Craving my mom best friend

heard her heels before I saw her. Sharp clicks across the driveway. Confident. Feminine. A sound that shouldn't have stirred anything in me, but it did low in my gut, hot, and wrong. I looked up from the weights in my hand as she stepped out of the car. Tight jeans. Black heels. Dark sunglasses. Her curves hit me first, then the way her lips curled into a polite, tired smile. My mother rushed out to greet her, arms wide and too loud with excitement. "God, Arielle, you look amazing!" I stood there, frozen. That name. Arielle Monroe. Mom's best friend. Her college roommate. The one I hadn't seen in five years. She'd moved away after her wedding, disappeared into some shiny, successful life. I remembered her vaguely,she used to ruffle my hair, call me "sweetheart," and bring me candy when she visited. She didn't look like someone who gave out candy now. She looked like sin wrapped in skin. I dropped the weights. Loudly. She turned. Her glasses slipped down her nose just enough for our eyes to meet. Brown to brown. But hers were darker—older, cautious, curious. Like she was trying to place me. Then her full lips parted. "Jace?" I smirked. "You remember." She laughed softly. "Of course I do. You've... grown." Her gaze dipped, fast and subtle, but not subtle enough. She looked at my body. The sweat on my chest. The V-line under my shorts. Good. "Yeah," I said, low. "I've grown a lot." Her cheeks flushed. She turned back to my mom like she hadn't just checked me out. But she had. I saw it. And she saw that I saw it. Mom chattered endlessly, ushering her inside. I stayed back, grabbing my towel and wiping my neck, watching her hips move in those jeans. Watching the way her hand lingered on the doorway, the slight tremble in her fingers. She was nervous. Good again. She should be. Because I hadn't stopped watching her since I was thirteen. I used to sneak into her old f*******: photos late at night, zoom in on bikini shots, imagine things I shouldn't. I remembered the smell of her perfume. The sound of her laugh. And I remembered the exact moment I realized I didn't want a girl my age. I wanted a woman. I wanted her. I headed inside an hour later, fresh out of the shower, towel hanging low on my hips. I didn't expect to see her in the kitchen. Alone. Leaning over the counter, flipping through a recipe book my mom left out. Her blouse was loose, but when she turned to the side, I caught the shape of her breasts pressing against the silk. No bra. I stopped in the doorway, letting her feel me there. She looked up. Her eyes flicked down once—just once—before she bit her lip and forced a smile. "I thought you'd be out longer." I shrugged. "Got bored." She cleared her throat. "You're living here now?" "Just for the summer." "You planning to wear... that all summer?" I stepped closer. "Do you want me to change?" Her lips parted slightly, then closed again. Silence. Tension. Thick enough to choke on. I took a cold bottle of water from the fridge and downed half of it while staring at her. Letting the droplets slide down my throat, down my abs, slow and deliberate. Her breath caught. "I should unpack," she said quickly, brushing past me. But her shoulder grazed mine. She didn't have to walk that close. She didn't have to smell that good. And she definitely didn't have to shiver when I leaned in and whispered: "Your room's in the guesthouse. Right across from mine." She paused. Barely. Then walked out. ⸻ That night, I stood at my window, lights off, shirtless. Her blinds were open. Her back was to me. She was brushing her hair, wearing a short silk robe that barely covered her thighs. She didn't know I could see. Or maybe she did. Either way, I watched. Fists clenched. Breathing slow. Every cell in my body screaming for more. I'd waited years for her return. Now she was twenty feet away. Sleeping in my house. Showering down the hall. Wearing soft silk and no bra. She was healing. But I was hunting. She didn't know it yet but she would. Because this summer, I wasn't just going to touch her. I was going to ruin her. And she was going to let me.