Chapter 3

After several minutes of hot water pounding on his shoulders and neck, Pete let out a relieved sigh. The shower was definitely washing away his tension.

The guilt still hung around—he should’ve stopped!—but Mom was right. He couldn’t go back and undo that. It had all happened so fast, and he’d been so turned on, and...

Mom was right. You couldn’t uncrack the egg. What was done was done.

He’d fucked his mom, and he’d known it was her before he did it. And he’d done it anyway.

And ... it’d been fucking amazing. Probably the best sex of his life.

He searched his memory. No, definitely the best sex of his life.

The way she’d—

He forced his mind away from those thoughts.

He shouldn’t’ve done it. What kind of pervert fucks his mom?

A pervert like him, apparently.

He stepped forward, and the shower spray moved to the scratches on his back and he jumped in pain. Why the fuck had Mom done that? She really hadn’t had to dig in with her nails. The little lines weren’t deep, but they stung when touched. He was gonna have to wear a loose shirt. Especially if he ran into Jenna.

He got out and dried off as best he could. After pulling on some underwear and jeans, he headed back into the main room.

“Mom!” he called into her bedroom. “You got any first aid cream?”

“No ... why, honey?”

“My back. You scratched it up pretty bad.”

He heard shuffling and a moment later, Mom emerged, mostly dressed and wide-eyed.

“I did what?” she asked.

“My back.” He turned.

“Oh! Oh...” She lightly touched his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Pete. I don’t ... I don’t usually do that.”

He snorted.

“I don’t! Only when—well, sometimes. I’m sorry. I’ll run down to the front desk and see if they have any cream.”

“You have to get to the conference,” he mildly protested.

“Oh, it’s no problem. No problem at all.” Her smile was weak.

“Why don’t I order us some room service? That way you won’t be late.”

“That’d be wonderful. I’ll be right back.”

Pete winced when his mom touched his first scratch. He did his best to stay still. Sitting on one of the breakfast nook chairs backwards, he could lean part of his chest against its back. It helped, some, but the fabric was rough against his skin.

She slid her finger along the scratch and he flinched.

“I’m so sorry, honey.”

“I know.”

She finished one scratch and moved to the next. This time, he jerked a lot more with the jab of pain.

“I really am,” she soothed. “I didn’t mean to...”

“You were just ... caught up in the moment.”

She quietly chuckled. “That’s one way to put it.”

He managed to hold still as she shifted to the next wound.

“You know I’d never want to hurt you,” she continued.

“It didn’t hurt at the time.”

“No...” Her smile came through in her tone. “I imagine it didn’t.”

“Did you—” He caught himself. Asking if she’d done this with Dad was stupid.

“Did I what?”

“Did you—do you—like doing that?”

“With my nails?” She moved onto the next cut.

“Yeah.” He got bold. “It was pretty clear you liked the other stuff.”

She playfully slapped the top of his shoulder. “Careful, Buster.”

“Well, you did!” He squirmed around so he could see her face. She was actually smiling.

“That doesn’t mean we should’ve done it.” She raised her index finger and shook it, still smiling. “Got it?”

“Got it.” He turned back around.

They both remained silent as she treated the last of his scratches.

He studied his mom across the breakfast table while she read the conference guide. Just how had he mistaken her for Jenna?

Their builds were pretty similar and they were about the same height, but that was it. Jenna’s blonde hair hung in curls to her shoulders where mom’s light brown hair was longer and straighter. Mom’s nose was more angled, as were her cheekbones. Jenna’s chin was more rounded and her neck was shorter.

And their touch ... their touch was completely different. Jenna tended to be rough, and decisive in what she wanted. Mom was gentler. Her fingers had almost caressed him as she spread the first aid cream over his scratches.

She glanced up and caught him looking at her.

“What?” she asked.

“Wondering how I could’ve mistaken you for Jenna.”

She frowned and turned back to her guide. “You saw what you expected to see.”

“Fair enough.”

She returned to her guide.

He continued watching her. She was actually quite beautiful. Especially for her age. How had he not noticed?

That was a stupid question. Because she’d always been “Mom.” You weren’t supposed to notice that your own mom was hot. “MILF” applied to other moms. Not your own.

But Mom was hot. Objectively so.

His gut tightened and a wave of guilt washed through him. He returned his attention to the eggs on his plate.

He should’ve stopped. Well, at least before they fucked. Before that ... before that, he had no reason to believe it was Mom and not Jenna. Mom had her own bedroom after all...

Pete waited a full five minutes after his mom left. He actually watched the clock. That was enough time for her to turn around for anything she’d forgotten, but he doubted she had. She’d taken her computer bag and didn’t need much else.

Still, it felt ... wrong ... to steal into her bedroom. Sure enough, the sheets were askew and covered in dark red splatters. An empty wine glass sat on the nightstand with the same red residue in its bottom. It took him a minute to spot the empty bottle on its side on the floor.

He still didn’t understand why she’d been drinking wine in bed, but at least she’d been honest about her reason for switching.

The nightstand drawer was open an inch. Curious.

He pulled the drawer the rest of the way open and grinned. A rabbit vibrator had been casually tossed inside. He briefly wondered if she’d gotten off before she’d spilled the wine.

He grinned. She’d certainly gotten off after.

He shook himself. He wasn’t supposed to think that way about his mother!

But ... it was still the best sex he’d ever had.

Could he feel guilty, for not feeling guilty?

He should’ve stopped. They should’ve have done it.

But man, it’d been amazing.

Even better than Jenna.

Speaking of which...

He needed to finish getting dressed and see if he could find her.

Jenna wasn’t in the hotel restaurant, nor the lobby or the lounge that overlooked the garden. He realized, to his bemusement, that he didn’t know her room number either. Her meeting was in town, but he didn’t know where or how long it would last.

He didn’t know much about her, actually. She’d only said she was in real estate, but not what her meeting today was actually about. All their conversations had been about Europe, or her distant past, or his life. She’d said very little about her own.

He made one more check through the hotel before he decided he had to talk to the desk. The clerk, a young woman in a sharp business suit smiled as he approached.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Could you please ring Jenna Jordan’s room for me?”