Chapter 1
The heat in the laundry room was stifling, clinging to my skin the moment I pushed the door open. I’d only come down for a clean shirt, but the sight that greeted me stopped me dead. My mother, her back to me, was bent over the wicker hamper. Her robe was a pale, silken pool around her elbows. In her hands, pressed against her face, was a pair of my briefs.
Her breathing was a low, shuddering rhythm, a sound I’d never heard from her before. It was raw, primal. The air was thick with the scent of fabric softener and something else, something muskier and profoundly intimate. My scent.
She inhaled deeply, a long, desperate pull, and a soft, broken moan escaped her lips. “Oh, god… yes…”
My own breath hitched. I should have backed away. I should have coughed, made my presence known. But a bolt of pure, electric desire shot through me, rooting me to the spot. I just watched, my heart hammering against my ribs.
She must have sensed me. The shift in the air, the weight of my gaze. Her shoulders tensed. Slowly, so slowly, she lowered the cotton from her face and turned. Her cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, her eyes wide with a terror that quickly, so quickly, melted into something else entirely when she saw it was me. Not shame. Hunger.
Her gaze dropped to the obvious bulge growing in my jeans, then back to my eyes. A silent, devastating communication passed between us.
“How long?” I asked, my voice a low rasp.
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Her chin lifted, a defiant, vulnerable gesture. “Months,” she whispered. Her fingers tightened around the underwear. “I can’t help it. It smells like you. It drives me insane.”
That was all it took. In two strides, I was across the room. I didn’t kiss her. I grabbed the belt of her robe and pulled her to me, crushing my mouth to hers. It wasn’t a son’s kiss. It was a man’s. She melted against me instantly, her arms circling my neck, her mouth opening with a gasp that I swallowed whole. Her taste was of coffee and mint and a dark, hidden need.
I backed her out of the laundry room, down the hall, never breaking the kiss. We stumbled into her bedroom, a sanctuary of floral patterns and quiet light that was about to be violently redefined. I tore my mouth from hers. “I want to see what you do,” I growled against her throat. “I want to see what my smell does to you.”
A fresh wave of heat washed over her face. But she nodded, her eyes glazing over with a lust so potent it was dizzying. She let her robe fall completely, and then she lay back on the bed, spreading her legs for me.
And there it was. A lush, beautiful jungle of dark, curling hair. It was thick between her thighs, a wild tangle that spoke of a woman in her full, mature prime. I could even see, as she arched her back, the softer, darker hair surrounding her asshole. The intimacy of it was almost blasphemous. Absolutely breathtaking.
I fell on her, my mouth finding hers again as my hand slid down her stomach. I cupped her, my palm meeting the shocking heat and wetness already soaking her curls. She cried out into my mouth, bucking against my hand.
“Please…” she begged, the word a ragged sob. “Please, don’t stop.”
I didn’t. I drove two fingers inside her, and she was so wet, so impossibly tight and hot. Her back arched off the bed, a guttural moan tearing from her throat. Her hips began to move in a frantic rhythm, grinding against my hand, seeking more. I curled my fingers, finding that rough, textured spot deep inside her, and rubbed it relentlessly.
Her eyes rolled back. “There! Right there! Oh, God, yes!”
It was then, in the throes of her building orgasm, that I saw it. A flicker of movement in the doorway. The hall light cast a sliver of illumination across the wide, shocked eyes of my sister. She was frozen, one hand covering her mouth. Our eyes locked for a split second. I saw her horror, her disbelief. And then I saw something else—a flicker of dark, curious fascination.
A feral possessiveness surged through me. Let her watch. Let her see who her mother really belonged to. I held her gaze for a moment longer, a silent challenge, before turning my full attention back to the woman beneath me.
I withdrew my slick fingers and positioned myself at her entrance. I didn’t hesitate. I sheathed myself inside her in one long, smooth, devastating thrust.
My mother’s scream was muffled by my shoulder as her teeth sank into my skin. The pleasure was a white-hot brand. She was everything—hot, silken, clenching around me like a fist. I began to move, setting a deep, punishing rhythm that shook the bed frame.
“You like that?” I grunted, my voice thick with strain. “You like me fucking you after smelling my clothes?”
“Yes!” she screamed, her nails digging into my back. “I’ve dreamed of this! I’ve dreamed of your cock!”
Her words, so filthy and perfect, sent another jolt through me. I drove into her harder, faster. The slap of our skin filled the room, a lewd soundtrack to our sin. I glanced over my shoulder. My sister was still there, her hand now lowered, her lips parted. She was watching, mesmerized, her own hand subtly moving against her stomach.
The sight of it, the absolute taboo of it, pushed me to the edge. I gripped my mother’s hips, pulling her onto me with every thrust, burying myself to the hilt in her wet, hairy warmth. Her cries were becoming incoherent, just a string of gasped profanities and my name.
I could feel her climax coiling, a tension that was about to shatter the world. My own release was a tsunami building in my spine. I fucked her with a brutal, final intensity, my eyes locked on hers, then darting to the wide-eyed spectator in the door, then back to the beautiful, wanton woman beneath me.
“Come for me, Mom,” I commanded, my voice a raw scrape. “Come all over your son’s cock.”
Her eyes flew open. The use of the word, the final obliteration of the boundary, was what did it. Her body seized. A scream, torn from the very depths of her soul, echoed around us as her orgasm ripped through her. Her inner muscles clenched around me in a violent, rhythmic pulsing that milked me, that demanded everything I had.
I couldn’t hold back. With a final, grunting thrust, I buried myself as deep as I could go and came. A purely animal sound tore from my throat as I emptied myself into her, jet after hot jet, my vision blurring at the edges from the sheer, mind-numbing force of it. The heat of my release seemed to trigger another, smaller quake within her, and she whimpered, her body going limp beneath mine.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of our ragged breathing. I stayed inside her, feeling the aftershocks, my forehead resting on her shoulder.
Then, from the doorway, a soft, almost inaudible gasp.
