Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

#Chapter 170 – Seduction

The next morning, Delia and Emma sit at the kitchen table, Delia’s phone between them.

“Are you ready for this?” Emma asks, hesitating.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for this,” Delia says, her eyes wide.

Emma nods, understanding. She knows what she’s asking of Delia. She’s sending her into a situation

that was potentially violent, unpredictable, dangerous.

“Hey,” Delia says, reaching out and taking Emma’s hand, reading the worry on her face. “I agreed to

this of my own free will. If I wasn’t willing to do it, I would have said no.”

Emma nods, but shakes her head at the same time. “It’s just…it’s not right. It should be me, taking the

big risk.”

“Yeah,” Delia says with a smirk, glancing down at her fit body. “But we both know that I’m the better

bait.”

Emma just rolls her eyes.

Giving Emma a wink, Delia screws up her courage and grabs the phone, sending the text that they’d

carefully crafted this morning.

Delia: Hey. We haven’t talked in a while. But I’ve been thinking about you…

Then, they wait.

The reply takes a long time – hours, it feels like. So long that both women get bored, moving around

the kitchen, doing chores to keep the already-spotless place clean. Passing the time.

But then, suddenly, the phone blinks.

A new text message.

Emma stops, holding her breath, staring at it. But Delia moves to pick it up.

Joyce: I’m not surprised. I’ve been thinking about you too.

Delia reads it aloud to Emma and then they both stare at each other.

“What should I write back?” Delia asks quietly.

“I have…no idea.” Emma says, her voice quiet.

“Come on, Emma,” Delia says, putting a hand on her hip in frustration. “He’s your husband. What does

he like?”

Emma glares at Delia for a moment, but Delia holds her stare. Emma breaks eye contact first.

“Um,” Emma says. “He’ll like it if you’re…assertive. Assertive now, and then let him take control later.

Let him feel like…he wore you down. Broke you.”

Delia nods, turning her attention back to the phone. She types out a reply.

Delia: Why don’t I take you up on that offer you made so many years ago. For a drink. Alone.

Somewhere discreet.

The text comes back faster this time.

Joyce: Looks like planting old seeds finally paid off. Tonight, 8. You name the place.

“Okay,” Delia says, breathing out a sigh of relief. “He took the bait. We’re having drinks at eight.”

Emma nods tightly while Delia types out the name of her favorite bar, where she and Evelyn have gone

so many times. Then, she puts her phone back into her pocket, looking at Emma.

“Are you okay?” Delia asks, taking in her pale face, her strained features.

“It’s all going according to plan,” Emma murmurs. “It’s just…it feels so much more real now. So much

more dangerous.”

Delia closes the distance between them, putting her hands steadily on Emma’s shoulders. “It’s all going

to be okay,” she says, giving her a small smile. “This is going to work. And then you’re going to have

your vengeance. And then we’re going to be free.” Delia whispers the last word like the delicious thing

it is.

Emma laughs a little, putting her hand to her forehead. “I kind of regret going for the vengeance now.

Can’t we just run?”

“Sure,” Delia says, raising her eyebrows. “If you want to leave your sister in your father’s clutches,

absolutely.”

Emma chuckles at this. “Okay, fine.” She looks into her lover’s eyes, her face growing determined.

“Let’s do it.”

“That’s my girl,” Delia says, planting a quick peck on Emma’s lips before heading to the bedroom. “So

what does bait wear on a date to destroy her best friend’s ex-husband!?” Delia calls over her shoulder.

“Red,” Emma says, laughing, following after her. “Definitely red.”

At 7:45, Delia is sitting on her favorite stool at her favorite bar, sipping a glass of Chardonnay that she

got from Cliff, her favorite bartender. She’s dressed in a skimpy red dress. Her foot jiggles anxiously,

and, noticing it, Delia sighs and forces herself to stop.

She has got to calm down, play it cool. She looks longingly at the crispy glass of wine, the

condensation gathering on the outside of the glass. She wishes, desperately, that she could chug it for

the calm it will give her.

But there’s a long drive after this, and she needs to keep her head.

Ah, screw it, she thinks, taking a long sip and draining half the glass. She needs the courage.

Five minutes later, Delia hears the door open behind her and forces her shoulders not to tense, even

as she hears footsteps draw near.

“She’s early,” she hears Joyce say, his voice thick with superiority and control. “She must be eager for

me.”

Delia works to put a sultry smile on her lips and then slowly turns to him. “I’m not sure I’d say eager,”

she says, looking him up and down. “But curious, certainly.”

Joyce sits down on the stool next to her, leaning casually on the bar. He puts a hand up, signaling to

the bartender, and then orders a gin martini.

Delia avoids grimacing – it’s her least favorite drink. Instead, she sits quietly, waiting for him to take the

lead.

“So,” Joyce says, accepting his drink from Cliff, “I was so interested to get your message today.”

“Well,” Delia says, shrugging, “I was bored. And I’ve always been…curious. About that offer you made

to me a few years ago. I wanted to see if it still stood.”

About two years back Emma had invited Delia to the family’s Christmas party, hoping to have a friend

to support her at the event. Delia had been happy to come, but had sensed immediately that Joyce had

eyes on her.

Delia had known, then, that the marriage between Emma and Joyce was failing. That they had not

been able to have children, and that Joyce took it out – physically, mentally, and emotionally – on

Emma. She also knew that he cheated on her wildly, and publicly. Perhaps as a way to shame her

further.

As the Christmas evening wore on and Joyce got drunker, his come-ons had become more and more

blatant. Delia had done her best to laugh them off, seeking to make the night easier for Emma, but

when he grabbed her ass and whispered in his ear that he wanted to f**k her, Delia had pushed him

away and told him to go to hell.

Joyce had merely laughed, saying he liked ‘em feisty, and that she should call him someday if she ever

wanted a good time.

Tonight was Delia taking him up on that offer. Or, at least, pretending to.

Joyce smirks, taking a sip of his drink. Delia takes a sip of hers, returning his smile.

“Stand up,” Joyce says languidly. “Do a spin for me. Then I’ll decide if the offer still stands.”

Delia’s smile hesitates, but then she does as he says.

God damnit, this guy is a prick, she thinks as she turns for him. Treating me like a literal piece of meat

on a spit, rotating in a window somewhere.

“Good, good,” he murmurs, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her closer to him. Delia stumbles a

step forward, pulled off balance, and he runs his nose up the length of her exposed chest, from her

decolletage to her chin, sniffing along the way.

“You smell…delicious…” he says, in a smarmy growl. “What do you say – should we go somewhere

more private?”

“Um,” Delia says, uncomfortable at the pace at which this is progressing. “My place is…being

painted…”

“I didn’t mean somewhere else, Delia,” Joyce says, laughing at her condescendingly. “I just meant to a

dark corner of this bar where I can push you up against the wall.”

Delia goes still in her understanding. This was not part of the plan.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, standing up next to her, pressing his body close. “The way you look tonight?

I’ll be quick.”

Delia gulps and opens her mouth to protest – to offer another idea – but suddenly, he’s pulling her

towards the back.

Patrons watch them uncomfortably as they pass, Joyce pulling Delia towards the part of the bar where

there were dark corners and booths used for more discreet conversations. He pulls her away from

prying eyes, pressing her against a wall, running his hands liberally down her body.

Delia gasps, her mind racing – what the hell was she supposed to –

It was all spinning out of control.

“Oh baby,” he murmurs, “I can’t wait – turn around –“

“No,” she breathes, pulling her dress down as he slides his hand under the hem. “Stop – I don’t want –“

“What don’t you want, Delia?” he barks, his voice suddenly cruel.

Delia freezes, looking up at him. His voice, his expression, his entire demeanor has changed.

Suddenly, he’s very serious, dangerous.

And she realizes that his performance just now – that’s all it was. An act.

He had been playing her, just as she was trying to play him.

Suddenly, Joyce grabs Delia by the throat, pushing her up against the wall. Delia gasps, or tries to, her

windpipe crushed under the force of his hands. She claws against the hand that holds her, trying to

break his grip – get free – anything –

“What, Delia,” he says maliciously. “Did you think I’d fall for it? That I’d think it was a coincidence that

my wife’s best friend comes on to me the day after she disappears?”

Delia’s eyes go wide as his grip on her throat tightens. She gasps, trying to get air – but she can’t.

“You dumb. f*****g. Bitch.” Joyce says slowly, banging her head back against the wall with every word.

“Where the f**k is my wife!?”