Chapter 294: The Morning After
The scent of freshly ground coffee and warm, buttery croissants filled the sunlit expanse of the penthouse living room, a domestic perfume that starkly contrasted with the musk of sex still clinging to their skin. Olivia, wrapped in a short, silk kimono of deepest emerald that did little to conceal the sway of her hips or the shadowed cleavage between her breasts, padded barefoot across the cool limestone floor. She carried a sterling silver tray laden with a French press, three porcelain cups, and a small bowl of sugar cubes.
Ethan, having pulled on a pair of soft gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, was already sprawled on the oversized chaise lounge. The morning sun caught the defined planes of his chest and abdomen, the dusting of dark hair leading a trail downward. He watched his mother move, a small, private smile touching his lips.
Eleanor Cummings had made herself at home in a high-backed armchair upholstered in crimson velvet. She had removed her jacket, revealing a simple silk blouse. Her glasses were perched on her nose as she scrolled through her phone, the picture of elegant composure. The only hint of the earlier scene was the faint, amused glint in her eyes when she glanced up as Olivia approached.
“The civility of it all,” Eleanor remarked, her voice smooth as the coffee Olivia began to pour. “One moment, a tableau of raw, primal congress. The next, haute couture and Colombian blend. You do lead a layered life, darling.”
Olivia’s cheeks, which had only just returned to their normal hue, flushed pink again. She handed her mother a cup. “Mother, please. I’m trying to recover what’s left of my dignity.”
“What for?” Eleanor asked, accepting the cup with a graceful nod. “It seemed wonderfully superfluous to the activities at hand. Or, should I say, at ass?”
Ethan barked a laugh, quickly disguising it as a cough. Olivia shot him a look that was half-scolding, half-adoring, before sitting on the chaise not beside him, but directly between his legs, her back against his chest. She fit there perfectly, as she always did. He immediately circled his arms around her waist, his large hands settling on her belly, his chin resting on her shoulder. It was a pose of instinctual ownership and tenderness.
Eleanor observed this over the rim of her cup, taking a slow sip. “No need to reposition on my account. Carry on exactly as you were. Just because I’m in the room doesn’t mean the… rhythm of the household should change.”
Emboldened by his grandmother’s words, or perhaps simply unable to help himself, Ethan’s hands began to move. They slid upwards from her belly, beneath the loose folds of the emerald silk. Olivia gasped softly as his palms found the bare, warm undersides of her breasts. He cupped their full, heavy weight, his thumbs stroking lazy circles over her nipples, which hardened instantly under his touch. She made no move to stop him, instead relaxing back into his chest with a sigh that was part resignation, part bliss.
“See?” Eleanor said, setting her cup down on the Moroccan inlay coffee table. “Comfortable. As it should be.”
“He’s impossible,” Olivia murmured, though she arched her back slightly, pushing her breasts more firmly into her son’s hands.
“I’m attentive,” Ethan corrected softly, nuzzling her neck. His fingers gently pinched and rolled her nipples, the silk robe shifting and gaping with the motion, offering Eleanor a clear view of his large hands working on her daughter’s flesh. “And you love it. Your body is singing for me right now. I can feel it.”
“It’s singing a rather loud and specific aria this morning, I’d imagine,” Eleanor said, crossing her legs. “A tribute to a particularly… profound opening movement. You were quite the maestro, Ethan. The cadence was impressive, even from the hallway. Deep, and sustained. Very controlled, until the finale, of course.”
Ethan’s hands stilled for a moment. Olivia squirmed, a fresh wave of heat flooding her face. “Mother! You were listening?”
“I was arriving,” Eleanor corrected with a shrug. “The acoustics in this hallway are exceptional. And the soloist was in particularly fine voice.” She looked directly at Olivia. “The way you were begging for it, darling. ‘Deeper, son. Use me.’ Quite the lyric. Very direct. No wonder he lost composure at the end. It would take a stronger man than any I’ve known to withstand that.”
Olivia hid her face in her hands, the black frames of her glasses pressing into her palms. “I’m going to die. Right here. Death by mortification.”
Ethan kissed her shoulder blade, his hands resuming their gentle massage. “Don’t die, ma. Then I’d have to find a new favorite place to be inside, and we both know that’s impossible.”
This drew a giggle from Olivia, despite her embarrassment. She dropped her hands, shaking her head. “You’re both terrible.”
“We’re family,” Eleanor said, as if that explained everything. She leaned forward, her gaze analytical now. “But speaking of the finale. The… volume. Ethan, my dear boy, when you finally let go. That was not a trivial release. I’ve heard the term ‘feeding a hungry ass’ but that sounded more like you were attempting to fill a reservoir. Olivia, did you feel adequately… served?”
The crude, clinical question, delivered in Eleanor’s perfectly cultured tone, was the final breach in Olivia’s walls. The embarrassment shattered, revealing the core of raw, unapologetic sexuality that lived beneath. She stopped squirming. She leaned back into Ethan, a slow, sensual smile spreading across her lips. Her hand came up to cover one of Ethan’s on her breast, pressing it harder against her.
“It was perfect,” Olivia said, her voice dropping to that throaty, intimate register she used only with him. She turned her head to look at Ethan, her eyes gleaming behind her glasses. “He always is. So deep. So thick. And when he comes… yes, grandma. It’s a flood. It’s like he’s been saving it for days just for me. It’s hot, and there’s so much of it. It fills me up in the most delicious way. Makes me feel… claimed. In the best possible sense.”
Ethan’s breath hitched. His hands tightened on her. He was already growing hard again against the cleft of her ass, the thin silk and sweatpants doing nothing to conceal the rapid swelling.
Eleanor sat back, a look of profound satisfaction on her face. “Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. Not the flustered daughter act. The real you. The woman who knows what she has and revels in it. You’ve always had exceptional taste, Olivia. In clothes, in wine, in literature. And in this… you’ve outdone yourself.”
“He’s my masterpiece,” Olivia whispered, her gaze locked with Ethan’s. Her hand slid from his, trailing down his arm, over the pronounced veins, before resting on the hard muscle of his thigh.
“And you are his canvas,” Eleanor finished. “Constantly being repainted. I assume the morning session was just the first layer? The day is young.”
Ethan finally spoke, his voice a low rumble in Olivia’s ear. “She’s never not being painted, grandma. That’s the rule. From the moment I wake up until the moment we fall asleep. Every touch. Every kiss. Every time I’m inside her. It’s all a brushstroke. Sometimes it’s gentle. A watercolor.” He squeezed her breast, making her gasp. “Sometimes it’s bold. Oil on canvas. Thick and messy.”
His words were having a visible effect on Olivia. Her breathing had deepened. She subtly ground her ass back against his erection, a slow, circular motion. The robe had fallen completely open at the front now, and Eleanor had an unimpedied view of her grandson’s large, skilled hands enveloping her daughter’s magnificent breasts, of the way Olivia’s body was softening, yielding, opening like a flower in the sun of his attention.
“A 24/7 exhibition,” Eleanor mused. “And I get a private viewing. My retirement is far more stimulating than I anticipated.”
“It’s more than that,” Olivia said, her eyes fluttering closed as Ethan’s thumbs flicked over her nipples. “It’s… maintenance. Emotional maintenance. His cock is the peace. When it’s in me, the world makes sense. The noise stops. There’s just him, and the feeling, and the love. It doesn’t matter if it’s my mouth, or my pussy, or my ass.” She opened her eyes, looking at her mother with a startling clarity. “He puts it in, and I come home.”
A heavy, charged silence followed the admission. The only sound was the distant hum of the city and the soft, wet sound of Ethan’s mouth on Olivia’s neck as he kissed her there.
Eleanor broke the silence, her voice unusually soft. “I know, darling. I hear it in your voice when you call me. That placid, utterly sated tone. Even when you’re not in the middle of it. It’s the background hum of your life now. Contentment. I spent decades writing about characters searching for that. And you found it in the most improbable, beautiful, taboo place imaginable.” She took another sip of coffee. “So, don’t you dare be embarrassed on my account. I’m not a spectator. I’m a witness. There’s a difference.”
The permission, the absolute acceptance, seemed to lift the last vestige of restraint from the room. The atmosphere shifted from one of slightly tense post-coital family chat to something else entirely—a comfortable, explicit intimacy between three consenting adults.
Olivia let her head loll back on Ethan’s shoulder. Her hands, which had been resting on his thighs, began to wander. One slid inward, tracing the formidable outline of his erection through the soft gray fabric. He was fully hard now, a thick, long ridge of heat. She palmed him, feeling his length, his girth, a familiar thrill coursing through her.
“He’s getting impatient, mom,” Olivia said, a sly note entering her voice. She began to stroke him slowly, up and down.
“Can you blame him?” Eleanor replied. She picked up a croissant, tearing off a piece with deliberate slowness. “You’re sitting there in practically nothing, letting him feel you up, talking about how his cock is your personal paradise. You’re teasing the poor boy.”
“I’m not teasing,” Olivia purred. She increased the pressure of her strokes. “I’m appreciating. I’m building anticipation. For him. For me.” She turned her face, capturing Ethan’s lips in a deep, hungry kiss. It was not a chaste kiss. It was open-mouthed, involving tongue and soft moans, a direct continuation of the connection they’d shared in bed. When they broke apart, a string of saliva connected them for a second before breaking. “Isn’t that right, my love?”
“Yes, mother,” Ethan breathed, his hips pushing up into her hand.
Eleanor watched the kiss with the analytical interest of a connoisseur. “The dynamic is fascinating. The tenderness is palpable. The lust is volcanic. The line between ‘son’ and ‘lover’ isn’t blurred—it’s been completely vaporized. There’s just ‘Ethan’ and ‘Olivia.’ Two bodies, two souls, hopelessly intertwined. It’s rather magnificent.”
Olivia broke the kiss, smiling at her mother. “It is, isn’t it?” Her hand still worked Ethan slowly. “And right now, this magnificent soul is craving a more direct connection with my mouth. But you’re here, and we’re having such a lovely chat.”
A spark of understanding, and mischief, lit Eleanor’s eyes. “Oh, don’t let me stop the flow of the household, darling. I said carry on as you were. If the natural progression of your morning involves your son’s cock in your mouth, who am I to disrupt the narrative?” She took another bite of croissant. “Consider me set decoration. Ambience. I’ll just enjoy my coffee and the view.”
The explicit permission was all Ethan needed. His hands left Olivia’s breasts—reluctantly—and went to her hips. He guided her, not forcefully, but with unmistakable intent. Olivia, smiling that sensual, knowing smile, complied. She slid off the chaise lounge, her silk robe pooling around her on the limestone floor as she descended, leaving her completely naked on her knees between his spread legs. The morning sun washed over her bare skin, highlighting the perfect curves of her shoulders, the swell of her breasts with their pert, pink nipples, the dramatic narrowness of her waist, and the glorious, full expanse of her hips and ass. The black frames of her glasses made the image obscenely intellectual, a slutty librarian about to perform her devotions.
Ethan looked down at her, his expression one of awe and burning desire. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and pushed them down, just enough to free his erection. It sprang forth, fully engorged, thick and long and already glistening with a bead of pre-cum at the slit. The sight of it, in the crisp morning light, against the backdrop of his muscular thighs and the elegant furniture, was wildly pornographic.
Olivia didn’t hesitate. She leaned forward, her breasts swaying with the movement. She didn’t take him in her mouth immediately. Instead, she nuzzled the length of him, inhaling his scent—musky, clean, uniquely Ethan. She kissed the hot, velvety skin of his shaft, starting at the base, working her way up with soft, lingering presses of her lips. She tongued the prominent vein that ran along the underside. She swirled her tongue around the broad, smooth head, collecting the salty pre-cum, humming with pleasure at the taste.
Eleanor watched, utterly still, her coffee forgotten. Her eyes were wide behind her glasses, not with shock, but with rapt attention.
“That’s it, mum,” Ethan murmured, his hands coming to rest on her head, not pushing, just threading his fingers through her soft chestnut hair. “Take your time. Love it. It’s all yours.”
Olivia looked up at him, her eyes glazing with lust behind her lenses. Then she opened her mouth, and took him in.
It was a slow, deliberate engulfment. She couldn’t take all of him—he was too big—but she took a generous amount, her lips stretching into a perfect ‘O’ around his girth. She hollowed her cheeks and began to suck, applying steady, loving pressure. A deep, guttural groan tore from Ethan’s chest. His head fell back against the chaise, his eyes closing.
The sounds were obscenely loud in the quiet room. The wet, rhythmic sucking. Ethan’s ragged breaths. The soft, occasional gasp from Olivia as she adjusted her angle, taking him deeper.
Eleanor found her voice, though it was hushed, almost reverent. “Her technique is extraordinary. There’s such… reverence in it. It’s not just a blowjob. It’s a sacrament.”
Ethan’s eyes opened, glazed with pleasure. He kept his hands gentle in Olivia’s hair, letting her set the pace. He looked at his grandmother. “It is,” he agreed, his voice strained. “Every time. She worships me with her mouth. Makes me feel like a god.”
On the word “god,” Olivia took him deeper, triggering a gag reflex she expertly controlled, turning it into a deeper, more vibrating suction. Ethan hissed, his thighs tensing.
“And you?” Eleanor asked, leaning forward, elbows on her knees, utterly engrossed. “How do you feel, Olivia? On your knees, servicing your son while your mother watches?”
Olivia pulled off with a lewd, wet pop. A strand of saliva connected her lips to his shining cock. She looked at her mother, her own breath coming in quick pants. “I feel… powerful,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I feel like I have the source of all my pleasure right here, in my mouth, under my control. I feel like the most wanted woman in the world. Because I have him.” She leaned in and licked a long stripe from his balls to the tip, making him shudder. “His taste, his hardness, his sounds… they’re my drugs, mother. And I’m a happy, happy addict.”
She swallowed him again, this time with more urgency, bobbing her head faster. Her hand came up to stroke the base of his shaft, working in tandem with her mouth. The wet, rhythmic sounds filled the air.
Ethan let her work for a minute, his body taut with the effort of not thrusting into that warm, welcoming heaven. Then he gently tightened his grip in her hair, not yanking, but guiding. He began to move her head, setting a slow, deep, fucking motion with his hips. She relaxed her jaw, letting him use her mouth, her eyes rolling back in ecstasy at the feeling of being
used. The control shifted subtly, seamlessly, from her worship to his gentle direction. He established a rhythm that was both possessive and tender, each forward motion of his hips pressing another inch of his length past her lips, into the slick, constricting heat of her throat. Olivia’s hands, which had been braced on his thighs, drifted to her own breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples as she gave herself over completely to the sensation of being a vessel for his pleasure.
Across the coffee table, Eleanor let out a slow, measured breath. Her eyes, sharp and observant, tracked the movement: the flex of Ethan’s abdomen, the way Olivia’s throat muscles worked, the obscene glisten of saliva coating what her mouth couldn’t contain. “The trust is absolute,” she murmured, more to herself than to them. “There’s not a flicker of resistance in her. She’s not just allowing it. She’s consumed by the need for it.”
Ethan heard her. His gaze, hooded and dark with pleasure, slid from the beautiful, bobbing head of his mother to meet his grandmother’s fascinated stare. His hips kept moving, that slow, piston-like push and pull, using Olivia’s mouth with a calm, practiced ownership. “She needs the connection,” he said, his voice remarkably steady despite the intense physical stimulation. “Sometimes talking gets in the way. This doesn’t. This is pure. She can just feel me, and I can take care of her, and we don’t have to parse it into words.”
He punctuated the statement by sliding especially deep, until his pubic bone met Olivia’s nose. Her throat ballooned slightly around the intrusion, a visible bulge beneath her jawline. She gagged softly, a wet, muffled sound, and her eyes watered. But she didn’t pull back. Her fingers dug into her own flesh, a masochistic counterpoint to the fullness in her throat, and a shiver of raw bliss rolled through her.
“Fascinating,” Eleanor breathed. She leaned closer, as if examining a rare artifact. “The physical feedback loop. Her arousal amplifies your control, which in turn heightens her submission. It’s a perfect circuit. And visually… my god, Ethan. Seeing the shape of you distorting her throat. It’s profoundly anatomical. Profoundly intimate.”
“You should see it from my angle,” Ethan said, a slight grin touching his lips. He gently pulled Olivia back by her hair until just the head of his cock rested on her swollen lips. Strings of saliva webbed between her mouth and his flesh. Her eyes were glazed, unfocused, her breath coming in ragged pants through her nostrils. “Look at her, grandma. Look at her face. This is her peace. This is her meditation.”
Olivia blinked, her gaze slowly clearing enough to find her mother’s. She didn’t speak. She simply smiled, a messy, debauched, utterly contented smile, and then leaned forward to take him back in, swallowing him down to the root once more without any guidance.
Eleanor shook her head, a laugh of pure wonder escaping her. “And you just… converse. As if your mother isn’t expertly deep-throating you on the living room floor. The compartmentalization is staggering.”
“It’s not compartmentalization,” Ethan corrected softly, his hands resuming their gentle guidance on Olivia’s head. He began fucking her mouth in earnest again, each stroke a deep, penetrating glide. “It’s integration. This is part of the conversation. A very important part. Her mouth on me is her saying, ‘I’m here. I’m yours. Nothing else matters.’ My cock in her throat is me answering, ‘I know. I have you. You’re safe.’ We’re talking right now, grandma. You’re just hearing the vocal track.”
The analogy hung in the air, rich and strange and undeniably true. Eleanor sat back, sipping her now-lukewarm coffee, watching the silent, wet dialogue unfold. The sounds were grotesquely intimate: the slick, rhythmic gulping, Ethan’s low grunts, the occasional choked sigh of pleasure from Olivia. The morning light gleamed on the sweat now sheening Ethan’s chest, on the damp patch between Olivia’s shoulder blades.
“How’s the new job, then?” Eleanor asked, her tone shifting to one of casual, tea-time inquiry. “The one that allows for such… flexible scheduling.”
Ethan didn’t miss a beat. His thumbs stroked Olivia’s temples as he pushed deeper into her throat, holding himself there for a long moment before withdrawing. “It’s good. Challenging. The system architecture is more complex than I anticipated, but the remote framework is perfect.” He pulled out almost completely, letting Olivia gasp a wet breath before slowly feeding himself back in. “It means I can be right here, like this, whenever she needs me. Or whenever I need her. Which is essentially always.”
Olivia moaned around his girth, the vibration traveling straight up his spine. Her hands left her breasts and clasped his thighs, her nails biting in just enough to leave faint, crescent marks.
“Efficient,” Eleanor noted with a approving nod. “Maximizing utility. And how does the team manage collaboration? You can’t very well be on a video call while this is happening.” She gestured with her cup toward Olivia’s working head.
“Audio only for most meetings,” Ethan explained, his breath hitching slightly as Olivia swirled her tongue on an upstroke. “And I’m… disciplined. I can focus when I need to. But sometimes, she’ll be under the desk. A little secret. A little motivation to finish the sprint.” He chuckled, the sound rough. “Productivity has never been higher.”
The image was ludicrous and electric. Eleanor’s eyebrows shot up. “Under the desk during a corporate teleconference? Olivia, you minx.”
Olivia pulled off, dragging her lips along his shaft with deliberate slowness. “It’s exhilarating,” she panted, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Knowing he’s trying to sound professional while I’m tasting him. Knowing I’m the secret beneath the polished presentation. It makes me so wet I can barely think.” To prove her point, she slid a hand between her own legs, her fingers disappearing into her folds. The lewd, slick sound of her touching herself joined the symphony.
Ethan watched her fingers work, his expression turning fierce. “See? That’s what she does. She turns everything into this. Into us.”
“And you love it,” Eleanor stated.
“I live for it,” he corrected, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. His control was wavering. The calm, conversational pace of his thrusts into Olivia’s mouth was gaining a slight, urgent hitch. The head of his cock was a deep, flushed purple, straining. “It’s the core of me now. Taking care of her. Filling her. Marking her. It’s my purpose.”
He guided Olivia’s head back onto him, a little more firmly this time. She understood. She took him deep, relaxing her throat, letting him set a faster, more demanding rhythm. Her eyes closed, and she gave herself over completely, the only movement her own frantic fingers between her legs and the obedient sway of her body with his pushes.
Eleanor watched the change. She saw the tendons cording in Ethan’s neck, the way his knuckles whitened where he gripped Olivia’s hair. She saw the unmistakable tightening in his balls, drawing up. “It’s happening, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice hushed with anticipation. “You’re close.”
Ethan’s jaw was clenched. A low, continuous groan vibrated in his chest. He was fucking Olivia’s face in earnest now, shallow, rapid pumps that kept the head of his cock buried in the tight clutch of her throat. “Yes,” he managed to grit out.
“And you’re just going to… finish? In her mouth? While we discuss your job benefits?” Eleanor’s question wasn’t judgmental. It was pure, clinical curiosity.
“Yes,” Ethan breathed. His hips stuttered. His entire body went rigid. A tremor ran through him, from his clenched stomach down to his toes. It was the precipice.
Olivia felt it. She hummed, a desperate, encouraging sound, and sucked harder.
Ethan’s eyes snapped open. They found Eleanor’s. His voice, when it came, was shockingly calm, layered over the cresting wave of his orgasm. “The 401k matching is actually subpar,” he said, as if discussing the weather. “But the stock options have serious potential.”
Then he came.
It wasn’t a violent, shouting release. It was a deep, pulsing, quiet eruption. His hips drove forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and he held there. A thick, hot jet flooded Olivia’s throat. She swallowed instinctively, her throat working around him. A second pulse followed, then a third, each one a profound, internal surge that made Ethan shudder. He didn’t cry out. He simply exhaled, a long, ragged sigh, his gaze still locked with his grandmother’s. His fingers softened in Olivia’s hair, stroking now instead of guiding.
Eleanor’s hand froze halfway to her coffee cup. Her eyes widened behind her glasses. She watched, utterly transfixed, as her grandson calmly, conversationally, ejaculated down her daughter’s throat. There was no fanfare. No dramatic pronouncement. Just the subtle, continuous throbbing of his cock inside her, the soft, gulping sounds as Olivia dutifully swallowed, and Ethan’s eerily composed face.
“You’re… you’re really just…” Eleanor whispered, unable to finish the sentence.
“It’s just biology, grandma,” Ethan said softly, a slight, sated smile on his lips. A fourth, weaker pulse escaped him. Olivia milked it with a gentle suction. “A beautiful, intimate biology. She wants it. I need to give it. It’s that simple.” He glanced down at Olivia, his expression infinitely tender. “Isn’t it, mother?”
Olivia, her mouth still full, could only make a muffled, affirmative sound. She nodded slightly, her eyes shining up at him with pure adoration. A trickle of semen escaped the corner of her lips, tracing a white line down her chin.
Ethan didn’t pull out. He stayed embedded, softening only slightly within the incredible warmth of her mouth and throat. He gently nudged her head, and she began to move again, sucking softly, cleaning him with her tongue, seemingly oblivious to the world beyond his flesh.
And Eleanor saw the impossible. She saw that after such a substantial, body-emptying release, Ethan’s cock, though slightly less rigid, was not wilting. It remained a formidable presence in Olivia’s mouth. And as Olivia continued her ministrations, licking and sucking with devoted attention, Eleanor watched, stunned, as it began to stiffen again. The softening was a brief interlude, a single skipped beat before the rhythm resumed.
“My god,” Eleanor breathed, setting her cup down with a clatter. “You’re… you’re not done. You’re still hard. You’re getting hard again.”
Ethan nodded, as if she’d commented on the weather. “It doesn’t stop,” he said simply. “Not for long. Not when she’s involved.” He guided Olivia’s head into a slower, deeper rhythm once more, his cock visibly swelling back to its full, impressive girth against her lips and tongue. “The feeling of her… it’s a feedback loop. I come, and the feeling of her loving me through it, wanting more… it just stokes the fire right back up.”
Olivia pulled off, dragging her tongue along the sensitive underside. “He’s inexhaustible when he’s with me,” she said, her voice wrecked and proud. She kissed the head, then took him back in, her cheeks hollowing with renewed vigor.
Eleanor could only stare, her writer’s mind reeling. She had seen sexual stamina before. She had written about it. But this was different. This was a fundamental rewriting of physical limits, driven by a psychological bond so deep it seemingly overrode basic refractory biology. The calmness with which Ethan had delivered his load, mid-sentence, and then simply continued as if he’d paused to take a sip of water, was the most astonishing thing she had ever witnessed.
“It’s the love,” she said finally, understanding dawning. “It’s not just hormonal. It’s not just physical attraction. The devotion is so total, it’s become metabolic. It fuels him. It is him.”
Ethan smiled at her, a real, warm smile. He was fully hard again now, and he was lazily fucking his mother’s mouth once more, with the same calm ownership as before. “You get it,” he said. He looked down at Olivia, his heart in his eyes. “And she gets all of it. Every drop. Every inch. For as long as she wants.”
Olivia looked up, her lips stretched around him, and her eyes, behind those obscenely sexy black glasses, smiled back.
Eleanor Cummings, retired chronicler of human hearts, leaned back in her crimson chair. A slow, deep smile spread across her face. She had come for a weekend visit. She was staying for the revelation.