Lust in him

The door of my bedroom clicked shut, and I collapsed against it, my chest heaving as if I had just run a marathon. My heart was hammering so violently against my ribs I could hear it echoing in my ears.

Mom.

The way Archie had whispered that word against my ear, his strong arms holding my waist, made my entire body shiver. I could still feel the phantom print of his large, warm hands on my skin. He was Matthew’s biological son. He was my stepson. It was wrong, it was sick, and it was a literal death sentence under this roof.

“I hate him,” I whispered fiercely.  “He’s just an arrogant, mocking jerk. I hate him 

I dragged my feet to the bed, but the anger was just a flimsy shield to cover the terrifying truth: Archie had reawakened the dormant, passionate fire inside me that Matthew had spent two months trying to beat to death. My body was completely starved, aching, and physically frustrated from my husband’s selfish, two-minute routine.

It was already late in the night I still couldn’t find sleep 

Matthew was snoring beside me, dead to the world after our pathetic excuse for sex—if you could even call two minutes of him grunting on top of me “sex.” He’d rolled over, muttered “goodnight,” and passed out before I could even pretend I’d enjoyed it.

I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, feeling that familiar ache between my thighs that my husband never seemed to satisfy anymore.

My hand slipped beneath the covers.

I wasn’t thinking about Matthew. I hadn’t thought about him during sex. No, the man who haunted my fantasies, who made my body clench with just a look, was someone I had no right to want.

Archie.

My stepson.

God, even thinking his name made me wet.

He was twenty-eight, four years older than me, and every single thing Matthew wasn’t. Commanding, Confident, The kind of man who looked at you like he could see straight through your clothes and knew exactly what you needed.

Just a little while ago downstairs, he’d caught me when I stumbled. His hands had gripped my waist—firm, warm, and lingering just a second too long to be accidental. His breath had been hot against my ear when he’d leaned in, mocking me with that word: mom. The way he said it made my knees weak.

I knew his eyes had been on me the entire time

My fingers moved faster now, circling my clit as I let the fantasy take over.

In my mind, Matthew wasn’t there. It was just Archie and me in that room. He’d corner me against the wall, those dark eyes burning into mine.

“You’ve been teasing me,” he’d growl in my imagination. “Walking around my father’s house in those tight little dresses, bending over, making me hard at family dinners.”

I bit my lip to stifle a moan, my hips involuntarily rolling against my hand.

“I see the way you look at me, baby girl. Like you’re hungry for something my father can’t give you.”

In the quiet of the room, the weight of the situation felt suffocating. The tension that had built up during the evening left me restless, my mind racing with thoughts that felt dangerous and entirely forbidden. Every interaction with Archie seemed to pull me further away from the life I was supposed to be living with Matthew.

I lay there, trying to steady my breathing, overwhelmed by a mix of guilt and a longing I couldn’t quite suppress. The boundaries of this house felt like they were crumbling, and I was caught in the middle of a storm I had no idea how to navigate.

Desperate for a distraction, I reached for my phone on the nightstand, hoping to find something, anything—to ground me back in reality.

My heart skipped a beat.

There was a text message. From an unknown number.

The timestamp showed 2:03 AM. Three minutes ago.

My hands started shaking. I stared at the screen, my breath catching in my throat as I read the short line:

Unknown: Can’t sleep either?

This had to be a coincidence. Just a random late-night text. He couldn’t possibly know what I’d just been doing, what I’d been thinking about. Could he?

My pulse hammered violently in my ears, making me feel utterly exposed in the dark room. I should ignore it. Delete it. Pretend I was asleep beside his snoring father. But my thumbs were already moving over the keyboard, driven by a reckless, unfulfilled impulse.

Me: Who are you?

The reply came almost instantly, the text flashing on the screen with a mocking familiarity.

Unknown: Mom, this is Archie.

I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling as I typed back.

Me: How did you get my number?

Archie: I think that’s a dumb question from a beautiful girl like you. It’s easy to get. I mean, you are my mom.

A sudden chill ran down my spine. He was using that title—Mom—as a reminder of the walls that should have been between us, yet he was tearing them down with every word.

Me: You shouldn’t be texting me. Not at this hour. 

Three dots appeared immediately. He was typing back without a second of hesitation.

Archie: Just wanted my mom to tuck me in since I can’t sleep 

The blatant, teasing provocation made my blood run hot. He was daring, reckless, and completely unbothered by the fact that his ruthless father was sleeping mere inches away from me.

I bit my lip, my heart racing as I hammered out a quick response.

Me: Since you like calling me mom, it’s late already. Go and sleep, son. I will see you tomorrow.

I held my breath, watching the screen in the pitch-black room. The three dots appeared again almost instantly.

Archie: Only if you promise not to dream about me.

Me: In your dreams, Archie. Goodnight.

Archie: Goodnight, Elena. Don’t think about me too much.

I locked my phone, shoving it under my pillow, and stared up at the ceiling. My mind was a chaotic mess of fear, frustration, and a strange, unbidden excitement that I couldn’t seem to shake. Despite my exhaustion, it took hours for the adrenaline to fade before I finally fell into a deep sleep.