I was sprawled on the couch in my robe—red satin, slightly too loose, and not really doing much to hide the curve of my chest, but at this point, who was I dressing for? My hair was up in a messy bun, half of it already falling out. My eyeliner from earlier had smudged under my eyes like a raccoon, and the glass of wine in my hand was my third. Or fourth. The bottle was on the coffee table. Empty.
The living room smelled like stale popcorn and loneliness. A sitcom played in the background, laugh track echoing off the walls like mockery.
I used to laugh like that once. Loud, careless, whole-hearted. Now I just turned the volume up so I didn’t have to hear myself breathing.
The front door creaked. Then slammed. Heavy footsteps—boots—followed by the deep sigh of my son, Lee, tossing his bag to the floor.
Nineteen and acting like he’s forty. Or maybe fourteen. Depends on the day. He was tall like his father, with broad shoulders and that same frustrating jawline that clenched when he was pissed. His work shirt was still on, stained with oil and sweat.
He paused when he saw me.
“You’re drinking again.”
“Gold star, detective,” I muttered, waving the empty wine glass like a white flag.
He stayed there by the hallway for a moment, shoulders tense like he was deciding whether to walk away or say something cruel. But instead, he kicked off his boots, flopped down on the other end of the couch, and reached for the remote.
“What are we watching?”
I blinked. “I don’t know. I think it’s something with Jennifer Aniston. Or a cooking show. Honestly, I’m just here for the noise.”
He didn’t reply right away. Just watched the screen, his eyes glazed over from a twelve-hour shift. The smell of oil still clung to him. And cigarettes. God, he’d started smoking again.
“I don’t like your friends,” I said, suddenly. I didn’t mean to. It just came out like a burp.
He looked at me, jaw tightening again. “Yeah, well, they don’t like you either.”
“I’m not here to win them over.” I leaned back, hand over my eyes. “I’m here to keep you from turning into someone who forgets what love is supposed to feel like.”
Silence. Then, quietly—
“I didn’t forget.”
That hit harder than I thought it would.
I dropped my hand and stared at him. His face was still turned toward the screen, but I could see the hurt buried behind that tough-kid act. The way he blinked too slowly, the way his foot tapped against the floor even though he was pretending to be chill.
“I feel like I lost you,” I whispered.
He didn’t say anything. Just kept watching.
“I sit here some nights and wonder if I failed you.” I wasn’t crying. Not really. Just watery-eyed in the way women get when they’re too tired to hold it in. “I didn’t mean to raise you alone. That wasn’t the plan, Lee. Your dad—he was supposed to stick around. Help me. Help you.”
He finally turned to face me, and for once, there was no smart-ass comment on his lips. No eye roll. Just… his eyes, wide and sad.
“You didn’t fail me,” he said, voice lower now. Rough. “You’re the only one who didn’t fail me.”
I blinked at that.
“You think I don’t see what you’ve done for me?” he said. “I’ve been a little sh*t lately, I know that. I’ve been mad at everything. Everyone. But not you. Never you.”
“You’re always mad at me.”
“Because you’re here.” He rubbed the back of his neck, like the words were itching to get out. “You’re the only one who’s still here. So yeah, I take it out on you. But it’s not because I don’t care. It’s the opposite.”
I stared at him, the alcohol fuzzing up the edges of my vision, making everything feel distant and close all at once.
“I’m lonely, Lee,” I said. “I hate admitting that. But I am. I wake up in this empty house, go to work, come home, cook meals no one eats, watch shows no one laughs at… I feel like I’m disappearing. Piece by piece.”
He shifted closer on the couch. Not much, just enough that our shoulders brushed.
“I know.”
“I miss when you were little. When you’d crawl into bed with me after a nightmare and hold my hand.”
“You want me to do that now?” He smirked. “I’m like 190 pounds, I’d crush you.”
I laughed. Really laughed. For the first time in… I don’t know how long.
“Maybe not the crawling-in-bed part,” I said. “But the hand-holding? That’d be nice.”
I caught him staring at my chest with his jaw dropped, I looked down oh my… one of my boobs had been peeking out.
“Oh my I… I am so sorry honey, I am so embarrassed.” I quickly covered it back up.
“Shit, Mom, it’s… it’s fine,” he muttered, voice hoarse, like he was choking on the words. He shifted on the couch, one leg bouncing nervously. “Didn’t see nothin’. Honest.”
But he had. I could feel it in the way the room pulsed, electric and wrong. My nipple had slipped free, dark and taut against the pale curve of my breast, and for a split second, he’d stared like a man starving. I should’ve been horrified. Should’ve sent him to his room, locked myself in mine, and drowned the shame in another bottle. But my body betrayed me—warmth pooling low in my belly, my thighs pressing together under the robe.
I swallowed, my throat dry. “Lee, I didn’t mean—”
“Forget it,” he cut in, too quick, his voice cracking. He ran a hand through his dark hair, mussed from the day’s work, and I noticed the way his fingers trembled. “Just… drop it, yeah?”
But I couldn’t. The heat in my core was spreading, wicked and unstoppable, and the way he was sitting—hunched forward, trying to hide the bulge straining against his jeans—made my pulse race. His shirt clung to his broad chest, the oil stains smudged across his pecs, and I could smell him: cigarettes, motor oil, and something primal, like need.
“Lee,” I whispered, my voice softer now, dangerous. I shifted, letting the robe slip just a fraction, the satin grazing my skin like a lover’s touch. “You don’t have to pretend you didn’t see.”
His head snapped up, eyes wide, pupils blown dark. “What’re you—Mom, don’t.”
“I’m not your mom right now,” I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. I leaned closer, my breath hitching as the robe parted, revealing the swell of my breasts, the soft valley between them. “I’m just… me. Lonely. Needy. And you’re here.”
He groaned, low and tortured, his hands gripping his thighs like he was trying to anchor himself. “Fuck, you can’t say shit like that. You’re—you’re my—”
“Your what?” I pressed, my voice a sultry purr now, my hand brushing his arm, feeling the heat of his skin under the rolled-up sleeve. “I’m a woman, Lee. And you’re a man. A man who looked at me like he wanted to devour me.”
His breath came in sharp pants, his chest heaving. “You don’t know what you’re doin’ to me,” he rasped, his voice raw, unraveling. “I’m tryin’ to be good, but fuck, you’re makin’ it hard.”
“Then don’t be good,” I whispered, my lips inches from his ear, my breath hot against his skin. “Be bad. With me.”
That broke him. With a guttural “Fuck,” he surged forward, his hands grabbing my waist, pulling me onto his lap. I gasped, the robe falling open as I straddled him, my bare pussy brushing against the rough denim of his jeans. His cock was rock-hard beneath me, thick and throbbing, and I moaned, grinding down instinctively, the friction sending sparks through my clit.
“Ohh, shit,” I whimpered, my hands fisting his shirt, my tits bouncing as I rocked against him. My nipples were stiff, aching, and he stared at them, mesmerized, his lips parted. “Lee, fuck, you’re so hard.”
“Yeah?” he growled, his hands sliding up my sides, rough palms grazing my skin. He cupped my breasts, thumbs brushing my nipples, and I cried out, my head tipping back. “You like that, huh? Like me touchin’ your tits?”
“Fuck, yes,” I moaned, my pussy soaking now, dripping onto his jeans. My labia were swollen, slick, the lips parting as I ground harder, my clit pulsing with every drag against his bulge. “Suck them, Lee. Please, I need your mouth on me.”
He didn’t hesitate. His lips closed around my nipple, hot and wet, his tongue flicking the sensitive bud. “Mmmph,” he grunted, sucking hard, his teeth grazing just enough to make me scream. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he devoured me, his mouth sloppy, desperate.
“Ahh, fuck, like that,” I gasped, my hips bucking, my pussy clenching around nothing. “Harder, suck harder—ohh!” He obeyed, his mouth relentless, his other hand pinching my free nipple, twisting until I was trembling, my juices smearing across his lap.
He pulled back, panting, his lips shiny with spit. “You’re so fuckin’ wet,” he growled, his hand sliding between us, fingers brushing my pussy lips. I shuddered, my clit throbbing as he traced the slick folds, teasing my entrance. “This pussy’s beggin’ for me, ain’t it?”
“Yes, fuck, yes,” I whined, my voice high and needy. “Feel how wet I am, Lee. My pussy’s so ready for you.”
He groaned, his fingers slipping inside, two at once, stretching my tight cunt. “Ungh, so fuckin’ tight,” he muttered, pumping slowly, his thumb circling my clit. My walls fluttered around him, slick and hot, my juices coating his hand. “You’re drippin’ all over me, fuck.”
“More,” I begged, rocking against his fingers, my tits bouncing in his face. “Fuck me, Lee. I need your cock in me. Need you to pound my pussy.”
He didn’t need telling twice. With a snarl, he yanked his jeans down, his cock springing free—thick, veiny, the head glistening with precum. I moaned at the sight, my pussy clenching, desperate to be filled. He grabbed my hips, lifting me, and I hovered over him, my labia brushing the tip of his cock.
“Ready?” he rasped, his eyes locked on mine, wild and hungry.
“Fuck me,” I whispered, and he slammed me down, his cock splitting my pussy open in one brutal thrust.
“Ohhh, fuck!” I screamed, my walls stretching around his girth, the burn so good it made my toes curl. He grunted, his hands bruising my hips as he thrust up, hard and deep, his cock hitting my cervix with every slam.
“Ungh, take it,” he growled, his thrusts relentless, his balls slapping my ass. “Take this cock.”
“Ahh, yes, harder!” I moaned, my tits bouncing wildly, my nipples grazing his chest. My pussy was soaking, the wet squelch of his cock pounding me filling the room. “Fuck my pussy, Lee!”
He leaned forward, sucking my tit again, his teeth scraping as he fucked me harder, his cock slamming my g-spot. “Mmmph, so fuckin’ good,” he grunted, his thrusts erratic now, his cock throbbing inside me. “Your pussy’s milkin’ me, fuck.”
“Don’t stop,” I gasped, my clit grinding against his pelvis, my orgasm building fast. “Fuck me deeper, Lee, I want your cum in my cunt!”
He roared, his thrusts brutal, his cock slamming so deep I saw stars. “Ungh, gonna cum,” he groaned, his fingers digging into my ass. “Gonna fill this pussy up.”
“Yes, yes, cum in me!” I screamed, my pussy clenching, my juices squirting as my orgasm hit, waves of pleasure crashing through me. “Ohh, fuck, I’m cumming!”
He thrust once, twice, then buried himself deep, his cock pulsing as he came, hot cum flooding my cunt. “Fuck, take it!” he growled, his hips jerking, more cum spilling out, dripping down my thighs.
I collapsed against him, panting, my pussy still twitching around his softening cock. “Shit,” I whispered, my voice raw. “That was… fuck.”
He chuckled, low and rough, his hands stroking my back. “Yeah. Fuck.”
The sitcom laughed on, but for once, I didn’t care. I was here, alive, my pussy full of him, and for the first time in years, I didn’t feel alone.