Linda smiled to herself, turned the knob, and stepped all the way in. Through the clear glass she could see his naked back with water running down over that perfect ass. Mark turned in surprise.
“Mom! Jesus! Privacy?”
She hung the robe on the hook right beside the shower door, close enough that he could grab it without stepping out. She was standing only a couple feet from the glass.
“Oh, Mark,” she said, voice teasing, almost laughing, but low and warm. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before. Although I will say you’ve filled out very nicely.”
She let her eyes drift down his body, slowly and deliberately, lingering on his chest, his stomach, and his still partially hard cock.
Mark’s ears went red. He turned halfway, shielding himself with one hand. The glass hid nothing. “Mom!”
Linda’s smile softened, but her pupils were huge. “Relax, honey. Just giving you your robe.” She stepped back. Her hand was on the doorknob like she was about to leave, but she didn’t. Not yet. She took one last good look. “Take your time. Dinner’s in twenty minutes.”
She finally slipped out and pulled the door shut.
***
Mark stood there under the spray. What the hell was that?
His cock was already swelling again. He stared down at it like it had betrayed him.
She was looking. She was absolutely looking me up and down. And looking at my cock. My mother just checked me out, top to bottom, and told me I’ve “filled out nicely.” What the hell was that about?
He turned the water off and dried himself. He grabbed the robe and pulled it on.
Get it together, Mark. Pull yourself together.
***
Linda set the plates on the small kitchen table. She was moving on autopilot. The sauce was simmering. The smells of garlic and tomato were thick in the air. Her mind was still behind that bathroom door.
She had known, years ago, that Mark used to watch her a little too long when he thought she wasn’t looking. She had caught him many times peeking at her cleavage. She just figured it was a teenager’s hopeless, hormone-soaked crush on the safest woman in his world. She’d pretended not to notice. She told herself it was normal and that every son goes through it and grows out of it.
But he was forty-three now. And he had just cum in her shower groaning, “Mom.”
Her hands shook slightly as she uncorked the wine. She poured two generous glasses, then, without thinking, lit the two candles in the middle of the table. Soft light flickered over the place settings. It looked intimate, like a date.
She stood there and watched him. She watched her own son stroke himself and instead of turning away in horror her body had answered. Her nipples had hardened and her pussy had gone warm and wet. It had been four years without a man’s hands, four years without the weight of a body on hers, inside hers. She missed it so fiercely sometimes it felt like a physical ache.
And now Mark (her Mark) was hard for her. And she, God help her, was wet for him.
She stared at the candles and at the two wine glasses catching the flame.
Get it together, Linda. Pull yourself together.