Chapter 1: Caught in the Act
The Volvo’s cracked leather seats stuck to Ethan’s thighs as he slumped in the passenger side, the afternoon sun turning the car into a sauna. Sarah had left the engine running for the AC, but the weak breeze barely cut through the humidity. He watched her walk toward the grocery store, the hem of her floral sundress fluttering around her calves, the curve of her hips swaying in a rhythm he knew too well.
He pulled out his phone, thumbing through Instagram with restless agitation. Every post—toned abs, filtered smiles, curated lives—made his gut twist. He should be out there, fucking strangers in dirty bars, not sitting in a parking lot waiting for milk like some kid. His jaw clenched as he tossed the phone onto the dashboard.
The rearview mirror showed him what he already knew—dark circles, stubble, the hollow look of someone who hadn’t slept right in months. He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. Fuck. He was supposed to be past this.
Sarah’s purse sat on the floor, the leather worn soft from years of use. The scent of her perfume—vanilla and something floral—drifted up, wrapping around him like an embrace. His fingers twitched. He shouldn’t. But the ache in his chest was worse than the one in his jeans.
He snatched his hand back, disgust curling in his stomach. What the hell was wrong with him? She was the closest thing he had to family. The only person who’d ever given a shit.
But the thought wouldn’t leave. His pulse pounded in his throat as he scanned the parking lot—an old woman wrestling with grocery bags, a couple yelling by a dented SUV. No one looking his way.
The belt buckle clicked too loud in the silence. His cock was already half-hard, thick and heavy against his zipper. He hesitated, fingers hovering. This was fucked up. So fucking wrong.
Then he imagined her—her laugh, the way her fingers brushed his when she handed him coffee, the warmth of her body when she leaned over his shoulder to see his sketches. His breath hitched.
He wrapped his hand around himself, his grip tight, his skin burning. A slow stroke, then faster, his hips jerking into his fist. The fantasy took over—her mouth on his, her tits pressed against his chest, her nails digging into his back.
“Fuck,” he groaned, biting his lip to keep quiet. His free hand fisted in his shirt, twisting the fabric. He could almost feel her—her wet cunt, her thighs squeezing his hips, her moans in his ear.
His strokes turned rough, desperate. Pre-cum slicked his fingers, making the slide filthy, obscene. He was close, so fucking close, his balls tightening, his spine arching.
The door creaked open.
Cold reality slammed into him.
Sarah stood frozen in the doorway, her grocery bag dangling from one hand, her eyes locked on his cock, still throbbing in his grip. The flush on her neck spread to her cheeks, her lips parting in shock.
A broken sound escaped him—half-moan, half-plea. “Mom.”
The word hung between them, thick with shame.
Ethan’s fingers twitched away from his cock like he’d been burned, his stomach lurching at the way Sarah’s lips parted—not in anger, but in something worse. Disappointment. The kind that carved right through him.
Her grocery bag hit the asphalt with a soft thud, apples rolling beneath the car. She didn’t move to pick them up. Just stared at his hand, still glistening with spit and pre-cum, at the way his jeans were shoved down his thighs, the flushed, angry red of his dick bobbing against his stomach.
A horn blared somewhere across the parking lot. Laughter echoed from a group of teenagers by the store entrance. None of it reached them. The air in the car was suffocating, thick with the stink of sweat and sex and something sour—fear, maybe. His fear.
“Mom,” he choked out again, voice cracking. He didn’t know why he kept saying it. Habit. Panic. Maybe some sick, twisted part of him wanted her to hear it, to really understand what he’d just done.
Sarah’s throat worked as she swallowed. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, knuckles white. When she finally spoke, her voice was low. Rough. “Don’t.”
Ethan flinched. He fumbled with his zipper, hissing when the metal teeth caught the sensitive skin of his shaft. His hands were shaking too badly to do it right. “Fuck—I didn’t—it’s not—”
“Stop.” She took a step back, her sandal scraping against pavement. The sun caught the silver in her hair, the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. She looked older suddenly. Tired. “Just… stay here.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but she was already walking away, her sundress fluttering behind her. The automatic doors swallowed her whole.
For a long moment, Ethan didn’t move. His heart hammered against his ribs, his cock still half-hard, aching. He could taste bile at the back of his throat.
Then he was out of the car, his legs carrying him before his brain could catch up. The heat outside was brutal, the asphalt burning through his sneakers. He didn’t care.
The store’s AC hit him like a slap. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, too bright, too clean. He scanned the aisles frantically, his pulse roaring in his ears.
There.
Sarah stood by the oranges, her back to him. Her shoulders were rigid, her arms crossed tight over her chest. Even from here, he could see the rapid rise and fall of her breath.
Ethan swallowed. He didn’t know what he was going to say. Didn’t know if there were words for this. But he took a step forward anyway. Then another.
The linoleum squeaked under his shoes. Sarah didn’t turn around.
He was close enough now to see the tension in her neck, the way her fingers dug into her own arms. “Sarah,” he whispered.
She went still.
Not Mom this time.
Her name.
Just her name. But the way he said it—raw, desperate—made her breath catch. She didn’t turn. Couldn’t. His fingers hovered near her shoulder, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin. He could smell her shampoo—something floral, something clean—and beneath it, the faint musk of sweat from the summer heat. His hand dropped.
He squeezed his eyes shut. The image of her face—eyes wide, lips parted in shock—burned behind his eyelids. He had to fix this. Had to say something. Anything. The words clawed up his throat. I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry." Pathetic. Hollow.
Silence. Around them, the grocery store hummed with oblivious life—a child’s laughter, the squeak of cart wheels, the rustle of plastic bags. The normalcy of it all made his stomach twist. His reflection stared back at him from the polished floor, distorted. A fuck-up. Always had been.
A reckless urge surged through him. He needed her to look at him. Really look at him. Even if it was with disgust. His fingers moved to his belt buckle, trembling. A quick glance around—no one watching. The belt came undone with a soft click.
The zipper hissed as he pulled it down. Cool air kissed his skin. His cock was still half-hard, twitching against his thigh. He reached into his boxers, wrapping his fingers around himself. Fuck. He was already leaking.
He pulled it out, the head slick with pre-cum. The fluorescent lights glinted off the wetness. Shame burned through him, but he pushed it down. He had to do this. Had to make her see.
"Sarah." A whisper this time. He stepped closer, his bare cock brushing against his jeans. He reached out, fingers grazing her arm.
She flinched. A sharp inhale. Her shoulders tensed.
Then—slowly—she turned.
Her eyes widened. Her gaze dropped, taking in his flushed face, his trembling hands, his cock—hard now, jutting out from his open fly. He held her stare, daring her to look away.
Her lips parted. "Ethan—"
"Look at me," he breathed. His thumb swiped over the head of his cock, smearing pre-cum. "Just fucking look."
She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But her chest rose and fell faster.
He stroked himself, slow and deliberate. "This is what you do to me." His voice was rough. "Every fucking time."
Her breath hitched.
He stepped closer, so close he could see the pulse fluttering in her throat. "Tell me to stop," he murmured. His free hand cupped her cheek. "Tell me, and I will."
She didn’t.
His thumb brushed her bottom lip. Her mouth was warm. Soft.
Then—fuck—her tongue darted out, tasting him.
A groan tore from his throat. His hips jerked forward. "Sarah—"
Her hand wrapped around his wrist, stopping him. For a heartbeat, he thought she’d push him away.
Instead, her fingers tightened.