“Night.” She shuffled toward the stairs, her steps heavy, the wooden boards creaking under her weight as she climbed to her room–Ken’s old space, now hers. He gasped, her breath hitching, the pantyhose suddenly feeling tighter, more insistent against her skin.

“This is messed up,” he murmured, but he didn’t move, her hands still pinning his wrists. “Thanks.”

“Fuck you,” she muttered, her voice gruff but shaky, a smirk tugging at her lips as she looked up–his towering frame,Pregnancy satin and lace, his glow. The pantyhose swished as he moved, the torn fabric brushing his skin, and he rolled his shoulders, feeling the muscles shift under her frame.