Her mother's lover

SCARLETT

I woke to the memory of his hand on my throat.

Every nerve in my body remembered it the press of his thumb against my pulse, the heat of his breath near my ear, the way he pulled back as if I were poison.

This never happened.

The words echoed in my head like a curse.

But I knew better. I had felt the way his body leaned into mine, the way his eyes darkened when I dared him. He could lie to himself all he wanted. He could run out of my room, lock the door, pretend he hadn't wanted me.

But he had.

And I wasn't going to let him forget it.

At breakfast, I made sure to come down in the thinnest slip dress I owned. My mother barely glanced at me, too busy scrolling on her phone and humming some love song under her breath.

But he noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His gaze flicked to me when I entered, and though he quickly looked away, the sharp clench of his jaw gave him away. He kept his eyes fixed on his plate, his fork moving too quickly, too stiffly.

I slid into the chair across from him, pretending not to notice. Pretending not to know that his knee brushed the table leg each time I crossed mine, that his breathing hitched when the neckline of my dress slipped lower as I reached for the juice.

"Scarlett," my mother said absently, "are you doing anything today? You could take the car."

"No plans," I murmured, though my eyes were on him. Always on him.

He didn't look back. Not once. But I felt the tension radiating from him like heat from a flame.

By midday, my mother was gone off to lunch with a friend.

It left me alone with him.

I pretended to read on the couch, though I hadn't turned a page in half an hour. The sound of his footsteps drew me like a magnet. He passed behind me, the faint scent of sweat and soap trailing after him.

"Need anything?" he asked.

His voice was steady, but I could hear the strain beneath it.

I lifted my eyes from the book. "Maybe some company."

That made him pause. His back was to me, but I saw the way his shoulders tensed.

"Scarlett," he said slowly, "don't."

"Don't what?" My voice was light, teasing, though my heart pounded so hard I thought he might hear it.

He turned then, his gaze sharp, hard. But beneath the hardness, there was hunger.

"You know exactly what."

I set the book aside, standing slowly, deliberately. My slip dress clung to me as I moved closer, barefoot on the rug, my pulse wild in my throat.

He stayed rooted in place, but his eyes tracked every step.

When I stopped in front of him, the space between us charged like a storm about to break, I whispered, "Tell me you don't want me."

His jaw clenched. He said nothing.

My hand lifted, trembling as I placed it against his chest. Hot. Solid. The steady thud of his heart beat against my palm.

He caught my wrist instantly, holding me there. Not pushing me away. Just holding and gods his cock rose the length could shift my tender womb but I don't give a fuck.

"This is wrong," he said, his voice rough.

"Then stop me," I whispered.

For a moment, neither of us moved. The silence was thick, unbearable.

And then he let go of my wrist, but he didn't step back. His hand slid into my hair instead, gripping the back of my head as his forehead pressed against mine.

"You're going to ruin me," he breathed.

"Maybe I would love to."

The world tilted. One second, I was standing on the rug, and the next, his lips were hovering a breath away from mine, his grip in my hair pulling me closer.

I closed the distance first.

The kiss was fire. Violent, hungry, desperate. His mouth claimed mine with a force that knocked the air from my lungs, and I melted into him, my fingers clutching at his shoulders, pulling him closer, closer.

His tongue pushed into my mouth, tasting me, devouring me, and I moaned into him, shameless, and beyond control I could feel the pre cum dripping from his cock.

He growled low in his chest, his hands sliding down my back, pulling me against him so I could feel the hard line of his body pressing into my stomach.

Heat flooded me, liquid and aching. I wanted him. Right there and right then.

He lifted me suddenly, setting me on the edge of the dining table. Immediately he pulled out his giant cock. His hand slid under my dress, fingering me, grazing the soft skin of my thigh, inching higher-

The front door slammed.

We both froze.

"Hello?" My mother's voice rang through the house.

Panic jolted through me. What a witch of woman.

He stepped back instantly, his chest heaving, his hands pulling away from me like my skin had burned him.

I sat there, trembling, lips swollen, dress rucked up indecently around my hips.

He dragged a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. Then, without another word, he stalked out of the room, leaving me gasping on the table, desire burning hotter than ever.

"Scarlett?" My mother's voice called again, closer this time.

I scrambled off the table, yanking my dress down, trying to steady my breathing.

"Yeah?" I croaked, praying she wouldn't notice my lips, my flushed cheeks, the wild thud of my heart.

She appeared in the doorway, smiling, oblivious. "Oh, there you are. I thought maybe you'd gone out."

"No. Just... reading," I lied, forcing a shaky smile.

She nodded, humming, already distracted as she bustled into the kitchen.

I sagged against the table, my legs weak, my body still throbbing with the memory of his mouth, his cucumber and his hands going into that middle of my pants.

We had been seconds away from crossing the line.

And the worst part?

I knew I wouldn't rest until we did. I can't be left on an edge even if it takes harming this goat I call a mom.

I could still taste him.

Even as my mother rattled pots in the kitchen, humming off-key, even as she asked me something about dinner plans that I barely registered, I could still feel the imprint of his mouth on mine, the roughness of his kiss, the sharp press of his hands on my skin.

It was madness.

Every cell in my body screamed for more. I didn't care about the rules, the labels, the danger. I wanted him to press me back against the table, beat my ass and finish what he'd started.

I excused myself quickly, mumbling something about being tired, and rushed upstairs before my mother could look too closely at my face.

In my room, I locked the door and leaned against it, shaking. My lips were swollen, tender from the way he had kissed me. My thighs trembled with a hunger that only deepened the longer I thought about it.

I slid down onto the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, and for a moment I just sat there in the quiet, replaying it all.

The look in his eyes.

The sound of his breath when he finally gave in.

The way he lifted me, like I weighed nothing, like I was already his.

My heart thudded harder.

He'd said this is wrong. But wrong had never felt so intoxicating.

When I finally crawled into bed that night, I couldn't sleep. Every creak of the house made me wonder if he was awake too, pacing, fighting the same torment. Every shift of the sheets made me ache, imagining his hands there instead of mine.

I knew it then, as the clock ticked past midnight and I lay trembling in the dark-

There was no going back.

He had kissed me. He had touched me. He had wanted me.

And I wasn't going to stop until he gave me all of it. I wish I could get rid of my mom and take what belongs to me.