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"You think I should worry about being fat?" I was having trouble keeping a straight face. My husband, I had learned in the past weeks, had some very strange ways to deflect and defuse a situation. He probably thought it was smart to call a pregnant woman fat, so she'd focus on that and not worry so much about how her apartment was too pedestrian to have billionaires dining in. Oh my God! They were so rich, and I…
"Hey, pregnant lady, focus on me." Duncan was busy pulling my panties down. "How about I give you an orgasm? Will that help?"
I made a face. "I don't know. But it's worth trying."
He pushed my dress up and nuzzled my naked pussy. "My parents will be here in an hour. Let's see how many times I can make you come."
Spoiler alert: it wastwice.
"My best friend used to be an escort," Emilia said excitedly when she met Angelique. "She actually had sex with Duncan."
"Em," Damian, her husband, groaned. "His wife is here, darling, and—"
"I pretended to be an escort to sleep with him, so I'm not surprised that my husband had sex with prostitutes," I pointed out.
"I don't likethatterm…prostitute," Angelique said in her accented English. "I prefer sex worker. I have a TikTok channel where I talk about being a sex worker, and I sometimes I," she made a gesture that looked like she was giving a man a hand job, "do that and say I'm anmmmworker. That's what I do in English. In French, we simply sayescort."
"You have a TikTok channel." Marcella picked up her glass of red wine. "Tell me your handle because I'm very curious about a few things."
"You can ask me anything. I'll tell you," Angelique invited.
"No," Duncan immediately said, along with Tate, Damian, and Dean.
Marcella sighed. "Darling, Elsa, these men think that if I ask questions about sex work, you'll be embarrassed."
"Or I will be," Emilia suggested.
Emilia, a good-looking woman who was almost as pregnant as I was, had bright eyes and wore simple maternity clothes, which I appreciated because I did too—mine was boho chic, hers more tomboy. Marcella, on the other hand, was dressed head-to-toe in Christian Dior and looked a bit like Salma Hayek.
Angelique, tall, blonde, and sexy like a supermodel, also wore designer, though her style was more relaxed: an off-shoulder Prada dress and Balenciaga slippers.
The men, including Thierry, were all in jeans and shirts—and, of course, my husband was the most handsome. Obviously!
"Emilia, you ask the same kind of inappropriate questions as Mom, so I doubt you'll take offense," Damian complained.
"I want to know more about prostate massage," Duncan's mother declared, and all the men groaned.
"Oh, come on, you're all behaving like you don't like a finger up your arse," Thierry declared.
"Liking it and talking about it when my parents are around are twoverydifferent things," Dean remarked.
"Men like a finger up there?" I asked curiously and looked at Duncan who was shaking with silent laughter.
"The prostate is very…érogène…ah…" Angelique tried to find the word in English.
"Erogenous," Duncan supplied.
"Yes," Angelique continued. "When I'm in a hurry and want them to be done with their business quickly, I put a finger in, and they go off like a rocket."
"It's something new my husband and I are trying," Marcella told Angelique, and I watched as Tate sat there his head bowed.
"It's wonderful that you are still experimenting with sex at your age," Angelique told them.
"We're notthatold," Marcella protested.
"How are you holding up?" Emilia, who was sitting next to me, whispered.
I looked at her in gratitude. Ever since she came into my humble abode, she'd been super friendly and accepting. "I…it's not what I expected."
