On December 1st, 2010, the storm was fierce, wild, and relentless. Snow howled through the night, lashing at my cheeks, clawing through my coat like icy fingers. Each step I took sunk deeper, the weight of my boots dragging me down as the wind pushed back, stubborn as ever. The world had dissolved into a swirling, white abyss, my breath puffing out in sharp bursts, stinging against the frost. Finally—finally—I reached the door, my fingers so stiff I could barely twist the handle.
The warmth hit me in a wave, thick and soft, wrapping around me like a familiar lover’s embrace. The door thudded closed behind me, shutting out the storm’s furious roar. I leaned back against the solid wood, letting myself breathe as snow melted from my boots and pooled at my feet. The scent of firewood and home was everywhere, sinking into my skin, chasing the cold that clung to me like a ghost.
Then he appeared—Andy—framed in the living room doorway, his silhouette golden from the firelight. His cheeks were flushed pink, his dark hair damp and tousled, sticking up in that effortlessly charming way that only boys his age could pull off. He wore grey joggers slung low on his hips and a white T-shirt that clung faintly to his chest, damp where snow must’ve melted. He was still growing into himself at 18, carrying that disarming mix of boyish innocence and budding confidence.
“You alright, love?” I asked softly, shrugging off my coat. The sweater beneath hugged my body close, the deep V-neck dipping just enough to draw attention to the curve of my chest. I saw Andy’s eyes flicker—down, then away—just for a heartbeat before his lips twitched into a faint, guilty smile.
“Yeah,” he murmured, rubbing his hands together. “Tried building a snowman. Felt like the right kind of night for it.”
I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips, wistful and soft. “That’s sweet. Sit by the fire before you freeze solid.”
He groaned dramatically, flopping onto the couch in that sprawling, careless way only an 18-year-old could master. The fire crackled, casting shadows that curled and danced across his face, painting him in hues of amber and gold. Outside, the wind howled again, fierce and angry, but it couldn’t touch us here.
The lights flickered—a warning pulse from the storm—and I glanced up, frowning. “We might lose power if this keeps up.”
Andy, unfazed, grinned lazily. “Then we light candles and make a night of it.”
I smirked, shaking my head. “You’d find the bright side of a blackout.”
“Better than whining about it,” he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners with that boyish smile.
“Fair point.” I tilted my head, playful. “Hot chocolate, then? We won’t let the weather win.”
His grin widened, stretching that charming mouth of his. “The best thing you’ve said all day.”
The kitchen was dim, lit only by the fire’s golden glow spilling faintly from the other room. I moved easily, hands reaching for the kettle and cocoa tin with practised familiarity. Andy appeared at my side, digging through a cabinet until he emerged with a half-crushed bag of marshmallows. He held them up like a trophy, grinning.
“You’re hopeless,” I teased, bumping him lightly with my hip.
“You love it, though,” he shot back, voice soft, warm—his gaze lingering just a second longer than necessary.
I stirred milk and chocolate together in the pot, the air filling with the rich, comforting smell of cocoa. It was such a simple thing, yet… it felt special. Like the kind of night that exists outside of time, where snowstorms mean nothing but hot drinks, laughter, and closeness.
When the mugs were ready, we returned to the sofa. I curled beside him, tucking a thick, oversized blanket around our laps. Andy kicked off his socks, settling in his boxers and T-shirt, picking out some silly comedy that soon filled the room with laughter. Deep, real laughter—the kind that bubbles up and feels like magic because it’s so rare.
Between jokes, I watched him. The way his head tilted back when he laughed, his eyes soft and crinkled at the corners. It was like seeing the boy he used to be—carefree and light—after a long time of watching him grow up too fast.
The snow outside softened, the wind quieting to a whisper, leaving only the occasional soft thud of flakes against the window. It felt as if the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving just us, a fire, and this little cocoon of stillness.
As the credits rolled, Andy leaned his head against my shoulder, his voice a low, sleepy murmur. “Thanks for tonight, Mum.”
I kissed the top of his head, my fingers threading briefly through his hair. “Always, love. Nights like this… they’re a gift.”
He yawned, sprawling deeper into the cushions. “I’m staying here for a bit,” he muttered, though his heavy-lidded gaze told me he wouldn’t move for hours.
I stood, stretching with a sigh. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
In my room, I peeled away the day’s damp layers and slipped into my favourite nightie. The silk whispered over my skin, pooling just above my knees. The neckline was low—low enough to frame the soft swell of my breasts, where the fire’s heat would catch and linger. My hair tumbled loose, falling around my shoulders in easy waves. I paused, glancing at myself in the mirror, goosebumps prickling across my arms as the cool air kissed my bare skin.
Grabbing a glass of Jack Daniels, I padded back to the living room, shivering as I slid beneath the blanket again. Andy looked up from where he lounged, his gaze lingering for just a beat too long. The fire’s flickering glow played tricks, catching on the amber liquid in my glass and tracing its warmth down the delicate line of my neckline.
“You’re dressed for the weather, I see,” he teased, smirking faintly.
I arched a brow, sinking onto the sofa beside him. “You think?”
His chuckle was low and soft, his gaze flickering back to me. “Looks good on you. Just saying.”
I tilted my glass toward him, a slow smirk curling at the corners of my lips. “It’s the firelight. Does wonders for a girl.”
He laughed quietly, that boyish grin lingering. “I bet it does.”
I tilted my head, watching him with a teasing smile. “What does that mean?”
Andy shrugged, but there was a faint blush creeping up his cheeks—a mix of the firelight and something else. He swirled his drink, avoiding my gaze for just a second before looking back up, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “Just… you look nice. That’s all.”
The words hung in the air, lingering like the warmth of the fire. My smirk softened, and I took a slow sip of Jack Daniels, letting the liquid burn a little as it slid down my throat. “Careful, Andy,” I murmured playfully, tilting my glass toward him again. “You’ll have me thinking you’re buttering me up.”
He chuckled, his laugh low and smooth, filling the quiet like the distant hum of the storm outside. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he shot back with a wink. “It’s just the whiskey talking.”
“Oh, is it now?” I arched an eyebrow, settling further into the sofa. The silk of my nightie brushed against my thighs as I tucked my legs beneath me, the firelight catching the soft sheen of the fabric. My hair slipped forward, falling in loose waves over my shoulder as I turned to face him, a glimmer of mischief in my gaze. “Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. I aim to impress.”
His grin widened, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. He just looked at me—really looked at me—his eyes flicking down and back up, lingering a little longer than they should. It wasn’t quite a stare, more of a quiet observation like he was noticing something he wasn’t sure he should. Then he shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck like he was shaking off a thought.
“Maybe you do,” he murmured, his voice low, almost to himself. “You’re kind of impossible not to notice sometimes.”
The comment was unexpected, soft enough to feel harmless but still lingering like an unspoken truth. I felt a flush rise on my own cheeks, though I hid it well behind another sip of whiskey. My voice came out light, teasing. “Are you trying to charm me, Andy? Because if you are, you’re going to need more than marshmallows and flattery.”
He laughed again, that easy, boyish laugh that felt as comforting as the fire. “Trust me,” he said, leaning back against the sofa and stretching his arms behind his head, his T-shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. “I’m not nearly that smooth.”
“Good to know,” I replied with a smirk, brushing my hair back and letting my fingertips linger at the edge of my neckline. The fire crackled, filling the quiet between us as the snow outside continued to fall, whispering softly against the windowpanes.
Andy tilted his head, watching me for a beat too long before breaking the silence with a grin. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
I laughed, a low, quiet sound as I swirled the amber liquid in my glass. “Me? Dangerous? Now that’s the whiskey talking.”
Two hours later, the bottle was empty, its amber liquid long gone, replaced by the slow burn of warmth deep in my belly. Whiskey had that effect on me—loosening my tongue, softening the edges of my restraint. I was feeling giddy, a little reckless, and a whole lot bolder than I had any right to be.
Andy lounged beside me, his long frame sprawled across the sofa, one arm thrown lazily across the back cushion. His T-shirt had twisted slightly, and I couldn’t help but notice the way it clung to him in all the right places. His cheeks were still tinged pink, whether from the fire or the whiskey, I couldn’t say. Maybe both. He looked so at ease, so carelessly comfortable, it made me smile.
I set my glass down on the floor with a soft clink, leaning my head back against the sofa cushion and letting the silence stretch between us. The only sounds were the soft crackle of the fire and the occasional sigh of wind brushing against the window. The world outside was gone, lost beneath blankets of snow, but inside, it was just us—wrapped up in heat and shadows.
Andy turned his head, his voice low and lazy. “You’re a lightweight, you know that?”
I opened one eye, giving him a mock glare. “I’m perfectly fine. Just… happily warm.”
He smirked, his lips curling in that way that made him look far too pleased with himself. “Sure. I’ll remind you of that when you’re tripping over your own feet in a minute.”
I scoffed, sitting up straighter, the silk of my nightie slipping along my thighs as I shifted. “You’re awfully cocky for someone who didn’t stop drinking either.”
“Yeah, but I can handle it,” he teased, his gaze flicking over me—just a little longer than necessary. There it was again, that quiet look. Like he was studying something he wasn’t supposed to but couldn’t stop himself.
“Well, aren’t you impressive,” I said dryly, though the teasing edge of my smile softened the words. My hands smoothed idly over the blanket, the firelight catching in the folds of fabric and dancing along the low line of my neckline. I could feel his eyes shift, just barely, before he cleared his throat and looked away.
“Seriously though,” he murmured, his voice softer this time. “This has been nice. Really nice.”
I turned to him, propping an elbow on the back of the sofa and resting my cheek in my hand. My hair fell loose around me, spilling in waves over my shoulders. “It has, hasn’t it? I don’t remember the last time we just… sat like this. Talked. Laughed.”
“Me neither,” he admitted, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. He was looking at me again, but this time there was something deeper there—an awareness, maybe. Like he was seeing me for the first time in a long time, past all the titles, past all the usual dynamics.
The fire crackled again, louder this time, pulling me from the moment. I smiled, soft and teasing, needing to cut through whatever thread had begun to hum between us. “You’re a terrible influence, Andy. Making me drink this much on a snowy night.”
He laughed, low and warm. “You’re the one who brought out the Jack Daniels. Don’t blame me.”
I shrugged, lifting my hands in surrender. “Fair point. I was asking for it.”
He tilted his head, watching me with that lazy grin of his. “You know, you’re not as tough as you pretend to be.”
I arched an eyebrow, matching his tone. “Oh? And what makes you say that?”
He smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Because you’re all soft tonight. Relaxed. It’s nice.”
I blinked, caught off guard for a moment before I smiled faintly. “Blame the whiskey.”
“Maybe,” he murmured, his voice just a little lower, his gaze holding mine. “Or maybe it’s just you.”
That lingering comment sat there between us, soft and heavy in the quiet. My stomach gave the faintest twist, and I swallowed, unsure how to respond—unsure if I wanted to respond. So instead, I let out a light laugh, reaching for the empty bottle as if it might offer some kind of distraction.
“Well,” I said, shaking it gently. “You, sir, are cut off. If we keep this up, you’ll be carrying me to bed.”
Andy smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting as he gazed at me. “trust me I wouldn’t mind.”
laughed softly, trying to play it off. “I bet you wouldn’t, but I’m probably heavier than you think.”
Andy didn’t miss a beat, his smirk lingering as his eyes flicked toward me, a mix of teasing and something else I couldn’t quite place. “Doubt it. You look light as a feather.”
The words were casual, tossed out like nothing, but they hit differently. I felt a warmth—hotter than the whiskey—rise in my cheeks. I tried to ignore the way his gaze lingered on me for just a heartbeat longer as if daring me to say something back.
“You’re getting smooth in your old age,” I teased, giving him a playful nudge with my elbow, though I felt the silk of my nightie slide slightly against my skin as I moved.
Andy grinned, unbothered, sinking back into the cushions as if he hadn’t just left me feeling a little off-balance. “What can I say? You bring out the best in me. Let’s get another bottle.”
“Are you trying to get me drunk Mr” I teased, narrowing my eyes as I turned to face him fully. The soft glow of the fire flickered between us, throwing dancing shadows on his face, and the mischief in his grin deepened.
“Maybe,” he drawled, stretching his arms behind his head in that lazy way of his, his T-shirt riding up just enough to flash the bare sliver of his stomach. “Depends—are you fun when you’re drunk?”
I laughed softly, shaking my head as I leaned back against the cushions, pulling the blanket a little tighter over my lap. “You’d find out soon enough, I suppose. But I don’t think you could keep up.”
Andy’s grin widened at that, his gaze lingering on me in a way that felt just a little too steady. “Oh, I can keep up. Don’t challenge me—you’ll lose.”
“Oh, is that so?” I tilted my head, my lips curling into a teasing smirk. The heat of the whiskey was still alive beneath my skin, making me bolder, sharper. “And what exactly happens if I lose?”
The question hung there for a moment—soft, playful, but threaded with something else. Andy shrugged, though his eyes never left mine. “Guess you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”
I held his gaze a moment longer, the corner of my mouth twitching as if to break the tension, though I could still feel the hum of it. Finally, I reached for my glass again, sighing in mock defeat. “You’re trouble tonight, Andy. I knew it the moment I walked through that door.”
He chuckled softly, his voice low and smooth. “Me? Nah. I’m just keeping you company. You’re the one who brought the whiskey—this is all on you.”
I shook my head, laughing quietly. “You’re impossible.”
He smiled, his gaze dropping for the briefest second—tracing the line of my neck where my hair had slipped aside, catching on the way the firelight kissed the silk of my nightie. When he looked back up, his eyes lingered a heartbeat too long, his voice quieter now. “Maybe. But you don’t seem to mind.”
The words hit me like a ripple, soft but undeniable, the air between us suddenly heavier. I couldn’t quite ignore the way he looked at me, the way the warmth in his voice tugged at something deep in my chest. I told myself it was the whiskey—that it had blurred the lines and lowered the walls, making everything feel a little closer, a little more dangerous.
“I’ll let you think that,” I replied finally, my voice softer than before. I took another slow sip of my drink, trying to steady the faint flutter in my stomach. The fire crackled louder as if filling the silence, but his eyes were still on me—patient, unshaken.
Andy grinned, settling back into the cushions like he hadn’t just shifted the ground beneath me. “Fair enough. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I raised an eyebrow, giving him a look. “Warn me about what, exactly?”
His grin turned into a smirk, easy and teasing, but there was still that something lingering in his gaze. “That I’m trouble. You already said it yourself.”
I laughed again, shaking my head as I sank further into the sofa, the warmth of the fire, the whiskey, and his words wrapping around me like a cocoon. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Good,” Andy murmured, his voice barely above a rumble as he looked at me, that lazy grin still playing at his lips. “I’d hate to think you were scared.”
I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t stop the smile that curled at the corners of my mouth. “Scared of you? Please.”
“Mm,” he hummed, tilting his head slightly as he watched me, eyes flickering over me like he was trying to figure something out. “We’ll see.”
I could see why the girls in the neighbourhood liked Andy—he had that easy charm, the kind that made every word sound like it carried just the right amount of intention.
“You okay, Mum? You look a little flushed,” Andy teased, his lips curling into that trademark smirk. “It’s alright—I have that effect on many.”
I scoffed, rolling my eyes even as I felt the heat rise a little higher in my cheeks. “Oh, please,” I shot back, though my voice betrayed a hint of laughter. “Trust me I can handle anything.”
Andy’s smirk deepened, his gaze lingering just a touch longer as he leaned back, stretching out lazily. “Is that so?” he drawled, a challenge playing beneath his words.
I tilted my head, matching his energy with a teasing smile. “You’re not as irresistible as you think, Andy. What has got into you tonight, you have been flirting with me all night since you started drinking.”
Andy paused, his smirk faltering for just a second as though he hadn’t expected me to call him out so directly. Then, as if recovering just as quickly, his lips curled again, though there was something quieter, something unreadable in his gaze.
“Flirting?” he echoed, his tone teasing but cautious, like he was testing the word. He swirled the glass in his hand, the faint clink of ice against glass filling the pause between us. “You’re the one who brought the whiskey. Maybe it’s just making me charming.”
“Is that what you’re calling it?” I teased back, arching an eyebrow, though the air felt just a little heavier now, like we were toeing an invisible line neither of us had fully acknowledged.
Andy let out a low chuckle, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his glass dangling from his fingertips. The firelight flickered across his face, softening his features but casting his expression in a quiet shadow. His voice dropped a little when he spoke again, softer, almost careful. “I’m just saying… you don’t seem to mind.”
The comment lingered in the air like the hum of the storm outside, unspoken things curling between us like smoke. I met his gaze, and for the briefest moment, there wasn’t teasing there. Not fully. Just something… aware.
“You’re awfully confident tonight,” I replied finally, my voice quieter now, though I couldn’t quite keep the smile from my lips. I took another slow sip of whiskey, letting the warmth of it fill the quiet that followed.
Andy watched me for a moment longer before leaning back again, sinking into the cushions with an easy stretch. “Comes with the territory, I guess,” he said, his voice returning to that light, teasing tone, though his gaze lingered on me a beat longer than it should have. “You should know—confidence runs in the family.”
I rolled my eyes, laughing softly. “Right. It’s the whiskey talking, then?”
He tilted his head, his grin easy but his gaze steady. “Maybe. Or maybe you’ve just been too nice to me tonight.”
The room felt warmer than it had any right to be, the fire crackling softly, as if it too were leaning in to listen. I tugged the blanket a little closer around me, shaking my head as I tried to brush it off. “You’re trouble tonight, Andy. I knew I shouldn’t have shared the Jack Daniels with you. I ain’t like most the girls around here take more to get round me.”
Andy raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he poured the whiskey with deliberate ease, the amber liquid catching the firelight as it filled my glass. His voice was low, playful, but there was an edge of something else beneath it, something steadier. “Oh, is that so?” he drawled, settling back into his seat, his gaze holding mine. “You think I’m trying to ‘get around you,’ huh?”
I tilted my head, giving him a pointed look over the rim of my glass. “Well, if the shoe fits, Andy.” I took a slow sip, letting the whiskey burn on my tongue, though the heat didn’t stop there. “You’ve been laying it on thick since you sat on that couch.”
Andy’s lips twitched, but this time, he didn’t look away. “Maybe I just like spending time with you,” he said softly, a little too sincere to be brushed off as a joke. His eyes traced my face, lingering on my mouth for the briefest second before flicking back up. “Or maybe it’s just the storm outside. Makes everything feel… different, doesn’t it?”
Something in the room shifted, like the space between us had tightened, the silence too full to ignore. The fire crackled, the soft glow curling against the walls and throwing shadows that flickered like whispers. I looked at him, searching for that boyish grin, but all I found was a quiet kind of focus, an awareness that sent a flutter through my chest.
“You’re blaming the weather now?” I said lightly, though my voice had lost its teasing edge. My hands smoothed over the blanket as if I needed something to do, the silk of my nightie brushing against my skin as I shifted. “That’s a new one.”
Andy leaned back, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was letting me take the lead. “Blame it on whatever you want,” he said finally, his voice soft, steady. “I just know it’s nice… this.” He gestured between us lazily, his fingertips brushing against his glass. “The fire, the whiskey. You.”
My breath caught, just for a second, before I laughed softly, the sound more like an exhale. “Careful, Andy,” I murmured, shaking my head as I looked at him. “You keep talking like that, and I’ll start thinking you’re serious.”
“Maybe I am,” he replied simply, his voice a low murmur that settled over me like a slow burn and the fire in his eyes as he shuffled up even closer.
Andy’s words lingered in the air, soft but weighted, leaving a ripple that spread beneath my skin like the fire’s heat. I watched him carefully, trying to decipher the quiet confidence in his tone. There was no teasing in his eyes this time—no easy grin or playful smirk to brush it all away. Just him, steady and deliberate, watching me like he’d just said something he didn’t plan to take back.
“Maybe you are?” I echoed, the faintest crack in my voice betraying me before I swallowed it down, forcing a smirk that felt weaker than I meant it to. I tried to keep the conversation light, the way it had been all night—banter, whiskey, laughter. But something had shifted. The air between us felt too still, too charged. My fingers tightened briefly around the glass in my hand, like an anchor.
Andy leaned closer, slow and unhurried, as if he were testing the waters or waiting for me to pull away. His dark eyes never left mine, the firelight reflecting in them, flickering softly. He didn’t say anything for a long moment—just watched, quiet and steady, like he was daring me to look away.
“I mean it,” he said finally, his voice barely above a murmur, soft but certain. “It’s nice… sitting here with you. Just us.”
The way he said it—simple, unpolished, but earnest—hit harder than I was prepared for. I blinked, my smirk fading as I searched for something clever to say, something to push the moment back where it belonged. But the words wouldn’t come. Not when his eyes were holding mine so intently, like he was waiting for an answer I wasn’t sure I had.
“Andy…” I started softly, his name slipping past my lips before I knew what to say next. He was too close now, close enough that the faint scent of him—firewood, whiskey, and something unmistakably his—wrapped around me. I felt my heart beat a little harder, unsteady.
“Don’t worry,” he said suddenly, his lips twitching into the faintest smile, though there was still something deeper lurking beneath it. “I’m not trying to cause trouble.”
I let out a soft laugh—an attempt to steady myself—as I glanced down at the amber liquid swirling in my glass. “You’ve already been trouble tonight,” I murmured, shaking my head. “Don’t make it worse.”
He chuckled quietly, the sound low and warm. “Worse? I thought I was charming.”
I looked back up, my eyes meeting his again. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting the softness of his expression—the way his lips were curled just slightly, his gaze still fixed on me like he was waiting to see what I’d do. “You’re definitely something,” I replied finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, neither of us moved. The only sounds were the slow crackle of the fire and the faint whistle of wind against the windowpanes, the storm outside feeling like another world entirely. Here, inside this little cocoon of warmth, everything felt… different. Closer.
Andy’s gaze dropped for just a second, tracing the line of my mouth, before flicking back up to meet my eyes again. He leaned in another fraction, his voice soft, testing. “What if I don’t want the night to end?”
I swallowed, the tension humming louder between us now. I could feel it, thick and real, pulling us toward some invisible edge I hadn’t realized we’d been walking all evening. My pulse beat in my throat as I looked at him, my voice catching slightly when I answered. “Andy…”
He tilted his head slightly, waiting—his movements slow and deliberate, like he was giving me every chance to pull away. But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. There was something in the way he looked at me—like he saw me, really saw me—that left me rooted to the spot. It wasn’t just the whiskey warming me now, and I knew it.
“It’s just the storm,” I whispered finally, though even I didn’t believe the words as they left me. My fingers brushed idly over the edge of my glass, needing something—anything—to focus on. “The fire… the whiskey. It’s making everything feel… strange.”
“Maybe,” Andy said quietly, his voice almost thoughtful as his eyes stayed on mine. “Or maybe it’s just us.” He took my glass off me and sat it on the table and as he leaned in towards me, his face close enough now that I could feel the faint heat of his breath brush against my cheek. My heart stuttered in my chest, each beat echoing louder than the fire crackling beside us. I froze, not because I was afraid, but because I didn’t know what to do—how to stop what was happening or if I even wanted to.
Andy’s gaze held mine, steady and deliberate, his movements slow, measured. His eyes flickered across my face, lingering briefly on my mouth, then back up. There was no rush in him, no sudden urgency—just a quiet intent, like he was waiting for me to make the next move.
“Andy,” I breathed out softly, his name a whisper on my lips, though it wasn’t exactly a protest. It wasn’t much of anything—just a fragile piece of the quiet air between us.
“Say stop,” he murmured, his voice so low it felt like a ripple down my spine. His fingers brushed against my knee—tentative, almost testing, his touch barely there as though he was holding back.
I should have said something. I should have stopped this before it went any further. But instead, I sat there, my breath shallow, the silk of my nightie sliding like water against my skin as I shifted slightly beneath the blanket. I couldn’t ignore the way the firelight softened the hard angles of his face, or how the boy I’d known all these years suddenly seemed so grown, so sure of himself.
“I…” My voice faltered, and Andy didn’t press me for more. He just stayed there, close but still distant enough to give me room to breathe, his dark eyes fixed on mine, waiting.
The storm outside howled again, a sudden gust against the windows that made the fire flicker and the shadows dance wildly across the walls. It felt like the world beyond this room had disappeared completely, leaving only us in this cocoon of heat and whiskey and something else—something dangerous and unspoken.
Andy tilted his head just slightly, his voice low, almost coaxing. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ll stop… if you want me to.” He pushed a strand of hair behind my ear.
Andy shifted closer again, slow and deliberate, until he was near enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him, could smell the faint mix of firewood and whiskey on his skin. His hand brushed against mine where it rested on the blanket, his fingertips light but lingering. Testing. Waiting.
“Say the word,” he whispered, his voice barely there, his eyes fixed on mine.
And still, I didn’t. Instead I gently let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my pulse humming through me like a soft, steady drum. The space between us felt smaller, closer, charged with something I couldn’t ignore, even as I tried to tell myself it was nothing—just the storm, just the whiskey, just a trick of the firelight.
But when his fingertips brushed mine again, so light it could have been an accident, I didn’t pull away. I didn’t say stop.
He leaned in his lips slightly parted as he searched my face for any hesitation, any sign that I wanted him to stop. But I sat there, breath shallow, heart pounding, as the crackling fire filled the silence.
Andy was so close now, the faint scent of whiskey and firewood lingering between us. His dark eyes held mine, steady and careful, as though giving me one last chance to pull away. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.
When his lips finally brushed against mine, it was tentative at first—a soft, lingering touch, like he was still testing the waters, waiting for me to say something, anything. But I didn’t. Instead, I leaned into him just slightly, enough to let him know I wasn’t pulling away.
That was all it took.
His hand slid to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing softly against my cheek as he deepened the kiss—still gentle, still careful, but no longer unsure. His lips were warm, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the way I felt beneath his touch. My fingers curled instinctively into the blanket, gripping it tightly as the room seemed to tilt around me, the world outside disappearing beneath the weight of this moment.
I don’t know how long it lasted—seconds, minutes, maybe longer—but when Andy finally pulled back, his breath mingled with mine in the small space between us. His gaze searched my face, soft and unreadable, as though trying to figure out what I was thinking.
“Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his thumb still tracing gentle circles against my skin.
I’ve felt anything like this—anything so warm, so alive. My heart raced, my breaths coming shallow and quick as I let the moment sweep me up like the firelight flickering between us. I leaned into Andy, my hand reaching for his arm instinctively, needing something to hold onto as the space between us disappeared again.
This kiss wasn’t tentative now—it was deeper, fuller, a slow burn that built like the storm raging outside. His hand slid from my jaw to the curve of my neck, fingers curling gently but possessively, as though he didn’t want to let me go. The heat from his touch spread through me like wildfire, chasing away the last lingering chill of the night.
I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be letting this happen, but the reasons why blurred and faded with every brush of his lips against mine. I felt his other hand settle lightly against my waist, his fingertips resting just above the silk of my nightie where the blanket had fallen away. I gasped softly at the touch, the sound melting into him as his lips curved faintly against mine.
“Andy…” I murmured his name softly, almost like a plea, though for what, I couldn’t quite say. My head spun from the whiskey, from the firelight, from the way his presence wrapped around me like a cocoon—safe, warm, unshakable.
His forehead rested against mine as we caught our breath, the fire crackling softly beside us, its glow playing across his face in gentle flickers of gold and shadow. He looked at me then, really looked at me, his dark eyes steady, searching mine as though trying to read the parts of me I’d kept hidden away for so long.
“You’re quiet,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, like he was afraid to break whatever fragile thing had just bloomed between us.
I swallowed, trying to steady myself, to gather the words I didn’t quite know how to say. “I don’t know what to say.”
Andy’s lips curved into the faintest smile, soft and understanding. “You don’t have to say anything.” His hand lingered at my waist for a beat longer before falling back to his lap, though his eyes never left mine. “I just… I wanted you to know.”
“To know what?” I asked, my voice a little steadier now, though my pulse still hummed through me like a quiet drum.
Andy’s smile faded, replaced by something quieter, more serious. “That you’re… more than you think you are. That someone notices you. Really notices you.”
The words hit me in a way I hadn’t expected, cutting through the noise in my head and settling somewhere deep, somewhere soft. My throat tightened, and I looked away briefly, unable to hold the weight of his gaze. “Andy… I don’t know if you mean that, or if it’s just the storm, or the whiskey, or—”
“Does it matter?” he cut in gently, his voice low, careful. “If it’s true?”
I looked back at him then, meeting his eyes again. There was no teasing in them this time, no playful smirk or boyish grin—just a quiet sincerity that stole the words from my lips. For a moment, all I could do was look at him, the firelight dancing softly across his face, his expression open and unguarded in a way I’d never seen before.
“I think you should go to bed,” I said finally, my voice softer now, though I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince—him, or myself.
Andy studied me for a beat longer, like he was weighing his next move, but then he nodded slowly. “Alright,” he murmured, his tone easy, though the look in his eyes lingered like an unspoken promise.
He stood, stretching lazily before grabbing the blanket that had fallen aside. “Don’t stay up too long, and you know where my room is if you need anything, love you,” he added, his voice lighter now, though the undercurrent of something deeper remained.
He stood, stretching lazily before grabbing the blanket that had fallen aside. “Don’t stay up too long, and you know where my room is if you need anything. Love you,” he added, his voice lighter now, though the undercurrent of something deeper remained.
I sat there in the dim glow of the fire, my glass empty, my thoughts anything but. His words lingered, hovering in the air like smoke that refused to clear. Love you. Simple, casual—maybe even automatic—but it felt heavier tonight, like everything else.
He paused in the doorway, turning back just briefly. The firelight flickered behind me, catching his face in soft flashes of gold and shadow. He looked at me like he wanted to say something more but thought better of it, letting the moment stretch for just a breath before disappearing down the hall.
I let out a slow exhale, sinking deeper into the sofa cushions. The hum in the room didn’t go with him; it stayed, wrapping itself around me in the crackling silence. I could still feel the faint warmth of his hand where it had lingered near mine, still hear the way his voice softened when he spoke my name.
I tipped my head back, staring at the ceiling as the snowstorm whispered against the windowpanes. The whiskey burned faintly in my chest, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from the storm inside my own mind. Everything about tonight felt heavier—stranger—like something had shifted and I couldn’t quite put it back where it belonged.
“You’re more than you think you are. Someone notices you. Really notices you.”
His words played on a loop, soft and certain, until they settled somewhere I wasn’t ready to acknowledge. I could tell myself it was nothing—just the storm, just the fire, just the way whiskey makes everything feel softer around the edges—but even I didn’t believe that. Not tonight.
I wrapped the blanket tighter around myself, its weight warm and comforting, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the quiet hum beneath my skin. Somewhere down the hall, a door clicked softly shut, leaving the house quiet except for the distant howl of the wind and the fire’s gentle crackle.
You know where my room is if you need anything.
The words hovered in my mind, stubborn and unshakable. I closed my eyes and leaned back, trying to will them away, but it was no use.
Tonight was different.
As I stumbled to bed I was tipsy walking past his room and I went to open my bedroom door but I stopped. I turned and just gazed at his bedroom door remembering the words, You know where my room is if you need anything. I didn’t want to be alone tonight, I loved tonight.
I took a deep breath and walked towards his bedroom door. I stood there for what felt like an eternity before I finally knocked. The sound echoed through the quiet house, sharp and loud in the stillness of the night.
Andy’s voice came through the door, muffled but still clear enough to make my heart race. “Come in.”
I slowly pushed the door open, and there he was. He sat up in bed, he had no shirt on and I never notice his abs before. His tousled brown hair fell into his hazel eyes as he turned to look at me leaning against the door frame watching him.
My heart pounded in my chest as I took him in fully for the first time tonight without any teasing or flirting between us. He seemed so grown up now despite still having that boyish charm about him. That mix of innocence and confidence was something else entirely when paired with a body like his – athletic yet lean with a hint of muscle definition, just enough to make things interesting without being overtly macho or overly buffed out sort of way you see today’s gym rats sporting around town nowadays!
“Hey, are you okay?” he asked softly, concern etched on his face. His voice was low and warm, wrapping around me like a blanket. I nodded slowly, my gaze fixed on him as I tried to steady myself. “I just… I didn’t want to be alone tonight,” I admitted finally, my voice barely above a whisper as I walked over to his bed.
Andy’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he nodded slowly, his voice soft as he pulled back the covers on his bed. “Of course,” he murmured, making room for me to sit down beside him.
I climbed into bed next to him, pulling the blankets up around my shoulders as I settled in against the pillow. The room was warm and quiet, filled with that same comforting scent of firewood and home that had wrapped around me all night long. I could hear Andy’s steady breathing beside me, feel the heat radiating off his body in soft waves that seemed to chase away any lingering chill from earlier in the evening. I wanted him, but why? he’s my son but I really wanted him.
The room was thick with tension, the weight of unspoken things hanging heavy between us. I could feel the warmth of Andy’s body next to mine, could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing in the quiet. My heart raced, my thoughts a swirling mess of confusion and desire. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be feeling this way, but I couldn’t deny it, couldn’t ignore the way my body seemed to hum with life at his touch.
Andy turned to me then, his hazel eyes meeting mine in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. He reached out, his fingertips brushing gently against my cheek, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured softly, his voice low and rough.
I swallowed hard, my throat tightening as I looked at him. “Andy…” I whispered, my voice barely above a whisper. I didn’t know what to say, how to respond. I wanted him, but I couldn’t, shouldn’t. Not like this.
But Andy didn’t seem to care about any of that. He leaned in closer, his eyes locked on mine as his lips brushed gently against my own. It was a soft, lingering kiss, full of warmth and tenderness and something deeper, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I kissed him back, my hands coming up to rest on his chest as I let myself get lost in the moment, in the feel of his lips on mine and the heat of his body next to mine.
The kiss deepened, grew more urgent, and I could feel Andy’s hands on me, sliding under the hem of my nightie and going up and resting on my knickers.
I can feel his fingers tracing the line of my underwear, the touch sending a jolt of electricity through me that makes me gasp against his lips. He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark and full of desire as he looks at me. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.
I nod, unable to speak, my heart pounding in my chest as I feel him slowly slide my knickers down my legs. He tosses them aside, his gaze raking over me in the soft glow of the moonlight. I feel exposed, vulnerable, but also incredibly turned on. I want him, more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.
Andy leans in again, his lips finding mine in a searing kiss that makes me moan softly as he slowly gets on top of me.
Andy’s body pressed against mine, the weight of him familiar and comforting. His lips found my neck, his breath hot against my skin as he trailed soft kisses down to my collarbone. I could feel his hardness pressing against me, and I couldn’t help but arch up to meet him.
“You feel so good,” he murmured, his hands exploring my body with a newfound confidence that sent shivers down my spine. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer as he slid inside of me with one swift motion.
We moved together, our bodies synced in a rhythm that felt both primal and intimate. Andy’s thrusts were slow and deep, each one drawing a moan from my lips as he hit that perfect spot deep inside of me. I dug my nails into his back, urging him on as he picked up the pace, our bodies slapping together in a delicious symphony of sex. My son was inside my pussy, a place I never thought I would have him in.
The storm raged on outside, but inside, it was just the two of them, lost in each other as they moved together. The fire crackled softly in the background, casting a warm glow over their naked bodies as they explored every inch of each other.
Andy’s hands roamed over my body, cupping my breasts and pinching my nipples gently as I moaned in pleasure. I ran my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer as he kissed me deeply, our tongues dancing together in a rhythm that mirrored the one between our bodies.
“You feel so fucking good, I can’t believe I am fucking my mom,” he murmured against my lips, his thrusts growing more urgent the bed squeaking with each pump he gave me.
“Ah sweetie, mmm god harder baby,” I moaned as he took me hard on his bed. My tits shaking with the pounding he was giving me, this was good sex I needed.
“Oh fuck, Andy, yes!” I moaned, my fingers digging into his back as I urged him on.
He grabs my ass, pulling it up towards him as he drives his cock even deeper into my pussy making sure to hit that spot deep within that makes you scream out loud from pleasure!
Andy thrusts deeper, his cock sliding effortlessly in and out of my soaking wet cunt. I can feel every inch of him stretching me wide open as he pounds into me mercilessly.
He continues fucking me hard while simultaneously teasing my clit until finally – BAM! An earth-shattering orgasm rips through me like a tidal wave crashing against shoreline rocks during high tide at full moon phase! My entire body convulses uncontrollably beneath him as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me in rapid succession leaving no part untouched by its sheer forcefulness!
He continues to hammer my aching pussy hole as I squirt over his dick but he’s still going banging me hard.
He can tell that I am loving every single second of this so he decides to push things even further by pulling out suddenly which causes an intense sensation throughout my entire body making it difficult for me not cry out loudly from pure ecstasy! Then before I even have a chance to react or protest against what happened next – he flips us over so now Im on top straddling him with my legs spread wide open allowing full access for him go balls deep into my slippery wet cunt once again only this time much more forcefully than before!
He held my hips tightly as he pumped me hard lifting me up and down on his cock my pussy been dragged up and down his thick hard shaft.
The room was filled with the sounds of our heavy breathing and the slapping of skin against skin as we fucked each other raw. Andy’s grip on my hips tightened, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pounded into me with everything he had. I moaned loudly, my tits bouncing wildly with each thrust of his hips.
“Fuck, Mom! You feel so good!” he groaned, his voice strained from the effort of holding back his orgasm. I could feel him swelling inside of me, and I knew he was close.
“Cum for me, baby!” I urged him on, grinding my hips against his as I felt myself teetering on the edge of my own orgasm. “I want to feel you fill me up!”
Andy’s thrusts grew erratic, his hips stuttering as he lost control. I felt him explode inside of me, his hot load filling me up as I cried out in pleasure, my own orgasm crashing over me like a tidal wave. We collapsed onto the bed together, our bodies slick with sweat and cum.
“Holy shit, Mom,” Andy panted, his forehead pressed against mine as he struggled to catch his breath. “That was amazing.”
I smiled, running my fingers through his hair as I caught my own breath. “It certainly was,” I agreed, feeling a sense of contentment wash over me.
It was wrong, what we had just done. It was taboo and forbidden, and yet, it felt so right in that moment. I didn’t regret it, and I knew Andy didn’t either. It was a secret we would keep between us, something that would bring us even closer together.
As we lay there in the afterglow, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the storm that had brought us together. If it hadn’t been for the snow and the power outage, we might never have had this moment – this connection that went beyond mother and son, beyond friendship and family. It was something deeper, something more primal and raw.
Andy’s hand reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from my face, his touch soft and gentle. “I love you, Mom,” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.
“I love you too, baby,” I replied, my own voice thick with emotion. And in that moment, as we lay there in the darkness, wrapped up in each other’s arms, I knew that no matter what the future held, we would always have this moment – this connection that went beyond words, beyond logic, beyond anything that made sense in the real world.
It was our little secret, our little piece of heaven in the midst of the storm. And for now, that was enough.