Lusting After Him

Chapter 1:

I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of our master bedroom, staring out at the glittering city lights below. The silk robe barely clung to my body, and the cool night air teased my skin underneath.

At forty-two, I still looked good, I had full breasts, a narrow waist, and hips that used to drive my husband wild. But lately, I felt completely invisible to him.

Richard had promised to be home early tonight. We were supposed to have a quiet dinner, open that expensive wine, and finally reconnect the way a husband and wife are meant to. Instead, my phone buzzed with the same familiar message: Board meeting running late. Don’t wait up.

I let out a slow, frustrated breath. It had been months since he’d properly touched me. Months.

I remembered our anniversary trip to Santorini last year. I’d packed the sheer black lingerie he used to love, fantasizing about him fucking me against the villa wall or bending me over the balcony.

Instead, he spent most of the weekend on conference calls while I drank rosé alone by the pool. When he finally came to bed, he was too exhausted to do anything more than kiss my forehead.

Then there was the night after the charity gala. He’d taken me in his study, quick and rough, but it was over in minutes. He came with a grunt, rolled off me, and immediately reached for his phone. I lay there aching, wet and desperate, while he answered emails like I wasn’t even in the room.

Even when he did try these days, it felt like an obligation. It was mechanical, boring and fucking never enough.

My body felt tight and restless, a deep, throbbing need settled between my thighs that refused to go away. I was a woman with intense, filthy desires, and the man who had promised to cherish me had left me starving.

The soft sound of footsteps in the hallway made my pulse jump. Calvin. My husband’s twenty-four-year-old son. He was staying with us for the summer, and his presence had made the house feel… different. More charged. I pushed the thought away, my cheeks warming. He was my stepson. That was all.

I moved to the edge of the king-sized bed and sat down, my robe slipping open over my thighs. My hand trailed down my stomach almost on its own, then slipped beneath the thin lace of my panties. The moment my fingers brushed over my pussy, I realized just how soaked I was.

A soft gasp escaped my lips.

God… what am I doing?

I was dripping wet. Embarrassingly, shamefully wet. My swollen clit throbbed under my fingertips as I slowly circled it, my hips twitching at the contact. My mind drifted dangerously toward thoughts I knew I shouldn’t have toward stronger, younger hands that wouldn’t leave me empty and aching.

But I didn’t stop.

My fingers moved slowly at first, gliding through the slick heat between my thighs. I was soaked, my pussy aching from weeks of neglect. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on Richard. On the man I had married. On the way he used to fuck me years ago...hard, possessive, like I belonged to him.

But the memories felt faded now. I pictured his face, his hands on my hips, but all I could remember was how quickly it ended. How he’d thrust a few times, groan, and pull out, leaving me clenching around nothing. My fingers circled my swollen clit faster, chasing something that wasn’t there anymore. Frustration built in my chest.

Why can’t he want me like he used to?

I pushed two fingers inside myself, curling them the way I wished Richard would. A soft moan slipped from my lips as I pumped them slowly, my hips rocking against my hand. For a moment it felt good. Familiar. But even in my fantasy, he was already finishing. Already reaching for his phone. The ache only grew deeper.

Then, without warning, my mind betrayed me.

Calvin’s face replaced Richard’s.

I froze for half a second… but my fingers didn’t stop. If anything, they moved faster.

I thought about how tall and broad he was. How his shirts stretched across his chest and shoulders when he worked out by the pool.

Those strong arms. Those large, masculine hands. God, what would those hands feel like on my skin? Rougher than Richard’s. Hungrier. I imagined them gripping my thighs, spreading me open, sliding up my body to squeeze my breasts.

My breathing grew ragged. I pushed a third finger inside my dripping pussy, fucking myself harder as the fantasy took over. I pictured Calvin shirtless...those toned abs, the deep V-lines disappearing into his shorts, the way his muscles flexed when he moved. So young. So virile. So hard.

A whimper escaped me as I rubbed my clit with my thumb, my fingers thrusting faster, wet sounds filling the quiet bedroom. I imagined him standing behind me right now, his hard body pressed against my back, his thick cock rubbing against my ass while his hand replaced mine between my legs.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, Elena…”

The forbidden thought made my pussy clench hard around my fingers. I was dripping down my thighs now, my robe completely open, legs spread wide on the edge of the bed. Shame burned in my cheeks, but it only made me wetter. I fucked myself furiously, chasing the building pressure, my mind flooded with images of my stepson’s muscles, his hands, his mouth on my neck, his cock stretching me open in ways his father no longer could.

My hips bucked desperately as the orgasm crashed closer. I bit my lip hard, trying to stay quiet, but a needy moan still slipped out.

I knew I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this.

But I couldn’t stop.

My fingers kept thrusting into my soaked pussy, faster and deeper, as filthy images of Alex flooded my mind. Those hard, young muscles. The way his abs tightened when he stretched. Those strong hands I had no business imagining between my legs. My clit throbbed under my thumb, swollen and slick, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through my body with every frantic circle.

A desperate moan escaped me. I was getting too loud.

Heart racing, I forced myself off the bed on shaky legs, my robe hanging open, panties pushed to the side. My fingers never left my dripping cunt as I stumbled toward the bathroom, thighs slick with my own juices. I needed the shower. The sound of running water would cover my whimpers. I needed the heat. I needed… release.

I pushed the bathroom door shut behind me and turned on the shower. The powerful stream roared to life, filling the marble space with hot steam almost instantly. I stepped under the spray without even removing my soaked panties, the water cascading over my breasts and down my stomach.

Leaning back against the cool tiled wall, I spread my legs wider and drove three fingers back inside myself, fucking myself hard under the hot water. My other hand squeezed my heavy breast, pinching my stiff nipple as I imagined Alex’s mouth on it instead, sucking, biting, claiming what his father had neglected.

“Oh fuck…” I whispered, voice trembling.

The fantasy grew darker, more intense. I pictured him walking into the bathroom right now, seeing me like this... legs spread, fingers buried deep in my pussy, moaning his name. I imagined him pulling his cock out, thick and hard, much bigger than his father’s, and slapping it against my clit before pushing inside me in one rough thrust.

My fingers moved furiously, matching the rhythm I craved from him. The wet, obscene sounds of my masturbation mixed with the shower spray. I was dripping both from the water and from how shamefully aroused I was. My hips bucked against my hand as the pressure built higher, my walls clenching tight around my fingers.

I knew this was wrong. So fucking wrong.

He was my stepson. He literally just turned twenty-four. My husband’s son sleeping just down the hall.

But that only made me wetter.

I rubbed my clit faster, harder, gasping and moaning under the steaming water as my orgasm rushed toward me like a tidal wave. My legs started to shake. My breath came in short, broken cries.

I was so close… so fucking close...