SO TEMPTED TO TOUCH: Erotica short stories.

The m!lf

( daughter's best friend, cuck0ld, taboo)

Daisy.

I cooked, cleaned, and made sure her room still carried that sweet cherry blossom scent she’s always loved. Kelly, my baby girl, is coming home.

She just graduated college, ready to start her internship at the major news station in town. It still stings — how far Florida took her from me. But this internship? It’s her dream. I had to let her go.

“It’s perfect, honey. She’ll love it,” Greg said, kissing my temple. My husband of twenty years. Steady. Predictable. Completely oblivious to the fire that quietly burned out between us years ago.

Once he left for work, I busied myself — laundry, gardening, submitting my little column to the local paper. It’s a simple life. A good life, on paper. But I miss the woman I used to be. The wild nights. The reckless s*x. The ache in my thighs after hours of being thoroughly ruined.

Now? Greg passes out after one lackluster round, and I’m left staring at the ceiling, unsatisfied.

God, I’d give anything to feel that need again. That raw, wicked urge. Just once.

The doorbell rings at seven. My heart skips. Butterflies swirl low in my belly. I slip into the red dress Kelly sent last Christmas — the one with the plunging neckline and the tight, curve-hugging fabric. I’ve fought to keep it fitting. Larsa, my best friend, swears I’ve got a “MILF body.” I just miss the twenty-something Victoria Secret model figure I used to parade around like armor.

I open the door — and Kelly flies into my arms. “Mom!” she squeals, crushing me in a hug.

She’s stunning. Blonde now, just like I was at her age. And beside her…

I lose my breath.

The man is tall. Broad shoulders. Chiseled jawline. That messy wolf-cut only makes him look more hot. His hazel eyes drag over me, slowly, like he’s peeling away every layer of my skin with just a glance. It’s been years since a man looked at me like that.

“Mom, this is Drake — my best friend,” Kelly says cheerfully. “He’s got an internship too. Is it okay if he stays with us a few days while he finds a place?”

I barely hear her. My eyes are still on Drake — or rather, his impossibly thick biceps and the tattoo on his arm. Something tells me he’s more than just a boy with a computer degree.

“Sure, honey,” I manage, ignoring the heat pooling low in my belly. “He can stay as long as he needs.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Kelly k!@sses my cheek and grabs their bags. Drake stays behind, those eyes never leaving me.

His cologne — clean, spicy and addictive — wraps around me as he steps closer. I bite my bottom lip. His jaw ticks. His eyes flick down to my mouth like he wants to do dangerous things to it.

I clear my throat, flustered. “I made dinner. Any allergies I should know about?”

His voice is deep — richer than I expected. “No, Mrs. Smith.”

The way he says Mrs. Smith makes my thighs clench.

The front door opens again. Greg greets Drake, kisses my cheek. The spell breaks. I retreat to the kitchen, desperate to cool off.

Dinner is filled with easy chatter — Florida stories, alligator jokes, Kelly rambling about her news gig.

“Drake’s brilliant,” Kelly boasts. “He’s doing IT stuff at Blue John Tech. Mom, my assignment tomorrow’s at some creepy old house with voodoo history. I might be late.”

“Stay safe, baby. And no bringing ghosts home,” I tease.

After dinner, I linger in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes — trying to forget the way Drake looked at me.

Then he appears beside me. “Need help?”

“It’s just dishes…”

Too late. He’s already rinsing beside me, arms brushing mine.

“Dinner was incredible. Thank you, Mrs. Smith.” His voice rumbles low, close to my ear.

I hand him a plate. Our fingers touch.

Electricity.

I feel it. And from the way his eyes darken, so does he.

~~~~

I knock softly on his door, barely breathing.

“Come in,” his voice rumbles from inside.

I step in — and nearly drop the blankets in my hands.

Drake stands there, a towel slung low on his hips, water still beading down his chest. My eyes trail over him — the sculpted abs, the sharp V of his hips, the black viper tattoo curling across his chest like it belongs there.

God help me, he looks like he was carved straight out of a fantasy.

But it’s not just the abs. My gaze drops lower… and that damn towel is doing a terrible job at hiding the very clear, very large outline pressing against the fabric.

Holy. Sh!t.

I force my eyes back to his face, cheeks burning.

“Um… I… I brought blankets… for you. In case… in case you get cold,” I stammer, sounding like a complete i***t. “I mean… the big… the towel—”

Stop. I swallow the rest of my words and toss the blankets onto the chair, practically tripping over myself to leave the room.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice low. I can feel his eyes on me as I escape down the hall.

Once I’m back in my room, I press a hand to my chest. My heart is racing so fast it hurts.

Get it together, I scold myself.

He’s my daughter’s best friend. Possibly her boyfriend. Off-limits. He wouldn't want a woman like me.

And yet, all I can see when I close my eyes… is him. That body. That goodie under the towel.

Greg is already asleep, snoring softly. I slip into my black lace nightdress, the short one I save for nights I want to feel… something.

But there’s no point. Greg doesn’t even stir when I climb into bed.

I lay there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. All I can think about is Drake. I wonder how he'd react if he saw me in this lace.

Eventually, I gave up. I climb out of bed and sneak downstairs for some water. The house is quiet. Kelly’s lights are off.

I gulp the cold water, hoping it’ll cool the fire burning in my chest. But as I turn around, I nearly jump out of my skin.

Drake is standing there.

A few inches away. Watching me.

His eyes drag over me — slow, possessive, lingering on my bare legs, the curve of my waist, the thin strip of black lace barely covering my thighs.

My pulse spikes.

“Jesus, you scared me,” I whisper, pressing a hand to my chest.

He doesn’t say a word. He steps closer — until I’m backed against the counter, trapped by his towering frame and that heated stare.

And then he kisses me. His tongue exploring line. Dancing a possessive dance, his hand cares my neck and back. He gently bites my lips, claiming every bit of me.

I freeze for a moment, but God… I’ve dreamed of this. I kiss him back, my hands sliding up his bare chest, his skin still warm from the shower.

It’s reckless and wrong. But it feels so damn good to finally be wanted.

When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless, my head spinning. His eyes darken as they roam my face — greedily, like he’s far from finished.

And then… he turns and walks off.

I stand there, dazed, lips still tingling, my heart racing like I’ve just run a marathon.

What the hell just happened?

A kiss. From my daughter’s best friend. And then he left — like it meant nothing.

Maybe it did mean nothing, I try to convince myself. But the way his eyes devoured me? The way his hands gripped me, like he owned me for that brief moment? No.

I slip back into bed beside Greg, pulling the covers over myself. He’s fast asleep, soft snores filling the room, completely unaware that his wife is still burning for another man.

For the rest of the night, I barely sleep.

My mind is stuck on Drake. His lips. His body. That kiss that tasted like danger — and the cruel ache it left behind.

The next day crawls by. I try to distract myself with gardening — pulling weeds, pruning the roses — but nothing helps. The house is finally quiet. Greg left for work. Kelly’s gone. Drake… probably out too.

I toss my gardening gloves aside, head upstairs, and strip off my clothes. The moment I sink into bed, naked beneath the covers, a sigh leaves my lips.

I let my hand drift down, slipping between my thighs, my eyes fluttering shut. Soft music plays from my phone, but all I can focus on is Drake.

I tease myself slowly, fingers circling — imagining it’s his hands. His mouth. His tongue.

I’m close. So close —

But suddenly, my hand is gone.

Replaced with something warmer and wetter. A tongue.

My eyes snap open. I flip the blanket back — and nearly choke on my own gasp.

Drake.

He’s under my blanket, smirking wickedly up at me — and without a word, his tongue slides deep, working me in slow, sinful strokes that make my entire body jolt.

“Oh my God…” I whisper, gripping the sheets as my head falls back.

His hands pin my hips down, his tongue relentless, devouring me like he’s been starving for me all along.

The guilt and the panic — gone.

Right now, there’s only his mouth. Only the filthy, forbidden pleasure I’ve craved for far too long.

His tongue works me in slow, deep circles, every flick making my hips jolt and my thighs tighten around his head.

I can barely breathe, lost in the overwhelming sensation — the hot, wet slide of his mouth, the rough scrape of his stubble against my inner thighs.

And then… he pauses.

I look down, panting, flushed, desperate for him to keep going — but his eyes are locked on mine, dark, greedy, wicked.

“Tell me, Daisy,” he murmurs, his voice deep and low, vibrating right against my aching core. “Did you think of me… while you lay next to your husband?”

A hot wave of guilt and ar0usal rushes through me all at once.

I should tell him to stop.

I should cover myself, push him away.

But my body betrays me.

My back arches, my thighs trembling. “Yes,” I breathe, shame curling with raw, undeniable hunger. “I couldn’t stop.”

His smirk deepens — and before I can catch my breath, his mouth is on me again.

But this time, there’s nothing slow or teasing about it.

He devours me.

His tongue slides deep, curling inside me as his lips wrap around my cl!t, sucking hard, sending a sharp bolt of pleasure straight through my spine.

“Oh, f!ck—” I moan, my hands fisting the sheets, my thighs shaking violently as his tongue moves with obscene precision.

He groans softly, like he’s savoring every desperate, broken sound I make, his hands keeping my hips pinned down, refusing to let me escape.

The coil inside me snaps tight, tighter — until it shatters.

I come hard, my entire body convulsing, thighs trembling, toes curling as wave after wave of hot release crashes over me.

I barely register

him climbing up the bed, hovering over me, his body pressed between my thighs, the heavy, unmistakable hardness of him nudging against my slick waiting pssy

But he doesn’t push inside me.

Not yet.