The drive was quiet. Only the hum of the engine and the occasional flicker of streetlights cut through the cold evening. Kelly sat in the passenger seat, one knee pulled up, her fingers drumming softly on the denim. I adjusted the rear-view mirror—partly to check behind me, mostly to catch another glimpse of her. The angle gave me a perfect view down her crop top. I see the soft, pale curve of her breasts swelling above the fabric.

“Eyes on the road, Jason,” she said, not even looking at me. A smirk played on her lips. She stretched, a deliberate, cat-like arch of her back that pulled the top even tighter. “I am so tired, ain’t you tired after we did it three times last night?”

I smirked back. “You know I can’t help it. No, I ain’t tired. I could bang you all day and night.” My hand slid over her thigh, feeling the solid muscle beneath the tight jeans. She swatted me away as the light turned green.

Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to her house—a small, cosy place with a neatly kept front yard. Kelly unlocked the door, letting the warmth and the faint scent of vanilla swallow us whole. The living room was dim, lit only by the flickering blue glow of the TV.

Kelly’s mum sat in the middle of the couch, a thick blanket draped over her lap. She wore a satin nightie, the colour of red wine. The straps were thin. The neckline was dangerously low. The sleek fabric clung to a body that was all woman.

“Hey, Mum,” Kelly said, plopping down beside her and tucking under the blanket. “This is Jason.”

Her mum didn’t look away from the screen—Titanic again—but her eyes flicked up at me. Slow, deliberate. She took her time looking me over, her lips, slick with gloss, curling just slightly.

“Oh,” she said, her voice smooth, amused. “So you’re the Jason my daughter won’t shut up about.” She patted the empty spot on her left. “Sit. I don’t bite.”

I swallowed. Hard.

Kelly rolled her eyes. “Mum, seriously.”

But I sat… Close enough to smell her perfume—something heavy, sweet. Like overripe flowers.

Her bare foot brushed against my leg under the blanket. A warm, deliberate pressure on my calf.

I didn’t move.

The foot didn’t retreat. It was an anchor, holding me in this impossible situation. On the screen, Rose was telling Jack she’d never let go, but in that dim, vanilla-scented room, I felt like I was the one clinging to the edge of something.

“So, Jason,” her mum said, finally tearing her gaze from the television. Her eyes were the same shade of blue as Kelly’s, but where Kelly’s sparkled with playful mischief, hers were a still, deep lake. “Kelly tells me you’re studying architecture.”

“Uh, yeah. First year,” I managed, my voice coming out a little rough. I cleared my throat. “Mostly just learning how to not make my models fall over right now.”

A slow, languid smile spread across her face. “I’m sure you’re very good with your hands.” She took a sip from a glass of wine I hadn’t noticed on the side table, her eyes never leaving mine over the rim.

Kelly groaned, burying her face in a cushion. “Oh my god, Mum. Stop it.”

“What? It’s a compliment.” She set the glass down and shifted, the satin of her nightie whispering against the couch. The movement made the blanket dip, and my peripheral vision caught a treacherous amount of smooth, tanned cleavage. I forced my eyes to stay locked on hers. It was a battle I was losing.

Her foot slid an inch higher. My entire leg was tensed, a statue pretending to be a man.

“Mum’s recently single,” Kelly said, her voice muffled by the cushion. “She’s… reclaiming her power or something. It’s a whole thing.”

“It’s not a ‘thing,’ darling. It’s called having a pulse,” her mother replied, her tone dripping with a faux sweetness that was more dangerous than outright hostility. She turned her body slightly towards me, tucking one leg underneath her. The gesture was casual, intimate. The blanket fell away from her other leg, revealing a toned, slender thigh. “You must find it terribly boring, sitting here with two old ladies watching a weepie.”

“We’re not old,” Kelly protested, finally emerging from the cushion. She shot me a look that was half-apology, half-warning.

“Speak for yourself,” her mum sighed, though she looked anything but old. She reached out and picked a piece of invisible lint from my sweater, her fingertips brushing against my chest. The touch was electric and completely inappropriate. “I’m Elena, by the way. Since my daughter seems to have forgotten her manners along with her ability to sit like a civilised human being.” She gestured at Kelly, who was now curled in a ball, her feet tucked under her.

“Nice to meet you, Elena,” I said, the name feeling foreign and strangely intimate on my tongue.

“I’ll bet it is,” she murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.

The tension was a third person in the room, thick and cloying like her perfume. The movie played on, a distant drama overshadowed by the one unfolding on the couch. Every time Elena moved, the satin rustled. Every time she spoke, her voice was a low purr designed to command attention.

During a loud, dramatic scene where the ship was beginning its fatal tilt, Elena leaned closer to me, ostensibly to pick up her wine glass. Her hair, smelling of that same heavy perfume, brushed my cheek, and her voice was a hot whisper in my ear.

The house was too quiet.

Kelly’s steady breathing beside me was the only sound in the dim glow of the TV, some forgotten action movie casting flickering shadows across the walls. I wasn’t even paying attention to the screen. My focus was split between the weight of Elena’s hand on my thigh and the flickering guilt in my gut.

Because I should have moved away.

Because I knew exactly what this was.

Because I didn’t.

“You know,” Elena murmured, her voice low and amused, “for a boy she won’t shut up about, you’re much quieter than I expected.” She leaned in, her breath warm against my ear, the scent of her perfume—something expensive, musky—wrapping around me like an embrace. “Cat got your tongue, Jason?”

I swallowed. My pulse hammered in my throat.

Under the blanket draped over my lap, her foot retreated—only to be replaced by the slow, deliberate press of her hand. It landed high on my thigh, a warm, shocking weight through my jeans. Her fingers traced a lazy path inward, slow enough to be excused as accidental, firm enough to leave no doubt.

My breath hitched.

I glanced over at Kelly—my girlfriend, asleep beside me, her head tilted back against the couch, her lips slightly parted. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, her fingers still curled around the wine glass she’d been sipping from before she drifted off.

Safe. Oblivious.

Elena’s fingers tightened just slightly, and I jerked my attention back to her. Her dark eyes gleamed with challenge, her smirk sharp enough to cut.

“See something you like?” she murmured, following my gaze.

My traitorous mind didn’t hesitate. Yes.

Elena was—Christ. She was everything Kelly wasn’t. Where Kelly was lean and athletic, built like a runner, Elena was lush, deliberately carved. Her nightie dipped low, the fabric stretched tight over full breasts, the deep valley of her cleavage just inches from my arm. The thin straps barely held the damn thing in place, and when she shifted, the hem rode higher, revealing the smooth curve of her thigh.

Her fingers found their target, cupping me through the denim, applying a firm, knowing pressure.

A jolt of pure, primal electricity shot through me, equal parts panic and want.

I should have stopped her.

I should have pushed her hand away, stood up, woken Kelly, left.

Instead, I leaned in.

My lips brushed the shell of her ear, my voice a low, strained whisper I barely recognised. “That feels good. Here, let me get it out for you.”

Her breath hitched—just slightly—but her fingers didn’t stop.

Under the blanket, I unbuttoned my jeans, tugged the zipper down. Elena’s nails dragged along the outline of my hardness through my boxers, light enough to tease, sharp enough to make my muscles tense.

“Bold,” she murmured, her lips grazing my ear. “But quiet. Wouldn’t want to wake sleeping beauty, would we?”

A beat of silence. Then—

“Meet me in the upstairs bathroom in five minutes. Don’t worry about her—she sleeps through anything.” Her teeth skimmed my earlobe, sharp. “I’ll be bent over the sink, waiting. Sneak up, and you know what to do. I want you balls deep inside of me.”

Damn.

It felt like Christmas.

I shouldn’t.

But I’d never been good at resisting temptation.

The house was silent except for the distant murmur of the movie and Kelly’s steady breathing. Elena’s fingers lingered on my thigh for a heartbeat longer before she withdrew them with deliberate slowness, her smirk telling me she knew exactly what she was doing.

Five minutes.

Every second stretched, thick with anticipation.

Kelly shifted slightly, nestling deeper into the couch, but she didn’t wake.

Elena stood smoothly, adjusting the hem of her nightie—so damn short it barely covered the curve of her ass. She stretched lazily, arching her back just enough to make the thin straps dig into her smooth shoulders.

“Bathroom,” she murmured, more to herself than to me, her voice dripping with false innocence. “Don’t wait up.”

Kelly barely stirred as her mother padded out of the room, bare feet silent on the worn carpet. The way Elena moved—hips swaying just slightly—was like a promise, an invitation to follow.

I waited.

And Waited.

By the time I stood, my pulse was hammering, my cock stiff and aching beneath my jeans. I glanced at Kelly one last time—still asleep, still safe—before slipping out of the room.

The stairs creaked under my weight. I winced, freezing mid-step.

No sound from the living room.

Upstairs, the hallway was dark, illuminated only by a faint strip of light leaking from beneath the bathroom door. My hand hovered over the knob, knuckles brushing the wood before I turned it slowly, nudging it open.

Elena was exactly where she said she’d be—bent over the sink, her palms flat against the porcelain. The mirror reflected her flushed cheeks, her parted lips. She had already tugged the straps of her nightie down, letting the silky fabric pool around her waist, exposing the sculpted curve of her back, the swell of her ass. Her panties—black lace—were around her ankles, crumpled on the tile.

And between her thighs—

Christ.

Her pussy was slick and glistening, her folds already swollen, delicate pink flesh framed by neatly trimmed curls. Her inner labia were slightly pouted, flushed dark from arousal, already parted as if waiting.

“Took you long enough,” she breathed, arching her back further, presenting herself shamelessly. “Don’t just stand there. Take what you want.”

I kicked the door shut behind me, barely remembering to lock it before shoving my jeans down my hips. My cock sprang free, hard and aching, the tip already wet with pre-cum.

I stepped closer, the heat of her body radiating against me as I gripped her hips, my thumbs digging into the soft flesh.

She gasped when I dragged the head of my cock through her soaked folds, teasing myself as much as her. “Fuck—Jason—” Her fingers curled against the sink, knuckles white.

“You sure you want this?” I growled, pressing against her entrance but not pushing in. Not yet.

Elena laughed breathlessly, turning her head just enough to catch my gaze in the mirror. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. “Don’t pretend you have the self-control to stop now.”

And she was right.

I thrust into her in one deep, rough stroke, burying myself to the hilt.

She cried out—a sharp, choked noise—before biting her lip to muffle it, her walls fluttering around me, tight and sinful.

“God,” she gasped, her body bowing under mine. “Fuck—yes, just like that—”

I didn’t hold back.

The sink rattled as I fucked her in deep, punishing strokes, every snap of my hips drawing another desperate gasp from her lips. The mirror fogged with our breath as I leaned over her, one hand tangling in her hair, the other gripping the edge of the sink for balance.

She met every thrust, arching back against me, taking me deeper. “Harder,” she demanded, her voice fractured. “Don’t—ah—don’t hold back.”

I didn’t.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small room, punctuated by Elena’s quiet, wrecked moans. She reached between her legs, fingers circling her clit in fast, tight circles, her breath stuttering each time my cock hit that spot inside her.

“You feel so good,” I gritted out, my control fraying. The way she clenched around me, the way her body yielded—it was intoxicating. “Fuck, Elena—”

Her breath hitched at the sound of her name, her hips grinding back against me. “Yes—right there—don’t stop— Ahh yes, pound my pussy.”

“Unnngh fuck, I shouldn’t,” I moaned as her ass cheek slapped against me, “I shouldn’t… we shouldn’t be… ahh fucking.”

I could feel her tightening, her moans turning higher, more desperate. I slid a hand around her waist, pressing my fingers against her clit, rubbing in rough circles just the way she liked.

She came with a shuddering cry, her body clamping down on me like a vice, her nails scratching at the sink. I followed her over the edge barely a second later, biting down on my own groan as I felt my balls tighten as I cum hard, spurt after spurt filling her mature cunt with hot spunk.

For a long moment, the only sound was our ragged breathing. Elena’s legs trembled as she sagged against the sink, her hair damp with sweat.

“Well,” she finally murmured, still breathless, a satisfied smirk curling her lips, “I see why Kelly likes you.”

I didn’t answer.

Because in that moment—as I pulled out, as the reality of what I’d just done settled cold and heavy in my chest—I realised something far worse than guilt.

I wanted more.

And Elena knew it.