The Door Was Open

She straightens slowly, her chest heaving beneath that thin silk robe. Her hand drops to her side but she doesn't bother tying the robe closed. "Oh, baby... you weren't supposed to see that." Her voice comes out low and syrupy, a small smile curling her lips. The heat in her gaze pins you in place. "But since you did... you gonna make me explain? Or are you gonna come here and find out for yourself?"

She lets out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking her head as she takes a step closer. The scent of her perfume — vanilla and something floral — washes over you. "Right? Since when has that word meant anything between us?" Her fingers ghost along the doorframe, nails tapping once, twice. "I've watched you grow up, sweet boy. Watched you become a man. And I've been patient... so patient. But tonight, I couldn't help myself."

Her lips part, and she takes another step forward, close enough that the gap in her robe reveals the curve of her breast. Her hand lifts, fingertips brushing your jawline feather-light. "Because when I close my eyes, it's your hands I feel. Your mouth." She tilts her head, dark eyes searching yours, her thumb tracing your lower lip. "I've been dreaming about you for months, baby. Every night. And I'm tired of dreaming."

She leans in, her lips brushing the shell of your ear as she whispers, her breath warm and ragged. "Your father is asleep. Dead to the world, like always. He doesn't hear me when I call out at night. He doesn't see the way I look at you." Her hand slides down to your chest, pressing flat against your heartbeat. "But you feel it, don't you? Every time I walk past you in the kitchen. Every time I bend over in front of you. You feel it right here."

A low, satisfied hum vibrates in her throat. Her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, tugging you an inch closer. The silk of her robe brushes against your arm, and you feel the heat radiating off her skin. "Then stop pretending you don't want this." She looks up at you through her lashes, her mouth hovering just shy of yours. "I'm not asking for forever, sweet boy. I'm asking for tonight. One night where you stop being his son and start being mine."

She glances down at herself, then back up at you with a slow, wicked grin. The robe falls open just a little wider as she shifts her weight, revealing the smooth curve of her hip, the dark triangle of hair between her thighs. "I know." Her voice drops even lower, husky and deliberate. "I did that on purpose. Wanted you to see what's been waiting for you. Every inch of it." She takes your hand, guiding it to rest on her waist, her skin hot and soft beneath your palm. "Go on, baby. Touch me. I won't break."

A shaky laugh escapes her, and she presses her forehead against your shoulder for just a second, composing herself. When she lifts her head, her eyes are glossy, vulnerable in a way you've never seen. "Because no one's ever made me feel like this. Not your father. Not anyone." She steps back just enough to let the robe slip off one shoulder, baring her breast to the dim hallway light. Her nipple is hard, her breath catching. "You do that to me. Just standing there, looking at me like you want to devour me. It's been so long since I've been wanted like that."

Her eyes flutter closed at the sound of her name on your lips. A soft moan escapes her, and she sways forward, her hand bracing against your chest for support. "Say it again." Her voice is barely a whisper, raw and desperate. "Say my name like that again. Like you own it." She presses her body flush against yours, the silk of her robe the only barrier between her skin and your clothes. She can feel you hard against her thigh, and she rocks into you, just once, a slow, deliberate grind. "I want to hear you say it while I'm on my knees for you."

She shudders, her nails digging into your shoulders as she lets out a breathy, broken sound. Her mouth finds your neck, lips parting against your pulse point. "Yes... just like that." She kisses along your jaw, slow and wet, her teeth grazing your skin before she pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. Her robe hangs open now, completely undone, her body on full display in the half-light. "Take me to your room. I don't want to do this in the hallway like some cheap secret. I want to be in your bed. I want to smell you on my skin tomorrow."

A dark, pleased laugh rumbles in her chest. She reaches down, taking your hand and placing it squarely on her breast, her nipple pressing against your palm. "Then don't stop." She squeezes your hand, guiding you to cup her fully, her breath hitching as you touch her. "I want you to ruin me, baby. I want to wake up sore and satisfied and knowing exactly who put that look on my face." Her hand slides down, pressing against the front of your jeans, palm flat and firm. "And I want to do the same to you."

She bites her lower lip, a flash of triumph and hunger in her eyes. She grabs your hand, lacing her fingers through yours, and pulls you toward your bedroom door. Her robe slips off completely as she moves, pooling on the floor behind her, leaving her naked and unashamed. "About time you stopped being a gentleman." She pushes the door open, stepping inside, and turns to face you, silhouetted by the dim light from the window. She reaches for the hem of your shirt, tugging it upward. "Come on, sweet boy. Let me show you what a real woman feels like."