Twisted Temptation

I never thought life could turn upside down so fast. Two months ago, my dad called me back from college for the summer, telling me he had someone special he wanted me to meet. Someone important. I assumed it was a business partner or a new investor for his construction company. But when I walked into the living room that humid June evening, everything changed.

She stood by the bay window, sunlight haloing her auburn hair. Her curves wrapped snug in a tight cream dress, her waist so small it looked like his hands would fit around it with ease. My throat closed up when her hazel eyes met mine, and she smiled – a soft, sensual smile that reached her eyes and then flickered away like it was never there.

“This is Madison,” Dad said, beaming, one hand on her lower back. “Your new stepmother.”

Stepmother.

I was twenty-one. She couldn’t have been more than thirty-two. Barely eleven years between us. My chest burned with something close to resentment but laced with a wicked curiosity I couldn’t admit to myself.

That night at dinner, I learned she grew up in Texas, worked as a fitness trainer for wealthy housewives, and met Dad when he joined her yoga class in Scottsdale. My dad had been alone for years after Mom died of cancer. I should have been happy for him. But every time her lips wrapped around the edge of her wine glass, I imagined them wrapping around something else.

I tried not to stare as she crossed her legs under the table. Her dress rose, revealing smooth tanned thighs. She caught me looking, her lips twitching just slightly, before she turned back to Dad and laughed at something he said. Her laugh was soft, low, like an intimate whisper. That laugh haunted me all night.

When dinner ended, she rose to clear the plates, her hips swaying as if she was dancing to music only she could hear. I couldn’t help myself. My eyes followed her like she was gravity itself.

“Like her?” Dad said, clapping my shoulder. “She’ll take care of you this summer while I travel for the company expansion.”

Take care of me?

I swallowed hard. “Yeah… she seems… great.”

“Good,” he said, oblivious. “She’s got a good heart. And she wants to know you better.”

That night, sleep evaded me. Her scent clung to my skin – vanilla lotion mixed with something musky and sweet. I could hear her shower in the guest room next to mine. The rush of water. The clink of a shampoo bottle. The faintest hum of a song. My cock hardened painfully against my boxers. I gripped myself, imagining her in there, naked, steam curling around her curves. I could almost see her pale skin beaded with droplets, her nipples taut from the cool air, her fingers soapy as they traced between her legs.

I came hard and fast, biting into my pillow to stifle the guttural moan tearing from my chest. Shame twisted in my gut, but arousal burned hotter. She wasn’t my mother. She was his wife. Just a woman. A woman I wanted more than I ever wanted anything.

The next morning, she woke me up softly, tapping on my door. “Hey, sleepyhead,” she said, her voice husky from sleep. She wore a satin robe that clung to her like water, tied just above her full breasts. I forced myself to keep my eyes on hers. “Breakfast is ready.”

“Thanks,” I croaked, trying to hide my morning wood under the blanket.

She smirked as if she knew. As if she could see everything under the sheets. Her eyes flickered downward for a split second, heat and mischief dancing there, before she turned and walked away.

I exhaled shakily. Fuck.

Breakfast was scrambled eggs, toast, and fresh strawberries. She moved around the kitchen barefoot, humming under her breath, her robe swishing against her thighs. Every time she bent down to grab something, the robe gaped open, revealing a glimpse of creamy skin and black lace panties. My dick twitched with painful need.

“Eat up,” she said, placing the plate before me, her nails brushing my knuckles. They were painted blood red, short and neat, but erotic in a quiet way. Everything about her screamed sex without trying. Every movement was a tease.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

She sat across from me, sipping coffee. “You’re so quiet. Your dad says you’re always quiet, though.”

“Yeah. Just… thinking about college.”

Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “Thinking about girls?”

I blinked. Heat shot up my neck. “What?”

“College boys always think about girls,” she said, licking a drop of coffee off her lip. My gaze locked onto her tongue. “It’s natural.”

I swallowed hard. “Yeah… I guess.”

She chuckled, standing up and stretching her arms high above her head, her robe sliding up to reveal a strip of toned midriff and the curve of her lower belly. My eyes locked onto the small silver navel ring glinting there.

She caught me staring. Her eyes darkened just slightly. “Don’t be late for your gym session. I’ll drive you.”

That afternoon, she trained me at her home gym downstairs. She wore tight grey leggings and a cropped black tank, no bra underneath. Her nipples were stiff under the fabric, brushing against me every time she adjusted my posture.

“Spread your legs wider,” she said, pressing her body behind mine as I squatted. Her chest pressed into my back, her breath hot against my neck. “Good boy… just like that.”

My cock strained against my shorts. I prayed she wouldn’t notice. But I felt her hips roll, just slightly, into my lower back as she corrected my stance again.

“Perfect,” she whispered, her lips close to my ear. Her fingers dug into my hip bones to push them into alignment. I felt my legs tremble from more than exertion. When the set ended, she leaned against the squat rack, her chest rising and falling, her eyes locked onto mine with a challenge.

“You did well,” she said, her voice lower now, softer, almost intimate. “Want to take a shower? You can use mine.”

I hesitated. My mouth went dry. “Yours?”

She smiled and turned away, hips swaying as she climbed the stairs. “Come on.”

In her bathroom, steam fogged the mirrors. She turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature, before stepping aside. “Go ahead.”

I swallowed hard. She stood there, watching me. Expecting. I stripped quickly, feeling exposed under her gaze. She didn’t leave. Instead, she sat on the edge of the tub, her robe sliding open to reveal a lacy bra that barely contained her heavy breasts.

“Don’t be shy,” she said softly. “I’m just making sure you’re okay.”

I stepped into the shower, water pelting down on my aching muscles. Through the frosted glass, I saw her silhouette, her legs crossed, head tilted as she watched. My cock hardened instantly. I pumped shampoo into my hands, lathering quickly, trying not to imagine her naked on the other side, watching me stroke myself under the hot spray.

But the image overwhelmed me. Her eyes dark with desire, her lips parted, her fingers sliding under her panties to touch herself as she watched me. I groaned softly, grabbing my cock, stroking it in slow, desperate pumps. The hot water pounded down my back, mixing with the pre-cum leaking from my tip. I imagined her walking in, dropping her robe, pressing her breasts against my chest as she kissed me, hard and filthy.

I came with a muffled growl, biting down on my knuckles to keep quiet.

When I stepped out, she handed me a towel, her eyes flicking down my naked body, lingering on my softened cock before returning to my eyes. There was something dark and hungry there. Something dangerous.

“You’re so handsome,” she whispered, brushing her fingers down my chest. Her touch burned into my skin. “Just like your father… only younger.”

I didn’t know what to say. Heat pooled in my belly, my legs weak.

She smiled softly and turned away. “Get dressed. Dinner will be ready soon.

That night, I lay awake again, hard and aching, my mind replaying every touch, every look, every filthy little smile she gave me. My stepmother. My dad’s wife. A woman I shouldn’t want. A woman I was beginning to crave like a drug.

I didn’t know what game she was playing, but I was already losing. And I didn’t care.

Because in that moment, the only thing I could think about was how it would feel to bury myself inside her, to hear her scream my name, to claim her as mine – even if it meant losing everything else.