The late afternoon light had softened, the nursery wrapped in a calm quiet. Eli had finally finished feeding, his tiny lips slick with milk as he nuzzled against Stiles’s breast. She stroked his cheek, still sitting in the rocking chair, her blouse hanging completely open.

Derek lingered by the crib, trying not to look but failing miserably. His eyes kept straying to the pale swell of her breasts, the way her nipples were swollen and damp from nursing. His jaw was tight, his hands shoved into his pockets, as if that could keep him in control.

“Do you want to help burp him?” Stiles asked suddenly, her tone light but mischievous. She adjusted Eli against her chest, the baby’s cheek pressing between the valley of her breasts.

Derek hesitated. “I… sure.”

He stepped closer, towering over her. Stiles rose slowly from the chair, pressing Eli to her shoulder. She was so close now, her perfume sweet and intoxicating, the warmth of her body brushing against his arm.

“Just pat his back gently,” she murmured, turning slightly so Derek could take over.

Derek placed his large hand carefully on Eli’s back and began to pat. But in the narrow space between them, his knuckles brushed against the side of Stiles’s breast. Soft, warm, and impossibly inviting.

The contact was brief—accidental. But Stiles reacted instantly.

A soft, breathy moan escaped her lips.

Derek froze. His eyes shot to her face, panic flashing. “S—sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Stiles bit her pink lip, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as though savoring it. “It’s… okay,” she whispered, her voice sultry.

Derek’s throat went dry. His hand was still on the baby’s back, but he could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the curve of her breast so close. And below, in his trousers, he felt himself stirring—an embarrassing hardness pressing insistently against the fabric.

He stepped back quickly, clearing his throat. “I think he’s fine now,” he muttered, trying to mask the crack in his voice.

Stiles smiled knowingly, adjusting her blouse but not bothering to button it all the way. She could see the way he avoided her eyes, the way his body betrayed him even when he tried to act proper.

And she loved it.

That evening, the three of them sat at the long dining table. Sara was in her element—hair freshly styled, nails painted, a glass of wine in hand. She chatted endlessly about a new yoga retreat, her voice airy and self-absorbed.

Derek sat opposite her, his expression polite but distracted. His mind wasn’t on her words. His mind wasn’t even on the food.

It was on Stiles.

She moved around the kitchen with ease, setting dishes on the table, bending to take plates from lower cupboards, the hem of her tiny dress riding dangerously high each time. The soft fabric clung to her hips, outlining every curve, and when she leaned forward to place a bowl down, her breasts swayed freely beneath the thin fabric, nipples pressing faintly through.

Derek’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. His eyes followed her every move, hunger written all over his face.

Stiles noticed, of course. She bent slower than necessary, her ass jutting out, her skirt sliding up to reveal the lacy edge of her underwear. When she turned, she caught his gaze fixed on her, and she smiled innocently, pretending not to understand the effect she had.

Sara, meanwhile, prattled on, oblivious. “And honestly, breastfeeding just ruins your figure. That’s why I’d never do it. I mean, look at me—don’t I look like I’ve never even had a baby?” She twirled her hair proudly, not even glancing at her son in the high chair beside her.

Stiles placed a spoon in front of her and replied sweetly, “Yes, ma’am. You look… untouched.”

The word hung in the air, layered with meaning. Derek’s hand tightened around his glass.

Dinner went on, but Derek barely tasted the food. His eyes kept flicking to Stiles—her legs crossed under the table, the flash of bare thigh when her skirt rode up, the way she leaned over the counter afterward to clean, her breasts nearly spilling free.

Sara was too wrapped up in her phone and her own reflection in the silver cutlery to notice.

But Derek noticed everything.

And Stiles made sure he did.