Todos os capítulos de WICKED TEMPTATIONS (STEAMY COLLECTIONS): Capítulo 71 - Capítulo 80

I lay there for a long time, listening to the synchronized rhythm of our breathing and the distant, rhythmic hum of the television still playing the classic *Trek* episode we’d completely ignored. The mixture of his warmth and the sticky cooling fluids on my chest felt like a badge of honor.For fifteen years, our sex life had been a comforting, well-worn path. Suddenly, with the twins' bedrooms empty down the hall, that path had veered sharply off into the woods, and neither of us was looking baLucian finally rolled over fully onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with a lazy, post-coital smirk plastered across his face."I'm going to need to wash these sheets tomorrow," he murmured, though there wasn't a hint of real complaint in his voice. "And probably burn these pajama pants.""Oh, please. You loved every second of it," I said, propping myself up on one elbow. My left breast gave a final, parting drop of milk that ran down my ribs, mixing with the cooling smear of his ejacula

The rest of the night passed in a strange, hyper-aware blur. Lucian slept soundly beside me, his arm draped possessively over my waist, his thumb resting right against the underside of my bare breast. I, on the other hand, stared at the ceiling for hours. The domestic safety of our bedroom felt entirely different now that the imaginary walls had been knocked down. *Monopoly house rules.* The phrase kept looping in my mind, a bizarrely mundane label for a massive shift in our marriage.When the alarm finally went off, the morning light brought a cold wave of professional reality. I had to go to work. I had to look at Debra across a conference table.Walking into the office building felt like stepping onto a tightrope. Every glance from the receptionist, every casual "good morning" from the marketing team, made my heart throb against my ribs. I kept adjusting the collar of my blouse, irrationally convinced that the ghost of last night's milk stains or the scent of sweet wine was still c

Bethany and I would never be mistaken for mother and daughter; that I knew for sure. Her willowy body and creamy skin was a stark contrast to my own features. My full Italian heritage had bestowed on me round womanly curves and ample breasts that easily darkened on hot summer days. I had an old-world Italian nose that many women would spend thousands of dollars to have a professional erase, but I had always loved my face and certainly had never received any complaints. My husband—Bethany’s father—always said that his favorite feature on my body were my dark espresso-colored eyes, usually as he was ogling my tits.Sometimes late at night, when the house was quiet, I wondered how my stepdaughter would appraise me if I were stripped bare and made to reveal every intimate secret to her. I gave a slight knock on her door.“Bethany, sweetie, can I come in?” There was no response.“Sweetie…” She turned quickly towards the door as if just then realizing I was there.“Oh shit, sorry Izzy, yeah

I could already feel the rumblings of a deep raunchy orgasm from the wells of my cunt. Bethany’s hands however were determined to not make things so easy for me. When she would sense I was getting ready to succumb to an orgasm her fingers would freeze inside my pussy; and she would wait until she was satisfied that the impulse to come had been delayed. Again and again she did this, delaying gratification and exacerbating my anticipation. I was not sure if I wanted to kiss her or choke her. Every time she would stop her hands she would kiss me softly, maybe as a silent plea to be patient or just as a consolation prize.“Cum for me mama,” she ordered and her hand sped up, fingers shooting in and out of me like a piston.“Yeah… show me how mommies cum,” she demanded.The dam broke and my orgasm burst from me. I wailed and writhed under my step-daughter’s naughty touch and the bedroom filled with the sounds of shameless joy.“Ah Bethany… fuck…!” Bethany beamed down at me, a look of deligh

He moved closer and grasped his bulge. “What’s pretty fucking hot mom?” he asked, the question mocking the flimsy facade of propriety I had erected. I could smell his cologne. He smelled a way only a young man can smell if that makes any sense. I tensed up and didn’t know how to answer.“What’s pretty fucking hot mom?” he asked again.My breathing was quickening and I could feel my face flushing. I was ready to spill, but he moved away back to the fire. “Your turn mom” he said over his shoulder.I pulled the soggy black and yellow flannel off my shoulders and the cool air of the cabin kissed my back and the nape of my neck. Next the pants I had been wearing collapsed into a soggy pile at my ankles. I cursed myself for wearing my sexy underwear which consisted of a lacy crimson bra and matching g string panties. I wondered why I had not worn something more conservative but in all honesty I didn’t have anything more conservative and certainly didn’t anticipate stripping down for my step