The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the suite as I sat on the edge of the couch, my eyes glued to the door. I could hear her key jingling in the lock before it clicked open. Mom's home. She stepped inside, her heels clicking against the tiled floor, her face etched with exhaustion. Her blouse clung to her in the humid evening air, and her hair, usually so perfectly styled, was slightly disheveled. She looked like she'd been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders all day.
"Atlas, you're still awake?" she asked, her voice soft but laced with fatigue. She dropped her purse on the counter and let out a long sigh, her shoulders slumping as if they were finally free from the tension of the day.
"Yeah, couldn't sleep," I lied, standing up. My heart was already pounding in my chest. I'd been waiting for this moment all evening, rehearsing what I'd say, what I'd do. "You look… tired. Long day?"
She nodded, kicking off her heels and wincing as her bare feet hit the cool floor. "The worst. Clients were impossible, and traffic was a nightmare. I don't even know how I made it home."
I moved closer to her, my breath catching slightly as I took in her scent—a mix of her perfume and the faint musk of sweat. She smelled like hard work, like effort, like a woman who'd been running on fumes all day. She deserves this. I told myself, my hands flexing unconsciously. I'd been hitting the gym hard lately, my arms rippling with muscle under my tight shirt. It was impossible not to notice the way her eyes flicked over my body sometimes, even if she tried to hide it.
"You need to relax," I said, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions churning inside me. "Let me give you a massage. You know I'm good at it."
She hesitated for a moment, her eyes wary, but then she sighed again, her resolve crumbling under the weight of her exhaustion. "Alright, fine. But don't make it weird, Atlas."
"Me? Weird? Never," I said with a grin, though my pulse quickened at the thought of what was about to happen. I'd been dreaming about this for weeks—touching her, feeling her skin under my hands, easing her tension. It wasn't just a massage in my mind; it was something more, something deeper.
She led the way to her bedroom, her hips swaying slightly as she walked. I tried not to stare, but it was impossible. Her body was a masterpiece, even after all these years. She'd stayed in shape, her curves still firm and inviting, her legs long and toned. She's incredible, I thought, swallowing hard.
"Sit on the bed," I instructed, my voice low and steady. She obeyed, perching on the edge of the mattress, her hands resting on her knees. I moved behind her, my fingers itching to touch her. I started with her shoulders, kneading the tight muscles there with firm, deliberate pressure. She let out a soft moan, her head dropping forward slightly.
"That feels amazing," she murmured, her voice tinged with relief. "You've got strong hands."
"Thanks," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. My hands moved lower, working the knots out of her upper back. I could feel her body relaxing under my touch, her breathing slow and steady. She's trusting me, I thought, my heart swelling with a mix of pride and desire.
"Atlas," she said suddenly, her voice cautious. "Your hands are… a bit low."
I froze for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest. "Sorry," I said quickly, though I didn't move my hands. "I just… I want to make sure I get every inch. You're so tense."
She was silent for a moment, and I could feel her hesitation. But then she sighed, her body relaxing again. "Just… be careful, okay?"
"Always," I promised, though my mind was racing. I moved my hands lower still, working her lower back, my fingers brushing against the waistband of her skirt. She didn't stop me, didn't say a word. She's letting me, I thought, my breath catching in my throat.
I could feel the heat radiating from her body, the subtle tremor in her muscles as my hands moved over her. She was responding to me, whether she meant to or not. Her breathing was shallow now, her body shifting slightly under my touch.
"Atlas…" she said again, her voice barely audible. "What are you doing?"
"Helping you relax," I said, my voice low and smooth. My hands moved to her hips, my fingers gripping her firmly. She gasped, her body stiffening for a moment before she relaxed again, her head falling forward.
"Atlas, this… this isn't…" she started, but her words trailed off as my hands slid around to the front of her body, my fingers grazing the soft skin of her stomach. She was trembling now, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
"Shh," I murmured, my lips brushing against the back of her neck. "Just let me take care of you, Mom. You've been so stressed lately. You deserve this."
She didn't answer, but her body was speaking for her. She leaned back into me, her head resting against my chest, her breathing quick and uneven. My hands moved lower, my fingers slipping under the waistband of her skirt. She gasped again, her body arching slightly as my fingertips brushed against the soft fabric of her underwear.
"Atlas, we can't…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "This is wrong."
"It doesn't feel wrong," I murmured, my lips brushing against her ear. "It feels… perfect."
She was silent for a moment, her body rigid with tension. But then she let out a soft moan, her hips pressing back against me. She's giving in, I thought, my heart pounding in my chest.
My hands moved lower, my fingers slipping under the waistband of her underwear. She gasped again, her body shuddering as my fingers brushed against her. She was already wet, her body betraying the desire she was trying so hard to deny.
"Atlas…" she moaned, her voice barely audible. "Please…"
"Please what, Mom?" I whispered, my lips brushing against her neck. "Tell me what you want."
She was silent for a moment, her body trembling under my touch. But then she turned her head, her lips brushing against mine. "Kiss me," she whispered.