Almost—Beverley’s POV

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I had signed up for NYU(New York University) and I had been anxiously waiting for my admission decision to arrive. Today was the day that would determine everything. That acceptance letter was my ticket out of this house, the only way I could finally escape my mom and her hot, yet incredibly annoying, boyfriend. I planned to live on campus so I wouldn’t have to travel back and forth from home. I had already discussed this arrangement with my parents back when they were still together, so there was no need to revisit the topic now.

My mom and I had never really seen eye to eye, even before the separation. I had always been closer to my dad, and now that my parents were no longer together, the tension between us had only grown worse. We lived like strangers sharing the same roof, everyone simply minding their own business. It hadn’t always been this way. Things changed when my mom landed that fancy new job. Sure, it paid well, but it had stolen the version of my mom I once knew and loved.

I was feeling thirsty in the middle of the night,so I decided to go downstairs for a bottle of carbonated drink. Since I usually slept completely naked, I quickly slipped on a pair of tiny pink booty shorts. The soft, stretchy fabric barely covered half of my plump, rounded ass cheeks, going high and suspending between them. With every step, the shorts hugged the smooth curves of my backside, showing their fullness and leaving most of my skin exposed. For a top, I chose a see through black tank top. I didn’t bother with a bra after all, I wasn’t planning to be downstairs for long. The thin, see-through material clung tightly to my body, hugging every inch of my heavy, full breasts. It left almost nothing to the imagination, clearly revealing the soft swell of my cleavage, the perky shape of my chest, and the way my hardened nipples pressed visibly against the delicate fabric.

The cool air of the quiet house brushed against my barely covered skin as I descended the stairs, sending little shivers of awareness through me. The tiny shorts felt really seductive, barely containing me and going up with each movement, while the sheer tank top showed the gentle bounce and fullness of my breasts with every breath I took but I didn't mind.

I was halfway down the stairs, my bare feet silent on the cool steps, when I heard their voices drifting from the kitchen. Mom’s boyfriend, Marcus, was calling out to her in that deep tone of his, asking if she wanted a cup of juice too. I froze for a second, my heart skipping. I had been so sure they were both asleep upstairs, that was the whole reason I’d dared to come down like this, But Mom must have heard me coming because she glanced up from the bottom of the stairs, gave me a quick, tired smile, and waved me off before turning back to her movie in the living room. “I’m good, babe,” she called back to Marcus. “Just bring me some water later.”

My stomach did a little flip. I almost turned around and went back up, but I was already thirsty and the kitchen was right there. Plus… part of me didn’t want to run. Not really.

I stepped into the kitchen, the soft glow of the under-cabinet lights casting warm shadows. Marcus was standing at the counter, pouring juice into two glasses. He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing just a gray t-shirt that stretched across his chest and loose sweatpants. When he looked up and saw me, his eyes changed instantly. The casual expression melted away into something hungrier. His gaze dropped straight to my chest, lingering on the way my nipples were faintly visible through the thin fabric of my tank top, then slowly dragged down my body, taking in the curve of my waist, the bare skin of my thighs, and the shorts that left almost nothing to the imagination.

It felt like he was stripping me with his eyes. My skin prickled with heat. I should have felt embarrassed. I should have crossed my arms or turned away. Instead, a rush of something electric shot through me.

I tried to act normal. “Just grabbing some water,” I mumbled, walking past him to the fridge. I could feel his stare burning into my back, especially when I reached up to open the door, the hem of my tank top riding higher.

As I turned around with the cold bottle in my hand, it happened. My elbow bumped into one of the glasses of juice he was holding. It tipped over, splashing bright orange liquid all over the front of my tank top. The cold shock made me gasp. The fabric instantly more see through,clinging wetly to my breasts, outlining every curve and the hard peaks of my nipples.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Marcus said quickly, his voice low, maybe so my mom wouldn't hear him. But he didn’t step back. Instead, he set the glass down and reached out with both hands, pressing them against my chest as if he was trying to wipe the juice away.

His palms were big, warm, and strong. Way stronger than I expected. He started rubbing in slow circles, “cleaning” the spill, but it wasn’t just cleaning. His thumbs brushed deliberately over my nipples, teasing them through the soaked fabric, sending sparks straight down between my legs. He cupped the underside of my breasts, squeezing gently, his fingers kneading the soft flesh like he couldn’t help himself. The touch was bold, hungry, and far too intimate for a man who was supposed to be cleaning something off my top. I should have pushed him away. I should have said something sharp. But for a few long seconds, I just stood there, frozen, feeling the warmth of his hands through the wet cloth. My breath came faster. A cold shiver ran down my spine, mixing with a rush of warmth low in my belly. His hands felt so good, firm. I couldn’t stop thinking about how those strong fingers would feel somewhere else. How they’d feel sliding under my panties. How they’d grip me harder if we were alone.

“It’s… it’s fine,” I finally stammered, my voice breathy and shaky. I stepped back, forcing some distance between us. “Really, Marcus. It’s okay. I’ll go change.”

He didn’t let go right away. His hands lingered for another second, thumbs giving one last slow stroke across my nipples before he pulled back. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with lust. The front of his sweatpants showed exactly how affected he was.

“Yeah… sorry again,” he said, but the smirk tugging at his lips told me he wasn’t sorry at all. “You should probably take that off before it gets sticky.”

I didn’t answer. I just turned and hurried upstairs, the wet tank top clinging coldly to my skin, my heart racing and my thighs pressing together with every step. When I reached my room and closed the door, I leaned against it, breathing hard.

I couldn’t stop replaying it. The way his eyes had devoured me. The strength in those hands. How they’d felt squeezing and stroking my boobs like they belonged to him. That shiver kept running through me, turning into a deep, aching throb between my legs. I was soaked, and not from the juice.

I peeled off the wet tank top and stood in front of my mirror, staring at my reflection, my nipples still tight and sensitive from his touch. Part of me felt guilty. This was my mom’s boyfriend. But another part kept wondering what would’ve happened if I hadn’t pulled away. If we’d had just a few more minutes alone in that kitchen.

I slipped into bed, the image of his lust-filled eyes and those strong hands replaying over and over in my mind. Sleep was going to be impossible tonight. And deep down, I wasn’t sure I wanted it to be.

The house was quiet again, but something between us had happened. I knew it. And from the way he’d looked at me… he knew it too.