IMPREGNATED BY MY HUSBAND'S TWIN IV

No. No fucking way.

I stared at the man in front of me; the one whose cock I’d just deep-throated, whose hands I’d begged to touch my tits and cunt. He wasn’t Connor. Because Connor was downstairs calling my name.

My heart hammered in my chest like a drum gone wild as I pulled back from him, my lips still tingling from the way I'd wrapped them around his thick dick just moments ago.

I stumbled back a step, one hand flying down to cup my bare, still-dripping pussy like that could somehow hide what he'd already seen; already tasted with his fingers, already felt grinding against his cock through my soaked thong.

"Who the hell are you?" I hissed, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't flinch. Instead, he stepped closer, his blue eyes locking onto mine. They looked so much like Connor's it made my head spin.

"Who I am doesn't matter right now," he said in a low voice like we were sharing some dirty secret. "What matters is you covering up before your husband walks in and sees you like this."

Heat flooded my face as shame mixed with the lingering ache between my legs. He was right. If Connor found us like this, he'd flip. Our marriage wasn't perfect, but it wasn't built on betrayal. Not yet, anyway.

I spun around and scanned the room for something to wear. There was nothing of mine here. I couldn't grab one of Connor's shirts; he'd know something was off if he saw me wearing it. Shit. I was truly and utterly fucked.

"Stay put," fake Connor said, already buttoning his shirt. He had put on his pants while I was rummaging around. "I'll distract him. You can sneak out when it's clear."

I nodded numbly as he slipped out and eased the door shut behind him.

Muffled voices drifted up from the hallway. I pressed my ear to the door, straining to hear. There was no yelling or accusations; just calm words, like old friends catching up. Footsteps faded away, and I cracked the door, peeking out. The coast clear.

I bolted and dashed down the hall to my room. I slammed the door and locked it,before sliding down to the floor with my back against the wood. My hands buried in my face, and hot tears pricked my eyes.

What the hell had I done?

I'd cheated on my husband. That's what. I'd sucked off a stranger and begged him to fuck me. A stranger that looked just like Connor; same broad shoulders, same chiseled jaw, same piercing blue eyes. But now that I thought about it, differences I'd overlooked screamed at me. His hair was darker, his skin more tanned and his voice had a rougher edge than Connor's. His cock was also bigger and thicker.

In the four years I'd been with Connor, he'd never mentioned having a brother, let alone a twin. He had told me he grew up in foster care and was adopted by the Baldwins as a teen. His adoptive parents died in a car crash before we met. He was their only kid. He swore he had no siblings from his bio parents and his bio parents were dead. So why was his double in our house, crashing in the guest room? And why hadn't he told me he was coming over?

Their chat outside hadn't sounded tense. There was no fight or surprise. It was like Connor had expected him to be here. My stomach churned.

I pushed myself up and headed to the bathroom. The mirror showed a mess. The lipstick I had applied was smeared on my lips and my hair disheveled from his fists gripping it while I bobbed on his shaft.

I grabbed my toothbrush, scrubbing hard and the mint flooded my mouth to chase away the evidence of my slutty mistake. I then splashed cold water on my face to kill the flush and patted it dry before pulling on my favorite loungewear—a soft tank top that hugged my curves and loose shorts that rode up my ass. Anything to feel normal again.

I needed answers from both of them. But the second I pictured walking downstairs and looking either of them in the eye, my stomach lurched hard. Fake Connor and I had just seen each other naked and done filthy things to each other. And now real Connor was home. What if he caught the scent of his twin on my skin? What if that musky, salty tang still clung to my lips no matter how hard I’d brushed? What if he saw the flush that wouldn’t fade from my cheeks or the way my thighs still trembled from almost coming on my own fingers while I sucked off the wrong man?

Worse... what if he just knew? Like some fucked-up twin intuition. That his brother had seen me bare-assed and dripping, had felt my cunt clench around gus fingers while I begged for cock I thought was his. That I’d spread for him, rubbed myself against him and practically climbed him like I was starving.

I pressed my forehead to the cool wood of the door, breathing shallowly, trying to shove the panic down. I couldn’t hide up here forever. But going down there felt like walking into a trap I’d set myself. One wrong look, one shaky word, and it could all blow up. My marriage. My dignity. Everything.

Still… I needed to know why the hell that man was here. Why Connor never told me he had a twin. Why I’d just come closer to swallowing a stranger’s load than I had with my own husband in months.

I dragged in a breath, squared my shoulders, and cracked the door. Time to face the mess I’d made.

Steeling myself, I padded downstairs to the living room. Two pairs of blue eyes snapped to me immediately. My body betrayed me before my brain caught up. A rush of heat shot straight to my core and my nipples hardened under the thin fabric. It couldn't be Connor causing that. No, way. It had to be him. But being this far meant I couldn't tell if it was really him or Connor.

I got closer, my heart pounding so hard against my ribs. Yeah, it was him. The rumpled shirt, the faint bulge still outlined in his jeans from our interrupted fun. Relief washed over me for a split second until Connor turned from his spot opposite, that awkward smile plastered on his face. He stood, crossing the room in two strides, and before I could react, his lips pressed against mine.

It was a quick peck and nothing like the hungry kiss I'd wanted upstairs. I froze and my body went stiff. Connor hadn't kissed me like that—hell, he hadn't kissed me at all—in months. Forehead bumps or hand squeezes, sure, but lips? This felt off. And forced.

And worse, nothing stirred in me. No spark, no wetness pooling between my thighs. Just... nothing. Like kissing a roommate. He pulled back, his hand lingering on my arm, then tugged me toward the couch.

"Babe," he said, his voice a touch too bright, "this is my twin brother, Adrien. Adrien, meet my wife, Ruby."