Why does he have to be so damn hot?
Felicia stood in her opulent bedroom, one manicured hand clutching the fine drapery and the other pressed to the glass as she gazed down at Colin from the window. Her stepson was bent over, stretching for his run, ass firm beneath his sweats. From this angle, she could see how the material hugged his balls. Her pussy grew wet just imagining what it would be like to squeeze them. They wouldn’t feel anything like David’s. She just knew it. No, whereas her husband’s sagged in a most unattractive way, Colin would have taut, heavy balls. They would be a handful. She wouldn’t be able to fit them in her mouth all at once, but if she—
“Stop it,” she told herself in a shaky voice, turning from the window with a pained expression. Her inner conflict—the same exhausting battle she fought every day—was almost enough to bring her to tears. David didn’t deserve this. He wasn’t a bad husband. He didn’t abuse or neglect her. She wanted for nothing. Well, that was a lie, wasn’t it? She wanted her stepson Colin like she wanted her next breath. Like she needed her next breath. And didn’t that feel like its own betrayal.
Hugging herself, she walked over and sat in the oversized reading chair, tucking her legs under her. She’d married David, a sixty-five-year-old neurosurgeon, four years ago after he’d operated on her mother, removing a tumor and ultimately saving the woman’s life. Felicia had been indebted to him and readily agreed when he’d asked her to dinner. As her mother’s primary caregiver, Felicia had been thirty going on crazy cat lady, and he’d been rich, handsome, and kind. They’d had a whirlwind romance brimming with jewelry, luxurious hotels, and gourmet restaurants. She’d been powerless in the face of all that extravagance. Of being swept away from the normalcy of her normal life with its normal struggles. The wedding had been three months later.
And despite David being as charming as he’d ever been, Felicia craved Colin during her every waking moment. After accepting a residency at David’s hospital a few months ago, Colin had moved in with them to lessen his commute. With the incredible amount of hours he logged, the relocation made sense.
It also made her burn inside. Biting her lip, Felicia slid her hands between her legs and clamped them just to dull the ache.
Her stepson had taken over her every thought. He was so unlike his father. Colin was young and strong and had a wildness about him that called to her. His sparkling hazel eyes and sinful grin haunted her wherever she went. If they passed in the hall, her gaze always fell to his mouth, her tongue yearning for his. Her skin tingled when he was near, longing for his touch. And then there was his hair. It was too long for a doctor’s, and his strong fingers were always raking through the blond waves, giving him an unkempt look that drove her wild. She’d often imagined raking her own fingers through it while his head was between her legs, his tongue inside her.
“Holy,” she moaned as the visual bloomed in her mind. Guilt flared, but she found herself spreading her legs. Maybe if she’d already been dressed, she could’ve resisted the urge to touch her swollen clit, but it was early, and she still wore just her favorite old sweater over her bra and panties. As she pulled the panties aside with trembling fingers, exposing her wet pussy to the lavish room, she tried to convince herself she wasn’t about to masturbate to the fantasy of Colin. He was only two years younger than her, but that wasn’t the point. He wasn’t David. He wasn’t her husband. What he was was off limits. Untouchable. Forbidden.
It didn’t stop her, however, from closing her eyes and touching herself. Biting her lip, Felicia slid two fingers down over her clit and through her folds, massaging in an achingly slow circle. When her fingertips dipped lower, and she felt how wet she was already, her mouth parted, a soft whimper escaping. Oh, how she wished it was the head of Colin’s cock rubbing her instead. Just the idea made her breath hitch. It would slip over her delicate skin, teasing and testing her slit before sliding in, slow and deep. He would be so big . . . so thick, stretching her like she’d never been stretched before. She would cry out and spread her legs wider for him. She’d take all of him. Every last inch. She knew he wouldn’t just make love to her like David did. No, Colin would fuck her like he meant it. It would be hard and hot and wet. And she would scream so damn loud when she came.
Letting out a moan, Felicia jiggled her clit, hips rising off the chair in search of a cock that wasn’t there. Unable to resist her pussy’s ache to be filled, she slid her middle finger inside it. It went in slick and easy, and she jerked from the invasion, the muscles in her abdomen quivering. She gave herself a few quick pumps and then slowed it down. Licking her lips, she added a second finger. The fullness was delicious, and she couldn’t stop her small, soft cries each time she worked her fingers in and out.
With her free hand, she pulled aside the loose neckline of her sweater so she could get to her breasts. Yanking down the cups of her lacy maroon bra, her nipples popped free, the cool air making them harden. While she fingered herself, she tugged at her nipples, the added sensation making her tremble all over as her orgasm neared.
And in her mind, it was Colin. It was always Colin. Even as her guilt warred with her pleasure, and tears stung her eyes, she didn’t stop. Her obsession had grown bigger than her self-control. It had grown bigger than her love for David. The fantasy had consumed her, and she hated herself for the weakness. Hated herself for not stopping. Hated herself for what she knew she would do if the opportunity arose. Because if Colin walked through the door right now, God forgive her, she would let him fuck her. She would let him fuck her on the three-thousand-dollar reading chair she now sat on, in the very bedroom she shared with his father.
Colin came to a pounding stop at the end of the paved driveway. Bending over, he put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He’d built up running endurance over the years, but ten miles in a little under an hour was pushing it even for him. But hell, how else was he supposed to get that woman out of his head? He figured if he worked himself hard enough, the sweat and burn would make him forget about his stepmother.
“Goddammit,” he breathed, still bent over. Though he squeezed his eyes shut, he wasn’t able to stop her image from assaulting him. Those soft, brown eyes and porcelain skin. All that dark hair he wanted to tangle his fingers in. That shy smile. The way her voice seemed to go a little breathless when she spoke to him. Sexy as fuck. And utterly unattainable.
When Colin’s father had married Felicia despite their age difference, Colin hadn’t been surprised. David had always admired beautiful things. Had a mansion full of them. He was a collector. Oh, Colin knew David loved his wife in his own way. As much as a sixty-five-year-old man with multiple divorces could love a woman half his age. And it was clear Felicia cared for David, too. She was attentive and sweet, and the smiles she gave her husband were genuine. They were happy.
And all Colin could think about was how she’d feel underneath him.
Cursing, he stood and pointedly avoided glancing up at her window as he walked inside. He didn’t need to imagine what she might be doing up there. What she might be wearing. As he walked across the cultured marble floor of the entryway, he forced the scowl off his face. If he ran into her, he didn’t want to explain his mood. Couldn’t.
In the kitchen, he poured a glass of juice and willed his thoughts away from a woman he couldn’t have. Drink in hand, he headed up the gleaming, polished wood stairs at a jog. He’d get a shower, get his ass dressed, and go out. Being alone in the giant mansion with Felicia all day wasn’t an option. Even if it was his only day off. His father was booked with consults all afternoon and probably wouldn’t be home until late. Even Theresa, the maid, was off today. The place was a giant prison of temptation.
As he walked past Felicia’s room, however, he stopped, juice sloshing in his glass. She was sitting in the big chair by the window, gazing out at nothing, the sunlight kissing her drawn features. She looked . . . troubled.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked before he could stop himself.
She jumped a little at the sound of his voice and looked at him, clearing her throat. “Colin. You’re back.”
“Yeah . . . ” His voice trailed off as he noticed what she was wearing. Nothing but a slouchy sweater. It had slipped off her shoulder, revealing her right breast. The fine lace of her bra did little to hide her nipple from his gaze. Her long, smooth legs were tucked beneath her. “I . . . damn.”
She seemed to realize her partial nudity at the same time and gasped, jerking the sweater up and holding it at her throat like a cape. “I’m . . . so sorry.” Her cheeks pinked. “I haven’t gotten dressed yet.”
Colin could feel his rational thought draining like a pierced bag of sugar. The sight of her skin totally derailed him. He’d never seen so much of it before. He walked across the room toward her, losing his resolve with each step.
She tensed, but smiled. “How is your knee? I know you said it was bothering you the other day.”
Though her voice was friendly, he could hear the tremor in it. Was she intimidated by him, or was it something else? He returned her smile, not taking his eyes off her. “It’s fine.”
“Good,” she said, tugging on the hem of her sweater. “That’s good.”
They stared at each other, her eyes wide and unblinking, his steady and rapt, as something passed between them. Tension seemed to vibrate the air like a taut cord. All the times he’d had forbidden thoughts about her, all the nights he’d lain awake wondering why it’d been his father who’d met her and not him, all the stolen glances and accidental touches—it all seemed to burn so much brighter in that moment. She was his father’s wife, but right then he didn’t give a damn. He wanted her. To hell with the consequences.
“Tell me to leave, Felicia,” he said, setting the glass on the table beside her chair.
She blinked, fingers tightening on her sweater. “Colin . . . this—”
Gripping the arm of the chair, he leaned over her, tugging her hand free and sliding his own over her right breast, cupping it. “Tell me to leave.”
A soft sound of surprise left her lips, and she instinctively arched into his touch.
Colin’s cock jerked at the submission, and he rubbed his thumb over her nipple, lowering his voice. “Felicia.”
She met his gaze then, an undeniable mixture of lust and regret in her beautiful eyes. “Stay,” she whispered. “Please . . . stay.”
He closed his eyes and gave a small groan. “You don’t know how bad I want this.”
Something gave inside him at his admission, and he realized just how true it was. He’d gotten so used to beating down his desire that he’d almost convinced himself it didn’t exist. But here, now, with her softness filling his hand, he knew this had been inevitable all along.
Her bottom lip trembled, and when she spoke, the words tumbled out. “Let’s just pretend. Just for today. Let’s just pretend . . . okay? That we’re somewhere else. Someone else.”
He took her mouth in reply, kneading her breast. When he broke away for air, he said, “I’ll pretend. I’ll do anything you want. God . . . just let me have you.”
Looking dazed from his kissing, she nodded. “Have me.”
And just like that, urgency took over. He stared down at her with feral eyes and jerked her panties down over her hips. She raised her knees so he could pull them off the rest of the way and toss them to the floor. He made quick work of his own clothes and then stood before her nude, chest heaving. “You’re sure?” he demanded.
Though her thighs trembled, she spread her legs, welcoming him inside.
“Fuck,” he breathed at the sight of her bared pussy. She was so wet. So ready. For him.
He climbed over her, heart pounding and cock in hand. He held her gaze as he found her slick slit and worked himself into it. “You’re so tight,” he said, the muscles in his neck tensing as he gritted his teeth. “Holy shit.”
She let out a harsh gasp as he slid in slow and deep, her head falling back against the chair, mouth open. “Oh . . . god.”
He yanked down the lacy cups of her bra, freeing her tits. They were pale and plump, her nipples deep-pink. Colin watched them bounce as he pulled back and penetrated her again, harder this time. Her soft cry only juiced him up more, and as he started fucking her, all his pent up frustration and longing broke free like shingles in a tornado. She was the fire, and he would let her consume him. He’d let her destroy him if that’s what she wanted. He knew that now. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his shoulders strained as he pumped inside her, watching her take it. Watching her revel in it. He’d never seen anything so beautiful.
Her whimpers mingled with his harsh breaths, echoing down the empty halls of his father’s house and drowning out the reality of the outside world. The reality of their sin. In this moment, there was only her—the woman he’d thought he couldn’t have, warm and wet around his cock. Soft and willing beneath his fingers. No consequences. No promises. No guilt. Only Felicia. Sweet, lovely Felicia. And the bittersweet knowledge that, all along, she’d wanted him just as much as he’d wanted her. That she’d been struggling against the current, too. That she felt something for him. And for now, for today, it was enough.