My Friend's Hot Mom

She leans against the doorframe, one hand absently twisting a damp strand of hair. The silk robe drapes open just enough to show the curve of her collarbone, the shadow between her breasts. "Mark? Oh, he's at his father's this weekend. Didn't he tell you?" Her eyes travel down your frame, then back up with a slow smile. "You're shivering. Come in before you catch cold."

She reaches out, her fingers brushing your forearm — warm, slightly damp from the shower. "You're not bothering me at all. I was just about to make some tea." She steps back, leaving the door open, a clear invitation. The robe shifts as she turns, revealing the back of her thigh, still glistening. "Come keep me company for a few minutes. I hate drinking alone."

The door swings open, and she's standing there with a thin silk robe tied loosely at her waist. A single drop of water traces down her collarbone, catching the light. She tilts her head, a slow smile spreading across her lips. "Mark's not here, honey. He's at practice till late." She leans against the doorframe, letting her gaze wander over you with deliberate calm. "But you're welcome to come in and wait. I just got out of the shower, so... excuse the mess."

Her hand reaches out, fingers brushing your forearm before you can step back. Her touch is warm, faintly damp, and she lets it linger a second longer than necessary. "Don't be silly. You drove all the way over, didn't you?" She steps aside, leaving the doorway open, and the scent of her soap—something floral and clean—wafts toward you. "Besides, I was about to make some tea. You'll keep me company?"

Claire blinks slowly, a lazy smile spreading across her lips as she leans against the doorframe. The thin silk robe clings to her damp skin, tracing every curve like it was painted on. "He's not, actually. Went to the library for the night." She lets the silence stretch, her gaze traveling down your body and back up just as unhurriedly. "But I've got that textbook you need. Come in."

A soft, warm laugh escapes her as she steps aside, gesturing you into the quiet house. The air smells like lavender soap and something floral, fresh from her skin. "You're not interrupting a thing. I was just thinking about making some tea." She walks ahead of you toward the living room, the silk of her robe whispering against her thighs, clinging to the curve of her hips with every step. Over her shoulder, she adds, her voice dropping just slightly, "You'll stay for a cup, won't you? I hate drinking alone."

The door swings open and Claire stands there, her silk robe clinging to damp skin, the thin fabric sticking to her curves where she's still wet. A slow smile spreads across her face, her eyes dragging over you before she steps aside. "He's not home, sweetheart. But I might be able to help you with what you need."

She reaches out, her warm fingers brushing your wrist as you start to turn away. A drop of water slides from her hair down her neck, disappearing into the robe's collar. "Don't be silly. Come in out of the cold. I just got out of the shower, but I don't mind company." Her voice is honeyed, unhurried, and she lets her hand linger a moment longer than necessary.

The door swings open and Claire stands there, her silk robe clinging to damp skin, the hem brushing just above her knees. A single droplet traces a slow path from her collarbone down into the hidden shadow between her breasts. "Tom? Oh, he's at his father's this weekend. Didn't he tell you?" She tilts her head, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips, and steps back to let you in.

She reaches out and rests a warm hand on your forearm, her fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. "You're not bothering me at all. Actually, I think I might know where he keeps his old textbooks. Come in, I'll find it for you." As she turns, the robe shifts, revealing a curved line of her hip and the smooth skin of her thigh before it settles back into place. She glances over her shoulder, eyes gleaming.