Elena's heart pounded harder than the rain had an hour ago. Ethan's come was still warm inside her, trickling down her thigh as she yanked his oversized T-shirt lower, smoothing it over her hips. No panties—ripped to shreds and forgotten on the floor.
"Closet. *Now*," she whispered, shoving him toward the walk-in.
He ducked inside, pulling the louvered doors almost shut, leaving a sliver for his hungry eyes. Elena grabbed a robe from the hook—silk, short, barely decent—and tied it loose. One deep breath. Then she padded downstairs, bare feet silent on the creaky oak steps.
Aunt Linda stood on the porch, shaking out her umbrella. Fifty-five, nosy as hell, with a voice that carried like a foghorn. "Elena! Thank God. The whole street's dark except your block. You two okay in there?"
"We're fine," Elena called, opening the door just wide enough. Cool night air rushed in, raising goosebumps on her flushed skin. "Power flickered back on a minute ago. Ethan's… upstairs sleeping."
Linda peered past her, sharp eyes scanning the dim foyer. "Smells like candles in there. Romantic." A teasing wink. "You sure you're alone?"
Elena forced a laugh. "Positive. Just me and a glass of wine." She could feel Ethan's seed sliding further down her leg. *Hurry up and leave.*
They chatted for five agonizing minutes—power lines, flooded basements, Linda's new boyfriend. Every second, Elena's core throbbed, aching to be filled again. Finally, Linda hugged her goodbye. "Call if you need anything. Even company." Another pointed look.
The door clicked shut. Deadbolt turned. Elena leaned against it, exhaling shakily.
Footsteps thundered down the stairs. Ethan appeared, jeans slung low, chest bare, cock already half-hard again. "That was torture," he growled, pinning her to the door with his body. His mouth claimed hers—rough, possessive. One hand shoved under the robe, fingers finding her dripping slit. "Still full of me."
She moaned into his kiss. "Shower. Now. I need you clean so I can make you dirty again."
He scooped her up—effortlessly, like she weighed nothing—and carried her upstairs. The master bathroom was huge, all marble and glass, with a rainfall shower big enough for four. Ethan set her down, turned the knobs. Hot water roared down, steam billowing instantly.
Elena dropped the robe. Naked, glistening with sweat and sex, she stepped under the spray. Water cascaded over her heavy breasts, down her soft belly, between her thighs. She tilted her head back, letting it soak her hair.
Ethan stripped off his jeans and joined her. Soap-slick skin slid against skin. He pressed her to the tiled wall, mouth on her neck, sucking marks she'd have to hide tomorrow. "You're so fucking beautiful, Mom."
The word sent a jolt straight to her clit. She wrapped her hand around his cock—thick, veined, throbbing. "Say it again."
"Mom." He thrust into her fist. "My sexy, filthy Mom who just begged her son to come inside her."
She dropped to her knees on the warm stone floor. Water pounded her back as she took him deep—throat relaxing, nose brushing his trimmed hair. Ethan groaned, fingers tangling in her wet hair, guiding her rhythm. Slow, then faster, gagging her just enough to make tears mix with the shower spray.
"Fuck—your mouth—" He pulled out suddenly, hauling her up. "Not coming there. Not yet."
He spun her around, hands spreading her ass. One thick finger teased her tight back hole—circling, pressing, but not entering. "One day," he promised darkly. "But tonight I want this cunt again."
Elena braced her palms on the wall, arching back. "Take it."
He slammed home in one thrust. The angle was deeper this way—head nudging her cervix, stretching her impossibly full. Water made everything slicker, louder—wet slaps echoing off marble. Ethan's hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, pounding relentlessly.
"Harder," she begged. "Fuck me like you hate me."
He obliged, one hand snaking around to rub her clit in brutal circles. The other pulled her hair, arching her neck so he could bite her shoulder. Pleasure coiled tight, vicious.
"Come for me, Mom," he snarled. "Milk your son's cock."
She shattered—pussy clamping down, squirting hard enough to splash his thighs. Ethan followed seconds later, burying himself to the root and flooding her again. Pulse after hot pulse.
They stayed locked together, panting under the cooling spray. Eventually he pulled out, turning her for a slow, tender kiss—contrasting the raw fucking.
"Think she's really gone?" Ethan murmured against her lips.
Elena smiled wickedly. "For now. But I'm starving. Let's raid the kitchen."
He raised an eyebrow. "Naked?"
"Wrapped in towels. For easy access."
They dried off lazily, stealing touches. Elena wrapped a big white towel around her torso—barely covering her ass. Ethan knotted one low on his hips, tenting obviously.
Downstairs, the house was quiet. Moonlight filtered through the windows. Elena opened the fridge, bending over to grab leftovers. The towel rode up, exposing her swollen, well-fucked pussy—still leaking his come.
Ethan stepped behind her, hands sliding under the towel to cup her breasts. "You're trying to kill me."
She wiggled back against his hardening cock. "Counter. Right now."
He lifted her easily, setting her bare ass on the cold granite island. Towels discarded. Legs spread wide, she guided him in—slow this time, savoring every inch. They rocked together gently, kissing deep, her ankles locked around his waist.
Until headlights swept across the windows.
They froze.
A car door slammed. Keys in the lock.
"Shit," Elena hissed. "Linda forgot something."
Ethan pulled out, grabbing towels. They dove behind the island just as the front door opened.
"Elena? Left my phone on your porch!"
Barely breathing, Elena watched her sister's shoes cross the foyer—ten feet from where Ethan's cock, still slick with her juices, pressed against her thigh under the counter.
Linda's phone buzzed from the entry table. She snatched it. "Got it! Night!"
Door shut. Car started. Gone.
Elena exhaled a laugh, shaky with adrenaline. Ethan flipped her onto her stomach over the counter, sliding back inside with one thrust.
"Quiet this time," he warned, hand over her mouth. "Or I'll stop."
She came twice more—muffled screams into his palm—before he filled her a third time.
As they finally collapsed on the kitchen floor, wrapped in discarded towels, Ethan traced lazy circles on her breast.
"This summer," he said softly, "I'm never leaving this house."
Elena smiled into his neck. "Good. Because I'm just getting started with you."
But upstairs, on the dresser, Elena's phone lit up with a text from Linda:
*Saw a second towel on the bathroom floor through the window. Everything REALLY okay? Call me tomorrow. ❤️*
**[To be continued…]**