I wasn't supposed to be there.
Not in that room. Not listening to those sounds. Not watching her my best friend's mother through the sliver of a cracked door like a goddamn pervert.
But I didn't move.
Because the sounds she made weren't just private.
They were filthy.
And I'd never heard anything like them in my life.
It Started Innocent Enough
Mark had invited me to crash at his place over spring break. His mom had a big house outside the city fancy, quiet, with enough space for everyone. She insisted we stay in separate rooms like we were still in high school.
I remembered her vaguely from past school events. PTA meetings. Soccer games. She was always the best dressed woman there, always the one with eyes that lingered a second too long, always smelling like money and temptation.
Seeing her again at twenty-two was like seeing a goddess step out of a fogged up mirror.
Mrs. Layla Greene wasn't just beautiful.
She was carved. Dangerous. The kind of woman who made you forget your name just by tilting her head.
Skin like espresso. Curves like poetry. A robe that slid off her shoulder just enough to make me think she wanted it to.
She hugged me hello and pressed her breasts into my chest. Held the embrace two beats longer than necessary.
Then winked.
That night, she offered me a glass of bourbon before even pouring one for her son.
And when Mark passed out after a few drinks, Layla turned to me, lips glossy with red wine, and said, "Boys like him miss everything worth remembering."
Her fingers brushed my hand as she said goodnight.
And my body burned.
The Door
I lay awake in the guest room, restless.
The house was quiet, and my head was buzzing with bourbon and thoughts of her how her robe shifted, how she looked at me, how her laugh made my chest feel tight.
Then I heard it.
A moan.
Soft. Wet. Unmistakably real.
Not from porn. Not from a speaker.
From her room.
I got up. Quiet as sin. Stepped into the hallway, every inch of me tense. Her door was slightly open, just enough to cast a narrow shaft of golden light onto the carpet.
I crept closer.
And looked.
Layla was sprawled across her sheets, robe open, her thighs glistening in the lamplight.
One hand worked between her legs, the other clutching a pillow. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth was open, breathy, gasping.
"Yes, yes, just like that. Don't stop, baby."
My cock twitched hard in my boxers. I couldn't move.
I couldn't breathe.
Then the floor creaked under my foot.
Caught
She froze.
Then her eyes opened.
Straight into mine.
I flinched. "I, I was just going to the bathroom."
Layla didn't flinch. She stood slowly, robe falling open further.
Her breasts were round and bare, nipples stiff and dark. Her stomach curved into thick, perfect hips. Her thighs were slick with arousal.
"You were watching me," she said.
I opened my mouth to deny it.
But she stepped forward.
"Come here."
"Mrs. Greene"
"Layla." Her voice dropped a register. "Come. Here."
I walked in. The air smelled like sex and vanilla and something expensive.
She closed the door behind me.
"Take it out," she said.
My throat dried. "W-what?"
"Your cock. Show me what you've been hiding in those jeans all night."
I swallowed hard, but obeyed.
Boxers hit the floor.
Her eyes went wide for a moment. Then her tongue dragged across her bottom lip.
"Knew you were big."
Power Shift
She dropped to her knees.
The sight of her on the floor, mouth level with my dick, robe pooling around her it short circuited my brain.
She licked the base first, slow. Then dragged her tongue up the shaft, circled the head, and took me deep into her mouth.
I nearly fell backward.
She sucked me like she owned me. Alternating between soft and rough, deep and shallow, teasing and demanding.
She moaned against me, her throat vibrating around my shaft.
"Oh fuck," I groaned. My hands gripped her hair without thinking.
When I started to tremble, she pulled off with a wet pop.
"Not yet," she whispered. "I want you inside me when you come."
She stood, pushed me to the bed, then turned around.
Bent forward.
Her robe fell.
She looked over her shoulder.
"Fuck me, Drew."
The Ride
I stepped behind her and slid in slow.
She was hot. Wet. Tight.
She gasped as I filled her.
"God, yes deeper. Don't hold back."
I grabbed her waist and began to thrust.
Hard. Fast. Relentless.
Her body slapped back into mine with every stroke. Her cries echoed off the walls.
I reached around and pinched her nipple. She jerked and arched.
I tangled her braid around my hand and yanked gently.
"Harder," she begged. "Mark would never fuck me like this. Don't you dare stop!"
I didn't.
She reached between her legs and rubbed her clit.
Thirty seconds later she shattered.
Her body spasmed, legs shaking, screaming my name.
She collapsed onto the bed.
I followed her down and came inside her with a growl.
The Morning After
At breakfast, Mark looked at me and yawned. "Dude, I had the weirdest dream. Thought I heard someone having sex."
Layla passed him a cup of coffee and smiled.
"Maybe it was the storm," she said sweetly.
I couldn't meet her eyes.
But when she leaned over to grab a napkin, she let her robe slide just enough for me to see her bare thigh.
She winked.
And I knew it wouldn't be the last time.