Jake looked pathetic carrying those two suitcases.
Three months ago, he owned a Tesla and a downtown condo. Now he was begging to sleep on my couch.
"Just until I get back on my feet," he said.
I smiled. "Stay as long as you need, brother."
Jake had been my roommate in college. Now he was just another failed entrepreneur with daddy issues and an empty bank account.
His mother arrived the next week. Lisa Morrison stepped into my penthouse wearing a tailored blazer and the kind of perfume that cost more than Jake's monthly rent. Her eyes swept over my marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows before landing on me with thinly veiled disdain.
"Thank you for taking care of my son," she said, voice clipped. "He's always been... impressionable."
I caught the insult. She thought I was a bad influence.
"Anything for family," I replied, watching her throat tighten at the word.
She was in her forties but looked younger. Pilates body. Expensive highlights. The kind of woman who spent her life being worshipped by weak men like her son.
I knew two things immediately:
1. She thought she was untouchable.
2. I was going to ruin her.
That night, I heard her.
The creak of floorboards at 2 AM. The clink of a wine bottle against glass. The soft sigh when she thought she was alone.
I followed the sounds to the kitchen. She stood by the island, backlit by the fridge's glow. Her silk robe clung to curves Jake had clearly inherited from her side. The fabric was so thin I could see the shadow of her nipples when she moved.
Her fingers trembled around the wineglass. Second or third pour, judging by the flush on her cheeks.
"Can't sleep, Lisa?"
She jumped. Wine sloshed over the rim, dripping down her wrist like blood.
"You startled me," she said, pulling her robe tighter.
I stepped closer, trapping her between my body and the counter. "No. You were hoping someone would."
Her pulse fluttered in her throat. "This is inappropriate."
I caught a drop of wine on her collarbone with my thumb. "So is wearing this in your son's friend's house. Did you pack it special? Or do you always dress like a whore when you're lonely?"
She gasped. The glass slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor.
She tried to push past me. I caught her wrist.
"Let me go," she hissed.
"Let's play a game," I murmured. "You tell me the truth, and I'll let you go."
Her lips parted. "What truth?"
"How long you've wanted this."
She swallowed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
I wrapped my hand around her throat. Not tight enough to choke her. Just enough to remind her who was in control.
"Lie to me again, and I'll wake Jake up. Tell him how his mother really pays the bills."
Her face went pale. "You wouldn't."
"Try me."
Silence stretched between us. Then, a whisper: "Two years."
I hummed, dragging my thumb over her bottom lip. "Since your husband left? Or since you stopped pretending you weren't a slut?"
A tear slipped down her cheek. "Both."
"Good girl." I untied her robe. It pooled at her feet, leaving her in matching black lace. "Now take off the bra. Slowly. Like you're stripping for your son's best friend."
"Please," she whispered. "Don't do this."
I tightened my grip on her throat. "Do it."
Her hands shook as she reached behind her back. The lace fell away.
"Beautiful," I murmured, pinching her nipple until she whimpered. "Tell me, Lisa. When you touch yourself, do you think of Jake? Or do you think of me?"
She choked on a sob. "You."
"Louder."
"I think of you!" she cried, then immediately covered her mouth, eyes darting toward the hallway.
I smirked. "Prove it."
She tried to slap me. I caught her wrist and twisted until she gasped.
"That wasn't very nice," I said, shoving her onto the kitchen island. The cold marble made her gasp.
"Stop," she begged, pushing against my chest. "Please stop."
I spread her thighs. "Beg better."
"Please," she sobbed. "Please don't."
I ripped her panties aside. "Wrong answer."
She was already wet. I circled her clit with my thumb, watching her fight against her body's response.
"Your mouth says no," I whispered. "But this says yes."
"I hate you," she spat.
"No, you hate yourself." I unzipped my pants. "Now beg for it properly, or I'll wake Jake up right now."
Her face crumpled. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Please fuck me," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Sir."
I didn't prepare her.
I took her.
One hand fisted in her hair, the other covering her mouth as I slammed into her. The island rocked. Wine bottles clinked.
"You're mine," I growled, pounding into her. "Say it."
"Yours," she sobbed against my palm. "Only yours."
The doorknob turned.
Jake's voice, groggy: "Mom? You okay?"
Lisa's entire body locked. I didn't stop.
"Answer him," I whispered, slowing my thrusts just enough to let her speak.
"Y-yes, sweetie," she stammered, voice trembling. "Just... cleaning up a spill. Go back to bed."
A pause. The door opened a crack.
I pulled her against my chest, hiding her nakedness with my body. Jake's sleepy face appeared in the doorway.
"You sure? I heard a crash."
Lisa's nails dug into my arm. "Just dropped a glass. Alex is helping me clean up."
Jake's eyes narrowed, taking in the scene. His mother pressed against me, my hand hidden beneath the counter where it still gripped her hip.
"Okay. Night," he mumbled, closing the door.
The second the latch clicked, I flipped her onto her stomach, bent her over the island, and ruined her.
"You almost got caught," I panted, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "Did that make you wet, you filthy cunt?"
"No," she sobbed, but her body betrayed her, clenching around me.
"Liar." I spanked her ass hard enough to leave a handprint. "Say it. Say you love being fucked while your son sleeps upstairs."
"I can't," she wailed.
I grabbed her hair, yanking her head back. "Say it, or I'll call him back."
"I love it," she broke, voice cracking. "I love being fucked while my son sleeps upstairs. Please don't stop."
I came inside her with a groan, marking her as mine.
She collapsed onto the counter, trembling.
"Clean yourself up," I ordered, zipping my pants. "And don't you dare wash me out of you."
She nodded, tears streaming down her face.
"Not with your hands," I said, grabbing her hair again. "With your mouth."
Her eyes widened in horror. "What?"
"You heard me. Clean up your mess."
She shook her head. "I can't."
I pulled out my phone, opening the camera. "You will. Or Jake gets a very interesting video."
She broke. Sobbing, she slid to her knees and did as she was told.
I recorded every second.
"Good girl," I said when she finished. "Now thank me."
She looked up, mascara streaking down her cheeks. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For... using me."
I patted her cheek. "And next time, you'll call me Daddy."
She stumbled to her room like a corpse.
I poured myself a whiskey, watching the security feed on my phone. Lisa curled in bed, fingers trembling as she touched herself again, replaying what I'd done to her.
This was going to be fun.
Jake's mother was mine now.
He just didn't know it yet.