Her Boyfriend's Mom

The gravel crunched under Simon's tires as he pulled his dented hatchback into the driveway. The house ahead was two stories of beige suburban respectability, trimmed with tacky fall decorations--fake leaves in the windows, a metal turkey on the lawn, and a big wooden sign near the porch that read "Gobble Gobble, Y'all."

Sarah exhaled slowly through her nose, her hands clenched together in her lap.

Simon didn't notice. "Made it," he said, unbuckling and kicking his door open. "Hope you're hungry. Mom goes full try-hard with Thanksgiving."

She nodded, but didn't move yet. "So... what's she like?"

Simon shrugged, already halfway out. "You'll see. She's loud. Big personality. Don't worry--she'll like you. She likes all my girlfriends."

Sarah gave a small, polite smile, though the word all didn't do much to help her nerves. She glanced at the side mirror, trying to smooth the travel-frizz from her long black hair. Her fingers trembled slightly.

"Coming?" Simon called from the front steps, already juggling both their overnight bags.

She stepped out, hugging her cardigan tight around her. The cold air bit at her cheeks. As they approached the door, Sarah tried to take deep, slow breaths--but her chest felt tight, her stomach fluttery. The porch smelled like cinnamon-scented something.

Simon raised a knuckle to knock, but the door opened before he could.

And then she was there.

Maria Castellanos stood in the doorway in a burgundy wrap dress that clung to her body like it had been stitched on with lust. Her thick brown curls were swept to one side, showing off gold hoops and a lush, creamy neckline. Her breasts looked like they were seconds away from escaping their fabric prison. Her waist gave way to wide hips and a generous, soft belly, and she stood with one hand cocked on it, like she knew exactly the effect she had.

Sarah froze.

"Oh my God," Maria said, her voice rich, amused, and dangerously warm. "My boy brought me a painting. Come in, come in--don't stand there shivering."

"Hey, Mom," Simon said, stepping inside like it was a gas station. "Where do you want the bags?"

"Upstairs, sweetheart." Maria didn't look at him. Her eyes were fixed on Sarah--studying her like a puzzle she couldn't wait to take apart.

Sarah tried to speak, but only made a tiny sound in her throat.

Maria held out her arms. "Come here, baby. Give me a hug."

Sarah stepped forward like a wind-up toy, hesitating only a moment before Maria pulled her in. The hug was firm. And soft. And warm. And far too long. Sarah felt arms around her waist, then fingers lightly brushing her hair as Maria whispered, "You're even prettier up close."

Sarah's breath hitched. She stepped back quickly and gave a little awkward laugh, her cheeks glowing red.

Simon, already heading up the stairs with his bags, called over his shoulder, "You're laying it on thick already, huh?"

Maria didn't answer. She just smiled--wide, slow, knowing--as her gaze drifted over Sarah's curves like fingers.

Maria stepped aside, motioning grandly into the house. "Come in, sweetheart. Kick those shoes off if they pinch--I don't stand on ceremony here."

Sarah slipped inside, already too warm in her cardigan. The house smelled like butter and rosemary, and something sweet--brown sugar, maybe. Every surface was cozy chaos: throw pillows on every chair, cluttered bookshelves, the glow of scented candles flickering in glass jars. A fireplace crackled in the corner, casting everything in soft amber light.

Maria shut the door behind them. "Long drive?" she asked, her voice still silky, still aimed squarely at Sarah.

"Uh, not too bad," Sarah said quickly. "Just a few hours. He--Simon--he drove most of it."

Maria's eyes sparkled. "Of course he did. My baby never lets a lady do the heavy lifting." She placed a hand lightly on Sarah's lower back to guide her forward. "You must be freezing. I should've come out with a blanket or something."

Sarah flinched slightly at the contact--not because it hurt, but because it felt so intentional. That hand was warm. Too warm. It didn't move away.

"Let me look at you properly," Maria said, stepping back just enough to take Sarah in from head to toe. "Mmm. You have such... graceful bones. And that skin. God, I'd kill for your skin."

Sarah blinked. "Oh. Uh... thank you."

"Don't thank me. Thank your parents. Though I bet Simon didn't warn you his mom was such a flirt, huh?"

Maria's smile was slow and wolfish. Sarah gave a small breathless laugh that barely qualified as a sound.

From upstairs came the muffled sound of Simon shouting something--probably about a charger.

Maria ignored it.

She reached for Sarah's cardigan and gently, very gently, tugged it open just a bit. "You're warm already," she said, brushing one finger along the collar. "Good. I hate when guests come in here all tense and cold. You're here to relax, baby."

Sarah tried not to shiver, but she did. She folded her hands in front of her and stared too hard at a ceramic turkey on the side table.

Maria leaned in just slightly and lowered her voice. "Would you like some cider, darling? Or are you more of a hot chocolate girl?"

"I--I--cider's great."

Maria turned with a flick of her hips. "Atta girl. I'll warm it on the stove. Cinnamon stick or no?"

"Yes, please. That sounds... really nice."

As Maria walked away toward the kitchen, Sarah glanced after her--and immediately dropped her gaze. The way Maria's dress clung to her ass as she moved should've been illegal.

Sarah sank slowly onto the edge of the couch, gripping the cushion. Her heart was hammering, her thighs clenched tight. Her armpits were damp. She blinked hard at the fire, trying to calm herself down.

From the kitchen, Maria called, "You're even prettier when you blush, sweet thing."

Sarah closed her eyes and covered her face with both hands.

Maria reappeared carrying two small ceramic mugs, steam curling from each. She wore a different smile now--calmer, but no less dangerous. She handed one mug to Sarah with both hands, her fingers brushing Sarah's for longer than necessary.

"Careful," she said softly. "It's hot."

Sarah nodded, her voice apparently still in hiding.

Maria lowered herself onto the couch beside her--not into a nearby armchair, not on the other end of the sofa, but right next to her, their thighs nearly touching. The couch dipped under Maria's weight, her curves nestling in, unapologetic and deliberate.

"I never get tired of cinnamon in the fall," Maria said, exhaling dramatically as she sipped. "Makes everything taste better. Smell better. Feel warmer."

Sarah sipped hers quickly, eyes on the mug. "It's really good," she murmured.

"You're shaking," Maria said.

Sarah froze. "It's--just nerves. I mean, I've never really met someone's mom before, not for like... a holiday."

Maria tilted her head and laughed, low and throaty. "Oh, sweetheart. If I thought you were just nervous, I wouldn't say anything. But you're not just nervous, are you?"

Sarah blinked fast. "I--I don't..."

Maria leaned in a little, her arm resting behind Sarah on the back of the couch. Her voice dropped to something warm and private. "I scare you. A little."

Sarah's chest rose and fell in a shallow rhythm. "You're... intense."

"Mmm," Maria hummed. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Sarah bit her bottom lip.

They sat like that for a moment--fire crackling, cider steaming, the weight of Maria's gaze heavy on Sarah's cheek.

Then Simon's voice rang out faintly from upstairs. "Mom, do we still have that HDMI adapter with the mini-port thing?"

Maria didn't blink. "No clue, baby," she called back, her tone syrupy. "Check the drawer with the extension cords."

She turned back to Sarah, her expression untouched by the interruption. "Do you like pie?" she asked, suddenly light and casual again.

"Um. Yeah. A lot."

"Good." Maria took another sip. "I'll let you help me roll the crust. You have gentle hands."

Sarah laughed nervously. "I--I don't really bake."

"I'll teach you," Maria said. "It's all about the touch. Pressure and timing." She looked over the rim of her mug, her eyes glinting. "But I bet you'll catch on fast."

Sarah gripped her mug tighter and stared straight ahead.

Maria turned slightly on the couch, angling her body so she faced Sarah more directly. Her knee brushed against Sarah's thigh. She didn't apologize. She didn't even blink.

"You know," she said, voice silky again, "I wasn't sure what kind of girl Simon would bring home next. He's gone through a few... let's call them disappointments."

Sarah managed a weak laugh.

"But you--" Maria reached out and brushed a lock of black hair behind Sarah's ear. Her finger lingered on Sarah's cheek. "You're something else, sweetheart."

Sarah's breath caught again. Her throat felt too tight to answer. Her skin burned under Maria's touch--embarrassed, excited, confused.

Maria let her hand fall to her lap. "You're sweet," she murmured. "And soft. And you blush so easily."

"I'm just not used to compliments," Sarah said quietly.

"Then we need to fix that," Maria replied. "No one this lovely should go around thinking she's ordinary."

Footsteps on the stairs interrupted the moment. Simon appeared, holding a tangle of cables and looking mildly annoyed.

"Okay, so I think this might work if we plug it into the--oh, hey, cider!" he said, eyeing Sarah's mug like a raccoon spotting leftovers.

Maria didn't move. Her arm was still along the back of the couch, still hovering just behind Sarah's neck.

Simon flopped onto an armchair and held up a cable triumphantly. "How awesome is this? They're livestreaming the awards show with real-time polling this year."

Sarah turned to him slowly, blinking, still pink-faced and rigid. She nodded with a strange smile.

Maria gave her a slow side glance, like she'd just won a round of poker. Then she stood up, smoothing her dress over her hips. "I'm going to start prepping the pie," she said. "Sarah, darling, you'll help me, won't you?"

Simon waved vaguely. "Yeah, go help. I'll be like... an hour."

Maria didn't wait for a response. She simply looked down at Sarah, eyes gleaming. "Come on, sweetheart. Let me show you how we do things in my kitchen."

Sarah stood slowly, hands still trembling. Her cider mug left a faint ring on the table. As she followed Maria toward the kitchen archway, she turned back for just a moment.

Simon didn't even look up.

Maria pushed through the swinging kitchen door with a casual grace, the kind that said she didn't move for people--people moved for her.

The kitchen was as warm as a fresh hug. Every burner seemed to be in use, pots steaming and pans glistening with butter. The overhead lights were dimmed, but flickering candles lined the windowsill, casting shadows across cream-colored cabinets. Somewhere in the background, a low jazz melody played, like a movie soundtrack on just the right volume.

Sarah hesitated in the doorway.

"Come on in," Maria said, waving her over. "You're not a guest anymore. You're my helper."

Sarah stepped forward slowly, hands clasped in front of her. "It smells amazing in here."

Maria was already moving, unwrapping a chilled disk of dough from plastic wrap on the counter. "Family recipe," she said with a wink. "Heavily guarded. Luckily for you, I'm feeling generous today."

Sarah smiled, unsure where to stand.

Maria noticed. She patted the edge of the wide butcher-block island. "Here. You're going to roll this crust out for me. I'll be watching closely."

Sarah took her place as instructed, the wooden rolling pin waiting like a relic in front of her. Maria stepped up beside her--no, not beside, behind. Close behind. Sarah could feel her before she even looked.

Maria's voice purred next to her ear. "You ever worked a dough like this before?"

"I... I've done cookies. Once."

Maria let out a low hum. "Totally different beast. Pie crust is all about finesse. You can't be rough with her."

Sarah laughed nervously. "Okay."

"She's tender," Maria continued, stepping in just a little closer, "but she can take pressure. You just have to read her."

Sarah's throat dried.

Maria moved around the island, brushing past Sarah as she reached for a bowl of flour. She didn't apologize for the contact. She never did.

"You want to flour the surface so she doesn't stick," she said, dusting the board. "Just enough. Too much and she dries out." She smiled as the flour puffed into the air. "There's a metaphor in there somewhere."

Sarah tried to laugh. Tried to breathe.

Maria handed her the rolling pin, fingers grazing her palm. "Now, let's see how those hands work."

Sarah nodded and leaned forward. She gripped the pin, pressed into the dough, and began to roll.

Maria crossed her arms and watched, her head tilted slightly.

Sarah was sure she was doing everything wrong.

The rolling pin squeaked faintly against the board, uneven and hesitant. Sarah leaned forward, focusing too hard, her grip rigid and clumsy.

"No, no," Maria said softly, stepping close again. "You're manhandling her."

"I--I'm sorry--"

"Don't be. You just need help."

Maria slid behind her, close enough that Sarah felt the warmth of her body without contact. Then--slowly, without asking--Maria's hands came around and settled over Sarah's, featherlight.

Sarah's breath caught.

"Like this," Maria whispered. Her voice was right against Sarah's ear now, warm and low. "Gentle. Smooth. Let the pin do the work. Don't force it."

Their hands moved in unison, slow and fluid, the dough stretching obediently beneath their rhythm.

Sarah's heart thudded, loud and irregular. She could smell Maria--vanilla, heat, something floral and earthy all at once. Her lips parted slightly.

Maria's fingers adjusted Sarah's grip. "There you go. See how she yields when you're patient?"

Sarah gave a quick, shaky nod.

"Good girl."

Sarah's knees nearly gave out.

Maria leaned in just a touch closer--her chest now grazing Sarah's back. "You feel that? You're not pushing anymore. You're coaxing. She likes that."

Sarah made a tiny sound--somewhere between a laugh and a gasp.

"You're a natural," Maria whispered.

Then, just as suddenly, Maria's hands slipped away. She moved back around the counter, eyes locked on Sarah like she knew exactly what she'd just done.

Sarah stood frozen, rolling pin still in hand, chest rising and falling like she'd run a mile.

Maria smiled and dipped a finger into a bowl of brown sugar, lifting it to her lips. "Now let's sweeten things up a little."

Maria reached for the mixing bowl of apple slices, already glossy with cinnamon and sugar, and stirred them lazily with a wooden spoon.

"I always taste as I go," she said, dipping her finger in and lifting it to her lips.

Sarah couldn't look away.

Maria sucked the sugar from her fingertip with a slow, thoughtful hum. "Mmm. Needs more nutmeg."

Sarah's legs were locked together. Her fingers gripped the edge of the counter like it might float away.

Maria looked up, her lips glistening faintly. "Wanna try?"

Sarah blinked. "What?"

Maria dipped the spoon into the mixture and held it out. "Here. Just a taste."

Sarah hesitated--then leaned forward, parting her lips carefully as Maria brought the spoon closer. The apple was warm, sweet, spiced. But the taste barely registered.

Because Maria hadn't looked away. She held Sarah's gaze the entire time.

Sarah swallowed, eyes wide. "It's good," she whispered.

Maria tilted her head. "You say that like you're scared to like it."

"I--I'm not."

"Oh no?" Maria leaned on the counter across from her. "Then why are you shaking, sweet thing?"

Sarah started to answer, but Maria reached out again--this time to gently brush something from her chest.

"Flour," she said, flicking it away.

Her fingers moved down slightly. Then again. She dusted imaginary residue from the swell of Sarah's sweater, just above her chest. Slow, soft motions.

"There. Much better."

Sarah exhaled sharply. "I think--I need some water."

Maria smiled, stepping back. "Water's by the sink."

Sarah turned too fast and nearly dropped the glass when she grabbed it. She filled it with shaking hands and took a long gulp, her back to the room.

Behind her, Maria said nothing. Just the quiet sound of filling the pie pan.

And jazz playing softly. And the sound of Sarah's breath.

Maria slid the last apple slices into the crust with methodical grace, smoothing them with the back of a spoon. She worked in silence for a few moments--unhurried, confident, humming softly with the jazz.

Sarah had returned to the island but kept her distance now, arms folded tightly, glass of water still in hand.

"There," Maria said, laying the top crust over the filling. "Perfect."

She crimped the edges, cut three delicate slits in the top, then brushed the surface with golden egg wash.

"Beautiful," she murmured. "See what happens when you work gently?"

She looked up at Sarah again, her expression softer now--but still smoldering.

"You're good in a kitchen," Maria said. "You don't give yourself enough credit."

"I just followed what you told me to do," Sarah said, smiling faintly.

"Exactly," Maria replied. She stepped forward and reached out, her fingers sliding through a strand of Sarah's black hair, tucking it carefully behind her ear.

Sarah held still. Her breathing had gone shallow again.

Maria didn't move her hand right away. Her thumb grazed Sarah's cheek--so faintly it may as well have been imagined.

"You take direction very well," she said.

Their eyes locked.

Sarah didn't speak. Couldn't.

The timer beeped suddenly, sharp and abrupt. Sarah jumped. Maria didn't flinch.

"Pie goes in now," Maria said gently.

She opened the oven, placed the pie inside, and closed the door with a decisive click. Then she turned to look at Sarah again--eyes calm, but dangerous.

"We've still got time before dinner. Why don't you freshen up, sweetheart?"

Sarah nodded quickly. "Y-yeah. Sure."

She turned toward the hallway, walking stiffly--like she was afraid her knees might betray her if she moved too fast.

Behind her, Maria smiled to herself and wiped her hands on a towel. Her eyes didn't leave Sarah's back until she disappeared around the corner.

**********

The dining table gleamed under the light of a hanging chandelier, set with ornate plates, golden napkin rings, and wine glasses that had probably only ever been used for guests Simon didn't know existed. Steam curled from dishes placed across the table like offerings: roast turkey carved to perfection, glazed carrots, pillowy mashed potatoes, thick slabs of buttered rolls, and the just-baked pie cooling on a trivet nearby.

Maria moved gracefully from seat to seat, adjusting a fork here, pouring wine there. She wore a deep green dress now--stretchy, soft-looking, with a neckline that defied logic and gravity. It hugged her hips like it was afraid to let go.

Simon had taken the head of the table. Sarah sat to his right. Maria took the left--directly beside Sarah.

"This looks amazing," Sarah said, adjusting her napkin in her lap to hide how clammy her hands had gotten.

Maria smiled as she filled her glass. "A feast for the senses, darling."

Simon stabbed a slice of turkey like it owed him money. "She does this every year. Enough food to feed a raid group."

Maria laughed politely, then turned to Sarah and tilted her wine glass toward her. "A little red?"

"Yes, please," Sarah said quickly, grateful for anything to do with her hands.

Maria poured slowly. "Tell me, sweetheart. Do you cook?"

Sarah nodded, distracted by the scent of wine and the closeness of Maria's body. "Sometimes. Um, nothing like this though."

Maria smiled. "You strike me as someone who savors things. Not in a hurry."

Simon made a snorting sound. "You kidding? Sarah microwaves everything. Even pasta."

"I'm learning," Sarah said, eyes fixed on her plate.

Maria leaned in a little, her voice just for her. "You're a quick study. That crust? Perfect."

Sarah's stomach fluttered in ways that had nothing to do with food.

The clink of silverware filled the silence that followed.

Simon launched into a rant about game trailers and developers "selling out." Sarah nodded when appropriate. Maria never looked away from her.

"More wine, sweetheart?" Maria asked, already tipping the bottle.

Sarah nodded, though she hadn't touched her first glass.

The second glass filled with a quiet glug. Maria's smile didn't fade.

Across the table, Simon was halfway through his second plate and fully immersed in describing a trailer reveal. "The devs finally dropped a teaser for Phantom Reach VII, and they did it with, like, zero warning. Just--boom. Right before the award for best audio design. No one saw it coming."

Maria gave a practiced, faintly amused "Mmm" and turned her attention back to Sarah.

"I always appreciate people who enjoy the details," she said smoothly, nudging the bread basket toward her. "It's a lost art. Savoring every bite. Letting the taste settle on the tongue."

Sarah reached for a roll, then stopped when she realized Maria was watching her mouth.

She picked it up slowly.

"You've got such delicate hands," Maria added, like it had just occurred to her. "And that mouth of yours--so precise. I noticed earlier. The way you chew, so politely. It's... refined."

Sarah blinked at her roll like it might save her. "I--I chew?"

Maria chuckled. "Beautifully."

Simon scooped more potatoes onto his plate. "She doesn't like loud chewing. Like, chip crunching? She'll physically leave the room."

"She's sensitive," Maria murmured. "I like that."

Sarah flushed again and took a sip of wine, her lips leaving a faint mark on the glass. She tried to focus on Simon's words--he was now talking about how unfair it was that mobile games had their own category.

Maria tilted her head. "Is it always this cute when you get embarrassed?"

"I'm not embarrassed," Sarah whispered quickly.

Maria smiled wider. "Oh, honey. You are."

Sarah didn't answer.

She just pressed her thighs together a little harder under the table.

And Maria's eyes flicked downward, almost imperceptibly. Almost.

Sarah was trying to breathe quietly, eyes on her plate. Her fork nudged a half-eaten piece of roasted carrot. Her second glass of wine sat untouched now--her hands were too shaky to pick it up again.

Simon was still rambling, something about how the fan-voted categories were "basically just a popularity contest" and how everyone knew the real game of the year got robbed.

But Sarah didn't hear much of it.

Because under the table, Maria's hand had returned.

It started as a light touch. Just a single, steady palm resting against Sarah's bare knee. Warm. Anchoring. Like a question waiting to be answered.

Sarah didn't move.

Her breath shortened.

Maria's fingers began to drift--slow, circling movements. From the top of her knee to the inside. Then higher. Just a little. Then lower again, like a slow tease in rhythm with the jazz still playing in the next room.

Sarah gripped her napkin in one hand. She forced her mouth into a half-smile, nodding vaguely at Simon's last sentence. She had no idea what he'd said.

Maria's hand moved again. Upward. An inch.

Sarah's thighs tensed, but they didn't close.

Maria shifted in her seat ever so slightly, her elbow now resting casually on the table, her other hand swirling wine in her glass like this was any normal dinner conversation. But beneath the tablecloth, her fingers slid higher--over the soft skin of Sarah's inner thigh.

Sarah took a sharp breath through her nose.

Simon glanced up, finally. "You good?"

Sarah turned her head slowly. "Mhm. Just--hot. It's really warm in here."

Maria raised her glass and sipped, perfectly composed.

"Yeah," Simon said, wiping his forehead with a napkin. "I think the oven's still on or something."

Maria's hand paused.

Then moved again.

Higher.

Sarah's eyes fluttered shut for half a second, long enough to lose her grip on the moment.

Simon didn't notice.

He speared a brussels sprout and added, "Hey, babe, do you want more stuffing? You barely touched yours."

Sarah blinked. Her hand shook as she reached for her wine glass.

"Y-yes," she said softly. "Stuffing would be... great."

Maria's fingers stopped. Just resting again. But now firmly pressed against the inside of her thigh.

Sarah took a long sip of wine, too fast. Her tongue barely registered the taste.

Under the table, her legs trembled.

The wine glass clicked softly as Sarah set it down. Her fingers were damp against the stem. Her legs had gone from tense to tingling--every nerve buzzing in anticipation and confusion.

Maria's fingers hadn't moved again. But they didn't need to.

The weight of her hand alone was enough. Her touch had settled high enough now that Sarah could feel the heat of her palm just beside the thinnest layer of fabric. One wrong movement and--

Maria leaned in, her voice low, almost beneath the clink of forks.

"You don't want me to stop," she murmured, just for Sarah.

Sarah's breath hitched so sharply it made her shoulders rise. She nodded before she even realized it.

"Good girl," Maria whispered.

Simon shoved the last bite of pie crust into his mouth and sighed with satisfaction. "Okay," he said, reaching to rub his stomach. "Now that's what Thanksgiving should be."

Sarah couldn't speak. Her throat was too dry. Her chest rose and fell in short bursts.

Maria's hand finally, finally withdrew--gliding back down her thigh with infuriating slowness. She let her fingers trace one last faint line along the inner edge of Sarah's leg before pulling away completely.

Sarah flinched like she'd been unplugged from something electric.

Simon stood and stretched. "Alright, I'm heading downstairs to catch the pre-show stream before the awards start. Holler if you need help with dishes."

He leaned over and kissed Sarah on the head. "Love you, babe."

She nodded--barely.

He was already gone.

Maria remained seated beside her, watching her closely, lips parted like she was just starting to enjoy herself.

"I'll cleanup," she said, her voice like velvet and smoke, "You go have fun."

Sarah turned to her slowly, still flushed, still trembling.

Their eyes met.

Maria smiled.

**********

Simon led the way down the narrow staircase, a plastic bag of snacks crinkling in one hand, his phone in the other. The carpet on the stairs was worn in the middle, like a thousand footsteps had pressed it into submission.

"This'll be perfect," he said over his shoulder. "I've got the stream bookmarked and the Wi-Fi's way better down here. They added a fan-interactive voting feature this year. It's gonna be nuts."

Sarah followed slowly, gripping the rail.

The basement was dimly lit, the only real illumination coming from LED strips along the shelves and the electric blue glow of Simon's dual monitors. The air was cooler down here, and smelled faintly of plastic, energy drinks, and that synthetic "fresh linen" scent from a plugin in the wall.

Posters lined the walls--video game titles, anime characters with huge eyes and improbable poses. A beanbag chair sagged in one corner, and a tiny mini-fridge hummed by the desk. The bed was unmade. There were cables everywhere.

Simon dropped onto the sagging couch with a happy sigh, already tapping on his controller to wake up the console. "God, I've been waiting for this stream all week."

Sarah sat down beside him, carefully smoothing the hem of her sweater over her thighs.

The couch dipped more on Simon's side--he bounced slightly with every gesture, totally at ease.

Sarah's heart hadn't slowed since they left the dinner table.

The stream kicked off with loud dubstep and flashy graphics, the screen pulsing with countdowns and hashtags. Simon leaned forward, his eyes locked on the TV like it owed him money.

"They got the indie devs to present this year," he said, mouth half-full of sour cream chips. "Smart move. More authentic vibe."

Sarah nodded faintly.

She hadn't said more than ten words since they'd come downstairs. Her palms were still damp, though she kept rubbing them against her thighs, hoping it looked casual.

Simon grabbed the remote and turned the volume up a little. The host started doing shoutouts to the live chat. Sarah blinked slowly. The sound felt far away.

Her skin still tingled. She could almost feel the heat of Maria's palm on her thigh again--the slow stroke, the way her fingers curled so deliberately. It wasn't just arousing. It was possessive. Like she'd been claimed.

Simon shifted next to her. He threw his arm over the back of the couch and gave her shoulder a quick rub--disengaged, rhythmic, more muscle memory than affection.

"You comfy?" he asked, eyes still on the screen.

"Uh-huh," Sarah murmured, barely hearing herself.

The upstairs floor creaked faintly.

Sarah's eyes flicked toward the ceiling.

Simon didn't seem to notice.

Another trailer started. Something post-apocalyptic with neon tanks and synth music.

Sarah pressed her thighs together under her sweater dress, breathing slowly. She couldn't focus on anything happening onscreen. Her nerves were taut. Her skin hyper-aware. Like she was waiting for something.

But she didn't know if she wanted it to happen... or not happen.

There was a faint creak from upstairs. Then silence.

Sarah's spine straightened by an inch.

The stream was showing a slow-motion reel of boss fight animations. Simon muttered something about "garbage hitboxes" and leaned in closer to the TV.

Another sound--lighter this time. A single step, slow and deliberate. Then two more, moving across the floor above.

Sarah didn't blink.

She heard the hallway door open.

She didn't turn to look at the stairwell, but every molecule in her body shifted in its direction. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

Simon stuffed another chip in his mouth and muttered through the crunch, "I hope they announce Midnight Rift this year. Been waiting forever."

Sarah nodded blankly, her eyes still on the flickering screen. But the tension inside her was unbearable now. She felt like she was being watched--anticipated.

The basement door creaked.

She inhaled sharply through her nose.

There was a pause.

Then the soft click of it closing behind someone.

Footsteps on the stairs--slow, even, padded.

Sarah didn't turn, but her whole body leaned slightly forward, like prey sensing something behind it.

Maria's voice came before her shape did.

"Boys and their toys," she said lightly, halfway down. "You can always tell when a console's running. The whole house hums."

Simon laughed without turning. "Yeah, I finally got the fan fixed, but it still sounds like a jet engine when it's loading."

Maria appeared at the bottom of the steps, a large glass of red wine in hand, her other resting lightly on the bannister. She was barefoot now, and wore a soft grey wrap that hung loose over her frame--like a robe, but more dangerous. Her dark curls were clipped up loosely, tendrils falling around her face.

"Just thought I'd check in," she said, stepping off the last stair. "Did dinner knock you out yet, sweetheart?"

Sarah didn't trust her voice.

She shook her head.

Maria stepped behind the couch--behind Sarah--and gently laid her free hand on the top of the couch cushion. Her fingers didn't touch Sarah yet, but the proximity buzzed like electricity.

Simon looked up at her finally. "You watching with us?"

Maria smiled. "I wouldn't know what I was looking at. But I enjoy the company."

Her wine glass clicked softly as she set it on the side table.

She stayed standing. Right behind Sarah.

Close enough for her body heat to be unmistakable.

Sarah's shoulders rose as if touched by a phantom breeze.

Maria still hadn't said another word. But her presence pressed down like a second atmosphere.

Simon was already looking back at the screen. A new trailer had started--loud, flashy, immersive.

He didn't see the way Maria leaned forward.

He didn't see the way her hand finally came to rest--lightly, gently--on Sarah's shoulder.

Maria's hands landed softly on Sarah's shoulders like they'd always belonged there.

Firm at first--her thumbs pressing into the tension just below the base of Sarah's neck, rolling slow, even circles. The TV flickered in front of them, blue and white flashes painting their faces, but Sarah saw none of it.

Simon chuckled at something the host said. "They brought out the devs from Gloryborn III. That's wild."

Maria leaned in slightly, her breath warm against Sarah's ear. Her thumbs worked lower, across the curve of Sarah's trapezius, then down toward her shoulder blades.

Sarah exhaled--quiet, shaky.

Maria's fingers splayed, drawing wide, lazy circles over the back of her sweater, tracing the lines of her body like she was reading a map by touch alone.

Sarah didn't move.

Then--subtly, gradually--Maria's hands slid down the outside of her arms. Over the triceps. Then around. Her palms swept forward, grazing the soft sides of Sarah's ribcage.

Sarah twitched--just a small, startled motion--but didn't stop her.

Maria didn't speak. She didn't need to.

One hand slipped further around Sarah's side, the heel of her palm gliding across the swell just above her waist, fingers curling inward--hovering over the space where chest became curve.

Sarah gripped her thighs, her breathing now shallow.

Maria's fingers moved higher, edging across the soft knit of Sarah's sweater... slowly approaching the tender rise of her breast.

Still, not a word.

Sarah's lips parted, her head tilting slightly forward. Her whole body had gone still, waiting for the next move.

Maria's palm pressed softly against the curve of Sarah's breast, her fingers curling gently to fit the shape.

Sarah made a tiny, breathless sound--barely audible over the livestream's voiceover.

Maria moved slowly. She didn't squeeze, not at first--just held. Her hand was warm, firm, careful. Then her thumb began to move, stroking gently over the swell through the knit fabric of Sarah's sweater.

Sarah leaned forward slightly, involuntarily. Her hips shifted in the couch cushion. Her hands clutched the edge beside her.

Maria's other hand joined the first, sliding around from Sarah's opposite side, mirroring the motion. She cupped both breasts now, softly, reverently, like they were something fragile she was unwrapping with patience.

Sarah's breathing quickened, eyes wide, locked somewhere in the glowing blur of the screen. Her mouth was open, her cheeks flushed and burning.

Maria's fingers began to explore more boldly now, kneading gently, thumbs pressing in slow, languid arcs. The sweater fabric moved with her rhythm, gliding and bunching, like it too had forgotten where they were.

Sarah shuddered, her thighs squeezing tightly together.

Then--slowly--Maria's hands began to travel downward.

Not all at once. Just inch by inch. Down Sarah's ribs. Across the soft curve of her belly.

Lower.

Sarah swallowed hard. She was trembling now, every inch of her skin lit up, her breath hitching in shallow gasps.

Maria's fingers traced the top of her waistband, skimming just under the hem.

Then--

Maria's fingertips slipped just beneath the fabric of Sarah's waistband--barely an inch, but enough to make Sarah's entire body contract with anticipation. Her thighs parted a breath's width. Her head tilted back slightly, mouth open. A faint sound--almost a whimper--escaped.

And then--

"Babe?" Simon said, still staring at the screen, his voice casual. "You okay?"

Sarah flinched.

Maria didn't.

She pulled her hands away with effortless grace, like she'd simply finished adjusting a necklace. She brushed imaginary lint from Sarah's shoulder, then reached for her wine glass as though that was all she'd been doing the entire time.

Sarah sat upright fast, cheeks scarlet, hair slightly tousled.

"I--yeah," she stammered, barely able to form the word. "Just... warm."

Simon grinned. "Told you the ventilation down here sucks."

He went back to cheering as a trailer dropped. "Yes! They're doing Riftfall! Look at that armor set!"

Maria sipped her wine, the picture of poise.

Sarah didn't move. Her hands were clenched in her lap. Her whole body felt like it was still being touched--ghost hands on her chest, her belly, her thighs.

She dared a glance toward Maria.

Maria didn't look back--yet.

But the corner of her mouth curled.

Maria stood, smoothing her wrap with one hand, lifting her wine glass with the other. The faint sound of footsteps, the swish of fabric, the gentle creak of the couch springs--every sound felt exaggerated in Sarah's ears.

She didn't dare turn her head yet.

Maria took one slow step toward the stairs. Then another.

At the base of the staircase, she paused.

"Sarah," she said softly--low enough that Simon didn't hear.

Sarah looked up.

Maria turned just enough to glance over her shoulder. Her hand caught the edge of the wrap and pulled it aside.

Fully aside.

Her bare breasts spilled free--round, heavy, glowing faintly in the blue light of the TV. Her nipples were dark, erect, unapologetic.

Sarah stared.

Her breath hitched audibly.

Maria held the moment a beat longer. Then let the wrap fall closed.

She tilted her head and smiled--not sweetly. Hungrily.

"Can you help me with something upstairs, sweetheart?" she asked, voice full of silk and mischief.

Sarah didn't answer. She stood up too fast, bumping the couch edge and nearly losing her balance.

Simon didn't look away from the screen. "Bring me a soda if you're going up, babe."

Sarah didn't even respond.

She followed Maria.

Up the stairs.

Into the dark.

**********

The kitchen door clicked softly shut behind them.

Sarah barely had time to take a breath.

Maria turned.

There was no pause. No teasing. No waiting.

She stepped forward, cupped Sarah's face in both hands, and kissed her hard--like she'd been holding it back for hours and finally couldn't anymore.

Sarah let out a muffled gasp against Maria's mouth. Her body jolted, but didn't pull away. She melted.

Maria pressed in--her curves pushing flush against Sarah's front, her lips warm and full and commanding. The kiss deepened fast, tongues brushing, breath shared, bodies tipping forward as if pulled by gravity.

Sarah's hands rose instinctively, grabbing at Maria's waist. The softness there made her head spin. She wasn't sure who was shaking--maybe both of them.

Maria pulled back just long enough to whisper, "You taste nervous."

Sarah barely managed a sound--a whimper that wanted to be a yes.

Maria kissed her again, slower this time. Her hands dropped from Sarah's cheeks to her shoulders, then down her arms, then lower. Fingers squeezing Sarah's hips through her dress. Her nails dragging up again, catching just enough fabric to raise goosebumps.

Sarah reached behind Maria's neck, holding on like she might fall. Her knees were already starting to give out.

"God," Maria whispered into her lips. "I knew it the second I saw you."

Sarah opened her mouth to respond--but Maria kissed her again, rougher now, silencing whatever thought she'd tried to form.

Somewhere, downstairs, the muffled sound of a victory theme blared from the TV.

Upstairs, Sarah moaned into Maria's mouth and gave up trying to pretend she still cared what game Simon was watching.

Maria broke the kiss with a soft, wicked smile. Her eyes locked onto Sarah's--sharp, hot, gleaming--and without a word, she reached down and grabbed Sarah by the waist.

Sarah barely had time to gasp before Maria lifted her effortlessly onto the edge of the kitchen counter.

The cold marble shocked the back of her thighs. She hissed softly, and Maria grinned wider.

"Let's make some heat, then," she said.

Her hands slid up Sarah's legs--over soft cotton, under the hem of her dress. Fingers pressed into thighs, parting them gently as she stepped between.

Sarah wrapped her legs around Maria's hips before she even thought to.

Then their mouths crashed again.

This kiss was messier. Deeper. Less restrained. Teeth caught lips. Hands grabbed at fabric like it was in the way. Maria's hands were everywhere--cupping Sarah's face, then her waist, then her ass, pulling her closer, pressing her forward.

Sarah moaned into her mouth, breath quick and uneven.

Maria kissed her jaw. Her neck. Down to the hollow of her collarbone, where she bit--just enough to leave a mark. Sarah whimpered, clutching the back of Maria's wrap.

The smell of warm sugar and butter still hung in the air, but the only thing Sarah could focus on was the sensation of Maria's body between her legs, the friction, the weight of it.

Maria's hand slid up the inside of Sarah's thigh again. This time there was no hesitation.

Sarah's hips tilted forward, seeking more.

Maria's mouth returned to hers, swallowing every sound.

The pie sat untouched on the stovetop.

The counter was claimed.

Maria's hands slid up Sarah's sides, fingertips curling into the fabric of her sweater.

"Off," she murmured against her lips.

Sarah nodded, dazed.

Maria tugged the sweater upward slowly--teasingly--her hands dragging along Sarah's skin as the hem rose. As the sweater lifted over her head, Sarah raised her arms and gasped softly when the cool kitchen air hit her.

Underneath, her bra was simple--black, cotton, soft. Maria took her time.

She ran both hands over Sarah's newly exposed skin, smoothing her palms over ribs, the curve of her belly, the soft swell just below her bra line.

"You're beautiful," Maria whispered, almost reverent now. "So soft. So easy to touch."

Sarah whimpered.

Maria leaned in, her lips trailing along Sarah's shoulder, then her chest. Her thumbs slid beneath the edge of the bra and pressed up. The fabric slipped.

Sarah's breasts spilled free into Maria's waiting hands.

Maria kissed the top of one--slowly--then sucked the nipple into her mouth, gently. Her tongue moved in slow circles.

Sarah arched forward, her hands flying to Maria's shoulders, her breath catching in her throat.

Then she reached for the knot of Maria's wrap, fingers clumsy, desperate. She tugged. Fumbled. Finally, the fabric slipped loose.

Maria stepped back just enough to let it fall.

Sarah inhaled sharply.

Maria stood there--bare beneath the robe, soft curves glowing in the candlelight, her full breasts rising and falling, her stomach warm and plush, her hips round and inviting.

"Touch me," Maria said.

Sarah reached out--no hesitation this time.

Her palms ran over Maria's waist, then her stomach, up to her breasts. She squeezed gently, then harder, her fingers trembling.

Their bodies pressed together again.

The clothes on the floor were forgotten.

Maria guided Sarah back against the counter, hands on her hips, steady and sure.

"Hold on," she said softly.

Sarah gripped the edge behind her, arms locked, breath shallow. Her chest was bare, flushed, heaving. Her thighs trembled.

Maria knelt.

She kissed Sarah's stomach--once, then lower. Her fingers hooked under the waistband of her underwear and pulled them down slowly, slowly, like unwrapping a secret.

Sarah whimpered as the fabric slid over her knees, then her ankles.

Maria looked up at her from beneath her lashes. "You okay, sweetheart?"

Sarah nodded--desperate, breathless. "Please."

Maria smiled.

Then she leaned in.

Her mouth found Sarah, and Sarah's back hit the cabinet with a soft thump. Her moan was caught in her throat, buried behind clenched teeth. She bit her lip, her eyes squeezed shut, trying to keep quiet--but Maria wasn't making it easy.

Maria moved with purpose. Slow, then firm. Circling. Pressing. Tasting. Her hands gripped Sarah's thighs, holding her open, guiding her rhythm.

Sarah tried to stay silent. She did.

But a sound escaped--high, soft, desperate.

Downstairs, a distant cheer erupted from the TV. Simon's voice rose faintly, cheering. "Yes! Let's goooo!"

Sarah barely heard it.

Maria's tongue pressed just right, her hands tightening at Sarah's hips, her body working in perfect time.

Sarah's whole body shuddered. Her head dropped back. Her mouth opened in a silent cry.

She came hard, shaking against the edge of the counter, legs clamping around Maria's shoulders, pulse hammering, breath gone.

The room went quiet except for the soft crackle of a candle.

Maria didn't move away right away. She kissed the inside of Sarah's thigh, then stood, licking her lips, smiling like she'd just claimed something important.

She cupped Sarah's flushed face with both hands, kissed her gently, then whispered:

"I want to make you scream."

Maria didn't take Sarah's hand. She took her wrist.

Bare feet padded down the hallway and up the stairs. Skin still flushed, thighs damp, mouths red from kissing. The hallway lights were low, flickering with the soft glow of candles and the scent of spice and warm skin.

Behind them, their clothes lay in a heap on the kitchen tile--forgotten.

Maria pulled Sarah through the open door of her bedroom, then shoved it closed with one foot.

The room was all dark wood and deep red. Heavy curtains. Candlelight flickering on satin sheets. A massive bed sat at the center, the kind that begged to be ruined.

Maria spun, grabbed Sarah by the waist, and threw her back onto the bed.

Sarah bounced, breathless, laughing once--then moaning when Maria climbed over her in one smooth motion, breasts brushing hers, thighs pressing down, mouth already searching.

"You're mine now," Maria growled into her neck.

Sarah didn't answer. She didn't need to.

Her hands were already exploring again--sinking into Maria's hips, raking over her back, pulling her in.

Maria kissed her hard, biting Sarah's lower lip. "You're going to scream for me, sweetheart."

Sarah whimpered. "Then make me."

Maria grinned.

And did.

She pinned Sarah's wrists to the mattress, pressing her full, soft body against Sarah's smaller frame--grinding, teasing, licking along her throat, her breasts, her belly. Her thighs moved in slow, steady rhythm, every curve deliberate.

Sarah writhed.

The bed creaked under the motion.

Downstairs, muffled explosions erupted from the gaming awards livestream.

Upstairs, a far more intimate kind of chaos had taken hold.

Maria's body moved like liquid heat--pouring over Sarah, pressing her into the bed, molding to every curve of her.

Sarah's arms were above her head now, wrists still pinned by one of Maria's hands, while the other explored freely--tracing down her ribs, over the curve of her waist, then between her thighs.

"Open for me," Maria said, voice low and dark.

Sarah obeyed--instantly, instinctively--her legs parting, her breath catching.

Maria kissed her slowly on the mouth, then her throat, her collarbone, then down, down, until her lips closed around a nipple. Sarah cried out, arching into her.

Maria didn't stop. Her mouth moved lower, licking down Sarah's trembling belly.

Then lower still.

When her tongue found her again, Sarah's hands flew to the headboard, gripping it like she might fly apart.

Maria moaned against her.

Sarah bucked once, twice--then her legs wrapped around Maria's shoulders, trying to stay anchored to the world. But it was no use.

Maria's tongue was relentless--slow at first, then faster. Deep. Rhythmic. Expert.

Sarah's hips lifted off the bed.

"Please," she gasped. "Maria--please, I--"

Maria's hands tightened on her thighs. Her mouth pressed harder.

Sarah came with a cry--loud, unguarded, messy.

Her legs shook.

Maria didn't stop until Sarah sagged back against the sheets, limp and gasping.

Then she kissed her inner thigh, slow and sweet.

And crawled back up her body with a smile that promised more.

Maria lay back, arms spread, hair fanned across the pillows like a crown.

Her skin glowed in the candlelight--warm, golden, kissed all over by sweat and heat. Her breasts rose and fell with heavy breath, her thighs still slick from the work she'd just done.

Sarah stared.

Then moved.

She straddled Maria's soft belly, her hands sliding up those generous curves--over plush hips, over the soft rise of her stomach, then up to those full, glorious breasts.

She cupped them, squeezed, leaned down and kissed one--then bit.

Maria moaned, low and raw.

Sarah smiled into her skin.

She moved her hips, grinding gently down against her. Maria gasped, her hands coming to Sarah's waist, squeezing.

"Look at you," Maria panted. "Taking what you want."

Sarah kissed her again--deeper, wetter. Then she kissed her neck. Then lower. She shifted down the bed, dragging her lips across Maria's soft belly, her thighs parting as she settled between them.

Maria's hands curled in the sheets. "Sarah..."

Sarah didn't hesitate.

She licked slowly at first, savoring the taste. Then deeper. Maria let out a sharp, desperate noise that made Sarah smile against her.

She wrapped her arms around Maria's thighs, holding her still, her mouth working with more confidence now--bolder strokes, deeper pressure.

Maria cursed, head tipping back, one hand flying to her breast.

Sarah didn't stop.

Maria bucked hard--once, twice--then arched off the bed with a moan that seemed to echo through the walls.

"Don't you dare stop," she hissed.

Sarah didn't.

Maria came loud, legs trembling around Sarah's head, hips lifting off the bed. Her fingers twisted in the sheets, her mouth open in stunned silence.

When she collapsed, gasping, she reached for Sarah blindly--pulling her up, wrapping her in arms and thighs and everything else.

They kissed again--frantic, spent, still hungry.

The sheets were twisted halfway off the bed, pillows discarded onto the floor. The candle on the nightstand guttered low, its wax spilling over like everything else that night.

Maria and Sarah lay wrapped around each other, legs knotted, skin stuck in places, breath still uneven.

Maria ran her fingers through Sarah's damp hair, trailing them down her neck, over her spine, down to the small of her back.

Sarah sighed into her chest, her hand resting on the soft curve of Maria's hip.

They hadn't spoken since the last wave crashed over them--loud, shaking, bodies pressed so close they couldn't tell whose moan belonged to whom.

Now, they just breathed.

Every so often, one of them would shift--pressing a kiss to a shoulder, a collarbone, a jawline. Then stillness again.

Maria chuckled softly, her voice barely a whisper. "You screamed."

Sarah blushed into her neck. "You told me to."

Maria's hand slid down and squeezed her ass gently. "Next time, I'm tying you to the headboard."

Sarah let out a breathless laugh, kissing the underside of Maria's jaw.

From the basement below, muffled through the floorboards, Simon shouted something like "Let's gooo!" followed by a victory jingle and chip bag crinkle.

Neither of them looked up.

Maria kissed Sarah's forehead. "Let him have his moment."

Sarah curled tighter into her. "I already had mine."

The candle flickered one last time... and burned out.

**********

Simon hit pause on the awards livestream, stretched, and yawned so hard it made his eyes water. "Ugh. Commercial break. Perfect."

He grabbed his phone and padded upstairs in socks, muttering about pacing and how nobody wanted to see esports trailers mid-show.

The kitchen light was off, but a dim glow from the hallway cast enough light for him to see.

Sort of.

His foot landed on something soft. He looked down. A sweater.

He picked it up, sniffed it, shrugged.

"Guess someone started laundry and got distracted. Classic Mom move."

Next to it, half-bunched under the island stools, was Maria's wrap. He didn't notice.

He opened the fridge, stood there way too long like the contents might magically change. He didn't even notice that the oven light was still on or that two wine glasses were sitting near the sink--one smudged with lipstick, the other mostly full.

His eyes finally landed on the pie.

"Oh hell yes."

He pulled the foil back, grabbed a fork straight from the drawer--no plate--and dug in.

The first bite was warm, gooey, and perfect.

"Mmm. She nailed the crust this year," he mumbled, mouth full.

Behind him, the sweater lay sprawled on the tile.

The kitchen still smelled faintly of sex and cinnamon.

Simon didn't notice a thing.

Simon leaned against the counter, phone in one hand, fork in the other, forking bites into his mouth from the pie on the counter like he was on a mission.

"Mmm."

He scrolled TikTok between bites. A raccoon washing cotton candy. A girl doing pushups on her dog. A streamer yelling about lag.

None of it registered.

Another forkful disappeared.

Behind him, the kitchen table bore the faint marks of handprints on its edge--light smudges in flour dust. The sweater was still there, limp and forgotten. A bra strap peeked out from under one of the barstools.

He didn't notice.

Above, a soft creak from the floorboards.

Simon glanced up, fork paused. He waited.

Another creak--then a faint thump.

He blinked, shrugged, and said aloud, "Old houses, man."

Another bite. Another scroll.

His phone buzzed with a group chat message:

[Bradley]: Dude, the Midnight Rift trailer just dropped. It's insane. Where u at?

[Simon]: Kitchen. Pie. Priorities.

He paused for a second, licking a crumb off his fork.

"Why does Sarah always vanish during the good parts?" he muttered to himself. "Every girlfriend I've had just disappears by hour two."

He reached for a second slice directly from the tin.

The wrap near the fridge shifted slightly when he stepped on one end.

Still, he didn't look down.

**********

The sheets were still twisted. The candle on the nightstand had gone out, but the heat in the room hadn't faded.

Maria stirred first.

She didn't stretch. She prowled.

Her hand slid along Sarah's bare waist, up to her ribs. She pressed a soft kiss between her shoulder blades. Then another, lower.

Sarah murmured something into the pillow. A lazy, dazed sound.

Maria smiled against her skin. "Not done with you yet."

Sarah rolled slowly onto her back, hair tousled, chest bare, the flush still on her cheeks.

"You're insatiable," she whispered, voice thick with sleep and something else entirely.

"I warned you."

Sarah didn't reply--she pulled Maria in with both hands, fingers sinking into soft hips.

Maria grinned. "That's a yes, then."

She climbed over her slowly, kissing as she moved--mouth to mouth, then down, lower, reacquainting herself with every place she'd already claimed.

Sarah gasped, legs parting without instruction.

The house creaked again, louder this time.

Neither of them noticed.

Maria's mouth moved lower.

Sarah moaned.

The bed began to rock again.

**********

Simon polished off his second slice directly from the tin, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. He leaned back on the stool, sighing contentedly.

"Might be the best pie she's made," he said to no one.

He stabbed at a third bite.

Above him, the ceiling creaked again--longer this time. A steady rhythm. Faint thumps in a pattern too regular to be the house settling.

Simon glanced up, fork still halfway to his mouth.

Then--

A muffled moan.

High. Drawn out. Female.

Simon blinked.

Paused.

Listened.

Then shook his head and snorted.

"Must be the plumbing. Or the squirrel in the attic again."

He shoved another bite into his mouth.

Upstairs, Maria moved her hips in slow, deliberate rhythm, her fingers laced through Sarah's. Sarah's head was thrown back, mouth open, moans coming freely now--louder than before.

Maria leaned down and whispered, "Let him hear you this time."

Sarah cried out, louder.

The headboard thudded once. Twice.

Simon winced and looked up.

Then shrugged.

"Definitely pipes."

He licked his fork clean.

**********

Sarah was still catching her breath.

Her body ached in all the right ways--legs heavy, hair damp, mouth parted as she lay sprawled in Maria's bed like she'd been unraveled.

Maria lay beside her, propped on one elbow, gently stroking her hip with slow, lazy fingers.

For a moment, it was quiet.

Then Maria leaned in close, kissed the side of Sarah's neck, and whispered, "Don't fall asleep on me now."

Sarah smiled sleepily. "I might have to. You broke me."

Maria chuckled low in her throat. "Oh sweetheart."

She kissed her again. Then again, a little lower.

"I haven't even gotten started."

Sarah blinked, dazed. "What do you mean--?"

But Maria had already turned.

She leaned over the side of the bed, opened the top drawer of her nightstand, and pulled something out.

Black leather.

Polished straps.

A smooth, curved shaft.

Sarah's breath hitched.

Maria held it up with a wicked smile and started to put lube on it. "Tell me you've been good. Tell me you deserve this."

Sarah stared--flushed, wide-eyed, lips parted. She nodded once. Slowly.

Maria raised a brow. "Use your words."

"I deserve it," Sarah whispered, voice hoarse. "Please."

Maria sat back on her knees, the harness already wrapped around her hips. She buckled it tight with practiced ease, the shaft bobbing forward, thick and ready, as she adjusted the straps around her waist and thighs.

She looked down at Sarah.

"Legs open."

Sarah obeyed.

Sarah lay back against the pillows, legs spread, eyes locked on Maria as she knelt between them--strapped in and utterly in control.

Maria ran one hand along Sarah's inner thigh, soft and slow. Then she gripped her knee and pushed it wider.

"Good girl," she murmured.

With her other hand, she guided the toy down--pressing the shaft lightly against Sarah's belly, dragging it along her skin, across the curve of her hip, then between her thighs.

She didn't enter.

Not yet.

She moved the tip in slow, teasing circles--against her, along her folds, slipping just barely inside, then pulling back again.

Sarah whimpered.

Maria grinned. "Patience."

"I can't--"

"Oh, I think you can."

She leaned down and kissed Sarah hard, the toy still gliding just where Sarah wanted it most--but never quite enough. Sarah's hips arched, seeking more. Maria kept it just out of reach.

Sarah's breath turned ragged. "Please."

Maria kissed her again, deeper.

Sarah moaned into her mouth.

"Say it," Maria whispered.

"Please, Maria. I want it. I want you inside me. I want to feel all of you."

Maria kissed her again, slower this time.

Then pulled back.

"Now you're ready."

Maria lined the tip up with Sarah's entrance, pausing just long enough for their eyes to meet.

Then she pushed in.

Sarah's mouth fell open. A long, shuddering breath escaped her lungs. The stretch was deep and deliberate--Maria didn't rush. She filled her inch by inch, the harness moving with her hips in slow, confident thrusts.

Sarah clutched the sheets. Her body bowed into it, into her.

"Jesus," she gasped.

Maria's hands slid under her thighs, lifting her hips just a little, angling her perfectly.

Then she moved.

The thrusts were firm, deep, steady--each one smoother than the last. The toy hit just right. Maria's rhythm never faltered. Her breath came hot and steady. Her soft belly and breasts bounced gently with each motion, pressed tight to Sarah's frame.

Sarah moaned again, louder this time, fingers digging into the mattress, head rolling side to side. "Maria--oh my god--don't stop."

"I won't," Maria whispered. "Not until I ruin you."

She braced one hand beside Sarah's head and gripped her hip with the other, pushing in harder now, faster, the slap of skin against skin louder with every motion.

The bed thudded against the wall.

Sarah clung to her, thighs trembling, eyes wide and lost in the rhythm. Every thrust drew a new gasp, a new cry, her body climbing and climbing.

Maria kissed her again--hard, dirty, claiming--and kept moving.

Maria's rhythm never wavered.

Each thrust came deeper. Heavier. More deliberate. The sound of it echoed in the room--wet, breathy, beautiful.

Sarah was falling apart beneath her.

Her nails scratched down Maria's back, her head thrown back, mouth open in wild, broken moans. "Don't stop. Maria--please--don't--"

"I'm not going anywhere," Maria breathed, leaning down, sweat slick on her skin.

Her hand slid up Sarah's chest and curled lightly around her throat.

Not tight.

Just enough.

Enough to hold her in place. Enough to say you're mine.

Sarah gasped, arching harder against her, eyes wide and wild.

Maria thrust again. And again. And again.

Sarah shattered.

She came with a cry that filled the room, her legs clamping around Maria, her hands grabbing at anything she could find--skin, sheets, hair, the world.

Maria kept moving, slower now, guiding her through the quake of it.

Only when Sarah sagged fully against the mattress, lips parted, chest rising in ragged breaths, did Maria slow to a stop.

She leaned down, the toy still inside her, and kissed her softly--just once.

Then she whispered:

"Mine."

Sarah blinked up at her.

Nodded.

Whispered back, "Yours."

And smiled.

**********

The basement door creaked open just as the credits rolled on the livestream.

Simon was halfway through licking pie crust flakes off his fingers when he heard the soft shuffle of feet on the stairs.

He looked up, blinking in the blue light.

Maria descended first--robe cinched but slightly askew, curls mussed like she'd just woken up from a twelve-hour spa nap. Sarah followed a step behind, wearing one of Maria's oversized shirts, hair damp, cheeks pink, and looking... weirdly floaty.

"Hey!" Simon grinned. "I thought you two fell asleep or something."

"We were... busy," Maria said, smiling faintly.

Sarah bit her lip and looked at the floor.

Maria patted her shoulder. "We worked up an appetite."

Simon nodded. "Good timing. The oven's still on."

Maria's smile froze.

Sarah glanced at her, blinking. "Wait. There's still pie left, right?"

Simon gestured to the counter behind him. "There's ingredients?"

Maria turned.

The pie tin sat in the center of the island.

Empty.

One crust edge remained. A crime scene.

Maria stared at it like it had insulted her family.

"You ate the whole pie?" she asked.

Simon shrugged. "You left it out."

"We were coming back for it," Sarah said, eyes wide with mock horror. "It was the... post-dessert dessert."

"It was part of the ritual," Maria added, hand over her heart.

Simon looked between them and blinked. "Did I miss something?"

Maria leaned on the counter, one eyebrow raised. "Only everything, baby."

He gave a thumbs-up and opened the fridge. "We still have Jell-O. Want some of that?"

Sarah leaned into Maria's side, trying very hard not to laugh.

Maria kissed the top of her head and sighed. "Come on, sweetheart. We'll make a fresh one. From scratch."

Sarah smiled. "Can I help roll the crust again?"

Maria turned and looked her over. "Oh, I'll help you roll."

Simon grabbed a Jell-O the fridge.

Maria and Sarah were already walking away, giggling.

He stared after them, then shrugged and popped the Jell-O open.

"Seriously, best Thanksgiving ever."