Stepdad's Pet; His Son's Plaything

EMMA'S POV

The sound of my mother's heels on the hardwood was the countdown to a firing squad.

Click. Clack. Click.

In a blurred explosion of frantic movement, the living room transformed from a den of sin back into a family sanctuary. Jordan shoved me off him with a strength that nearly sent me sprawling onto the rug. He was a whirlwind of panicked precision-zipping, buckling, and tucking his shirt back into his slacks with trembling hands.

I scrambled to my feet, my heart hammering so hard against my ribs I was sure it would bruise. I smoothed the silk of my dress, my hands shaking as I tried to erase the evidence of his grip from my hips. My face felt like it was on fire, my cheeks swollen and tingling from the friction of him.

"Emma?" my mother's voice called out again, right outside the archway.

Jordan sank back into the armchair, his face pale, his chest still heaving as he tried to force his breathing into a normal rhythm. He grabbed a stray newspaper from the side table and spread it across his lap just as mom rounded the corner.

"There you are, honey you're back?" she said, smiling as she walked in, swinging a wide-brimmed straw hat by its ribbon. "I thought you were napping. It's so quiet in here."

She looked radiant-oblivious and soft in her floral sundress. The sight of her made my stomach turn with a toxic mix of guilt and triumph. I had just tasted the man who belonged to her, and the ghost of him was still coating my tongue.

"Just... just catching up on some reading, Emma said you were having a migraine induced sleep so I decided to wait until you wake up." Jordan managed to say. His voice was an octave higher than usual, a strained rasp that he tried to cover with a cough.

"You look flushed, honey," mom said, walking toward him with that easy, wifely grace that usually made me grit my teeth. "Is the AC not working?"

"It's just the humidity," he muttered, not meeting her eyes.

I stood by the window, my back to them, pretending to watch the birds in the garden. I could hear her moving closer to him. I could hear the rustle of the newspaper as she leaned over his chair.

"Move over, you hog," she teased playfully, nudging his leg. "I want to sit with my husband."

I turned just in time to see her slide onto the edge of the chair, forcing Jordan to shift back. She looked at me and winked. 

"Honestly, Emma, you'd think I was the one intruding on your time with him. You're always resting your head on him like a little cat. Leave the poor man alone for five minutes so I can have him."

The irony was a physical weight in the air. I forced a tight, innocent smile. "Mom, are you jealous? Everybody knows I'm a Daddy's girl."

Mom laughed, a light, tinkling sound that unnerved me making me feel worse than guilty. She turned back to Jordan, her hand reaching up to cup his jaw. "You've been so tense lately. Let me give you a proper hello."

She leaned in, her eyes fluttering shut as she pressed her lips to his.

I watched, frozen, as Jordan flinched. It was subtle-a slight recoil, a tightening of his shoulders-but I saw it. He shifted his head back, trying to turn the kiss into a brief peck on the cheek, but mom was insistent. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, forcefully.

When she finally pulled away, her brow furrowed. She touched her tongue to her bottom lip, a look of confusion crossing her face.

"Jordan?" she whispered, staring at him. "That's... that's strange."

Jordan froze. "What is?"

"You taste... sweet? And salty? Sour?" She tilted her head, her eyes searching his. "Did you have a snack? Or is that a new lip balm? It's a very distinct taste."

The silence that followed was suffocating. My blood turned to ice. I knew exactly what she was tasting. She was tasting me. She was tasting the aftermath of what I had just done to him, the aftertaste of the sin we just committed. 

"I... I don't know," Jordan stammered, his hand going to his mouth as if he could wipe the evidence away. "Maybe I just forgot to brush after lunch. My stomach has been a bit off."

"Maybe," mom said, though she still looked puzzled. She leaned in to try and kiss him again, but Jordan stood up abruptly, nearly dumping her off the edge of the chair.

"I actually should go and brush now," he said, his voice regaining some of its boardroom authority through sheer desperation. "I have a conference call in twenty minutes and I feel... unkempt."

He didn't look at me as he strode out of the livingroom, his movements stiff and hurried. 

I waited until I heard his footsteps clear the stairs before I spoke. "I think I'll go use the guest bathroom, Mom. The heat is making me feel a bit oily."

"Of course, dear," mom said, already reaching for the newspaper he'd dropped, her suspicion seemingly forgotten as quickly as it had appeared.

I didn't go to the guest bathroom. I went straight to the one in my bedroom, my heart still racing. I closed the door and slumped against it, my legs finally giving out. I was shaking, the adrenaline crash leaving me weak. I had almost been caught. We had all almost been destroyed.

I walked to the sink and splashed cold water on my face, trying to scrub the heat from my skin. I looked in the mirror, my eyes bright and wild. I was terrified, yes, but underneath the fear was a dark, addictive thrill. I had marked him. My mother had tasted me on his skin, and she didn't even know it.

A soft knock on the bathroom door made me jump.

"Emma?"

It was Jordan. His voice was a low, urgent whisper through the wood.

I opened the door just a crack. He was standing there, his shirt still slightly rumpled, his eyes burning with a renewed, unhinged intensity. He didn't say a word. He just pushed his way inside and locked the door behind him.

He grabbed my waist and hauled me against the sink, his hands shaking as they found the hem of my dress.

"You have to finish what you started," he growled, his face inches from mine. "I was barely able to hide it from her. I'm still... I'm going to lose my mind if you don't help me."

He stepped back just enough to show me. He was still fully, painfully erect, straining against his slacks. The gentleman was gone again. There was only the man who was willing to risk everything for a few more minutes of the forbidden.

"Right here?" I whispered, my heart leaping. "With Mom just downstairs?"

"Right here," he rasped, his hand reaching for the zipper of his pants. "I can't wait another second."

The sound of my mother humming a tune in the living room floated up through the floorboards as Jordan lifted me onto the marble counter.