside myself nice and slow, letting my tight, wet heat stretch around them. My mouth drops open in a silent gasp as I curl them deeper, hitting that spot that makes my toes curl.

His eyes snap back down. I watch his huge bulge strain against his zipper, thick and obvious.

My eyes flutter half-shut, lashes trembling. A soft, slutty little “Uhh…” slips out before I can stop it, my tongue peeking out to wet my lips.

Every time my fingers thrust in, my hips give this tiny, helpless roll under the desk.

“—FUCK!”

His voice cracks loud across the room.

The class murmurs. “What was that?” “Is he okay?”

Mr. Marcus’s neck flushes deep red. He coughs, shuffling papers he’s already shuffled twice. “Ahem… sorry. Um… where was I?”

Marcus’s POV

Shit… my neck is burning.

What the hell is she doing?

I stare down at the textbook, trying to find where I left off, but the words are blurry. I look up again.

Fuck. She’s still at it.

Her arm moves in that small, steady rhythm under the desk. Her lip is red and a little swollen from how hard she’s been biting it. Those pretty eyes are half-lidded, pretending to stare at her laptop, but every few seconds they flick up to check if I’m still watching.

I am. I can’t stop.

My dick is throbbing so hard it hurts, trapped painfully against my zipper. Every heartbeat makes it pulse. I’m so hard I’m getting lightheaded.

I turn toward the board, pretending to write something, but really I’m just trying to breathe. My forehead is damp with sweat. That image of her spread-open cunt is burned into my brain—pink, dripping, her fingers sliding in and out over and over.

I want to storm down the aisle, grab her by the hair, bend her over the nearest desk and fuck her raw until the whole building hears her screaming my name.

Instead, I slam the marker down harder than I mean to.

“That’s it for today, class,” I announce, voice rough.

I snatch my textbook and lock eyes with her one more time. Her fingers are still buried deep inside herself, and she slowly drags her tongue across her bottom lip in the filthiest way.

A low groan almost escapes me as my cock twitches violently in my pants.

“Miss Maddison,” I say, louder and sharper than I intended. “My office. Now.”

I make it to my office, slam the door shut, and start pacing like a caged animal. My hand keeps rubbing over the massive bulge in my pants, trying to ease the ache, but it only makes it worse.

“Where the fuck is she?” I mutter, heart pounding.

A soft knock at the door makes me freeze.

“Come in,” I say, trying to sound calm as I move behind my desk.