Claire stood outside Eric’s door, heart hammering like a drum solo. Should she even be doing this? Probably not. Definitely not. But sleep? Forget about it. Not a wink all night. She just… she needed to feel something. Needed to feel close to someone. And Eric… well, wasn’t he her son? He’d understand wanting comfort, right?
She tapped lightly on the door, voice barely a whisper. “Eric? Are you awake? Can I… can I come in for a second? Just can’t sleep.”
Silence for a beat. Then, a sleepy voice from inside. “Yeah, Mom. Come on in. The door’s not locked.”
Claire pushed the door open and slipped inside. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the city outside the window. Eric was in bed, just boxers, chest bare. Damn, but he was built. Did mothers even think things like that about their sons? Probably not. Guilt pricked at her, sharp and sudden. But then it faded. She needed this more than she needed to be “good” right now.
She climbed into bed beside him. The sheets felt cool against her skin, nightie riding up her thighs. Her bare legs brushed against his. Hot damn, he was warm. They lay there, stiff as boards, for what felt like ages.
“Everything okay, Mom?” Eric finally asked, voice still a little groggy.
Claire sighed, turning to face him. “No, honey, nothing’s okay. It’s… it’s Dad. Still. It’s always Dad, isn’t it? I miss him so much, you know? Every single damn day. And I just… I don’t know how to do this without him. How to just keep going.”
Eric reached out and took her hand. His hand was warm and strong. Just like his father’s used to be. Tears pricked at her eyes. “I know, Mom. I miss him too. It sucks.”
They lay there in the dark, holding hands, just… lost. Lost in the quiet, lost in the missing. And then, something shifted. A tiny flutter deep in her belly. Something… different. She looked at Eric. Really looked at him. The way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the way his muscles moved under his skin even when he was still. And… wasn’t he looking at her differently too? His eyes seemed darker in the dim light.
She leaned closer, just a little. Her breath brushed his neck. She felt him tense. His heart was beating faster now, she could feel it even through his skin. Was he feeling it too? This… this thing that was suddenly crackling in the air between them? This wasn’t just about comfort anymore, was it?
And then, it just… happened. Like a match striking dry tinder. Their lips met. Not a comforting peck, not a mother-son kiss. This was… hungry. Desperate. His lips were firm, tasted like coffee and sleep and something else… something wild. Her hands went to his chest, feeling the hard muscles under her palms. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, tighter. The kiss deepened, tongues tangling. Sheets twisted around them as they moved, closer, closer.
Eric’s hands roamed down her back, then lower, cupping her ass through her nightie, pulling her right up against him. She could feel him hard against her thigh. Holy shit. Was this really happening? Could she really do this?
He broke the kiss, breathing hard, forehead pressed against hers. “Mom…” he whispered, voice thick. “Are you sure about this? Like… really sure?”
Claire’s breath hitched. “Don’t… don’t stop,” she managed, voice shaky. She pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. “I… I don’t have knickers on,” she breathed out, words barely there. A confession? An invitation? Maybe both. “I said… no knickers. It’s… it’s okay. You… you know what to do.”
Eric went still for a second like he was holding his breath. She watched his eyes, searching for… what? Disgust? Shock? But all she saw was… desire. Hot, raw desire, mirroring the ache inside her. He shifted, propping himself up on his forearms, and looking down at her. The air practically vibrated between them.
Slowly, deliberately, he slid his hand inside the waistband of his boxers. Then, freed himself. His cock sprang out, thick and heavy, throbbing in the dim light. He just… held it there for a moment, like showing her, offering her.
“Mom…” he whispered again, voice rough with emotion. “Are you… are you really, really sure?”
Claire didn’t answer with words. She just shifted her hips, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement, but enough. Enough of an invitation.
He needed no more encouragement than that. He pushed her nightie up, bunching it around her waist, leaving her completely bare from the waist down. The moonlight, thin as it was, caught the curve of her hips, the dark triangle between her legs. He lowered his head, gaze fixed on that spot.
“You’re… you’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice hoarse. He breathed in, deep, the scent of her filling his nostrils. “God, Mom…”
He lowered himself, slow, torturous. The head of his cock teased her, brushing against her, not quite inside. She gasped, her hips arching up to meet him. A tremor ran through her whole body. He was driving her insane.
“Eric…” she moaned, voice breaking. “Please… just… please.”
He kept teasing, circling, pressing, then pulling back just a fraction. Making her beg. Was he doing this on purpose? Was he trying to make her lose her mind? It was working. She gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.
“Tell me what you want, Mom,” he whispered, voice husky, right in her ear.
Her eyes fluttered open, locking with his. “I… I want you, Eric. I want you inside me. Now.”
That was all he needed. He positioned himself, the tip of his cock right at her entrance, wet and slick. He took a deep breath, bracing himself. And then, he pushed. Slow, deep, deliberate. She gasped again, a sharp intake of breath as he stretched her. Just for a second, a flash of pain. Then… then just heat. Welcome heat. And fullness. God, so full. He was inside her. Really inside her.
He paused, letting her adjust, letting himself adjust. He looked down at her, eyes dark, intense. “Does that… does that feel okay, Mom?” he asked, voice low and husky.
A moan escaped her lips, involuntary. “Oh God, Eric… yes,” she gasped. “Yes, it feels… incredible.”
He started to move, slow and deep at first. Withdrawing almost all the way, then thrusting back in, filling her again and again. Each stroke is deeper than the last. He watched her face, watched her eyes close again, watched the pleasure bloom across her features. Was this really happening? Were they really doing this?
“Tell me what feels good,” he prompted, voice rough.
“Deeper…” she gasped, hands gripping his back tighter. “Yeah… deeper. Harder… Ah, baby… ah, God, I missed this. Missed this so much.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He increased the pace, the force, driving into her harder, deeper. The bed started to squeak, a rhythmic, insistent squeak that filled the room along with their ragged breaths. Squeak, squeak, squeak. Was anyone else in the house awake? Did it even matter anymore? She felt his contractions around him, her body clenching around his cock, pulling him in further, deeper. Lost in the rhythm, lost in the heat, lost in the forbidden.
He leaned down, and kissed her again, hard and deep. His tongue plunged into her mouth, mimicking the thrusts of his hips. She tasted like desire, like sin, like everything she shouldn’t want but wanted more than anything. His hips slammed against hers, harder, faster. Panting. Her own breaths coming in ragged gasps.
“Fuck…” he groaned, voice thick with lust. “Am I really… am I really inside your… your pussy right now, Mom?” he panted, not slowing down, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting. The bed squeaked louder now, squeak, squeak, SQUEAK.
“Yeah, Eric,” she gasped back, matching his rhythm now, hips lifting to meet each thrust. “You are. Oh God, you really are.” Was this real? Did this just… happen? And was it really this good?
He pulled back a little, enough to look down at her, his face flushed, eyes wild. “Feels… feels unbelievable, Mom.” He pushed in again, deep, right to the hilt. “You feel so fucking good.”
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging in a little deeper this time. “Please, baby, don’t stop.” Baby? Had she really just called her son ‘baby’? Oh, who cared anymore? Not right now.
He didn’t stop. He kept going, harder now, faster. The bed was screaming, a wild, rhythmic protest against their movements. Squeak, squeak, squeak. Could the neighbours hear? Did anyone in the house hear? Who even gave a damn at this point? All she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears, her own ragged breaths, and Eric’s low groans mixing with the insistent squeak of the bed.
“Is it… is it too much?” he panted, voice strained, but he didn’t slow down, thank God.
“No, no, God no,” she moaned, head thrown back, hair tangled in the sheets. “Harder, Eric, harder! Fuck, yes, like that!” Did she really just say “fuck” to her son… during sex? Yep. Sure did. And it felt… unbelievably right.
He grinned down at her, a flash of teeth in the dim light, a purely primal, sexy grin. “You like that, Mom? You like it hard?” Squeak, squeak, SQUEAK. The bed seemed to be joining in on their conversation now, punctuated by every thrust.
“Oh God, yes,” she gasped, feeling herself getting closer, closer. “Don’t… don’t you dare stop…” Her body was tightening around him, squeezing him, milking him with every thrust. Was this what she’d been missing? This raw, animal connection? This feeling of being completely and utterly consumed?
“Never,” he growled, thrusting even harder, even deeper. Squeak, squeak, SQUEAK, SQUEAK. The rhythm was frantic now, desperate. “You’re so tight, Mom. So fucking tight.” He leaned down, kissing her again, a bruising, possessive kiss.
“Eric… Eric… I’m…” she couldn’t even finish the sentence. The pleasure was building, cresting, about to break. She could feel it, a wave of heat washing over her, starting deep in her belly and spreading outwards, consuming her whole body.
“Eric… I’m close…” she gasped, her body shaking violently. “Ahh fucking hell… Argh, my pussy.”
“Come on, Mom, let go,” he urged voice rough, panting right into her mouth. “Let it all go.”
And she did. She just… surrendered. Her body clenched around him, tighter and tighter, as she cried out, a long, shuddering moan that seemed to echo through the room, swallowed up by the rhythmic squeaking of the bed and their ragged breaths. The world seemed to narrow down to just the feel of him inside her, the sound of the bed, the taste of his mouth on hers.
He kept thrusting for a few more seconds, hard and fast, until he groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through her body. She felt him stiffen inside her, felt the hot rush of his cum filling her. Oh God. Had they really just…?
Finally, he collapsed on top of her, breathing hard, his weight heavy and warm. The bed creaked to a stop. Silence descended on the room, broken only by their ragged breaths and the faint sounds of the city outside. Silence and… the lingering squeak of the bed slowly dying down.
They lay there for a long moment, tangled together, chests heaving. Neither of them spoke. What was there to say? Had they just crossed some kind of line that could never be uncrossed? Was this the biggest mistake of their lives? Or… something else entirely?
Finally, Eric shifted, rolling off her a little but still staying close, arm draped across her waist. He looked down at her, his eyes searching hers in the dim light. “Mom,” he said, voice still husky, barely a whisper. “Are… are you okay?”
Okay? Was she okay? What kind of question was that? She just had sex with her son. Should she be okay? Probably not. But… strangely, at this moment, tangled in the sheets with him, skin still tingling, breath still catching in her throat… yeah, maybe, just maybe… she was okay. More than okay, even.
She looked back at him, searching his eyes in return. “Yeah, honey,” she whispered back, a small, shaky smile touching her lips. “Yeah, I think… I think I’m okay.” Was that a lie? Maybe. But right here, right now, in this tangled mess of sheets and sweat and forbidden desire… it felt like the truth. Didn’t it?
Okay? Was she really okay? Like, really okay? With what they just did? Probably not. Society would scream NO WAY. Her brain was still catching up, slow as molasses. Her body, though? Her body felt… alive. Like someone had flipped a switch she hadn’t even known was there.
She looked at Eric in the dim light. He looked… different too. Like he’d just woken up from a long sleep. His eyes were brighter, sharper. Had she done that? Had they done that? Was that even possible?
He was still watching her, waiting. What was he expecting her to say? Apologies? Tears? A confession to a priest? Probably all of the above, right? That’s what “normal” people would do. But were they normal anymore? Could they ever be again?
“Mom?” he said again, softer this time. “You sure?”
She took a breath, a shaky one. “I… I don’t know what to say,” she admitted. Honesty. Maybe that was a start. “It was… intense. Right?”
He nodded slowly, his gaze locked on hers. “Yeah,” he breathed out. “Yeah, it was.” Intense was an understatement. Explosive. Like a bomb had gone off in the middle of the night and somehow, instead of destroying everything, it had… created something new. Something messy and complicated and maybe… maybe something kind of amazing?
He shifted again, just a little, and gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. His touch was so soft, so tender. Was this really her son? The boy who used to bring her muddy action figures and ask for bedtime stories? Now, he was… this. This man. Her lover? God, that word felt huge, heavy, weirdly right.
“Did you… did you want to stop?” she asked, the question tumbling out before she could stop it. She needed to know. Was she the only one who’d been swept away? Or had he felt it too? This… this crazy pull?
He didn’t answer right away, just kept looking at her, those intense eyes searching hers. Finally, he shook his head slowly. “No,” he whispered. “No, Mom, I didn’t want to stop. Not at all.”
“Oh… Wow, really, not at all?” she echoed and smirked, a little breathless, a little disbelieving. Was this some kind of crazy dream? Because if it was, she really didn’t want to wake up. Not yet, anyway.
He shifted closer again, their bodies almost touching now, the lingering heat between them still buzzing. “You didn’t either, did you?” he asked, his voice low and husky like he was still catching his breath. Did he really just read her mind? Was it that obvious?
She didn’t answer right away, just looked at him, a little smile playing on her lips. “No,” she admitted finally, “No, I really didn’t. I think I encouraged it a bit too much.” Did that sound too eager? Too… something? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
Did that sound too eager? Too… something? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. But did it even matter? He hadn’t stopped, had he? And God, she hadn’t wanted him to. So what did that even mean?
He chuckled softly, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated against her side. “A bit?” he teased, his eyes twinkling in the dim light. “Mom, you were practically begging.”
Was she? Really? She blushed, heat rising in her cheeks all over again. Okay, maybe she had been a little… enthusiastic. But could you blame her? Had he felt that good? Apparently so. And she’d clearly felt… well, pretty damn good herself.
“Okay, okay, maybe a bit more than a bit,” she admitted, laughing a little. It felt strange to laugh about this, about them, right after… everything. But it also felt… good. Relieving, almost.
He shifted again, propping himself up on an elbow, looking down at her. “So… where do we go from here?”
Ah, the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Where did they go from here? Back to pretending it never happened? Could they even do that? After that? After the way they’d been together? It felt impossible. But what was the alternative? Running off into the sunset together? Yeah, right. That was definitely not happening.
She looked up at him, really looked at him. This wasn’t just Eric, her son, anymore. Not just the boy she’d raised. He was… something more now. Something… else. And she, in his eyes, was probably something different too. It was terrifying. And exhilarating. All mixed up into one confusing, messy ball of… something.
“I… I don’t know,” she confessed honestly. Was honesty really the best policy here? Probably. Lying seemed pointless now after they’d just completely shattered every rule in the book. “I really don’t.”
He nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “Me neither,” he admitted. “This is…” he trailed off, searching for the right word. “Complicated,” he finally said, and yeah, that was definitely an understatement. Complicated didn’t even begin to cover it. Explosive, forbidden, insane, earth-shattering… those were probably closer.
“Complicated is… putting it mildly,” she agreed, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “So… what are our options then? Pretend this was all a crazy dream?” Could they even try? Would that even work?
He shook his head again, his eyes serious now. “No,” he said firmly. “No, we can’t pretend. Not after… that. Not after how we both felt.”
How they both felt. He said it so plainly like it was the most natural thing in the world. But was it? Was any of this natural? Or were they completely insane? Maybe a little of both?
“Okay, no pretending,” she echoed, feeling a little thrill run through her at his words. Was that good? Was that bad? She honestly couldn’t tell anymore. “So… option two? Run screaming in opposite directions and never speak of this again?” That seemed like the sensible option, right? The safe option? But did she even want the safe option anymore?
He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers, and then he did something unexpected. He reached out and gently took her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. His hand was warm, strong, familiar yet… different now.
“No,” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper. “Definitely not option two.”
And just like that, with those two words, option two was off the table. And suddenly, the future, terrifying and uncertain as it was, felt… a little less scary. Maybe, just maybe, they could figure this out. Together. But… figure what out exactly? That was still a giant, gaping question mark hanging in the air, wasn’t it?