She Was Waiting for You

She doesn't move from the armchair, just tilts her head, the silk of her robe slipping an inch down one shoulder. "I know, sweetheart. I heard your car pull in." Her voice is honey and smoke, slow as a lazy afternoon. She uncrosses her legs, then crosses them again, deliberately letting the fabric part for just a second. "I was just... thinking about you."

A soft, breathy laugh escapes her, and she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. The robe gapes open at her chest, revealing the heavy swell of her breasts, the dark outline of her nipples against the thin silk. "Oh, lots of things." She lets her gaze travel down your body, then slowly back up. "How long it's been since we had a real conversation. How much I missed the sound of your voice." Her fingers trace the edge of the robe's lapel, playing with the fabric. "And how good you look in that shirt."

Her smile widens, a slow, dangerous curve. She shakes her head once, hair swaying. "No, darling. He's on that business trip until Friday. We have the whole house to ourselves." She rises from the chair in one fluid motion, the robe falling open just enough to show the curve of her hip, the damp patch of fabric between her thighs. She doesn't bother to close it. "Don't you think that's... nice? Just the two of us?"

She takes a step closer, then another, the scent of her perfume — jasmine and something warmer, muskier — filling the space between you. "Come here." It's not a request. Her hand lifts, palm open, fingers curling in a summoning gesture. When you don't move immediately, she tilts her head, eyes half-lidded. "Don't be shy now. You're not a little boy anymore." Her other hand drifts down her own body, fingers trailing over her collarbone, between her breasts, coming to rest on her stomach, just above the waistband of her panties. "I won't bite. Unless you ask me to."

She laughs again, that same breathy, knowing sound, and closes the remaining distance. Now she stands right in front of you, close enough that the heat of her body radiates against your chest. "Surprised that your stepmother wants you this badly?" Her hand lifts to your face, fingers tracing your jawline, featherlight. "I've been waiting for this chance for months. Every time you walked past me, every time you said goodnight... I had to press my thighs together just to keep my composure." Her thumb brushes over your lower lip, a question in her touch. "Do you want to know what I was thinking about just now? While I was sitting here, waiting for you?"

Her hand slides from your face down your chest, palm flat, feeling the beat of your heart. She lets it rest there for a moment, then trails it lower, over your stomach, stopping at your belt. "I was thinking about your hands." Her voice drops to a whisper, almost a purr. "I was imagining them on my waist. On my hips. Sliding under this robe." She leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "I was imagining you taking what's been yours since the day I met you." She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, her gaze dark and hungry. "So what are you going to do about it?"

A shudder runs through her at your words, visible, real. She lets out a slow breath, and her hand finally hooks into your belt loop, tugging you forward an inch. "Then touch me." Her voice is barely a whisper now, thick with want. "I've been aching for it. For you." She lifts her chin, baring her throat, a gesture of trust and invitation. "Don't make me beg. But I will if I have to."

Her lips part, and she exhales shakily, her hand still holding your belt loop, tugging you even closer until your hips almost touch. "Good. Because I want you to want this as much as I do." She looks down at where your bodies almost meet, then back up at you through her lashes. "I want you to kiss me. I want to feel your mouth on mine. And then..." Her tongue darts out, wetting her lower lip. "I want to feel your hands everywhere."

She doesn't hesitate. Her hand slides around the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, and she pulls your mouth to hers. The kiss is slow at first, a testing brush of lips, soft and warm. Then she deepens it, parting her lips, her tongue tracing the seam of yours, tasting, inviting. A soft moan escapes her throat, vibrating against your mouth. "Oh, god... I've wanted this so much." She breaks the kiss just long enough to breathe the words against your lips, then captures your mouth again, hungrier this time, her body pressing fully against yours, the thin silk doing nothing to hide the heat of her skin. "Touch me. Please. I need your hands on me."

She shudders against you, her fingers tightening in your hair, her other hand grabbing your wrist and guiding it to the tie of her robe. "Then take this off me." Her voice is ragged now, the playful tease gone, replaced by raw need. "I want to feel your skin against mine. I want you to see all of me." She presses her hips forward, grinding slowly against you, a soft gasp escaping her lips. "I'm so wet for you. Can you feel it? Can you feel how much I need you?"

She lets out a breathy laugh, half pleasure, half relief, and tugs at the sash of her robe. It falls open, the silk pooling around her elbows, baring her completely. Her breasts are full and heavy, nipples already hard, her stomach soft and curved, and between her thighs, the damp fabric of her panties clings to her, almost translucent. "Look at me." Her voice is a command and a plea. "Look at what you do to me." She takes your hand and presses it flat against her chest, over her heart, which hammers beneath your palm. "Feel that? That's all for you."

Her eyes flutter closed at your words, and she leans her forehead against yours, her breath warm and uneven against your lips. "Say that again." A pause, then she opens her eyes, and they're glistening, vulnerable, raw. "I've dreamed of hearing you say that. Of you seeing me like this." She takes your other hand and guides it down her body, over her ribs, her waist, the dip of her hip, until your fingers brush the damp silk of her panties. She gasps at the contact, her hips twitching forward. "Touch me there. Please. I'm so close just from your voice."

A broken sound escapes her, half moan, half sob, and she buckles against you, her fingers digging into your shoulders. "You already do. God, you already do." She pushes her hips against your hand, grinding against your fingers through the wet silk. "But I need more. I need to feel you inside me." Her voice drops to a shaking whisper, her forehead pressed to yours. "I've been empty for so long. Fill me. Please."