Around ten minutes later, Jen's bedroom light finally turns on. Though I've tried to prepare myself to see Jen walking in with that Jeff guy, I still feel a wave of tension creeping up my spine.
A second later, Jen appears in my scope, but instead of the scenario I had envisioned, she simply sits on the edge of her bed, lifelessly staring at her vanity mirror.
What? Where's Jeff?
I scan the room through my scope, but there's no sign of him. Did they have a fight?
Despite feeling a wave of relief—hell, even happiness—that there's no man in her room, I can't help but be curious about what happened on her date.
Jen exhales a heavy sigh, her expression unreadable. Then, as if in frustration, she tugs off her dress and carelessly tosses it to the corner of the bed. She brushes her hands over her skin, sneaking her fingers between her bra and body. Closing her eyes, she bites her lower lip and caresses herself, pulling one breast out of the bra cup before rolling her fingers over it.
Still rubbing her chest, she falls back onto the bed. Her other hand slides under her black stocking, moving between her thighs.
I bite my lower lip, my pulse quickening.
I don't usually get aroused by watching a woman masturbate. But this is Jen.
And she looks... frustrated.
It's clear she doesn't do this often—hell, she's not even enjoying it. Her movements are hesitant, almost mechanical.
Yet still… she's Jen.
When I see her fingers dipping between her legs, a raw desire surges through me. I want to be those fingers. I want it to be my hands and my tongue teasing her, driving her insane until she's moaning my name, drowning in pleasure only I can give her.
Just the thought sends a rush of heat to my groin. My body reacts instantly, my cock straining painfully against my pants.
I reach down—
But before I can do anything, she stops.
Suddenly, Jen lets out a frustrated scream and slams her fist against the mattress. Then, covering her face with both hands, she lies there, motionless.
I freeze, watching her with a mix of emotions.
Slowly, she sits up again and stands in front of the vanity mirror, clad only in her bra and stockings. She rubs her face, sighing heavily. Then, her hands move down, resting on her belly.
The motion draws my eyes to her stomach as well.
She's gained a couple of pounds—just a little, hardly noticeable. But still, I see it. A slight curve on her lower belly.
Yet instead of frustration, she smiles.
It's not the usual smile she gives when she's happy or laughing.
It's something different.
Something soft.
Something tender.
Her fingers cup the small mound of her stomach, rubbing it in slow, gentle circles. She stares at her reflection with that same gentle smile—the kind a mother would give to her…
A mother…
My heart stops.
Is she… pregnant?
No. No way.
But the way she's looking at herself…
My mind races.
I tear my eyes away from the scope, gripping my forehead. Is she really pregnant?
Almost on instinct, I grab my wallet, phone, jacket, keys, and helmet before storming out of my apartment.
I barely process what I'm doing until my motorcycle roars to life.
Then I freeze.
Should I even confront her?
Do I even want to hear the truth?
But I need to know.
I take off toward Jennifer's apartment.
Then another thought strikes me like a bullet—
What if I'm not the father?
My hands tighten on the handlebars, and my body makes a sharp turn—away from Jennifer's apartment.
My mind is a battlefield.
I force my bike into a sharp turn back toward Jennifer's apartment.
This is insane. I'm acting like a madman.
By the time I arrive, my nerves are shot. My hands are sweating inside my gloves.
I park and walk to the front entrance, barely thinking straight.
"Good evening, Mr. Bennet."
I snap out of my daze as the doorman, Mike, greets me.
"Evening, Mike," I mutter.
"Are you here to see Miss McCourtney, sir?" he asks.
"Yes. She's in, right?"
Mike shakes his head. "Miss McCourtney just left, sir. Not more than five minutes ago."
My stomach twists.
"Oh…"
"She seemed to be in a hurry," he adds.
I nod, forcing out a "Thanks" before walking back toward my motorcycle, feeling… empty.
It wasn't meant to be, my mind tells me. Let it go.
I sit motionless on my bike, tormented.
Should I wait for her?
Or should I just go home?
She's probably not coming back anytime soon.
She's probably with Jeff right now.
Or worse—what if he really is the father?
My grip tightens on the handlebars.
Before I can decide what to do, my phone rings.
An unknown number.
Which isn't strange—I get unknown numbers all the time.
But this is my social phone.
And I never get unknown numbers on this phone.
"Hello," I answer the call, my voice wary.
"Where are you?"
Jen.
My body tenses. "..."
"Scott?" she calls again, her voice uncertain.
I swallow. "Out… outside. Why?"
"I'm at your apartment. Your front door guy said you don't live here anymore—"
"What?!" My pulse kicks up. "What are you—? I'm at your apartment."
"Huh?" She sounds confused. "What are you doing at my place?"
"I need to ask you something important. And you?"
"I… I need your favor."
Her voice is softer, hesitant.
I frown. "My favor? Are you in trouble?"
"No… not really."
Something's off. "Just stay right there. I'll come to you."
Before she can say anything else, I end the call and rev my motorcycle to life, speeding off toward my old apartment.
I would've flown there if I could.
But apparently, my bike had other plans.
With an infuriating clunk, it breaks down in the middle of the road, refusing to budge.
"Shit!" I hiss through clenched teeth.
It takes me precious minutes to get it back to my garage before I can ditch it and run.
Not just run—but bolt.
By the time I reach my apartment building, my heart isn't even pounding from exhaustion—only from the sheer anticipation of seeing her again.
"Oh, Mr. Bennet, sir. She decided to wait for you in front of your unit," the front door man, Don, greets me.
"Thanks, Don," I mutter, barely sparing him a glance before stepping inside.
As the elevator ascends, a strange mix of excitement and anxiety coils tight in my chest.
I don't know how I'll react when I see her.
I don't know how she will react.
And then—
I see her.
Standing just outside my door, leaning against the wall, biting her nail.
I stop a few steps away, just looking at her.
She turns her head at the sound of my footsteps, her eyes locking onto mine.
"Hi…" I murmur awkwardly.
"Hi…" she echoes, just as awkward.
I take a step closer. "Something wrong?"
"N-No…"
"But on the phone, you—"
"No, I'm not in trouble. Sorry… I think… I think I made a mistake…"
I frown.
A mistake? What kind of mistake?
Stepping forward, I gently grasp her upper arm, my touch light but firm.
"Jen… what is it?"
She doesn't answer.
Instead, we just stare at each other.
Unmoving.
Breathing the same air.
The space between us growing smaller and smaller.
I don't even realize our faces are inches apart until I can feel her warm breath against my lips.
My fingers tighten ever so slightly on her arm.
Her chest rises and falls quickly, as if she's fighting some internal battle.
"Scott…" she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I swallow. "Yes…"
I don't know if it's my pulse or hers that's hammering between us.
Her eyes flicker down to my lips.
And then, in the quietest, most breathless voice—
"Make love to me."