Seduced by Best Friend's Mom Pt. 01

"You're such a camper, bro. That's the third time you've hid behind that rock."

Nate laughed through a mouthful of chips. "It's called cover, idiot. It's literally the point of the game."

"No, the point of the game is not to sit in the same bush for ten minutes and wait for me to walk by like it's fucking guerrilla warfare."

I tossed my controller onto the couch and reached for the soda can sweating on the coffee table. The screen still showed my guy ragdolling in slow motion, a bullet to the dome. I groaned.

"You used to be decent at this," Nate said, smug.

"I am decent. You just know all the spawn points and glitchy corners."

He grinned like he'd just won an award. "Tactical awareness, my dude."

I rolled my eyes and sank deeper into the couch. The living room was its usual mess: game cases scattered, empty snack bags balled up on the rug, two half-finished energy drinks warming on the windowsill. The sun had started to shift through the slats in the blinds, casting those weird golden stripes across the carpet. The air was heavy with pizza grease and the smell of cheap cologne we'd both used way too much of in high school and never grew out of.

Nate reached for the remote. "You wanna switch to something else? I'm done embarrassing you."

"Maybe after you explain what the hell kind of AI tactics you've been using. You study military manuals in your spare time now or-?"

Before he could answer, we heard the front door click open.

Her voice followed, smooth and amused. "I swear I could hear that smack talk from the driveway."

I sat up instinctively. I don't know why I always did.

Nate's mom walked into the room like she owned space. Like the hallway bent a little to let her pass.

She wore a fitted black long-sleeve tee, loose at the collar, sleeves pushed up to the elbows, a pair of joggers that rode low on her hips and still managed to cling just enough to the curve of her thighs. Her hair was down, long, black, straight as poured ink, falling over one shoulder in soft contrast to the pale gray tattoos that climbed her forearm and vanished into the sleeve.

She had her keys hooked on one finger, a small purse slung over her shoulder, and those lips. Plump, glossed, just a little parted like she was mid-thought even when she wasn't speaking.

She looked more alert than most moms I knew. Younger, even. Like she didn't sleep much but didn't need to.

"Hey, Ma," Nate mumbled, half-looking up from the controller.

"Hello, Mrs. Chérie," I said, sitting up straighter than I meant to. I felt my face warm instantly.

She looked at me for a second, eyes catching the way I said it and her smile curved slightly, deeper now.

"Jake," she said, warmth in her voice, but something else in her eyes. "You've really got to stop calling me Mrs. Chérie. Makes me feel ancient."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

"You can call me Valerie," she added, stepping into the room, already looking around like she owned the space. "Or Val. whatever feels good in your mouth."

Nate snorted from the couch.

Val didn't even blink.

I could feel my ears go hot.

"Boys," she replied, eyeing us both with a smile that felt like it knew something we didn't. "Still at it? How long have you two been camped on that couch, since lunch?"

Nate shrugged. "Pretty much."

She glanced at the pizza box on the coffee table, lifted a slice, inspected it like a scientist. "Cold, greasy, probably going to kill you by thirty."

"Then at least I die with a KD ratio I'm proud of," Nate said.

"Mm," she hummed, setting the slice down and wiping her fingers on a napkin that magically appeared from somewhere. "That'll look great on your headstone."

Her eyes shifted to me then just briefly and something in her gaze held. Not long. Just a second too long. I smiled back awkwardly, aware of how sweaty I probably looked in this old hoodie.

She turned, her eyes flicking over the room like she was cataloging chaos. "I'm heading out. Running a few errands before everything closes. Try not to destroy the house while I'm gone."

"Want me to lock up if you're late?" Nate asked.

She grabbed a hair tie off the counter, twisted her hair up casually. "I won't be. But if I am, just remember: the bat is behind the door, the Wi-Fi password is not for your little girlfriends, and Jake, you're in charge."

My head snapped up. "Me?"

"Obviously." She gave me a wink.

Nate rolled his eyes. "He's more likely to die first if there's a break-in."

Val was already halfway to the door. "I'm counting on you, Jake. Don't let me down."

Then she was gone.

Just like that.

The room felt a little quieter after she left. The air didn't buzz the same way. Nate unpaused the game, but I didn't pick the controller up right away.

He noticed.

"You good?"

"Yeah," I said quickly, scratching the back of my neck.

He smirked. "You always get weird when she's around."

"I don't get weird."

"Bro, you practically sit up straighter like you're about to salute."

I flipped him off, finally grabbing the controller. "She's just... intense."

"That's the polite word for 'scary.'"

"I didn't say scary."

"She is though," Nate said. "She's cool, yeah, but don't let the 'hip mom' act fool you. She's got, like, radar. I used to think she read my texts before I even sent them."

"Maybe she does," I joked.

"Wouldn't even be surprised."

There was a short pause, then Nate cleared his throat.

"So... anyway," he said, glancing at me sideways, "this weekend, I'm heading to my dad's."

"Oh yeah? Since when?"

"Like, just got confirmed this morning. Last-minute thing. You know how he is."

"Still living in that weird condo?"

"Yup. Same beige walls. Same broken ceiling fan. Same fridge that smells like regret."

I laughed. "Sounds amazing."

He grimaced. "It's not. But it's just Friday through Sunday."

"Dude, you will be fine, trust me." I said.

"I hope so. I just wish for it be Sunday evening already."

*********************************************************

It was Friday afternoon, warm enough that the air felt thicker than usual. That kind of early-summer heat that lingered on your shoulders no matter how much you walked or tried to ignore it. I had my hood down, my sleeves pushed up, and just a short grocery list in my head. Chips. Soda. Maybe some frozen pizza. Nothing impressive. I didn't plan on being out long.

I stepped into the store, eyes half-focused on the snack aisle, when I caught a glimpse of someone near the self-checkout section.

Val.

Standing there like she didn't belong in a place as dull and fluorescent as this one.

She wore a white t-shirt tied at the waist, soft olive-green joggers sitting low on her hips, and her black hair pulled back in a loose, messy twist that left strands falling around her face. Her tattoos peeked out from under the sleeves. She looked... effortless. Casual. Not even trying.

She was finishing up on the touchscreen when she turned her head and saw me.

And smiled.

God, that smile.

"Well well," she said, her voice carrying easily across the hum of beeping scanners. "If it isn't my favorite gentleman."

I felt myself straighten up, like I needed to suddenly appear less like someone buying energy drinks and more like someone worth smiling at.

"Hey," I said, and instantly regretted how dry my voice sounded. "Didn't expect to see you here."

She tilted her head, amused. "Grocery stores are still open to the public, you know."

"Yeah, of course. Just... caught me off guard."

Her eyes moved down to the sad excuse for groceries in my basket. "Let me guess. Dinner of champions?"

I looked down. A bag of chips, two sodas, and a single instant ramen cup. I tried to laugh it off. "Don't judge. I was gonna add something with actual nutrients. Like frozen pizza."

She gave a soft laugh. Not mocking. Just amused in that way that always made me feel like I was both in on the joke and the punchline.

"Well, your metabolism's still on your side," she said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Enjoy it while it lasts."

I shrugged. "Trying."

Her gaze lingered a second longer, then moved toward the door.

"You busy this evening?" she asked, casual.

I blinked. "Uh... kind of. I had a few things to do."

She raised an eyebrow, just one, and gave me that slow, patient smile that made my chest feel tight.

"Anything important?"

"Not really. Mostly gaming. Laundry."

She tilted her head slightly. "That sounds like stuff that'll be there when you get back to it."

I wasn't sure what to say. I just nodded, stupidly.

"I could use a little help," she said, adjusting her grip on the cloth bag slung over her shoulder. "Just a few things around the house. Groceries, mostly. And it'd be nice to have someone to talk to for a bit."

My stomach flipped. She wasn't being weird about it. Just direct. And something about the way she said it... like it was natural. Like she was used to getting what she wanted.

"Oh," I said, shifting the basket in my hands. "Yeah. Sure. I can help."

Her smile turned just a little bit deeper.

"Good boy."

That hit somewhere low in my gut and I tried not to react. I nodded, suddenly hyper-aware of the sweat under my collar.

"I'll wait outside," she said, already turning for the exit. "Don't take too long."

I watched her go. Her hips moved like they weren't in a hurry but knew exactly where they were going. Her shirt clung loosely, the hem riding up just a little as she pushed the door open and walked into the sunlight. I paid as fast as I could. I almost dropped my card. The bag crinkled in my hands as I shoved the chips inside.

By the time I stepped outside, she was already in the driver's seat of her car, one hand on the wheel, sunglasses on, door unlocked. I opened the passenger side and slid in. She turned her head, smile still there, like I hadn't kept her waiting at all.

"Ready?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

She started the car. "I like when people listen the first time I ask."

I didn't say anything.

I was pretty sure my face was still red.

The AC in her car was just high enough to cut the warmth, but not cold. Her music was playing low. It was some soft synthy track that felt half like a dream and half like something you'd hear in the background of a memory you weren't sure was real. I buckled in and tried to keep my eyes forward.

Val drove with one hand on the wheel, sunglasses still on. Her nails tapped softly against the leather as we pulled out of the grocery store lot and merged onto the road.

"So," she said after a moment, voice smooth, "how'd your week go? Survive?"

I shrugged. "Barely. School was kind of a drag. Couple tests. Nothing major."

She made a quiet hum, the kind that felt like it meant more than it sounded.

"Life really doesn't get more interesting when you're older," she said, eyes still on the road. "You just get better at pretending it's not boring."

"I don't know," I said, smiling a little. "I think you make it look easy."

That earned me a glance. A short one, but enough that I caught her lips twitch into a grin.

"Careful, Jake," she said, "you keep talking like that and I might think you're flirting with me."

"I wasn't-" I cut myself off and rubbed the back of my neck. "I mean, I wasn't trying to. Just... you seem like you've got your life figured out."

"I don't," she said, matter-of-fact. "I just don't care as much about looking like I do."

The silence after that wasn't awkward. Just... full.

We passed a row of quiet houses and turned onto a street with more trees, the light breaking through the leaves in sharp angles.

"What did you need help with?" I asked, mostly just to say something.

Val adjusted her grip on the wheel.

"Ah. Right," she said. "Well, I've got a couple heavy things in the garage I've been meaning to move around. A shelf I want shifted. Some boxes. Nothing crazy."

"That's easy."

"I know," she said, glancing at me. "That's why I asked you."

She turned the music down a little with a twist of her fingers.

"Also," she added, "I bought this new hose and I have no idea how to connect the damn thing. Thought maybe you could save me the frustration."

"I can handle that too," I said, trying not to sound too eager. "My dad used to make me fix stuff like that all the time."

"Well, good," she said, eyes flicking back to the road. "I like boys who know how to use their hands."

I stared at the dashboard. Her voice was completely casual. She didn't even smile after she said it. Like it meant nothing. Like I was the only one making it weird.

I cleared my throat. "Shouldn't be a problem."

We turned down her street. The tires rolled quiet over the blacktop. Her driveway came into view, lined by trimmed hedges and the tall trees that kept her house shadowed even in daylight. The garage door was closed.

She pulled into the drive and shifted into park.

"Alright," she said, shutting off the engine. "Let's see if that back holds up as well as that mouth."

I laughed a little. Nervously.

She opened her door and stepped out. I followed, my heart already kicking up, even though nothing had happened.

Not yet.

We stepped inside slowly, her keys jingling in her hand as she pushed the door open with her hip. The house felt cooler than outside, the kind of clean quiet that sinks into your clothes. Val moved ahead of me into the kitchen and set her bag down on the island counter, the soft rustle of fabric mixing with the distant hum of the fridge. She started unpacking with a kind of relaxed rhythm. One item after the next. A bottle of wine, a head of lettuce, a carton of eggs, and something that looked like homemade pasta sealed in brown paper. It was weirdly calming to watch her. She never looked rushed. Like every motion had its own pace and nothing in the world could make her hurry.

I hovered at first, unsure if I should help, but she didn't ask and I didn't want to get in the way. Her back was to me and her hips swayed a little with each step to the fridge and back. Her hair had fallen out of its twist, strands brushing along her jaw. The tattoos on her arm caught the light through the window blinds, shadowing thin lines over her skin.

Once the last item was tucked away, she turned to me and gave a small nod toward the hallway.

"Come on. I'll show you what I need help with."

I followed her through the hallway to the door that led into the garage. It was a little cooler in there, the floor smooth concrete under my shoes. Light filtered in from a small high window, casting thin lines across stacks of boxes, some tools, a workbench, and a few big plastic storage bins.

She pointed to two of them along the wall.

"Those need to go up there," she said, motioning toward a high metal shelf in the back corner.

"No problem."

I bent down and hoisted the first one. It was heavier than I expected but not unmanageable. As I moved it across the room, I could feel her eyes on me. Not in a weird way. Just... watching. Like she was reading how I handled it. I stacked the first, grabbed the second, and reached for the ladder leaning against the wall.

When I wobbled a little, she stepped in close and steadied the side with both hands. Her fingers brushed mine, light and warm. She looked up at me and smiled.

"You're not gonna fall on me, are you?"

"Not planning to."

"Good. I'd hate to explain that to your mom."

We moved a few more things. A folded folding table, a small set of drawers filled with tools. She helped when I needed her to, always close by but never hovering. She handed me cords to wrap, moved a box I could not quite reach, and kept the mood light with small comments that made me laugh without trying.

Once we finished, she stretched a little and wiped her hands on her hips.

"Alright. You still good?"

"Still standing," I said, half-smiling.

She walked ahead of me back into the house and then out to the patio. The new hose was still sitting unopened by the faucet, half in shadow. She stepped over it and gave a small shake of her head.

"Been meaning to do this for over a week," she said. "I just never made the time."

I crouched and opened the box. The plastic was stiff but fresh. I turned the metal head in my palm and looked at the connector.

"This won't take long."

"Of course not," she said, watching me with a soft smile. "You're capable."

I twisted the hose into the spigot and tightened it, checked the pressure, gave it a slow test. No leaks. Clean seal. Water flowed on the first try. I flicked it off and wiped my palms against my jeans.

"Done."

She looked genuinely pleased, almost proud.

"Jake," she said, folding her arms, "you're kind of amazing, you know that?"

"I just hooked up a hose."

"Maybe. But you did it without asking questions or screwing it up."

I gave a small laugh and looked away, feeling heat rise in my face.

"Come on," she said. "You've earned a break. Let me make you a coffee."

Back inside, I sat at one of the tall stools around the kitchen island while she pulled two mugs down from the cupboard. Her movements were slower now, like she had nowhere to be and liked it that way. She filled the kettle with water, dropped in the pods, and stood across from me as it heated.

"You usually take your coffee black?" she asked.

"Cream. No sugar."

"Got it" she said, pouring mine first and sliding it across the counter.

We sipped in silence for a moment. The air between us felt warmer. Quieter. She broke it softly.

"So. How's your heart?"

I blinked. "My heart?"

She tilted her head. "Your ex. Nate mentioned she broke up with you not long ago."

"Oh," I said, and tried not to sound caught off guard. "Yeah. That."

She did not press. She just let the silence stretch until I filled it.

"It was a couple weeks ago. I guess we weren't really working out."

Val nodded slowly. "Do you miss her?"

I stared into the coffee. "Not... exactly. I think I miss the idea of her more than her, if that makes sense."

"It does," she said. "You miss the feeling. Not the person."

"Yeah," I said. "Exactly."

There was something about the way she looked at me then. Her eyes softened, not in pity, but in understanding. Like she had been there too. Like she had felt it before, and knew exactly what part of me still felt stupid for not seeing it coming. She reached for her mug again and took a slow sip.

"You're a good guy," she said. "Any girl who walks away from that? Not your loss."

I smiled faintly. "Thanks."

A quiet beat passed. Then she set her mug down and looked at me more directly.

"You in a rush to get home?"

I blinked. I hesitated.

"I mean... I kinda had stuff I was gonna do. Remember? I told you earlier."

She was already looking at me like none of it mattered.

"That stuff will still be there later," she said. Her tone was calm. Matter-of-fact. Not pushy, just... absolute.

I scratched the back of my neck. "I guess."

She tilted her head slightly, her smile edging deeper.

"I'll make you dinner," she said. "Something real. Judging by the stuff you usually eat, you haven't even had a proper meal today."

I started to reply, but she was already moving around the kitchen, rinsing her mug and setting it in the sink like the conversation was already settled.

"And before that," she added, turning back toward me, "I want to catch some sun while there's still time."

She paused for just a second.

"You should join me."

There was nothing loaded in the way she said it. At least, not on the surface. But the suggestion hung there between us. Light. Casual. Too easy to say yes to.

I looked at her, standing barefoot now on the tile, sunlight slipping across her collarbones through the blinds. She didn't seem like she was waiting for a yes. She already knew it was coming.

"Yeah," I said. "Alright. I'll hang around."

Her smile curved slow.

"Good. Grab a towel from the hallway closet. I'll meet you out back."

She turned and walked away like the afternoon was hers to shape, and I was just lucky to be in it.

I came back with the towel folded over my arm and found her waiting by the sliding glass door, holding out something dark in one hand. It was a pair of swim shorts. Nate's, probably.

She gave me a small smile when I looked at them.

"Unless you want to roast in your jeans, you should change."

I took them from her and nodded, trying not to think too much about it. "Thanks."

She pointed me to the downstairs bathroom and I slipped inside, changed quickly, and folded my own clothes in a pile. The shorts were a little loose on the waist but snug around my thighs. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realized how flushed I already looked.

I stepped out into the sun, towel draped over my shoulder, feeling the heat rise off the patio. Val was already stretched out on one of the lounge chairs, sunglasses on, arms at her sides. She looked like she belonged there, like the sun itself had been waiting for her to come outside. Her skin practically glowed.

She was in a dark green bikini, something simple, something that let the rest of her do all the talking. Her body was relaxed, her long black hair pulled over one shoulder, tattoos on her arm catching the light with every slight movement. The curve of her hip led into thick, soft thighs that pressed into the cushions like they were sculpted to hold her shape.

She didn't move when she spoke.

"Grab the sunscreen on the table," she said. "Be a sweetheart and help me out."

I picked it up. The bottle felt slick in my hand already, still warm from sitting in the sun.

She turned her head slightly and looked at me over her sunglasses.

"Start with my back. All of it."

I swallowed and stepped closer. She stayed lying down, arms folded under her chin, head tilted toward me. I knelt beside her, poured a line of lotion into my palm, and rubbed my hands together.

Her skin was warm already. The lotion cooler than I expected. She made a soft sound when I touched her upper back, more like an exhale than a word. I worked slow. Shoulders first. Then the long line of her spine. Her skin was smooth and tanned, and my hands looked awkward and pale next to hers. Every time I spread the lotion, she shifted slightly beneath me, hips rolling, thighs adjusting.

She let me do all of her back. Then her sides.

"Don't forget the legs," she murmured.

I moved lower. Kneeling beside the chair, I started at her calves and worked my way up. Her thighs were thick and soft under my hands, the kind of soft that made you forget how to breathe. She parted them slightly, just enough to make it harder to concentrate.

"And my ass," she said, like it was nothing.

I hesitated.

"Come on," she said softly, not even opening her eyes. "You've already got the lotion. Might as well finish the job."

I swallowed and let my hands slide up over the curve of her hips. Her bikini bottom was tight, black strings tied neatly on the sides, and the shape of her was unreal. Round. Full. My palms moved carefully. Slowly. Her body didn't tense. She didn't stop me. She just let me touch her.

When I finished, she shifted slightly.

"Do my front too."

My hands froze. "What?"

She rolled slowly onto her back without opening her eyes.

"I want it even. You already touched half of me. Might as well be thorough."

I stood still for a second, lotion bottle in hand.

She was lying there in full sunlight, hair fanned out beneath her, her chest rising and falling in slow, deep breaths. The bikini top barely covered anything. Her tits looked full and heavy, the slope of them unreal against the flat plane of her stomach. Her waist curved down into her hips and thighs like the shape of a dream.

I knelt again. Poured more lotion.

Started at her stomach. She didn't move.

My hands glided over her skin, slow and careful. I rubbed along the sides of her waist, up toward the edge of the bikini top. I worked in small circles, trying not to breathe too loud, trying not to shake. She exhaled softly when I touched just under the swell of her tits, letting me graze the skin close enough to feel heat radiate through the fabric.

Then I moved down.

Her thighs again. Her inner thighs. She let her legs fall open just slightly. My fingertips slid over the tops of them, then down to her knees.

When I looked at her face, her eyes were still closed, but her lips were parted just enough to make my chest ache.

I finished, pulled back, and wiped my hands on the towel.

She didn't say anything for a moment. Just rested there. Then she opened one eye and looked at me.

"You missed something."

I blinked. Confused.

She reached up, tapped one finger lightly between the tops of her huge tits. "The most important part."

I stared, throat dry.

"Kind of the whole reason for sunscreen."

She didn't move. Didn't lift her arms or adjust her top. Just stayed there, all soft skin and bare belly, chest rising slow. Waiting.

I reached for the lotion again, hands trembling now. Poured a small pool into my palm. Warmed it between my fingers.

Then, carefully, I pressed both hands to the top of her chest. Her skin was hot under my palms. I rubbed gently, watching her face the whole time. She didn't look at me, but her lips parted more, a little pink tongue darting out to wet the bottom one.

I moved slowly, spreading the lotion across her collarbones, then lower, tracing the curve of each breast where the bikini left her exposed. She arched, just slightly, not enough to be obvious, but enough for my thumbs to slip a little farther in.

The slick edge of her top stuck under my fingers. I didn't pull it. Didn't push it. Just rubbed around it, dipping lower each time, until the soft fabric was damp and clinging to the underside of her tits.

She inhaled, long, deep breath.

My hands stayed on her chest, moving slow, memorizing every curve. Every warm, perfect slope.

Then I pulled back, barely breathing, heart trying to break through my ribs.

She opened both eyes now. Looked at me.

"Better," she murmured.

When I was done, I sat back on my heels, face burning.

She smiled at me, quiet and slow.

"Good boy."

I didn't know what to say.

"Your turn," she said.

"You sure? I can do it on my own." I said with a slight nervous voice.

"Lay down."

I obeyed, climbing into the other lounge chair and facing away from her. I felt her kneel beside me, the bottle opening with a soft click. A moment later, her hands were on my shoulders. Her touch was strong, slow, not rushed. She rubbed it down my back, across my sides. Lower. Her fingers dug into the muscles near my spine in a way that made me shiver.

"Relax," she said quietly.

I tried.

"Turn over."

I did.

She poured more lotion into her palms and started on my chest. My stomach. My arms. Her hands moved confidently, like this was something she had done a hundred times. I closed my eyes, tried to focus on the sun.

Then I felt her fingers at the waistband of the shorts. She tugged them down slightly, just enough to expose the skin at the base of my cock.

Her hand brushed across it once.

Accidental. Intentional. I could not tell.

Neither of us said anything.

My dick was hard. Throbbing under the fabric.

She ignored it.

So did I.

Her hands moved down my thighs, slow and steady, then back up again. She finished at my hips, smoothed everything over with one last glide of her palm, and then stood.

I heard her settle onto her own chair again. We lay there in silence. The sun pressed into my skin like a blanket. I stared at the sky, my heart still beating too fast.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her roll over onto her stomach again. Her bikini bottom stretched tight across her ass. Thick thighs shifting slightly. Wide hips softening into the lounge cushion.

I bit the inside of my cheek.

She looked perfect.

Too perfect.

The silence lingered. Not awkward. Just... thick.

Every now and then, we made small talk. Quiet things. Music. School. Nothing important.

But under every word, I felt the weight of her touch still burning on my skin. After a while she let out a soft sigh and stretched, her fingers curling in the warm air. She sat up and glanced over at me through her sunglasses.

"Had enough sun?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. Think I'm cooked."

She smiled and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. "Come on. Let's clean up."

We stepped back inside, and the cool air hit my skin immediately. My shirt and shorts stuck to me in places I hadn't realized were sweating. She looked over at me casually.

"I'll take the upstairs," she said. "Your stuff's down here, right?"

"Yeah. I'll use the one downstairs."

"Perfect."

She padded off toward the stairs, and I made my way to the downstairs bathroom. I peeled off the swim shorts and stepped into the shower. The water was instantly refreshing, cutting through the heat that still clung to my back and chest. I took my time, letting the pressure loosen everything in me that had tensed up without notice.

By the time I stepped out and toweled off, I already felt more relaxed. I slipped back into my clothes, ran my fingers through my damp hair, and headed to the living room.

I flopped down onto the couch and pulled my phone from my bag. Notifications blinked on the screen, but I ignored most of them. I was halfway through a message to Nate when I heard her footsteps descending the stairs.

I looked up.

Her hair was still wet, hanging in long dark strands over her shoulders, leaving little droplets sliding down her collarbones. She hadn't dried it at all. There was something natural about the way it clung to her, the way it framed her face without effort. I stared before I even realized I was doing it.

"That looks good," I said, nodding at her hair.

She tilted her head, smiling faintly. "It's fine. I don't bother with it on days like this."

She wore a plain white t-shirt, loose enough to drape over her figure but short enough to end just below her chest. It shifted when she walked, rising a little higher with each step. Her underboobs peeked out whenever she reached or leaned forward, the edge of her skin barely hidden. Paired with tight white shorts that clung to her hips, the whole look felt like something unplanned and unfair.

She stepped closer and stood in front of the couch.

"So," she said, looking at me with that same relaxed half-smile, "what do you feel like eating?"

I shrugged. "Honestly? I have no idea."

"Well," she said, tapping a finger against her lips for a second, "how about baked lemon herb chicken with some garlic roasted potatoes and a simple salad? Light but filling."

"That sounds perfect."

"Good. And I would love for you to help me."

I followed her into the kitchen. She handed me a cutting board and a knife, pointing me toward the potatoes while she started on the marinade. We made small talk while we worked, the conversation flowing easily. She asked about my classes, told me a little about her own week, slipped in a story about a neighbor who tried to mow his lawn drunk and crashed into his own fence.

Every now and then she'd reach past me or brush a hand against my back while moving through the narrow kitchen space. Each touch felt light but deliberate.

"You're a decent chef," she said at one point, handing me a bowl of tossed salad.

"I do what I can."

The food didn't take long. Maybe an hour from start to finish. The smell filled the house. Lemon and herbs mixing with roasted garlic, the kind of scent that made everything feel warmer and more inviting.

Once it was plated, we took our meals back to the living room and she picked a movie from her watchlist. Something old and slow with a quiet jazz soundtrack. We settled in on the couch, the plates balanced on our knees, the lights dimmed except for the soft glow from the TV.

It felt weirdly comfortable. Her knee bumped against mine every now and then. Neither of us moved away.

When we finished eating, I started to take my plate to the kitchen, but she stopped me with a soft pat to my leg.

"I got it," she said. "Relax."

She disappeared for a few minutes and I heard the clink of dishes in the sink, water running, cupboard doors opening and closing. Then she returned, wiping her hands on a towel before tossing it aside.

This time, she sat closer.

She pulled the blanket from the arm of the couch and unfolded it casually over our legs, then leaned back beside me. Her thigh pressed against mine. Her bare arm brushed my forearm lightly as she shifted.

Neither of us said anything.

We just watched the movie.

Every now and then, she would glance at the screen, then at me, then back again.

I could feel my heartbeat pick up.

And still, she didn't say a word. She just sat there, close and quiet, like nothing in the world needed to be explained.

The movie was almost over, the credits already starting to crawl across the screen. The lights were dim, the sound low, the whole room washed in a quiet sort of warmth that made it hard to keep my eyes open. I had not checked my phone in what felt like hours. For a second I forgot I even had one.

I blinked. Blinked again.

The blanket felt heavier now, like it had molded to me. Val was right beside me, silent, still. The scent of her lotion lingered in the air between us. My eyelids started slipping closed again and this time, I did not stop it.

Then my head tilted. My body gave up. And I felt myself land against her shoulder. That snapped me right back awake. I shot up straight, eyes wide.

"Oh shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

She laughed softly. Not mocking. Not surprised. Just calm and smooth like water in the dark.

"It's okay," she said, turning her head slightly toward me. "You're tired. So am I."

I rubbed my eyes, a little embarrassed.

"I should probably get home," I said. "It's late."

"No," she said immediately, cutting me off so fast it startled me. "You're not walking home this late. And I'm not driving anywhere either. I'm exhausted."

I blinked at her.

"You're staying here tonight," she said again, more gently this time. "End of discussion."

I opened my mouth to argue, but her tone made it clear it would go nowhere.

"Alright," I said finally. "Just for the night."

Her expression relaxed. She stood and stretched, arms above her head, the hem of her small white shirt lifting again, exposing smooth skin and the faint curve beneath her ribs. Her breasts shifted with the motion, the fabric tugging tight for one perfect second before falling again.

She looked down at me, her hair still damp, sticking a little to her neck.

"Come on," she said.

I followed her upstairs.

She walked slowly, like she was already half-asleep. But there was something in the sway of her hips, in the way her hand trailed lightly against the banister, that made the air feel warmer.

We reached the top of the stairs. I expected her to stop at the guest room. But she didn't. She walked straight to her own bedroom and pushed the door open.

My heart picked up.

She stepped inside and looked over her shoulder.

"Well?" she said. "You coming?"

I hesitated only a second before stepping in behind her.

The room smelled like her. Soft, warm, faintly floral. There was a dim lamp glowing on the nightstand, casting everything in amber. Her bed was wide, sheets pulled back slightly on one side.

She did not offer me a spare blanket. Did not mention the couch. Did not say anything at all that made this seem optional.

I stood still, unsure.

She turned toward me and took a few steps closer. Her expression had softened, but her eyes still had that unreadable pull behind them.

"You're tired," she said again, more quietly now. "Just get in. No big deal."

I nodded, my voice gone.

I climbed into the bed slowly. The sheets were cool. Soft. I laid on my side, eyes fixed on the far wall, unsure where to look, how to act.

Then the mattress shifted behind me. She slid in under the sheets. Close. Not touching me, but close enough to feel it.

The light clicked off. Darkness wrapped around us.

Then I felt her hand on the back of my head, gentle, smoothing my hair back once.

She leaned in.

Her lips pressed to the top of my head, warm and slow.

"Goodnight," she whispered, her breath brushing close to my ear.

I lay there frozen, breathing shallow, every nerve lit up like wire beneath my skin. I whispered goodnight back, barely audible. And neither of us moved as we began drifting off to sleep.

During the night, I was having this weird dream about something that gave me a lot of pleasure. Especially near my cock. It felt good. Hot. Tingly. Like warm hands or a wet mouth wrapped tight around me. I didn't want to wake up. I wanted to stay in it, to let the pressure build, to let that dream suck every last drop out of me.

But then I woke up.

I was flat on my back, blinking at the dark ceiling, heart pounding. My cock was rock hard, straining under the sheet, throbbing against the fabric like it was trying to break free. I turned my head.

Val.

She was right there, curled on her side, facing me. Her body was pressed into mine, bare legs tangled with mine. Her soft skin brushed my thigh, her warmth soaked into me like a drug. One hand lay on my stomach. Light. Warm. Way too close. Her fingers were barely two inches from the base of my cock.

I froze.

I tried shifting away, pulling slightly toward the edge of the bed, but the second I moved, she stirred and mumbled something sleepily.

"I'm cold..."

Then she scooted even closer and pulled me toward her like it was nothing. My chest pressed against hers, her arms wrapped around my back, and she buried my face right into her tits. Big, soft, warm tits that completely swallowed me.

"You can touch me," she whispered, sleepy, quiet, and way too casual.

My arms slowly, nervously went around her. I was shaking. But my cock was harder than ever now, thick and burning and grinding right against her thigh. I tried to shift it away, tried to breathe, tried anything to calm it down, but it was useless.

Her scent was all around me. Her tits were pressed against my face. Her thighs were wrapped around one of my legs, and mine were tangled up in hers. My cock was sandwiched between me and her soft skin and the thing separating us was the thin fabric of my boxers, and every time I breathed it pulsed.

So I just laid there and pretended to be asleep. Still. Quiet. Hoping the heat would die down.

But then her voice broke the silence.

"Can't sleep?"

I hesitated, then nodded slightly. "No. I can't."

"I know why," she said softly, and then, almost purring, "You poor thing..."

Her hand slid down, fingers brushing past the waistband of my boxers. Then she trailed them along the thick length of my cock. I jolted. She just smiled.

"I can fix it for you."

Before I could say a word, she disappeared under the blanket. Her hands tugged my boxers down, freeing my cock. It stood up straight, throbbing, already wet at the tip. And then I felt it. Hot breath, soft lips, and then the wet heat of her mouth as she wrapped those lips around me.

My whole body tensed.

She moaned the moment she took the head between her lips. Not a fake moan. A deep, hungry sound that vibrated around my cock. She started slow, tongue swirling, licking up the pre-cum, making it extra wet. Then she sucked, deeper. Her spit mixed with my precum and made it messy, slick. Every slurp echoed under the blanket, filthy and perfect.

"Mmmmmh" *POP* could be heard from under the blanket as she squeezed her lips tight just below the head of my now throbing cock.

She then pulled off just long enough to stroke me with both hands, twisting, milking me, then dove back down. Took more. Then more. Her throat opened just enough for the head to push in. She gagged softly, but didn't stop. She moaned louder. She was loving it. She was sucking me like she was starving.

"My.. God." She said while my cock was partially in her mouth. "It's soooo.. big..", then she immediately went back to sucking me off super hard.

Slurping. Gagging. Her cheeks hollowed, eyes closed under the blanket, hands gripping my thighs to keep me still. Her tits bounced against the mattress as she bobbed her head up and down, faster now. She didn't just want to help me. She wanted to devour me.

My hips jerked. I couldn't stop it. My balls were tight. My thighs tensed. I groaned, loud, deep, helpless.

"Val... I'm gonna..."

She didn't stop and I only heard, "gimme all of it..." while she was sucking me off.

"MMMMMMHM", She moaned louder, shoved me deeper, and my cock exploded.

The biggest load of my fucking life. It hit the back of her throat, and she swallowed, moaning, hands still working me as rope after rope poured into her mouth. She didn't pull off. Didn't slow down. Just kept sucking, slurping every last drop out of me. She practically sucked cum straight out of my cock. Even when I was twitching, shaking, oversensitive, she kept licking, cleaning me up with that wicked tongue.

Then she slowly crawled back out from under the blanket. Her lips were wet, glistening. Her cheeks flushed. She didn't say a word. Just slid her arms around me again, pulled me into that familiar spot, my head between her tits.

Her nipples were hard as diamonds.

She kissed my hair and whispered, "Goodnight."

And we fell asleep.

*********************************************************

I woke up to the smell of bacon.

Thick, smoky, rich. Cut with something sweet, like maple syrup. It drifted in slow, curling through the air like a thread pulling me up from the dark. My eyes opened in slivers. Warm morning light filtered through the blinds, casting soft gold stripes across the sheets.

For a moment, I didn't know where I was.

The bed wasn't mine. The ceiling unfamiliar. The sheets beneath me felt too soft, too expensive. Still warm from the night. Then it hit me. The memory. My chest tightened.

Val's bed.

Valerie Chérie.

And right after that, the rest came crashing back. Her voice whispering in the dark. Her hands all over me. Her mouth wrapped around my cock. Her arms holding me after, like she didn't want to let go. Like I was something she owned.

I sat up slow. My pulse thudded in my ears. Skin flushed, oversensitive. The boxers I'd slept in were still on, but pulled down low. Just enough for my cock to be out. Fully exposed. Rock hard.

I froze.

It stood straight up in the morning light, thick and aching, twitching with each heartbeat. Like someone had been playing with it. Like someone had touched me, teased me, left me like that on purpose.

Had she?

I didn't remember waking up. Didn't remember anything after her arms wrapped around me in the dark. But now I was sitting in her bed, my cock out, hard as hell, with no explanation.

I reached down and slid the waistband up just enough to cover it. The cotton dragged across the head and I flinched. Still so sensitive. Still wet at the tip. It didn't feel like I'd been untouched.

I grabbed my jeans from the floor and shoved my legs through them. Pulled them up rough over the boxers. No time to adjust. The denim scraped over the head of my cock and made it worse.

The smell hit stronger now.

Bacon. Pancakes. Coffee.

My stomach growled.

Then I heard her voice drifting up from downstairs. Light, bright, sing-song, like nothing in the world was out of place.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

I followed it down the hall, moving slow.

She was in the kitchen, barefoot, standing in front of the stove flipping pancakes like this was her Sunday routine. Her hair was tied up in a lazy bun, loose strands falling around her neck. She wore a white cotton crop top and gray boyshorts that hugged every curve of her ass. The shirt was soft and loose, hanging off one shoulder. One side was hiked up slightly, revealing a bare hip and the edge of her ribs. Her skin glowed in the morning light. She didn't look like she was trying. She just looked like that.

My mouth went dry.

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled.

"Hope you're hungry," she said. "I made pancakes."

I stared for a beat too long before managing to find my voice.

"Yeah. Smells amazing."

She turned toward me and I saw everything. No bra. Her breasts shifted naturally beneath the thin fabric. Her nipples pressed against the cotton, barely hidden. I dropped my eyes to the floor and tried not to let my thoughts run.

"Sit down," she said softly. "I even made the bacon extra crispy. Just how you like it."

"You... remembered that?"

She walked over with a mug of coffee and set it in front of me. Even that was too much. The way her hips moved. The swing of her thighs. She leaned forward on her elbows, just a little, and her tits pushed together behind the fabric like they were trying to get my attention.

"You don't think I listen, Jake?" she asked, eyes gleaming. "You've been here more than Nate lately."

I cleared my throat and sat at the kitchen island, hands in my lap. The stool was cold. I shifted slightly, adjusting the pressure against my still-aching cock. She set the plate down next. Pancakes stacked high, crisp bacon curling at the edges, a pile of fresh fruit on the side like she actually cared about the presentation.

I didn't move.

"Tired?" she asked, sipping from her mug as she looked at me over the rim.

"A little."

Her smile turned playful.

"You were tossing and turning last night."

I froze.

She tilted her head, voice light. "Bad dream?"

I hesitated, swallowed. Then finally said her name.

"Val..."

"Hmm?"

"About last night. Did we... did something happen?"

She blinked and set her mug down carefully. "Something like what?"

"I don't know. It felt like..." I trailed off, heart thudding harder. "Never mind."

"No," she said. "Go on."

I looked at her again. At her legs. Her bare skin. The way her nipples still pressed through the cotton. Her hair falling over her shoulder. The way the light made her glow. I couldn't stop myself.

"It just felt real," I said. "I thought I woke up and..." I didn't finish the sentence. Couldn't.

She laughed softly. Not mocking. It was warm, and something about it made my stomach twist.

"You poor thing," she murmured. "You must've had a vivid dream."

"I don't think it was a dream."

She circled the counter and came up behind me, her fingers grazing my shoulder.

"You crashed hard, Jake," she said. "Didn't move all night. You were even snoring."

"I don't snore."

She giggled.

"You do. A little."

Her fingers traced down my arm to my wrist. Just a light touch. Nothing urgent. Nothing obvious.

"Maybe your breakup's still messing with your head," she said. "Your body holds on to things. Tension, want. It doesn't just disappear overnight. Sometimes it creeps into dreams. Sometimes it takes over."

She leaned in and kissed my temple. Her chest pressed into my arm. Warm. Real. Her scent wrapped around me like it had last night. Coconut and skin and something else.

"Just don't blame me for your imagination," she whispered.

I swallowed hard, chest tight.

She pulled away and smiled.

"Eat," she said. "Before it gets cold."

I picked up the fork but didn't touch the food. I was still thinking about how I'd woken up. Still thinking about my cock out, hard and glistening, like someone had already touched it. Tasted it. Played with it. And then left me like that. And now she was standing across from me in a crop top and panties, smiling like nothing had happened.

Maybe it really was just a dream.

But maybe not.

The rest of the morning passed like a haze I couldn't shake.

She moved through the kitchen like she owned more than just the room. Every step was slow, fluid, unhurried. She wasn't cooking anymore, just cleaning up, rinsing plates, wiping the counters, but it felt like she was still performing. Still feeding me.

Her shorts rode higher every time she reached for something. Soft cotton clinging to the curve of her ass like it belonged there. Her crop top swayed loose over her stomach, riding up in the back when she leaned over the sink. No bra. Her breasts shifted beneath the thin fabric, full and weighty, nipples slightly outlined when the sunlight angled just right through the blinds.

And she acted like none of it mattered. Like the way she brushed past me was purely by accident. Like her hips didn't graze my thigh on purpose when she stepped behind me for the sugar. Like her breath wasn't warm against my neck when she leaned in to grab a mug from the shelf over my shoulder.

Every time I caught a glimpse, every time my cock twitched or I had to shift in my seat to hide how hard I was getting, she said nothing. Just smiled faintly, moved along, pretended I was the only one noticing. Pretended I was imagining all of it. I stayed for a second cup of coffee just to have something in my hands. I didn't trust them.

She moved with purpose, even when doing nothing. She wiped the table slowly, flicked crumbs from the edge with her fingertip. Bent over to check the dishwasher without warning, her thighs flexing right in front of me. I looked away. Looked back.

Couldn't help it.

My jeans were tight. My thoughts tighter. I had no idea what I was doing anymore. Or what she was doing to me.

Around noon, she stood in front of the fridge with the door open, one hand on her hip, the other running through her hair.

"I've got a few errands to run," she said casually, closing the door and turning toward me. "Grocery stuff. Maybe a stop at the salon."

I nodded, unsure whether I was relieved or disappointed.

Her eyes lingered on mine. Just a little too long.

"But you can stay, if you want," she added. "House is yours."

Her voice dropped on that last part. Just slightly. Enough to make my skin prickle.

"Swim if you feel like it. There's clean towels out back. Or you could watch something. Nap. It will only be an hour."

She stepped closer. I could smell her again. Soft vanilla and heat.

"Unless I get distracted..." She winked.

Then, with no rush at all, she turned and walked toward the stairs.

"I should probably put something on," she said over her shoulder. "Can't exactly run errands like this."

Her hips moved with slow intention, each step deliberate. I watched the bounce of her ass in those boyshorts, the soft swing of her top, her bare legs catching the morning light.

She disappeared upstairs without another word.

I sat there, coffee cold in front of me, heart pounding. I didn't even know what to do with that.

She came back an hour and a half later, stepping in through the sliding glass door with sunlight framing her body like a halo. She wore a short white sundress, loose and breezy, the kind of thing that floated when she moved and clung when it settled. Her nipples were faint outlines beneath the thin fabric, gently brushing the inside of the cotton with every step. Her hips swayed underneath the dress, smooth curves shifting just enough to show the shape of her thighs through the fabric. I caught myself staring before I even meant to.

I was out by the pool, pretending to read one of Nate's old books I found in his room. Something sci-fi and dense enough to keep in my hands without having to think.

Val kicked off her sandals at the edge of the concrete, letting them drop with a soft clatter. Then she stepped toward me, barefoot, toes painted white.

"You're so pale," she said, her voice light and amused.

Before I could even respond, she reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it up and over her head in one slow, smooth motion.

My heart stopped.

She wore a black thong bikini. Tiny. Barely-there strings. Her boobs looked full and heavy, the top straining to contain them. Her nipples pushed clearly through the thin fabric, round and dark. Her tattoos curled around her hips and stretched up over her ribs and shoulders, alive in the sunlight.

She glowed.

She laid down beside me on a lounge chair, her skin already catching the heat.

"I didn't bring sunscreen this time," she said, biting her bottom lip, her gaze turned toward the pool. "Guess I'll have to risk it."

I didn't say anything. My mouth was too dry. My pulse too loud.

She adjusted on the chair, turning slowly onto her stomach. The black thong disappeared between the perfect round curve of her ass. Her back arched just enough.

Then she reached behind her head, gathering her hair and tying it up into a loose knot. The motion pulled her arms back, lifting her chest slightly off the chair, making everything more visible. More impossible.

Her body glistened faintly with the beginning of sweat. She rested her head on her forearms and let out a slow breath.

The book trembled in my hand.

She let a long silence pass before speaking again, her voice softer this time.

"You're quiet today."

I swallowed. "Just thinking."

"About your dream?"

She didn't look at me when she said it. Her tone was light, but it landed like a hook in my chest.

"No," I said. A lie.

She smiled, eyes still closed, her lips curving in a way that told me she knew it. Her legs shifted slightly. The backs of her thighs rubbed together. Her hips moved just a little, slow and aimless. Then she reached lazily beneath her body and scratched lightly at her stomach, dragging her fingers lower, just brushing the tie of her bikini bottom.

I stared too long.

She didn't move again. Didn't say anything else.

She didn't have to, but deep down she knew I was staring.

Later that night, I stayed again. I didn't plan to. Maybe I told myself it was easier. Maybe I thought she'd slip. Maybe I wanted her to. Maybe I wanted to feel her touch again. To know it hadn't all been in my head.

She offered a movie. I said yes before she finished asking. This time, she sat closer. The lights were low, the room quiet except for the flicker of the screen and the occasional hum of the air conditioner. She pulled the blanket over both of us, her leg settling softly against mine underneath. Warm skin. Smooth. Bare. Her arm stretched out across the back of the couch, fingertips resting just behind my shoulder. Not touching. Not quite.

She laughed at something halfway through, not loud, but real. Then she leaned in, her lips brushing close to my ear.

"I forgot how funny this is," she whispered.

Her fingers slid across my thigh, so light I might've imagined it.

"I always enjoy watching things with someone like you."

"Like me?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

She hummed softly, a low, satisfied sound.

"So attentive. So respectful. You don't push. You just... watch."

My cock twitched under the blanket. Hard and aching. I shifted slightly, careful, hoping she wouldn't notice, but knowing she already had.

She didn't say anything else. Just rested her head on my shoulder. And stayed there. For thirty silent minutes.

No more words. No more touches. Just heat. Her breath against my neck. Her thigh against mine. Her body so close it felt like a test.

The credits rolled.

She sat up slowly and stretched, arms high above her head, fingers laced. Her shirt lifted with the motion, the soft fabric rising just enough to expose her waist, the curve of her stomach, the bottom slope of one perfect breast. She arched, twisted her torso a little, and let out a quiet sigh.

Then stood.

"Long day," she said, her voice calm, easy.

She turned toward the hall.

"I'm heading to bed."

I didn't answer right away. Just stared. Mouth slightly open.

"Sleep well, Jake."

She didn't look back as she slowly walked off up the stairs and then disappeared behind a corner.

I laid in the guest bed, staring at the ceiling, rock hard, unable to sleep. The sheets were cool but my skin burned. Every shift of fabric against my cock made me flinch. I couldn't stop thinking. About her. About her hand on me last night. Her lips. Her eyes. Her voice. The way she smiled when she knew exactly what she was doing.

Around 1 a. m., the door creaked open.

My heart jumped.

Val stood in the doorway wearing a silk robe, tied loose at the waist. It hung open enough to show the dip between her breasts, the curve of her thighs. She didn't say anything at first. She just stood there, silhouetted in the hallway light, watching me.

Then she stepped inside barefoot, each movement soundless and slow.

"Just checking on you," she whispered.

I pushed up slightly, my chest tight.

She walked to the side of the bed and sat down, the mattress dipping under her weight. Her fingers brushed through my hair, soft and easy, like this was normal. Like this had always been normal.

"You looked flushed," she said. Her voice was almost a purr. "Are you feverish?"

Her palm came to rest against my cheek. Warm. Gentle. Her face was so close I could feel the warmth of her breath on my lips. She smelled like vanilla and sleep and something sweeter I couldn't name.

"I'm fine," I whispered.

She smiled like she didn't believe me.

"I'm sure."

Her eyes dipped down to the blanket pulled over my lap. Her smile widened just slightly.

The bulge was impossible to hide. Large. Obvious. My cock throbbed beneath the sheets like it knew she was there.

"Another dream?" she asked softly.

"I... I don't know."

She laid her hand over the blanket. Direct. Slow. No pressure. Just the weight of her palm over the thick, pulsing shape beneath.

"You poor thing."

I froze. Couldn't move. Could barely breathe.

She leaned in and kissed my temple. Her lips were soft and lingering. Her robe shifted, fell slightly open at the chest, and I felt her bare breast brush my shoulder. Warm skin. The soft curve. Her nipple grazed me.

I thought I was going to lose it.

She stood again, slowly, the robe falling back into place like it had never moved at all. Then she turned toward the door, pausing with one hand on the frame.

"If it gets worse," she said softly without looking back, "my bed's warmer than this one."

She walked away without another word, her bare feet silent on the floor. The door closed behind her with a soft click that felt louder than it should.

I lay there trembling, cock straining under the blanket, body aching.

Was this real? Was any of it? Or was she going to keep doing this to me until I broke?

I stared into the dark, pulse pounding in my throat, unsure how much longer I could take it.

*********************************************************

Part. 2 - soon

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