Chapter 100: Sexy mom

She woke to the smell of nothing, because I hadn’t started the coffee yet.

Evelyn was still on her side, my hand on her breast, the sheet kicked down. She felt me hard against her ass and smiled before she opened her eyes.

"Morning," she said. "Plan stands. Coffee. Counter. Ordinary and filthy. Give me two minutes to pee and splash my face. Don’t get dressed. I want you naked in the kitchen so I can’t pretend this is a normal Tuesday."

"It’s not Tuesday."

"Don’t ruin it." She kissed my wrist, slipped out of bed, and walked to the bathroom naked, unbothered by the dried shine on her thighs. I heard the water. I went to the kitchen and filled the kettle, still naked, the tile cold under my feet. The house was empty. It had been empty for days. That was the ordinary part.

She came in while the kettle was heating. Naked. Hair pushed back. She looked at me, at the kettle, at the counter, and nodded like a woman confirming an appointment.

"Bread after," she said. "This first. I’m not waiting for the boil to be brave. Bend me over. Hands on the edge. You behind. Slow until I say otherwise. Talk if you want. I’m done with speeches. I just want you in me while the water heats."

She turned, planted her hands on the counter, and arched. I stepped in behind her. She was warm, still a little slick from the night, and when I pushed in she exhaled like relief.

"Yes," she said. "Ordinary. Filthy. Don’t stop when the kettle clicks. Finish the fuck. Then we pour."

I fucked her slow. The counter held. Her breasts swayed. She pushed back to meet me, the wet sound quiet and obscene in the kitchen. The kettle began to mutter. She laughed once.

"Hear that? That’s the normal world. Ignore it. Deeper."

I went deeper. She dropped her head, hair falling, and reached under to rub her clit.

"I’m easy in the morning," she said. "You know that. Use it. I want to come before the click. Race the kettle. Loser pours."

"You’ll win."

"Then make me win properly."

I sped up. Not rough. Steady. Thumb replaced her fingers so she could brace. She moaned at the window, empty street beyond it, and came with a sharp cry just as the kettle clicked off. Pussy gripping. Hips jerking. I fucked her through it.

"Inside," she gasped. "Pour after. Fill me. I want to stand here leaking while I get the cups."

I buried and came, pulsing, hands tight on her hips. She took it, sighing, and stayed bent while I finished. When I slipped out a trickle followed. She looked back, saw it on her thigh, and smiled.

"Perfect," she said. "Don’t wipe it. Cups. I’ll pour. You cut the bread. If you get hard again before we eat, we pause. I’m not rationing. I’m also hungry."

We did the ordinary things with the mess still on her. She poured. I cut bread. She leaned on the counter, naked, sipping, a slow shine on her inner thigh she didn’t hide. I watched. She let me.

"See?" she said. "Not a separate world. Coffee. Cum. Bread. You can kiss my neck. I un-banned it."

I kissed her neck. She tilted her head and hummed, then fed me a piece of bread from her fingers. Butter. Ordinary. Her other hand found my cock and stroked once, idle.

"Later," she said. "Eat. Then couch or bed, I don’t care. I want your mouth on me after food. Slow. I didn’t get a long one yesterday. Then you can fuck me however you want. Dealer’s choice. I’m retired from managing it."

We ate standing up. Crumbs. She stole the crust off my plate and didn’t apologize. When the cups were empty she rinsed hers, bent to put it in the rack, and looked back.

"Or now," she said. "Mouth. Counter’s the right height if I sit. Food can wait ten minutes. I’m greedy. Say it."

"You’re greedy, mom."

"Yes. Help me up."

I lifted her onto the counter. She spread her legs. I knelt and put my mouth on her. She was sensitive, messy from the fuck, and she sighed like the ordinary morning had been waiting for this. I licked her slow. Tongue broad, then focused on her clit. Two fingers in, curling. She grabbed my hair and rocked, not shy, moaning at the cabinets.

"Yes. Like that. Don’t rush. I want it to build. We have nowhere to be."

I didn’t rush. Circles. A suck. Fingers pumping lazy. She got louder. Her thighs trembled. The leak and her fresh slick mixed on my tongue. She came with a long moan, pulsing on my fingers, hand tight in my hair, then pushed me back gently and laughed.

"Okay. God. Up. Kiss me. I want to taste it. Then bed. I want you on top, slow, while I tell you one more thing I didn’t say yesterday. Small thing. Don’t look worried."

I stood. She kissed me, open, tasting herself, then slid off the counter and took my hand.

"Bed," she said. "The thing is: I want to fall asleep with you in me more than once. Not a rule. A preference. Today we practice. After this next one, we stay joined until we can’t. If the phone rings, it rings. There’s no one here to catch us. I’ve been living like there was. I’m stopping."

In the bedroom she lay back and opened her arms. I went to her. She guided me in, sighed, and wrapped her legs around my waist.

"Slow," she said. "Kiss me. The thing is said. Now just fuck me like we live here. Because we do."

I moved slow. She met me. Daylight on the bed. No click on the door. Her hands on my back. Her mouth on mine. Ordinary. Filthy. Exactly what she had asked for.

She came again before I did, quiet, clenching, smiling against my mouth. I followed, filling her, and she held me there with her legs.

"Stay," she murmured. "Practice. When you slip out, put it back if you’re hard. If you’re not, lie here anyway. The couch is retired. So is the guest story. You’re in my bed. Get used to it."

I stayed. She stroked my hair. The house was quiet. The coffee was already going cold in the kitchen, and neither of us got up to save it.

We stayed joined until I softened and slipped free.

Evelyn made a small sound at the loss and didn’t reach to put me back. She turned into me, leg over mine, and kissed my shoulder.

"Practice worked," she said. "Coffee’s ruined. Worth it. Shower, then I want the long mouth I asked for. On the bed. No counter. I want to lie back and not hold myself up. Then you fuck me however. I’m retired. Remind me if I pick up the manager voice."

"I will."

We showered without fucking. She washed my back. I washed hers. She kissed me under the water, soft, and shut the tap before it turned into more.

"Bed," she said. "I’m wet enough from wanting. Don’t make me wait through another round of soap."

She lay back, naked, hair damp on the pillow, and opened her legs. I settled between them and put my mouth on her. Slow, the way she had asked. Tongue broad at first, cleaning the faint salt of the shower and the want under it, then narrower, circling her clit. She sighed and dropped a hand to my hair.

"Yes. That. No rush. I want to feel every pass."

I gave her every pass. Long licks. A suck that made her hips lift. Two fingers sliding in, curling, pumping lazy while my tongue worked. She got louder by degrees, not performing, just letting it out. Her thighs trembled. She didn’t close them.

"Meaner," she said after a while. "I changed my mind. Suck. Faster. I want to come hard and then have you in me while I’m still shaking."

I sucked. Faster. Fingers driving. She came with a cry, pussy clenching on my hand, a rush against my tongue, hips jerking. I stayed on her through it, softer as she eased, until she tugged my hair.

"Up. In. Now."

I slid into her. She was swollen, soaked, perfect. She locked her legs and pulled me down into a kiss that tasted like her orgasm. I fucked her deep and even. She met it. No speech. Just breath and the wet sound and her nails in my back.

"Harder," she said. "Then slow. I want both. Start hard."

I gave her hard. The bed answered. She nodded, mouth open, and took it until her breath broke.

"Slow now. I want to come again before you do. Stay deep."

I slowed. Ground against her clit. She rubbed herself too, fingers between us, and came quieter, a long clench, smiling when it peaked.

"Your turn," she whispered. "Inside. Stay after. Practice again."

I buried and came, pulsing, groaning into her neck. She held me with her whole body, ankles crossed, taking it. We stayed like that until I softened. This time she reached down when I slipped and stroked me, light, until I thickened, then guided me back in.

"See?" she said. "Preference. Not a rule. I like you here. Move or don’t. I’m happy either way."

I moved. Slow. She kissed me and let it be easy. When I came again it was softer, a spill more than a flood, and she sighed like it was enough.

"Food," she said eventually. "Actual food. Then the couch, retired or not, because I want to ride you in the front room before the light goes. Ordinary. Filthy. You’re staying the night. Obviously. If I get shy at dinner, the sentence still works."

"You wanted this."

"I did." She smiled, kissed me once more, and didn’t move to pull me out. "Five more minutes. Then toast. Then you. I’m not done wanting you today. I’m just pacing it so I can walk."

She clenched, lazy, and the five minutes started.