daisynoa
Jules was fifteen when she gave up the baby she never wanted. She handed him over to her mother so she could live a normal life. Fifteen years later, after her mother's sudden death, she returns home to find that same boy now a brooding teenager.
She came back out of obligation, but the house felt foreign. He barely looked at her, barely spoke. So she tried to make him open up, cooking meals he never asked for, sitting across from him in silence. But the first time he really looked at her, something rotten uncoiled inside the room. His eyes were hers.
His body had hardened into something dark and unignorable. Sometimes she caught him watching her, his gaze crawling where it should not, and a filthy heat would creep up her neck.
She still spent her nights in clubs, bringing home strange men without a second thought. He watched through cracked doors and dark hallways as she stumbled in drunk, hands roaming her hips, mouths pressed against her throat.
He noticed the way she bit her lip when he flexed lifting groceries. How fast she turned away when he stepped out of the shower half-naked in a cloud of steam. One evening, as they sat side by side on the couch, their thighs pressed together under a quilt, she felt his cock twitch against her leg and gasped softly.
"Sorry," he muttered, but he didn't move away.
She should have shoved him off. But she couldn't break contact with this part of herself.
The tension built until one drunken night after a filthy argument. He pinned her against the kitchen tiles between midnight whiskey shots and growled, "I want you," against her throat before claiming every inch of forbidden flesh that belonged to neither of them, yet somehow to both completely.
That first time, she came apart against the refrigerator door, hating and needing in the same breath. After that, there was no bottom.
Their affair burned hotter than any sin could justify, even God had turned his back...