BOOK 3: Chapter 25: Ripped Panties

BOOK 3: Chapter 25: Ripped Panties

Nothing else matters again anymore. She knows she should actually be questioning herself if she doesn’t return back to this. But right now, she feels like she has been overtaken. Her mind spins in dizzying circles, tangled with thoughts she can no longer control. She’s finally lost her grip—given in. All she can think about now is the memory of his mouth on her pussy, the brutal rhythm of his huge dick pounding, slamming into her like a force of nature. Her mind isn’t hers anymore; she moves through the house on autopilot, trying to arrange things while waves of sensation echo through her like phantom touches. She’s still living in the memory of what happened just hours ago.

He had some important thing to handle—whatever it was—so he’d gone back to his room last night. Now, the morning breaks bright and early, and everything outside seems perfectly normal. But inside her, everything is wrong. Or right. Or transformed. Her body hums with his name, every cell whispering sweet obscenities back to her as if trying to tell her what she already knows: she is meant to be his. It doesn’t make sense, but it doesn't have to. The ache, the pull, the way her skin still tingles... it's crazy.

She knows she’s supposed to be fighting this. She’s supposed to be working through the trauma of whatever this is—whatever Adrian, her husband’s son, is doing to her life. But she’s stopped fighting. She can’t help it anymore. Her body is screaming for him, trembling with need. She finds herself wandering the kitchen, clumsily moving dishes and wiping down already-clean counters while repeating one mantra to herself: “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid, Amanda.” Each word lands with a slap of her palm against the basin.

Her mind’s still spinning when her phone rings from the center table in the kitchen, slicing through the haze. She frowns slightly. The sound makes her stomach twist, dragging her partway back into reality. She exhales, glances at the glowing screen like it’s a summons from prison. It's her mother-in-law. Greg’s mother. Amanda's chest tightens instantly.

Oh my god. Greg’s mother.

The thought crashes through her like a wave. She exhales deeply, straightening herself, pushing the chaos back just enough to answer. She slides the phone to her ear, breath catching as she hears the familiar voice on the other end. Greg’s mother greets her warmly, her voice bubbling with strange affection and unexpected praise. Amanda forces a smile, but guilt pierces through her like glass. The guilt stings sharper than ever, twisting around the electric memory of Adrian between her thighs.

She steadies her voice and asks if everything is okay, trying to hide the tremor in her tone. The older woman chuckles gently, telling her she just wanted to check on her son’s “lovely wife” and see how things are going. She asks about Adrian—laughing, calling him a little troublemaker—saying she hopes he’s not giving Amanda too much grief.

Amanda blinks. That boy. That pain in the ass. Everyone keeps calling him that. Her husband, his mother... But they have no idea. The thought creeps in like a perversion of truth—Adrian has already fucked her more than three times. So what should she expect? He is a pain in the ass. Literally. Figuratively. Every possible way.

She forces a small laugh, brushing the thoughts aside like dust from her shirt. “No, no, everything’s fine,” she tells her mother-in-law. “Adrian’s been... no trouble at all.” Her voice feels like a lie wrapped in silk.

They continue chatting. Her mother-in-law starts rambling about family, trips, the weather. Amanda nods along, eyes drifting, mouth forming polite responses on autopilot.

Then she hears it. The faint creak of the door. She turns instinctively—and there he is. Adrian. Walking into the kitchen like sin incarnate. No hesitation, no apology. He isn’t even bothering with the usual seductive grace this time. Just raw, cocky confidence, like he owns her, the house, the air she breathes.

Amanda’s eyes widen. She glares at him, mouthing a frantic warning. She lifts a hand and gestures, waving him out of the room while still holding the phone to her ear. But he keeps walking closer.

She mouths again, more forcefully, “Are you seriously doing this right now?”

But he only chuckles under his breath, the sound curling in the air like smoke. She sees that glint in his eyes, the kind of look that makes her legs weak, her stomach twist. The bastard is enjoying this.

She steps back instinctively, voice caught in her throat as she tries to keep up the pleasant tone for her mother-in-law. The woman on the other end senses something.

“Everything okay, dear?”

Amanda laughs, too quickly. “Yes! Yes, of course—sorry, I just... dropped something. Clumsy me.”

Adrian smirks at that. He moves closer until he’s toe-to-toe with her. Then he pins her to the wall. She gasps silently, eyes wide. “What the hell are you doing?” she hisses.

He puts a finger to her lips. “Shh,” he murmurs, voice low and dark. “Keep talking. Unless you want her to know what’s going on in here.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but before she can speak, he grabs her and lifts her easily, hoisting her onto the center island table. Her nightgown hikes up her thighs as he spreads her legs apart and steps between them like he belongs there. She stares at him, panic and heat colliding in her eyes.

“Adrian—” she mouths, furiously.

He grins, unbothered. While she stammers through the call, he leans in, kissing the side of her neck, slow and maddening. His lips brush her collarbone, his breath sending chills down her spine. She feels him hard and thick, already pressing against her soaked core through their clothes, and her breath stutters.

Her mother-in-law is still talking. Amanda clenches her eyes shut, focusing. “No, no, everything’s great,” she says into the phone. “Really. Nothing wrong.”

But Adrian is relentless. He tugs the neckline of her gown down with maddening care, exposing one breast. Her nipple is already peaked, sensitive, aching. He kisses it, tongue circling lazily, then sucking—slow at first, then hungrily. Amanda shudders. Her thighs tremble.

“Fuck—” she mutters under her breath, but quickly masks it with a fake cough into the phone.

“Sweetheart?” her mother-in-law says with concern.

Amanda forces a breathy laugh. “Sorry, sorry. I just saw... a bug. Scared me.”

Adrian’s eyes meet hers. His smile turns wicked. “You’re so bad at lying,” he whispers against her skin.

Then—Rrrrriiip.

Her panties. Torn away in one swift motion. Amanda gasps, looking down in shock. “Are you insane?” she whispers harshly, but her voice is trembling now. Trembling with need, with guilt, with everything tangled and too much.

Adrian says nothing. He just slides his briefs down, revealing his massive, erect cock, veins bulging, head flushed and leaking. He grabs her waist and leans in close again.

“Focus on your call,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over her ear.

And then he plunges into her.

Hard.

Deep.

All at once.

“Ahh—!” she cries out, back arching violently as her hand falls away from the phone and braces against the table.

Adrian groans, low and savage, as he buries himself to the hilt inside her. Her pussy clenches around him like it’s never letting go. Her walls grip him tight, trembling around the brutal intrusion.

“Oh—fuck—” she breathes, breath catching as she scrambles to hold the phone to her ear again.

“Sweetie?” her mother-in-law asks. “Is something wrong?”

Amanda laughs, but it’s too high-pitched. “No, nothing! Just... stretching! A little sore from yoga.”

Adrian gives her a look at that, biting his bottom lip to hold back a bark of laughter. He rocks his hips forward again, slowly, then pulls almost all the way out.

Then slams back into her. Hard.

Amanda gasps again, head snapping back as her body jolts.

He grabs her ass and grinds into her, whispering, “Don’t even think about ending that call.”

Amanda opens her mouth to speak, but he pulls her tighter, begins thrusting harder, faster. The obscene wet slap of skin-on-skin starts echoing around the kitchen. He pushes her nightgown higher, exposing her soft belly, squeezing her breasts, sucking her nipples again with messy desperation.

Amanda’s trying to form words. Any words. But she can barely breathe.

Her mother-in-law is talking about some family vacation plans.

Amanda tries to answer, but Adrian’s fucking her so hard the table is creaking under them.

“God—Adrian—” she mouths.

He grips her throat. Not hard, but enough to make her gasp, to steal her breath. Her legs wrap around his waist on instinct. Her voice trembles as she says something incoherent into the phone. Her mother-in-law pauses, suspicious.

Amanda barely hears her.

Her world is heat and thrust and slick pounding. Adrian is relentless. The kitchen echoes with wet, vicious slaps as he drills into her, lost in the feel of her, in the way her pussy clamps around him like velvet vice.

She tries to speak. Tries to breathe.

But all she can do is feel.

And he’s not nearly done.