I walked into the living room after a long shift at the hospital, my scrubs still clinging to my tired frame. The fluorescent lights of the hospital felt like a world away, but the exhaustion still followed me. “I wish you would put your willy away, for fuck’s sake, honey,” I said, my voice laced with affectionate exasperation only a mother could possess.
Marcus, sprawled on the sofa in just his boxers, flinched. His cheeks flushed a deep crimson. “Sorry, Mom,” he mumbled, hastily pulling the fabric higher. “I got this bad itch… I wasn’t doing, you know…” He trailed off, mortified.
I furrowed my brow with concern. I knew my son; he wasn’t usually this awkward. “An itch? Where?” I asked, already moving closer. Eighteen or not, he was still my boy, and my nursing instincts kicked in automatically.
He squirmed, avoiding my gaze. “Just…there.” He gestured vaguely towards his groin.
I knelt beside the sofa, my gaze sharp and professional. “Let me take a look, sweetheart. It could be anything.” Hesitantly, Marcus shifted, allowing me a glimpse. He hadn’t been able to get a proper look himself.
I saw it immediately, a patch of angry red skin near the base of his shaft. “Looks like eczema,” I murmured, more to myself than to him. “Probably aggravated by sweat.”
I reached out without thinking, my fingers gently probing the inflamed area. “Does it hurt?”
“Just itches like hell,” he mumbled, clenching his jaw.
“Alright,” I said, my voice calm and reassuring. I started to scratch lightly around the affected area, cautious not to break the skin. “Better?”
Marcus groaned softly. “Yeah… Mom, that’s… that’s good.”
I continued to scratch, my focus entirely on providing relief. I was so intent on the task that I almost didn’t notice the subtle shift in his lower body. Then, I felt it – the undeniable hardening beneath my fingers. My hand froze.
A wave of shock, followed by a strange, unsettling curiosity, washed over me. I hadn’t seen his privates since he was a little boy. Now, here he was, a man. I forced myself to continue scratching, a bit more lightly, my pulse quickening. In the process, I couldn’t help but notice the impressive size and shape of his erection beneath the fabric. A blush crept up my neck. I was surprised, undeniably impressed, and a little bit flustered by the realization of how much my “little boy” had grown.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy, punctuated only by Marcus’s shallow breaths. I felt the heat radiating from his body, a stark contrast to the cool tile floor beneath my knees. My fingers trembled slightly as I continued the light scratching, trying to maintain a semblance of professional detachment. It was a losing battle.
He groaned again, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through me. “Mom… please…”
My breath hitched. Please what? Stop? Continue? The ambiguity hung in the air, as potent as the scent of antiseptic I still carried from the hospital. I wanted to pull away, to regain some semblance of control, but my hand seemed frozen in place, responding to some primal urge I hadn’t known I possessed.
I cleared my throat, and the sound amplified in the small space. “Marcus, are you… are you getting aroused?” The question felt clumsy, clinical, and utterly inadequate to the situation.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his face contorted in a mixture of embarrassment and… something else? Need? “I… I can’t help it, Mom. It just feels… good.” He bit his lip, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the sofa. “I’m sorry.”
The apology was a punch to the gut. This wasn’t his fault. It was a natural reaction, an innocent response to tactile stimulation. And yet, the situation was so profoundly wrong, so deeply taboo, that the guilt threatened to suffocate me.
“Don’t apologize, honey,” I said softly, my voice betraying the turmoil within. “It’s… it’s okay. It’s just… unexpected.”
Unexpected? That was the understatement of the century. I was a 48-year-old nurse, a mother, for God’s sake. I should be dispensing advice, not… not this.
He shifted again, and I felt the full force of his erection pressing against my hand. It was now, a solid, throbbing mass that filled me with a strange mix of discomfort and fascination. He was so hard, so… potent.
“Mom…” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “It’s getting worse.”
And it was. I could feel it growing, straining against the confines of his boxers. His breathing was ragged, his body rigid with tension. He was teetering on the edge, and I was the one holding him there.
My mind raced, a chaotic jumble of thoughts and emotions. I should stop. I had to stop. This was wrong, so fundamentally wrong. But… a part of me, a dark, forbidden part, was curious. A part of me wanted to see what would happen, to explore this uncharted territory, to experience the forbidden thrill of… what? Maternal intimacy? Sexual transgression? I didn’t know. I only knew that the temptation was overwhelming.
He was so close, and I could feel his need as if it were my own. The thought of denying him, of leaving him in this state of agonizing arousal, felt almost cruel. He was my son, yes, but he was also a young man, driven by hormones and desires I understood all too well.
My gaze drifted to his face, his eyes squeezed shut, and his lips parted in a silent plea. He looked so vulnerable, so lost. And in that moment, the decision was made.
“Okay, honey,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
I shifted my grip, my fingers now encircling the base of his shaft. The heat of his skin burned against my palm. I hesitated for a moment, then began to move my hand slowly, tentatively, up and down.
He gasped, a sharp intake of breath that reverberated through the room. His body trembled beneath my touch.
“Mom… oh, Mom…” he moaned, his head falling back against the sofa.
I continued to stroke him, my movements becoming more confident, more deliberate.
Marcus’s groan deepened a raw, needy sound that sent a shiver down my spine. His hips twitched upward, chasing the slow rhythm of my hand. The heat radiating from his cock was intense, pulsing against my fingers as I slid them along his throbbing shaft. His boxers stretched tight, barely containing him now, the fabric damp where precum had started to leak through.
“Mom… fuck, that feels so good,” he rasped, his voice trembling with a mix of shame and desperation. His eyes fluttered open, locking onto mine for a fleeting second—dark, dilated, pleading—before he squeezed them shut again like he couldn’t bear to face me.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry, but my hand didn’t stop. The skin of his shaft was velvet-smooth, slick with sweat and that faint trace of precum, and I could feel every vein straining beneath my grip. My fingers tightened slightly, testing the weight of him, and he let out a choked moan, his knuckles whitening as he clutched the sofa.
“Shh, honey, just relax,” I whispered, my voice soft but shaky. I leaned closer, my breath brushing his ear. “I’ve got you.” The words felt heavy, and tender yet laced with something darker, something I couldn’t name. My free hand rested on his thigh, feeling the tense muscle quiver under my touch.
His breathing hitched, ragged and uneven, and I could smell him now—musky, primal, a mix of sweat and arousal that filled the air between us. “Mom… I don’t… I don’t know if I can hold it,” he stammered, his hips jerking again, more urgent this time. The boxers slid down an inch, exposing the swollen, glistening head of his cock, red and pulsing with need.
I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest, but then I tugged the fabric lower, freeing him completely. His cock sprang up, rock hard and thick, the tip dripping with a bead of precum that slid down the side, leaving a shiny trail. My breath caught at the sight—my boy, so vulnerable, so impossibly aroused. “It’s okay, Marcus,” I murmured, my voice barely audible. “Let it happen.”
I wrapped my hand around him fully now, skin on skin, and started stroking again—slow, deliberate, feeling the slick glide of his precum under my palm. He groaned louder, a guttural “Oh fuck…” slipping from his lips as his head tipped back, exposing the taut line of his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed with every shaky breath.
The living room felt smaller, the air thick with the sound of his moans and the faint, wet rhythm of my hand moving over him. I could feel my pulse racing, a heat pooling low in my belly that I tried to ignore. My fingers brushed the sensitive underside of his cock, and he arched off the sofa, a desperate “Mom, please…” spilling out, raw and unrestrained.
I leaned in closer, my lips hovering near his ear. “You’re doing so good, honey,” I whispered, my voice a mix of comfort and something hotter, needier. “Just let go for me.” My thumb circled the slick tip, spreading the precum over his swollen head, and his whole body shuddered, a deep, sexy groan rumbling from his chest.
His cock twitched hard in my hand, and I knew he was close—teetering right on the edge. His moans grew louder, more frantic, filling the room with their intensity. “Mom… I’m gonna… fuck, I’m gonna cum…” he gasped, his voice breaking as his hips bucked into my grip.
I didn’t pull away. I couldn’t. I kept stroking, slow and firm, watching his face twist with pleasure, feeling the power I had over him in this moment—his vulnerability, his trust, his need. It was wrong, so fucking wrong, but it was ours.
Marcus’s body tensed beneath my touch, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. His eyes, still squeezed shut, fluttered slightly like he was too overwhelmed to face me. I could feel the heat pouring off him, his skin slick with sweat, and the air around us was heavy with that thick, musky scent of his arousal. His cock throbbed in my hand, the slick tip pulsing under my thumb as I kept up that slow, deliberate rhythm.
“Mom… oh fuck, I’m so close,” he groaned, his voice rough and broken, spilling out between gasps. His hips rocked up into my grip, needy and desperate, and I could see the strain in his jaw, the way his teeth bit into his lower lip hard enough to leave a mark.
I leaned in closer, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. “That’s it, honey,” I whispered, my voice low and soothing, but edged with something raw. “Cum for me, Marcus. Let it all out.” My hand tightened just a little, sliding down his veined shaft, then back up to tease that sensitive spot just under the head. His boxers were bunched around his thighs now, the damp fabric clinging to his skin, and I could feel the faint scratch of it against my wrist as I moved.
e let out a deep, shuddering moan—long and loud, echoing off the living room walls. “Fuck… Mom… I can’t—” His words cut off as his whole body jerked, I started to jerk his cock faster and faster. His cock was aimed right at my face.
Marcus’s body locked up tight, every muscle rigid as his hips bucked hard into my hand. His cock throbbed violently, the slick tip glistening with precum that smeared across my fingers. “Mom… fuck, I’m—” His voice broke into a guttural groan, raw and primal, as his orgasm hit. Thick ropes of cum shot out, hot and sticky, splattering across my cheek and lips before I could pull back. The warmth of it startled me, the salty tang hitting my senses as a droplet slid down to my chin.
“Oh shit… Mom, I’m sorry,” Marcus panted, his chest heaving as he slumped back against the sofa. His eyes were wide now, glassy with a mix of shock and lingering pleasure, staring at the mess he’d made on my face. His cock twitched one last time in my grip, a final dribble of semen oozing onto my knuckles, thick and creamy white.
I froze, the reality of it crashing over me like a wave. My son’s cum was on my face—hot, wet, and unmistakable. My breath hitched, and I wiped at it with the back of my hand, smearing it across my skin. “It’s… it’s fine, honey,” I managed, my voice shaky but soft, trying to soothe him through the haze of my racing thoughts. The smell of it—musky, potent—clung to the air, mixing with the faint sweat on his skin.
He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “I didn’t mean to… fuck, that was intense.” His hands gripped the sofa cushions, knuckles still pale like he was anchoring himself to reality. His boxers hung loose around his thighs, the damp fabric stretched and useless now, exposing the softening curve of his shaft, still slick and flushed from release.
I sat back on my heels, my scrubs sticking to my knees where they pressed into the tile. My heart pounded, a wild drumbeat I couldn’t quiet. “You’re okay, Marcus,” I said, forcing calm into my tone as I wiped my hand on my pant leg. The sticky residue lingered on my fingers, a stubborn reminder. “It’s just… a reaction. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
He nodded, but his eyes flicked to my face again, lingering where his cum had landed. “You sure? I mean… damn, Mom, I didn’t expect…” He trailed off, rubbing a hand over his flushed face, his dark hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.
I forced a small smile, though my insides churned with a confusing mix of guilt and something darker—something that made my thighs clench involuntarily. “I’m sure. Just… maybe next time we’ll get you some cream for that itch, huh?” My attempt at humour felt flat, but he huffed a shaky laugh, breaking some of the tension.
“Yeah… yeah, okay,” he mumbled, tugging his boxers back up with trembling hands. The fabric snagged briefly on his still-sensitive cock, making him wince. He glanced at me again, hesitant. “You’re not freaked out?”
I paused, my tongue darting out to wet my lips—tasting him there, faint and forbidden. “No,” I lied, my voice steadier now. “I’m your mom. I’ve seen worse at work.” Another half-truth. Nothing at the hospital had ever felt like this.
The living room was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the AC kicking on. The air felt heavy, charged with what we’d done—what I’d let happen. Marcus shifted, pulling a throw blanket over his lap like he needed a shield. “Thanks, Mom,” he said quietly, almost too soft to hear. “For… you know.”
I nodded, standing slowly, my legs unsteady beneath me. “Anytime, honey, just don’t get used to it,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. I turned toward the kitchen, needing distance, needing to breathe. But his scent, his heat, the feel of him lingered on my skin, and deep down, I knew this wasn’t over.
The following day I came back from work again to him scratching, “I got you some cream for it.”
“Can you put it on for me,” he said smirking.
“No honey look what happened yesterday,” I said as I passed him the cream.
“Come on you are much more gentle, please, please I won’t get hard.” He said as he passed me the cream back.
I crossed my arms, feeling the weight of yesterday still clinging to me—the heat of his skin, the sticky mess on my face, the way my stomach had twisted with something I didn’t want to name. “Marcus, you can do it yourself. You’re not a kid anymore.”
He tilted his head, that smirk widening. “Yeah, but you’ve got those nurse hands. Soft. Steady. I’d just make a mess of it.” He shifted, sitting up a little, his boxers stretching tight across his thighs. “Come on, Mom. One more time. I’ll behave.”
I stared at him, torn between the rational part of me screaming to walk away and the pull of his voice, smooth and coaxing. My fingers twitched, itching to take the cream back. “Fine,” I muttered, snatching it from his hand.
I knelt beside the sofa again, the tile cool against my knees through my scrubs. The living room smelled faintly of him—sweat and that musky hint of yesterday still lingering. I squeezed a dollop of cream onto my fingers, the scent sharp and medicinal, and hesitated. His boxers were already low, the waistband barely covering him, and I could see the outline of his cock resting soft—for now.
“Alright, lift up a little,” I said, keeping my tone brisk, and professional. He obeyed, tugging the fabric down just enough to expose the red patch. I swallowed, focusing on the task, and dabbed the cream onto his skin, spreading it gently with my fingertips. The warmth of him seeped into my hands, and I kept my eyes fixed on the irritated spot, refusing to let them wander.
Marcus let out a soft hum, his head tipping back against the cushion. “Mmm, that’s nice,” he murmured, his voice lazy and content. “Feels cool.”
“Good,” I replied curtly, rubbing the cream in small circles. His skin was smooth under my touch, the faint prickle of stubble where he hadn’t shaved in a while. I worked quickly, trying to ignore the way his breathing deepened, the slow rise and fall of his chest.
“You’re good at this,” he said after a moment, his tone shifting—less playful, more… something else. “Real gentle.”
“It’s my job,” I shot back, keeping my focus on the task. But then I felt it—a subtle twitch beneath my fingers. My heart sank. “Marcus…”
“What?” He cracked one eye open, peering down at me with feigned innocence. “I’m fine. Just… relaxing.”
I glared at him, my hand stilling. “You said you wouldn’t get hard.” I smirked at him, “You’re a little shit you know that. This is the last handjob you are getting. Let me know when you are going to cum.”
Marcus grinned at me, that cheeky little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah, I know I’m a shit,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he leaned back against the sofa, spreading his thighs just a bit wider. “But you love me anyway, don’t you, Mom?”
I rolled my eyes, trying to keep my expression stern even as my pulse quickened. The tube of cream sat forgotten on the cushion beside him, my fingers still smeared with the cool, slick residue. His boxers were pulled low, barely clinging to his hips, and that damn red patch of skin was still there, taunting me. But it wasn’t the eczema I couldn’t tear my eyes from—it was the way his cock was already stirring, thickening under my gaze despite his promise.
“Last time, Marcus,” I said firmly, pointing a finger at him like I was scolding a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “You’re lucky I don’t just leave you to scratch yourself raw.”
He chuckled, a deep, lazy sound that rumbled in his chest. “Come on, you’re too nice for that. And way too good with your hands.” He shifted, letting the boxers slip down another inch, the soft curve of his shaft now fully visible, resting heavily against his thigh. “Just… help me out one more time. Please?”
I sighed, loud and dramatic, but my resolve was crumbling, and he knew it. “Fine, you little brat,” I muttered, scooting closer on my knees. The tile was cold against my scrubs, grounding me as I reached for him again. My fingers hesitated, hovering over his skin, before I wrapped them around his cock—still soft, but already warm and twitching under my touch.
“Fuck…” Marcus breathed out, his head tipping back as his eyes fluttered shut. “Your hands are so soft, Mom. Way better than mine.”
“Flattery’s not gonna make this less weird,” I shot back, but my voice was softer now, almost playful. I started moving my hand, slow and gentle, feeling him harden inch by inch. His skin was smooth, the veins starting to pulse faintly as blood rushed in. I kept my grip light, teasing, watching his face for every little reaction.
He groaned a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “Mmm… yeah, just like that,” he mumbled, his hips shifting slightly, chasing the pressure. “Feels so fucking good already.”
The air in the living room thickened, the faint hum of the AC drowned out by the sound of his breathing—shallow, then deeper, hitching every time my fingers brushed the underside of his swelling head. I could smell him again, that musky mix of sweat and arousal, sharper now with the cream’s sterile tang cutting through it. My thumb grazed the tip, catching a bead of precum that was already forming, slick and warm against my skin.
“Marcus,” I said, my tone a warning, but it came out breathier than I meant. “You’re not keeping your promise.”
He cracked one eye open, grinning crookedly. “Can’t help it. You’re too good at this.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “Fuck, Mom, look at what you do to me.”
I glanced down despite myself, and damn it, he was right. His cock was rock hard now, standing tall and thick in my hand, the head flushed a deep red and glistening with precum that dribbled down the side. The sight made my stomach flip, a hot flush creeping up my neck. I tightened my grip, stroking him a little faster, feeling the slick glide of his skin under my palm.
“Oh shit…” he groaned, louder this time, his hips bucking up into my hand. “That’s it… don’t stop, please…” His hands flexed against the sofa, fingers digging into the cushions as his chest heaved. “Feels so fucking amazing.”
I leaned closer, my breath brushing his ear as I whispered, “You’re such a needy little shit, you know that?” My free hand rested on his thigh, feeling the muscle tense and tremble under my touch. “Tell me when you’re close, okay? Don’t surprise me like yesterday.”
He nodded fast, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “Yeah… yeah, I will. Promise.” His eyes were squeezed shut again, his lips parted, letting out these sexy little moans that hit me right in the gut. “Goddamn, Mom… your hand’s so fucking perfect…”
I kept going, slow but firm, watching the way his cock throbbed in my fist, the way his precum coated my fingers, making every stroke wetter, smoother. His groans grew louder, filling the room, and I could feel my own body reacting—heat pooling low, my scrubs suddenly too tight against my skin. Wrong didn’t even begin to cover it, but I couldn’t stop.
“Fuck… getting close,” Marcus panted, his voice breaking as his hips jerked harder. “Mom… oh fuck, I’m gonna cum soon…” His head lolled back, his throat exposed, and I could see the sweat beading on his skin, glistening in the dim light.
“Good boy,” I murmured, my voice husky despite myself. “Just let me know, honey.” My hand sped up just a fraction, my thumb circling his slick tip, and he let out a deep, desperate groan that made my breath catch.
This was it—teetering on the edge again, and I was right there with him, caught in the heat of it all. I kept my hand pumping his cock faster.
“I am… going to cum ahh…” I quickly put my lips just around the purple mushroom head. Only on the end so I didn’t get that cream on my mouth. I wanked his cock head while sucking the tip, I rather he shoots it in my mouth than my face.
Marcus’s eyes widened as my lips closed around the tip of his cock, his breath catching in a sharp, ragged gasp. “Oh fuck… Mom…” he groaned, his voice trembling with a mix of shock and raw need. His hands flexed against the sofa, fingers digging into the fabric like he was trying to anchor himself to something solid. The living room was thick with the scent of him—sweat, musk, and that sharp tang of the cream still smeared on his skin.
I kept my lips just around the swollen, purple head, careful not to let the cream touch my tongue. My hand pumped faster, slick with his precum, sliding up and down his throbbing shaft. His cock pulsed hard against my palm, hot and heavy, the veins bulging under my fingers. I could taste the salt of him already, a faint drip leaking onto my tongue as I sucked gently, my cheeks hollowing with each pull.
“Shit… oh shit, Mom, that’s…” Marcus’s words dissolved into a low, guttural moan, his hips twitching up toward my mouth. His thighs tensed under my free hand, the muscle quivering as I pressed down to steady him. “I’m gonna… fuck, I’m gonna cum…” he panted, his voice breaking into a desperate whine.
I hummed softly around his tip, the vibration making him shudder. My hand kept stroking, fast and firm, the wet sound of it filling the air—sloppy, lewd, unstoppable. His cock twitched violently, and I felt the first hot spurt hit the back of my throat. Thick and warm, it slid down easily, and I swallowed quickly, keeping my lips locked tight around him so that not a drop escaped.
“Mom… oh fuck, yes…” he groaned, loud and unrestrained, his head thrown back against the cushion. His hips bucked again, pumping more into my mouth—another thick rope, then another, coating my tongue with that musky, salty taste. I sucked harder, drawing it out, feeling his whole body shake as he unloaded everything he had.
His moans turned into sexy, broken whimpers, each one hitting me like a spark. “Ahh… fuck… so good…” he rasped, his chest heaving as he rode out the last waves. His cock softened slightly in my hand, still slick and dripping as I pulled my lips away, a thin string of cum stretching between us before snapping against my chin.
I sat back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My scrubs clung to my knees, damp with sweat, and my pulse hammered in my ears. Marcus slumped against the sofa, his boxers bunched around his thighs, his softening cock resting against his leg—red, wet, and spent. He cracked one eye open, peering at me through the haze.
“Jesus, Mom…” he breathed, his voice hoarse. He rubbed a shaky hand over his face, his dark hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.
I smirked, trying to shake off the heat still buzzing under my skin. “Told you I’d rather you aim there than my face,” I said, keeping my tone light despite the tremor in my chest. I grabbed the cream tube from the cushion and tossed it onto his lap. “Next time, you’re doing it yourself, you little shit.”
He chuckled, weak and lazy, catching the tube with fumbling fingers. “Yeah… sure, Mom. Whatever you say.” His grin was back, that cheeky edge creeping in as he tugged his boxers up, wincing slightly as the fabric brushed his sensitive skin. “But damn… you’re too good at this.”
I stood up, brushed off my knees, and crossed my arms. “Don’t get used to it, Marcus. I’m not your personal nurse for… this.” I gestured vaguely at his lap, my voice firm but laced with that same playful bite from before.
I stood there, arms still crossed, watching Marcus fumble with the cream tube like it was some foreign object. The living room felt too warm now, the air thick with the lingering scent of sweat and that sharp, medicinal bite of the cream mixing with something earthier—him. His dark hair clung to his forehead, damp from exertion, and his chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths as he recovered. The throw blanket he’d pulled over his lap earlier was shoved aside, leaving his boxers bunched awkwardly around his hips, the fabric strained and slightly damp where it hugged his thighs.
Marcus glanced up at me, his smirk softening into something lazier, more relaxed. “You’re really gonna make me do it myself next time?” he asked, his voice still rough around the edges, teasing but with a hint of something else—disappointment, maybe. He twirled the tube between his fingers, his long, tanned hands moving with a casual grace that made my stomach tighten for reasons I didn’t want to dwell on.
“Yeah, I am,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re eighteen, not helpless. I’m not here to baby you through every itch.” I turned toward the kitchen, needing to put some space between us, but his voice stopped me mid-step.
“Aw, come on, Mom,” he called, sitting up a little straighter. “You’re way better at it. Admit it—you kinda liked helping me out.” There was that cheeky edge again, playful but testing, like he was fishing for something in my reaction.
I shot him a look over my shoulder, keeping my tone dry. “Don’t push your luck, Marcus. I’ve got dishes to do, and you’ve got… well, yourself to figure out.” I gestured vaguely at the cream in his hand, then kept walking. The tile under my feet was cool, a small relief against the heat creeping up my neck.
From the kitchen, I heard him chuckle—a low, rumbling sound that carried through the open space. “Fine, fine. But you’re missing out on my gratitude, y’know. I’m real good at saying thanks.” His voice had that lazy drawl now, the kind he used when he knew he was getting under my skin.
I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see it, grabbing a sponge from the sink. “Save it for someone who cares, kid,” I called back, turning on the faucet. The rush of water drowned out whatever smart-ass reply he might’ve had, but I could still feel his presence in the other room, heavy and undeniable.
As I scrubbed a plate, my mind wandered despite my best efforts. The memory of his cock in my hand—hot, thick, pulsing—flashed behind my eyes. The way he’d groaned, deep and needy, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. The taste of him on my tongue, salty and sharp, still lingered faintly, even after I’d brushed my teeth last night. I gripped the sponge harder, suds squishing between my fingers. This had to stop. Itwould stop. He’d use the damn cream, the itch would go away, and we’d go back to normal. Whatever normal was after this.
The water shut off with a flick of my wrist, and I dried my hands on a towel, the rough fabric grounding me. I stepped back into the living room, expecting to see Marcus sprawled out again, maybe flipping through his phone. Instead, he was still sitting up, the cream tube resting on the cushion beside him. His boxers were pulled back into place, but the outline of his cock was still faintly visible, soft now but heavy against the fabric. He looked up at me, his dark eyes catching the light, and for a second, neither of us said anything.
“Dishes done already?” he asked, breaking the silence with that easy grin of his. “You’re fast. Guess those nurse hands are good for more than just me, huh?”
I snorted, leaning against the doorway. “You’re hilarious. Did you even try the cream yet, or are you still waiting for me to play nurse again?”
He held up his hands in mock surrender, the tube wobbling slightly as he grabbed it. “Alright, alright. I’ll do it. See? I can be a big boy.” He squeezed a bit onto his fingers, then paused, glancing at me with a sly look. “Unless you wanna watch and make sure I get it right.”
“Marcus,” I warned, but there was a laugh in my voice I couldn’t quite hide. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love it,” he shot back, smearing the cream onto his skin with exaggerated care, his movements slow and deliberate like he was putting on a show. His fingers brushed the red patch near the base of his shaft, and he winced slightly, then sighed. “Okay, yeah, that does feel better. You win.”
“Always do,” I said, turning away again. But as I headed toward the stairs, his voice followed me one last time.
“Hey, Mom?” he called, softer now, less teasing. “Thanks. For real.”
I didn’t turn around, just nodded once. “Anytime, honey. Just… keep it under control, yeah?” My footsteps echoed up the stairs, and I didn’t look back to see if he was smirking again. I didn’t need to. I could feel it.