My hands moved before my brain caught up, sliding to her waist—that perfect, narrow dip above her flared hips, the lace of her skirt rough under my palms, but her skin—fuck, her skin was a revelation.
Warm, silk-smooth, trembling under my touch, the heat of her body seeping into my fingers like a drug.
The act was illicit, forbidden in the very air of this house—my mother, dressed in sheer black lace, her nipples hard through the bralette, her pussy bare and dripping beneath the skirt, standing in the room next to Sarah's, where my sister used to sleep.
The wrongness of it, the taboo, only made my cock throb harder, the Halo pulsing in my veins, amplifying the heat of her skin, the way her waist curved into my grip like it was made for my hands.
I lifted her effortlessly, muscles flexing, and she shrieked—a high, delighted sound, half-surprise, half-arousal, her hands flying to my shoulders, nails digging through my shirt.
