She was waiting for me when I got home from school.
I knew it the second I stepped through the front door. The house was too quiet, the air too thick. My backpack slid from my shoulder and hit the floor with a dull thud I barely heard over the blood in my ears.
The kitchen light was off. The living room curtains were drawn. A single lamp glowed at the end of the hallway, spilling gold across the hardwood like a path.
I followed it.
She was in the master bedroom (her bedroom), sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but a thin white slip that ended mid-thigh. The straps had slipped off one shoulder, baring the upper swell of her breast. Her legs were crossed, hands folded in her lap like she was trying to hold herself together with her own fingers. When she saw me her breath hitched, shoulders rising and falling too fast.
The door clicked shut behind me.
"Hi," she whispered.
"Hi."
I stayed by the door, letting her look. I'd worn the loosest jeans I owned, but they still did nothing to hide the heavy sway of my cock when I walked. It was already half-hard just from the smell of her in the air (warm skin, nervous sweat, the faint sweetness between her legs that I'd tasted this morning and still hadn't washed off my tongue).
She swallowed. "I made dinner," she said, like that explained anything. "It's in the oven. We have… time."
Time.
The word hung between us, obscene in its simplicity.
I took one step. Another. Until I stood over her, close enough that my shadow fell across her bare thighs.
She looked up at me, eyes glassy, lips parted. "I can't stop shaking," she confessed.
"I know."
"I told myself all day I wouldn't do this again. That this morning was the last time."
"But you're not dressed," I said.
Her laugh was wet and broken. "I tried. I put clothes on three different times. Took them off again. I'm so wet it's dripping down my thighs, Daniel. I've been like this since you left."
I reached out and cupped her cheek. She leaned into my palm instantly, eyes fluttering shut. Her skin burned.
"Show me," I said.
She stood on shaky legs and let the slip fall. It pooled at her feet, leaving her completely naked. Her nipples were tight and dark, belly soft, the neat triangle of auburn curls glistening. A thin trail of wetness had indeed slipped down the inside of one thigh.
I groaned. Couldn't help it.
She sank back to the bed and spread her knees without being told, offering herself. Her fingers trembled as she touched herself, spreading slick lips to show me how swollen she was, how ready.
"I need you in my mouth again," she said, voice raw. "I've needed it all day. I can still taste you from this morning, but it's not enough."
I undressed slowly. Shirt first. Then the jeans. When my cock sprang free she made a soft, wounded sound and crawled forward on the bed, eyes locked on it like it was the only thing in the world.
I let her come to me.
She knelt between my feet, hands reverent as she lifted my cock (so heavy now it barely bobbed) and cradled it against her cheek. The head left a wet streak across her skin. She breathed me in, eyes closing.
"I measured," she whispered. "With my hands. From wrist to elbow. That's how long you are. I can't stop thinking about it."
Then she opened her mouth and took me in.
Slow this time. No frantic choking. She worked the head past her lips with a low moan, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing as she sucked. Saliva pooled instantly, dripping off her chin in silver threads. She took her time, inch by inch, until her throat fluttered around the crown and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.
I threaded my fingers through her hair (not guiding, just holding) and let her set the rhythm. She found a pace that was almost meditative: long, wet pulls, tongue pressing hard against the underside, then sinking down again until her nose brushed my stomach. Every time she gagged she didn't pull off; she swallowed around me instead, throat working, until I saw stars.
I lasted longer than I thought I would. Maybe five minutes. Maybe ten. Time lost meaning.
When my balls drew up tight she felt it. Pulled back until only the head was in her mouth, lips sealed tight, one hand stroking the shaft in firm, twisting pulls while the other cupped my balls and rolled them gently.
I came with a groan that felt torn out of my chest.
The first spurt flooded her mouth so fast she choked, but she swallowed hard, throat working, eyes locked on mine. More followed (thick, endless pulses that she took greedily, humming around me like it was the best thing she'd ever tasted). When it finally tapered off she kept sucking softly, milking the last drops, until I had to pull her off or collapse.
She sat back on her heels, lips swollen and shiny, a thin strand of cum connecting her bottom lip to the head of my cock. She licked it away slowly, deliberately, then opened her mouth to show me it was empty.
"Every drop," she said, voice hoarse. "I swallowed every drop of my son's cum."
The words hit me like a punch. My cock (still half-hard) jerked against her cheek, leaving another wet mark.
She crawled up my body and straddled my lap, arms around my neck. Her pussy settled hot and slick against the underside of my shaft, sliding back and forth in small, helpless movements.
"I'm aching inside," she whispered against my mouth. "Empty. I need—"
"Not yet," I said again. It was becoming a prayer and a curse.
She whined, rocking harder, coating me in her wetness. "Soon?"
"Soon," I promised.
I flipped us so she was on her back, legs spread wide around my hips. My cock rested heavy on her belly, the head nudging just under her breasts. I rocked slowly, sliding through her folds without entering, letting her feel how deep I would go when I finally took her.
She clutched at my shoulders, nails digging in, hips rolling up to meet every thrust. Her clit dragged along my shaft and she sobbed with every pass.
"I'm going to mark you again," I warned.
"Yes. Yes, please—"
I pulled back and aimed. The first rope shot across her throat and chin. The second painted her breasts in thick stripes. I kept going (belly, ribs, the soft slope where her thigh met her body) until she was glazed and trembling beneath me.
When I finished she looked down at herself, then up at me with something like awe.
"I'm covered in you," she breathed.
I collapsed beside her, dragging her into my arms. She curled against my chest immediately, one leg thrown over mine, cum smearing between us.
We lay there for a long time, breathing together. The room smelled like sex and her lavender lotion and the faint metallic tang of guilt.
Eventually she spoke, voice small.
"I used to pray you'd grow up happy and kind," she said. "Never this."
I kissed her temple. "I am happy."
She made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. "You're ruining me."
"You ruined me first."
She was quiet after that.
Dinner burned in the oven. We never noticed.