Rain hammered the old Victorian roof like a thousand tiny fists. Inside, the air was thick—humid, electric, wrong.
Elena Harper stood at the kitchen sink, sleeves rolled to her elbows, suds sliding over her forearms. At forty-two, she still turned heads: sun-kissed skin, auburn hair twisted in a lazy bun, and a body that refused to quit—full breasts straining the thin cotton of her tank top, hips that swayed even when she was standing still.
Across the island counter, her son Ethan watched. Nineteen, home from college for the summer, all sharp jaw and restless energy. He'd grown taller than her now. Broader. The kind of broad that made her throat dry when he reached for a glass in the top cabinet and his shirt rode up, revealing the cut V of his hips.
Stop it, she scolded herself. He's your son.
But the storm outside had knocked out the power an hour ago. No AC. No distractions. Just the two of them, marooned in candlelight and thunder.
"You okay, Mom?" Ethan's voice was low, rough from disuse. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, gray T-shirt clinging to his chest with sweat.
Elena forced a smile. "Just hot. This house turns into a sauna without the fans."
He nodded, eyes flicking to the bead of sweat sliding down her throat, disappearing into the shadowed valley between her breasts. She felt it like a touch.
"Beer?" he offered, pulling two bottles from the fridge. The cold glass kissed her fingers when he handed it over. Their knuckles brushed. Lingered.
Jesus.
They drank in silence, the storm raging. Lightning flashed—illuminating the kitchen in stark white—and Elena saw it: the way Ethan's gaze dropped to her lips, then lower, to the damp fabric clinging to her nipples. Hard. Obvious.
She should cover up. Should excuse herself. Instead, she set the bottle down and said, "I'm going to change into something cooler."
Ethan's "Okay" came out strangled.
Upstairs, Elena peeled off the tank top, letting it fall to the floor. Her reflection stared back from the full-length mirror: black lace bra, matching panties, skin flushed. She hadn't worn lingerie to do dishes. Had she?
A soft knock. "Mom? You decent?"
No. "Come in."
Ethan pushed the door open, then froze. The candle on her dresser painted gold across his face—wide eyes, parted lips. He held a fresh T-shirt. "Thought you might want this. It's drier."
She took it. Their fingers brushed again. This time, neither pulled away.
The shirt was his. Oversized. Smelled like him—cedar, soap, boy. She slipped it on, the hem skimming mid-thigh. No bra now. The cotton rasped over her sensitive nipples.
Ethan hadn't moved.
"Better?" he asked.
"Much." Her voice was husky. She stepped closer. "You're staring."
"I—sorry. I just…" He swallowed. "You look…"
Beautiful. Sexy. Mine. The words hung unspoken.
Thunder crashed. The house shook. Elena's hand found his chest—palm flat over his heart, feeling it hammer. "Ethan."
He groaned. Actually groaned. Then his hands were on her waist, gripping the shirt, bunching the fabric. "Tell me to stop."
She didn't.
Their mouths crashed together—messy, desperate. Teeth clacked, tongues tangled. He tasted like beer and summer and forbidden. Elena's back hit the wall. Ethan's thigh shoved between hers, pressing up against the heat pooling in her core.
"Fuck," he hissed against her neck, nipping the skin. "I've wanted this for years."
Her laugh was breathless. "You're my son."
"And you're the hottest woman I've ever seen." His hand slid under the shirt, cupping her breast, thumb flicking her nipple. She arched, gasping.
They stumbled to the bed. Elena landed on her back, legs spread, Ethan kneeling between them. He yanked the shirt up, mouth descending—hot, wet, starving. He sucked one nipple hard, rolling the other between calloused fingers.
"Ethan—God—"
He growled, switching sides, teeth grazing. His free hand shoved her panties aside, fingers sliding through slick folds. "You're soaked."
"For you," she admitted, shameless. "Always for you."
Two fingers plunged inside. She clenched around him, hips bucking. He curled them, stroking that spot that made her see stars. His thumb circled her clit—slow, then fast, then merciless.
"Gonna make you come," he promised, voice wrecked. "Then I'm gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name."
She came with a cry, thighs shaking, pussy spasming around his fingers. He didn't stop—kept stroking through the aftershocks until she was sobbing, oversensitive.
Then he was shedding clothes. Shirt gone. Jeans shoved down. Cock springing free—thick, flushed, a bead of precome glistening at the tip.
Elena licked her lips. "Let me taste."
He crawled up her body, straddling her chest. She took him in—slow, savoring. Tongue swirling the head, then down the shaft, tracing every vein. He cursed, hips jerking. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard, hand pumping what she couldn't swallow.
"Mom—fuck—gonna—"
She pulled off with a pop. "Not yet."
Ethan flipped her onto her stomach, yanking her hips up. Panties ripped—literally torn—and then his cock nudged her entrance.
"Look at me," he demanded.
She twisted, meeting his eyes in the mirror across the room. Lightning flashed again, freezing the moment: her flushed face, his feral grin, the obscene sight of his cock poised to split her open.
He thrust in—one brutal stroke, bottoming out. Elena screamed into the pillow. He was huge, stretching her deliciously.
"Too much?"
"More."
He gave it to her. Hard. Fast. The bed slammed against the wall in rhythm with the thunder. Each thrust punched the air from her lungs, his balls slapping her clit.
"Touch yourself," he ordered.
She did—fingers frantic on her swollen nub. The dual sensations shattered her. She came again, harder, squirting around his cock.
Ethan roared, pace faltering. "Where—"
"Inside," she gasped. "Fill me up."
Three more thrusts and he exploded—hot, thick ropes painting her insides. He collapsed over her, both panting, sweat-slick.
Minutes passed. The storm softened to a drizzle.
Ethan kissed her shoulder. "This isn't over."
Elena smiled into the pillow. "Good. Because I want you in the shower next. Then the kitchen counter. Then—"
A knock downstairs. Sharp. Insistent.
They froze.
"Elena?" A familiar voice. Her sister. "Power's back on in town. Thought I'd check on you!"
Ethan's cock twitched inside her—still half-hard.
Elena bit her lip, eyes gleaming. "Hide in the closet. We're not done."
He grinned, pulling out with a wet sound. "Yes, Mom."