Chapter 2
768 Words
The house had gone still.
I lay on my back in the dark, sheets tangled around my legs, my body buzzing like I’d swallowed electricity. Down the hall, I could hear Lily’s faint snores. From Mom’s room… silence. But in my head, his voice lingered, deep and steady, threading through me like it had been burned into my skin.
Mark.
I shut my eyes, willing myself to sleep, but the harder I tried, the worse it got. My pulse was too fast, my breaths too shallow. Every time I shifted, my skin felt too hot, my nightshirt clinging to me.
Why am I thinking about him?
He was Mom’s boyfriend. That was the beginning and end of it. Off-limits. Forbidden. But my body didn’t seem to care about rules. It remembered the way his eyes lingered on me at dinner, the way his laugh filled the living room, low and rumbling, so much stronger than the boys my age who stammered when they tried to flirt with me.
I rolled onto my side, pressing my thighs together, restless.
Stop. Just stop.
But instead, my mind began replaying little moments from the evening. His hand resting casually on the back of the chair, veins tight against his skin. The way he leaned forward when Mom spoke, his shirt stretching across his chest. That one glance—brief, but searing—as if he saw more than I wanted him to.
I bit my lip, heart pounding harder.
What would it feel like if he looked at me differently? Not like his girlfriend’s daughter. Not like some kid. But like a woman.
The thought made me ache. I squeezed my pillow, curling into it, my breath shaky. I knew it was wrong. God, I knew. But the more I tried to fight it, the deeper I sank into it.
In my mind, the scene shifted.
It wasn’t Mom sitting next to him on the couch earlier—it was me. Our thighs brushing, the heat of his body spilling into mine. His arm draped behind me, casual but heavy, his fingers just barely grazing my shoulder. His voice dropping low, meant only for me.
I pressed my face into the pillow, muffling a shaky sound that slipped out of me. My body pulsed with need, my imagination taking control.
Now I pictured him standing in my doorway. Late. Silent. His broad shoulders filling the frame, his eyes locking onto mine. He’d come to me—because he wanted me too. Because he couldn’t resist.
And when he touched me…
A sharp inhale tore from my lips, my body arching. My hand slipped lower, trembling, desperate, betraying me.
The fantasy deepened, drowning me. His hand sliding up my thigh, his mouth at my ear, whispering my name like a secret. The weight of him pressing me into the mattress, strong, unyielding, but careful. Always careful.
I moved against my sheets, biting back every sound, terrified someone might hear me—but unable to stop. My body built higher, hotter, until the pressure broke in a shuddering wave that left me gasping into the dark.
For a moment, I lay frozen, staring at the ceiling, chest heaving.
Then came the guilt. Heavy, suffocating.
I’d just… done that. Thinking of him. My mom’s man.
I buried my face in the pillow, ashamed, my skin still tingling with aftershocks.
But no matter how hard I tried to push it down, one truth clung to me, undeniable.
I wanted him.
And that was never going to go away.
The sunlight was too bright.
I blinked against it, my body sluggish, my sheets tangled around me like they knew what I’d done. My skin still hummed faintly, the memory of last night etched into me. I rolled onto my side, groaning, my cheeks burning even though no one could see me.
I couldn’t believe it.
I’d actually touched myself… thinking about him.
Mom’s boyfriend.
The shame sat heavy in my chest, but beneath it was something worse—something that made my stomach twist and my thighs press together again. I didn’t regret it. Not really.
Every time I shut my eyes, I saw him. The way he leaned back in the chair last night, his arm stretched across the couch like he owned the space. The way his voice filled the room, warm and commanding. The glance he gave me, quick but hot enough to leave me restless until I broke.
I dragged myself out of bed and into the kitchen. Mom was already there, humming, setting out plates. She glanced up with a smile.
- Writer
