Dick drove through the narrow, winding streets of the slum, the dim streetlights casting long shadows over the rundown buildings. His eyes scanned the familiar, bleak landscape as he navigated the dark corners of the neighborhood.
It had been some time since Dick last saw Lin Turner. She hadn't called back, which was not entirely unexpected. Lin had always been stubborn, prideful even. The lonely mother who was working two jobs just to keep a roof over her son's head, despite that bastard Liam leeching off her. Liam was nothing but a parasite, squeezing money out of students, hoarding every bit he could while his mother broke her back.
He was keeping an eye on her, of course. Lin hadn't touched the money Dick sent to her account, the cash he had stolen from Liam—the same money Liam had squeezed from terrified students, desperate to avoid his threats. Instead of keeping it, Lin had donated every cent, refusing to use what she saw as tainted, dirty money. That sense of pride she clung to, even when she was drowning, made Dick shake his head. She was stubborn, but also predictable in her righteousness.
Still, after she had gotten rid of the money, something else "coincidentally" fell into place. Lin landed a job at a dry-cleaning shop, a modest place tucked away on a quieter street, run by an old man. Not long after she started working there, the old owner suddenly decided to retire.
And without much fuss, Lin found herself running the place. It was practically hers now—everything handed over without the typical red tape. She had no clue that the shop belonged to Dick, who had quietly arranged for the old man's "retirement," pulling strings from behind the scenes like a master puppeteer.
Parking a few streets away from the dry-cleaning shop, Dick slipped out of the McLaren and made his way down the dimly lit alley. He could already picture the look on Lin's face, the cocktail of emotions that would hit her when she saw him again. She had no idea who he really was. To her, he was just a hardworking student, scraping by like her.
The bell above the door jingled as Dick stepped inside, the warmth of the shop contrasting with the cold night air. Lin was at the counter, her back to him as she sorted through a rack of freshly pressed clothes. She smiled up as he entered the shop, thinking it was a customer, though that smile quickly faded, replaced with shock the second she registered his face.
"D-Dick, w-what are you doing here?" Her voice wavered, her eyes darting around the small, dimly lit space, as if looking for an escape.
Her reaction wasn't unexpected, but it still amused him. She looked like she'd seen a ghost. The memories were clearly flooding back—every touch, every whispered word, how her body had betrayed her with just a touch, how alive she had felt in those stolen moments of vulnerability and the shame that followed. Her hands clenched on the counter as if to steady herself, as if she could push away the rush of guilt mixing with desire.
Dick feigned ignorance. "Lin... I didn't know you worked here. It's... it's been a while."
She looked down, her hands trembling as she fiddled with the hem of her apron. The shame was written all over her face, the way her cheeks flushed, the way she couldn't meet his eyes. Her silence spoke louder than any apology she could have given. Dick didn't need her to say it; he knew she felt ashamed, not just because of what had happened between them, but because deep down, she had wanted it again—needed it again.
"I… I started work here not long ago," she muttered, her voice small, almost fragile. "It's nothing fancy, but it keeps me busy." She forced a smile.
Dick walked to the counter. "I'm happy for you," he said with a soft voice. "But I'm sorry to hear that Liam is in prison."
Lin's smile faltered, the forced warmth in her eyes dimming as she looked down. The sadness was still there, but not for the reasons it used to be. She had learned the truth about her son—what he had been doing behind her back. The lies, the manipulation, how he had turned into someone unrecognizable. After finding out he had been extorting students, all that blind sympathy she once held for him dissolved. Still, he was her son. No mother could easily shut off those instincts, even when faced with betrayal, but love has dimmed a lot.
"He... made his choices," Lin said quietly, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of the counter. "I wish things were different, but..." She trailed off, her voice thick with regret and resignation.
Dick leaned forward slightly, "You did everything you could for him," he said reassuringly. "Sometimes, people go down paths we can't control."
Lin glanced up at him, her eyes searching his for a moment, as if she was trying to find some kind of comfort in his words. "I just don't know where I went wrong," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dick reached out, his hand covering hers gently. "You didn't go wrong," he said softly. "Liam made his own choices. Don't put that burden on yourself."
Lin's breath hitched slightly, her fingers twitching under his touch. She didn't pull away, but her gaze dropped to where his hand rested on hers. "I know, I just... it's hard. He's still my son."
Dick walked to the other side of the counter and wrapped his arms around Lin, pulling her into a firm embrace. She stiffened at first, her hands pressing weakly against his chest, a half-hearted protest falling from her lips. "Dick... we shouldn't—"
But her words died in the air as her body softened, melting into the warmth of him. Her head rested against his chest, and she let out a shaky breath, her hands slipping down to her sides, surrendering to the moment. Dick's hand lowered to her hips, his grip firm but not forceful, fingers pressing gently against the waistband of her apron.
"You did everything you could," he murmured, his voice low, his breath brushing against the top of her head. "Like I said before, none of this is your fault."
His hand pressed more deliberately against her, a quiet reminder of their last encounter. Lin shivered, her eyes fluttering shut as the memory of that night flickered in the back of her mind—how easily she had given in, how quickly her resolve had crumbled under his touch. Her body remembered it all too well, and despite the guilt gnawing at her, she couldn't deny the pull she felt toward him.
"I—" Lin started, her voice faltering as she tried to find the words, some excuse, something to stop herself from slipping further. But the feeling of his hand on her, the weight of his presence, silenced her.
"Shh..." Dick's fingers slid under the edge of her apron, brushing against the soft fabric of her skirt. "You don't have to say anything." His other hand lifted, fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer, his lips hovering just above her ear. "I know what you need, Lin."
Her breath caught in her throat, her heart racing in her chest. She wanted to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, but the truth was, he was right. The need, the desperation for someone to take control, to make her feel wanted—it was still all there, simmering beneath the surface. And as much as she hated herself for it, she couldn't resist.
"You're tired," he whispered, his voice smooth. "Tired of carrying all that weight on your shoulders. Let me help you."
Lin's knees wobbled slightly as his hand slid lower, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles against her hip. She gasped, her hand instinctively reaching up to grip his arm, not to stop him, but to steady herself. "Dick... I can't..."
"You can," he interrupted, his voice soft but firm. "You deserve to feel good, Lin. To be cared for."
She trembled, her body betraying her once again, pressing closer to him despite the small voice in the back of her mind telling her to stop. The world outside the shop faded away, the sounds of the city distant, as if they belonged to another life entirely. Right now, in this moment, it was just the two of them, and she was losing herself in him all over again.
"Please..." she whispered, her voice barely audible, thick with emotion. She didn't even know what she was asking for anymore—comfort, relief, something to make her feel alive again.
Dick's grip tightened slightly, pulling her even closer, his fingers sliding up her back as he leaned in, his lips brushing against the side of her neck. "You don't need to beg," he said, his voice a quiet murmur against her skin. "I'm here."
The tension in her body melted away as she let out a soft, shaky sigh, her hands slipping down to rest on his waist, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as if holding on to him would keep her from falling apart. She couldn't fight it anymore. Not with him so close, his warmth enveloping her.
"That's it," Dick whispered, his hand slipping lower, teasing the hem of her skirt. Lin's breath hitched, her heart pounding as she closed her eyes, surrendering to the inevitable.
His fingers brushed the smooth skin of her thighs, sending a shiver through her body. Lin's breath hitched, her legs trembling uncontrollably. She tried to hold back the shaking, but it was futile. The heat of his touch was inching higher, closer to her core. She was afraid—afraid he would feel just how wet she was, how desperately her body responded to him. But excitement coiled tightly in her stomach, overpowering the fear. She wanted to know what he would do next.
Dick's fingers slipped further up her thighs, teasing the edge of her panties. He didn't rush it. His touch was slow, each movement designed to drive her further into the haze of need that clouded her thoughts. She let out a soft whimper, her body instinctively shifting closer to him, betraying every ounce of resistance she thought she had left.
Lin's hands, trembling slightly, gripped the fabric of his shirt, her fingers curling tighter as his fingers brushed against the damp fabric between her legs. Her pulse raced, the heat between her thighs unbearable now, her mind caught in a whirlwind of guilt and desire. She shouldn't want this. She shouldn't be here. But the moment his fingers pressed gently against her soaked panties, a soft, broken moan escaped her lips, and any lingering thought of stopping was obliterated.
"You're already so wet," Dick murmured, his voice dark, dripping with amusement. "I didn't even have to try."
Lin bit her lip, her eyes squeezing shut in a futile attempt to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to break her. Her body was betraying her again, her hips shifting involuntarily, pushing closer to his hand, desperate for more. She hated how easily she gave in, hated herself for how badly she needed him.
His fingers traced slow circles over her panties, barely touching her but enough to send jolts of pleasure up her spine. She was trembling, her breath coming out in short, shaky bursts. "Dick… I—" Her voice cracked, breaking under the weight of her own desire. She didn't know what she was about to say, but it didn't matter. He wasn't waiting for her permission.