Flames Of Hot & Steamy Collection

Chapter One

If my mother ever discovered the truth about the way I looked at her husband, she would never forgive me. That knowledge should have terrified me into silence. Instead, it settled in my chest like a dare I could no longer ignore.

I sat on the living-room couch with my phone in my hand, the screen glowing uselessly. My eyes never left him. Mr. Zeal lounged in the armchair across from me, bare-chested, grey sweatpants riding low on his hips. The deep cut of muscle along his abdomen caught the afternoon light every time he shifted. He looked relaxed, almost careless, while something restless and sharp moved under my skin. I tried to focus and swallowed my spit several times.

I had wanted him from the first day he walked into our lives. Other men had come and gone in brief, forgettable stretches—none lasting longer than a couple of days. None of them carried the quiet authority he did, the way his voice could drop and still fill a room. He was the man every woman noticed and then pretended not to. I had simply stopped pretending.

“Joan.”

The sound of my name pulled me back. I looked up too quickly.

“Yes?”

“I’ve been calling you for five minutes.” His tone stayed mild, almost amused, but those dark eyes studied me with a patience that felt deliberate. “Where did your mind go?”

“Nowhere.” I turned my face away, heat already creeping down my neck.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You look flushed. Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine.” The words came out thinner than I intended. My pulse thudded hard enough that I was certain he could see it in my throat. I crossed one leg over the other, the silk of my slip sliding higher, and forced myself to breathe evenly.

He watched me a moment longer, then sat back. “So. You’ve graduated. What next?”

I swallowed hard again. The question should have been ordinary. Instead it felt like an open door. “I’ve been thinking about leaving for a while. Travel. Or… something that doesn’t feel safe. I’m tired of the same days stacking up. I want something that actually wakes me up.”

The words carried more weight than they should have. In the space between them I saw him too clearly—his hands, the controlled strength in his shoulders, the way he might look if he ever stopped being careful. My face burned hotter. I shifted again, fabric whispering against my thighs. My pussy, already throbbing hot.

Mr. Zeal’s brow furrowed, concern flickering across his features. “You’ve seemed distracted lately. If something’s wrong, you can tell me. You know that.”

His voice stayed gentle, the same steady care he had always offered. He had no idea what that care did to me at night, when the house went quiet and the only thing I could hear was the memory of his footsteps in the hallway. I wanted him to look at me the way he looked at my mother—except without the softness. I wanted the version of him that didn’t hold back.

“I’m fine,” I said, quieter this time. “Just thinking about what comes next.”

He nodded, but his gaze lingered. It moved from my face to the thin fabric across my chest and stayed there a fraction too long before he cleared his throat and glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“All right. If you need anything, I’m here, princess.”

The pet name made my body hot. My nipples tightened instantly, I pressed my thighs together and kept my expression steady even as heat pooled between them. The room suddenly felt too warm. Neither of us said anything, but the silence stretched between us. I wanted him to stop being careful. I wanted the moment the restraint cracked.

His eyes stayed on my face then suddenly and quitely moved to my chest, I know he could see my standing nipples.

“Hey, princess.” My mother’s voice floated in from the entryway. “How are you doing?”

I straightened. “Mom? You’re home early.”

She stepped into the room, smiling wide, and went straight to him. The kiss she gave him was easy, familiar. “We’re leaving on a two-week business trip. So…” she turned toward the kitchen with a playful tilt of her head…“what’s my favorite cook making for dinner?”

I stood, the sudden presence of both of them making the space feel too small. I stood up and walked toward the stairs.

“Joan.”

I stopped.

He was looking at me. Something unreadable moved behind his eyes. “Come down for dinner.”

I nodded once and climbed the stairs faster than I needed to. Inside my room I locked the door and leaned against it, breathing hard. The echo of his voice still sat in my chest. The way the word princess had sounded when he said it. I couldn’t tell whether I had imagined the flicker of awareness in his expression or whether it had been real.

The uncertainty only made the ache inside me worse.I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead to the cool wood of the door, trying to slow the racing under my skin.

The house would be empty of my mother for two full weeks. The thought arrived fully formed and refused to leave.

I stayed there longer than I should have, listening to the distant sounds of the kitchen below, the low murmur of their voices. When my mother’s call finally came…“Joan, dinner!”—I answered with a steady voice I didn’t entirely feel.

“Coming.”

I washed my face with cold water, smoothed the slip, and opened the door. The hallway smelled faintly of whatever he was cooking. Somewhere downstairs the three of us would sit at the same table, pass the same dishes, and speak in ordinary tones. And underneath all of it the quiet, dangerous knowledge would keep turning:

One thought wouldn't leave me alone, I wanted the man who belonged to my mother.

The next day I walked downstairs and Mom was already dressed and ready for her trip, suitcase by the door.

“Hey princess,” she said brightly, pulling me into a quick hug. “You’re up.”

I frowned. “Mom, can you stop calling me that? I’m a grown woman now.”

“As long as I’m still alive, you’ll always be my princess,” she replied with a warm laugh, ruffling my hair like I was still ten years old.

Then Mr. Zeal walked down the stairs, looking fresh from the shower, hair slightly damp, wearing a simple black t-shirt that hugged his broad chest and those grey sweatpants again. 

My stomach flipped.

“Morning, Mr. Zeal,” I greeted, trying to keep my voice steady while staring at him.

“Morning, princess,” he replied casually, that honey tone sending heat straight between my legs.

Another day of torture. Why the hell did he keep calling me that? Especially now, with Mom right here. It felt too intimate, too loaded after yesterday’s charged conversation and that possible wink.

“Are you okay, Joan?” Mom asked, noticing my expression.

“Yes, I’m good,” I said quickly, forcing a smile.

“I’ll get going now. Don’t disturb your dad too much. Eat properly and take care of yourself,” 

she said, grabbing her bag.

Sure I will, I said , hugging her tight. “I’ll miss you, Mom.”

“I’ll miss you too, baby.” She kissed my cheek.

Mr. Zeal stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, hugging her properly before giving her a deep, lingering kiss right there in front of me. I felt a sharp twist of anger and jealousy in my chest, but I kept my face neutral. That should be me. My hands clenched at my sides as I watched her melt into him.

They finally pulled apart. We all walked outside together. I waved as they drove off to the airport, Mom blowing kisses from the passenger seat. Once the car disappeared down the street, I let out a long breath and went back inside.

About an hour later, I was in the kitchen cooking lunch — pasta with sauce, something simple to keep my hands busy. I had changed into a tiny pair of shorts and a loose crop top, no bra, still thinking about Mr. Zeal’s voice calling me. I probably want to make my move if it doesn't end well so be it.

I heard the front door open and close. My heart skipped. He was back already.

I kept stirring the sauce, pretending I didn’t notice, but I felt his presence the second he stepped into the kitchen doorway. I caught a glimpse of him in the corner of my eye… leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, staring at me intently.

His gaze burned over my body: the way my shorts rode up my ass as I reached for a spice on the top shelf, the curve of my breasts under the thin top, my nipples faintly visible. He didn’t say anything at first. Then when I turned back I saw him slowly lick his lower lip, eyes darkening as they lingered on my thighs and the way my ass moved while I cooked.

The air felt thick again, just like yesterday. I turned slightly, pretending to check something on the stove, but my cheeks were already flushing. I could feel his stare like hands on my skin. My pussy throbbed as he stood there staring.

“You’re cooking,” he finally said, voice low and raspy, stepping further into the kitchen. “Smells good.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, biting my lip. I glanced at him over my shoulder. His eyes dropped straight to my chest again before flicking back up to my face. He licked his lower lip once more, slower this time, almost unconsciously.

The tension from yesterday was still there, heavier now that we were completely alone in the house. No Mom. No interruptions. Just him looking at me like he was fighting something… or starting to lose.

I turned fully, leaning back against the counter, which made my crop top ride up a little more, exposing a strip of my stomach. “How was the airport drop-off?”

“Fine,” he said, not moving closer but not looking away either. His jaw was tight. “You sure you’re okay, Joan? You’ve been… different lately.”

I swallowed, heart racing. This was my chance. “I’m okay. Just… thinking about what I told you yesterday. About wanting something exciting. Something intense.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but that hunger was there again…the same look from when I called him Daddy in my head. He stepped closer to the counter, close enough that I could smell his fresh scent. His gaze dropped to my lips, then lower.

I turned around and walked up to him, my heart pounding so loud, but still holding my gaze with him. I stopped in front of him then but my lower lip. And slowly looked up, oh the way he looked at me, my body melted and my knee almost gave out.

Mr Zeal… I want you,” I blurted out, voice shaky but honest. “I know I’m not supposed to feel this way, but I can’t help it anymore. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

For a second, everything froze. His eyes widened slightly, then darkened with raw hunger. He stared down at me, breathing heavier, like he was fighting a war inside his head. His hands clenched at his sides.

“Joan…” His voice came out rough, almost strained. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly wrestling with it. “You don’t know what you’re saying, princess. This is dangerous. Your mom…”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” I whispered, stepping even closer until my breasts brushed his chest. “I’ve dreamed about this. About you. Please…”

He looked at me for a long moment — eyes flicking between mine and my lips, then down to my hard nipples. The hunger won. He let out a low, defeated growl.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice thick with lust as his hand came up to grip the back of my neck.

I nodded shyly, heart racing. I wanted this. I wasn’t regretting it. I had already dreamed about this day.