Mark left on a Thursday morning at 5:42 a.m. for a week-long promotion trip to Singapore. Emma stood in the doorway in her robe, belly resting on her thighs like a heavy shelf, and watched his car pull away. She felt nothing but the warm, secret rush that always hit her when he was gone.
The second the taillights disappeared, her phone buzzed.
Marcus: *Door’s open. Bring the plugs.*
Jax: *Kitchen counter. Now. We’ve got a whole week.*
Emma didn’t run. She waddled upstairs, pulled the plugs out with a wet *schlick*, and let the heavy river of c*m and milk pour down her thighs. Fresh ones slid back in instantly—thick black silicone that would keep everything warm and leaking for hours. She didn’t bother with clothes. Just the robe and her leaking t**s, and she knew that was all they want
