House of Temptation

The robe fell first.

Light. Silk. Barely a whisper against the floor.

Then her hand, fingers like a slow-burning match, found its way behind my neck, pulling me down, pulling me in.

I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t try.

My hands trembled as they traced the curve of her back, fingertips desperate to memorize something they never should’ve touched. Her breath fanned against my collarbone, warm and uneven. Her lips hovered near mine. A breath away.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered, though her hands contradicted every word.

And God help me, I didn’t care

I pressed into her, drawn like a moth toward destruction, and when her mouth met mine, soft, hungry, forbidden, the world cracked open beneath us.

Twelve Hours Earlier.

The car engine sputtered to a stop in front of the Rowens’ house, a stately two-story with ivy crawling up the brick and hydrangeas too perfectly trimmed to be anything but curated. Jason had talked about it like it was normal. Suburban. Boring, even.

He never mentioned her.

“Here we are, bro,” he said, tossing the keys into his backpack like it was just another Tuesday.

“Nice place,” I said, trying not to sound nervous. “Didn’t realize your family lived in a magazine spread.”

Jason chuckled. “Mom’s a bit... intense about appearances.”

I bet.

The front door opened before we even made it up the porch steps.

And then she was there.

Mrs. Rowen.

She wasn’t what I expected. Not in the ways that mattered.

Tall. Effortlessly poised. A silk robe cinched at her waist, legs bare, one foot propped behind the other like she was posing for an artist. Her hair was swept up in a loose bun, a few strands tumbling like secrets around her face. Her eyes, dark, unreadable, flicked over Jason, then landed on me.

And stayed.

“Ethan,” she said, her voice low, velvet-thick. “Welcome.”

I barely heard Jason’s voice introduce us. My pulse was too loud in my ears.

Her hand extended. I took it, fully prepared for a polite handshake. But her grip lingered. Warm. Possessive. Her thumb brushed lightly against the inside of my wrist, an accident, maybe. Or not.

The heat rose from my neck to my ears. She noticed.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Come in,” she said.

Jason led me upstairs to the guest room. The walls were painted pale blue. Crisp sheets. A writing desk. A view overlooking the backyard pool. I stared at the bed like it might explode.

“You good?” Jason asked, dropping his bag by his bedroom across the hall.

“Yeah,” I lied.

He grinned. “Don’t let Mom intimidate you. She’s weirdly formal with new people. Gets all Stepford Wives for the first few days.”

“Right.”

But there was nothing robotic about her. That woman in the robe had looked straight through me. Past me. Like she saw every stupid fantasy I’d buried under college applications and late-night YouTube binges.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

The sheets were too cold. The air too thick. Her presence too close.

From my window, I could see the backyard pool glowing turquoise under the moonlight. A movement caught my eye.

She was there.

Alone.

Wearing a sheer nightgown that clung to her in all the ways gravity enjoys.

She walked to the edge of the pool and dipped a toe in. Then both feet. Then she slid in like liquid, barely making a ripple.

I watched her float. Her eyes closed. Face to the sky.

She looked peaceful. Unreachable.

And then her head turned, toward me.

I ducked away from the window like a criminal, heart pounding. My skin buzzed like it had been touched.

I waited. Five seconds. Ten.

Then I looked again.

She was gone.

The next morning, the house smelled like coffee and citrus. I came downstairs half-dressed, hoping to catch Jason before he left for soccer practice.

Instead, I found her.

She stood by the kitchen island in an oversized shirt, nothing underneath that I could see. The light from the window made a halo around her. She didn’t look surprised to see me.

“Jason already left,” she said, pouring coffee. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

“Right,” I said, struggling to keep my eyes on her face.

“You didn’t sleep well.”

It wasn’t a question.

I hesitated. “Just... getting used to a new bed.”

Her eyes flicked up to mine, amused. “Beds are like people. They reveal themselves over time.”

She slid a mug toward me.

“You take it black, right?”

“How did you…”

She shrugged. “Mothers notice things.”

I didn’t answer. I was too busy trying not to stare at the way the collar of her shirt dipped every time she leaned forward.

“Thank you,” I said, taking a sip. It was strong. Bitter. Perfect.

She leaned against the counter, watching me over the rim of her own mug.

“So tell me, Ethan,” she said, voice low, “what are you running from?”

I blinked. “What?”

“You chose to spend your summer away from home. Away from your parents. That’s not common.”

I shrugged. “Home’s complicated.”

She smiled. Not the polite kind. The kind that knew things.

“I imagine you are too.”

Later that afternoon, I tried to distract myself by unpacking. But her scent lingered in the halls, like jasmine and firewood. I kept catching glimpses of her: a shadow through the frosted bathroom glass, the rustle of her skirt as she moved upstairs, the faint sound of her humming from behind closed doors.

By sunset, I was coming undone.

So I escaped.

I went to the pool, telling myself it was just for air. But I hadn’t even dipped a toe in when her voice drifted from behind me.

“You should really wear sunscreen.”

I turned. She was in another robe, this one pale gray, tied just tight enough to keep secrets.

“I burn easily,” she added, stepping closer. “But you? You look like you could handle the heat.”

Her fingers brushed my shoulder. Soft. Testing.

I held my breath.

“I can,” I said, not recognizing my own voice.

She tilted her head, studying me like art.

Then, slowly, she stepped into the pool.

I followed.

The water wrapped around us like silk. She didn’t speak. Just moved. Close enough to touch. Close enough to drown.

I turned to leave. I swear I did.

But then she said my name.

“Ethan.”

Just that.

Soft. Commanding. Dangerous.

I looked back.

And she was there, right in front of me, eyes darker than the night around us.

Her hand came up to touch my face. Cold from the water. Trembling.

I grabbed her wrist.

She didn’t pull away.

Instead, she leaned in. Her lips brushed mine, a whisper, a question, a warning.

And when I kissed her back, I knew I was already lost.