Chapter 10

Something warm and wet pulls me up from the deepest sleep I’ve ever had. Not all at once—it’s gradual, like rising through dark water toward a light I can’t quite make out. My brain is still half-dreaming, trying to stitch the sensation into whatever nonsense my unconscious was spinning, but it doesn’t fit. It’s too real. Too specific.

Wet suction. Slow, deliberate pressure sliding up and down.

My eyes crack open to a dim room. Gray morning light leaks through the blinds, barely enough to see by. And then the fog clears just enough for me to understand what’s happening under the thin sheet.

Mom.

Fuck yeah.

This is, okay, this is officially the greatest way to wake up in the history of waking up. I can feel her lips stretched around me, the lazy rhythm she’s set, like she’s been at this for a while and has no intention of stopping anytime soon. My hips want to push up into her mouth on instinct, and I start to sit up so I can watch her—

“Nngh—!”

The sound that comes out of me is not sexy. It’s the sound of a man being stabbed. White-hot pain rips through my midsection, every single abdominal muscle screaming in unison like they’ve been doused in gasoline and lit on fire. I collapse back against the pillow, teeth clenched, eyes squeezed shut.

Holy shit.

I thought I was sore the day after we moved in. Hauling boxes up and down those narrow stairs, loading and unloading the rental truck in the August heat. I remember thinking that was bad. I was wrong. I was so incredibly wrong. That was a gentle massage compared to this. This is what sore actually feels like. Every muscle from my ribs to my hips is a solid knot of agony, and even breathing makes them twitch and burn.

Mom pulls her mouth off me immediately. “Baby, are you okay?” Her voice is hushed and worried, one hand resting on my thigh.

“Yeah,” I manage through gritted teeth. “Yeah, I’m, I just overdid it yesterday. Way overdid it.” Understatement of the century. I don’t even want to calculate how many hours I spent in various sexual positions. My body is sending me a very clear invoice for all of it. “I’m sore as hell, that’s all.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to—”

“Mom.” I reach down blindly and find her hair, run my fingers through it. “Go back to what you were doing. Please. I’ll be fine. Just, can’t sit up.”

A soft breath against my shaft. Then her lips close around me again and the world gets a whole lot better.

I can’t watch her, every time I even think about lifting my head, my abs send a preemptive warning flare, but that doesn’t diminish how good it feels. If anything, not being able to see forces me to just feel, and what I feel is incredible. She’s taking her time, really savoring it, her tongue doing slow exploratory things along the underside of my cock as her head bobs in a lazy, unhurried rhythm. She’s not trying to get me off fast. She’s enjoying herself.

“That feels so good, Mom,” I murmur, and I feel her hum around me in response, the vibration traveling straight up my spine. “Just like that. God, you’re amazing at this.”

She does something with her tongue near the tip that makes my toes curl against the mattress, and a low groan escapes me, the good kind this time. Her hand wraps around the base, holding me steady while her mouth works the top half, and I can hear the quiet wet sounds of it in the still room.

“Suck on my balls,” I tell her.

She lets me slide from her mouth with a soft pop and moves lower. The first touch of her lips against my sac makes me inhale sharply, and then she’s drawing one into her mouth, gentle suction and warmth, her tongue rolling it around while her hand keeps a loose, slow stroke going on my shaft. She switches to the other one, and the tenderness of it, the care she’s taking, makes something tighten in my chest that has nothing to do with soreness.

I have no idea what time it is. Don’t care. The world outside this bed doesn’t exist right now. There’s just the gray light and the creaking mattress and my mom’s mouth and—

My phone erupts.

The alarm blares from the nightstand, that default chime I never bothered to change, shrill and insistent. It cuts through the quiet like a fire alarm in a library. Mom flinches, and I groan, not from pleasure this time.

But I do the math in my head. The alarm means it’s early enough that we still have time. Not all day, but enough. Enough to finish this.

“Mom, can you shut that off for me? It’s just out of reach.” Reaching for the nightstand would require engaging my muscles, and my muscles have formally resigned.

She lifts her head, and I hear her shift, the mattress dipping as she leans across me. The alarm stops mid-chime. Silence floods back in like water filling a hole.

“Thank you,” I breathe. “Now deep throat me. Suck that cum right out of me.”

No hesitation. She adjusts her position, and I feel her settle between my legs more fully, both hands bracing against my thighs. Then her mouth descends, warm and slick and relentless, sliding down my shaft inch by inch until her nose presses into my pubic hair and her throat constricts around the head of my cock. She holds there for a beat, and I let out a sound that’s somewhere between a moan and a prayer.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she starts moving. All the way down to the base, then back up with this incredible suction that makes my vision blur, and when she reaches the top she swirls her tongue around the head in tight circles, lapping at the sensitive underside of the ridge before sinking back down again. Base to tip. Tip to base. Over and over.

It’s driving me out of my mind.

I want to grab her head. I want to fist her hair and thrust up into her throat and set the pace myself. My hands actually twitch toward her, fingers curling, but even that tiny engagement of my core sends a spike of pain through my midsection, and I force myself flat again. I can’t. I physically cannot do anything except lie here and let her work.

So I try to relax. Let my arms go limp at my sides, unclench my jaw, breathe through it. But her pace is so deliberate, so maddeningly unhurried, that relaxing is almost impossible. Every slow descent is torture. Every lazy swirl of her tongue at the top is a taunt. She’s right there, right at the edge of giving me what I need, and she just keeps taking her time.

“Mom,” I groan. “Please.”

And finally, mercifully, she takes pity on me. The pace quickens. Her head starts bobbing faster, and the suction intensifies, this tight vacuum pressure on every upstroke that makes obscene noises in the quiet room. Her rhythm finds a gear I didn’t know she had, and suddenly my thighs are tensing and heat is building at the base of my spine and I can feel it coiling tight, ready to snap.

“I’m gonna cum,” I warn her, my voice strained. “Mom, I’m right there—”

She pulls back until just the head is in her mouth. One hand wraps around my shaft and starts jerking me in fast, tight strokes while her lips seal around the tip, nursing on it with a steady rhythmic suction like she’s pulling a milkshake through a straw. Her tongue flicks across the slit between pulses, and it’s that combination, the hand, the suction, the tongue, that breaks me.

My cum pours out of me in thick, heavy pulses. I can hear her swallowing, rapid, urgent gulps, one after another, trying to keep up with the volume. Her hand doesn’t stop, her mouth doesn’t stop, and neither does the orgasm, wave after wave crashing through me.

“Fuuuck—” The cry tears out of me as pleasure and pain collide head-on. My abs contract involuntarily, every ravaged muscle fiber seizing at once, and it’s like being punched in the stomach mid-orgasm. My back arches off the mattress and my hands claw at the sheets and I’m caught in this impossible space where it feels absolutely incredible and absolutely terrible at the same time, pleasure so intense it whites out my vision while my core muscles scream in protest.

It lasts for what feels like forever, but probably its three seconds. I collapse back against the pillow, gasping, trembling, my entire midsection throbbing with residual pain even as the last aftershocks of orgasm ripple through me.

Mom is still nursing on the head of my cock, her tongue doing these lazy little circles like she’s savoring the last drops, when movement at the edge of my vision pulls my attention to the doorway.

Jess is leaning against the frame, arms crossed, smirking at me like she just caught me with my hand in the cookie jar. The look on her face isn’t shock, it’s pure amusement.

“Damn, big bro,” she says, voice still scratchy with sleep. “Who needs an alarm clock with you moaning like that? Pretty sure the neighbors are awake now too.”

I open my mouth to say something, defend myself, deflect, I don’t know, but my brain short-circuits because Jess is standing there in nothing but a pair of pale blue panties. That’s it. No top, no bra, just her bare C-cups and miles of smooth skin and those green eyes sparkling with mischief in the early morning light coming through my window.

Fuck. She looks so sexy.

And just like that, something clicks into place in my head. Not the dark voice, this is quieter, more certain. We’re going to have that family discussion tonight. We have to. Because I’ve been the one holding everything back, haven’t I? I’ve been so terrified that Mom or Jess weren’t ready, that crossing that final line would shatter something between us that we could never put back together. That things would get weird, and I’d have to leave, and I’d be just like Dad.

But after what Jess said last night, how she’s been crushing on me for years, how she practically begged me to stop overthinking, and the way Mom just spent the last however many minutes making slow, passionate love to my cock with her mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world...

I think I’ve been the only one with hangups this whole time.

Mom finally pulls off with a soft, wet sound, and she glances toward the doorway where Jess is standing. There’s a brief moment where their eyes meet, and Mom doesn’t flinch, doesn’t scramble away from me. She just sits back on her heels and wipes the corner of her mouth with her thumb.

“Get your lazy ass out of bed,” Jess says, pushing off the doorframe. “Come shower with me. We’re going to be late.”

Right. School. That thing that exists.

I take a breath and brace my hands against the mattress to push myself up, and nope. A wall of pain hits me across my entire midsection. I collapse back down with a groan that has nothing to do with pleasure.

Jess raises an eyebrow.

Here it comes. Bracing myself for the teasing I know is inevitable, I swallow my pride. “I, uh ... I’m too sore to get up. I need help.”

Both eyebrows go up now. “Sore from what?”

“The marathon of fucking I did with Regina yesterday.”

The expression that crosses Jess’s face is something I’ve never seen before, this perfect split-screen of being genuinely amused and reluctantly impressed at the same time. Her mouth drops open, then curves into a grin, then she shakes her head.

“Wow,” she says, walking toward the bed. “How can the greatest cock the world has ever known be attached to such a wimp?”

“Jess—”

“No, seriously. This is incredible. You sexed yourself into being bedridden. That’s actually pathetic.”

But she’s already reaching for my arm, and Mom moves to my other side without a word, sliding her hands under my shoulder. Together they pull, and I grit my teeth and swing my legs off the edge of the bed, and...

It’s even worse than I thought.

It’s not just my abs. My legs are sore. My back is sore. My arms are sore. My obliques feel like someone took a baseball bat to them. Every single muscle in my entire body is screaming at me like I ran a triathlon and then got hit by a truck. Hours of thrusting and gripping and holding positions will apparently do that to a body that’s never worked out a day in its life.

I make it to standing with a sound that no sixteen-year-old should ever make, this pathetic old-man grunt that has Jess pressing her lips together to keep from laughing. I try to stretch, raising my arms overhead, twisting gently side to side. Everything is stiff and angry. My muscles loosen maybe half a percent.

“You good?” Mom asks softly, her hand lingering on my lower back.

“Define good.”

I start shuffling toward the bathroom, naked and hunched over like a geriatric, and Jess falls into step beside me. Each stair-step of movement sends fresh aches rippling through my quads and calves. The hallway has never felt this long.

Jess pulls back the mildew-stained shower curtain and I step into the tub, one hand braced against the cracked tile wall for support. Before I can even reach for the faucet, Jess leans past me and cranks the handle.

Ice-cold water hits me like a slap across my entire body.

“FUCK, Jess!”

She jumps back, already giggling, hands over her mouth like a little kid who just pulled off the perfect prank. “Cold water helps with inflammation!” she says through her fingers, eyes bright with delight.

I’m gasping, every sore muscle clenching involuntarily against the freezing spray, which of course makes everything hurt worse. The water is so cold it feels like needles.

“I’ve heard that too,” I manage through chattering teeth, glaring at her. “You’re still a bitch.”

This only makes her giggle harder. She reaches in and adjusts the handle, and the water gradually warms to something that won’t give me hypothermia. Steam starts to curl up from the stream.

“Here, you big pussy,” she says, stepping closer to the tub. “Let me soap you up.”

She grabs a body wash bottle from the edge of the tub and squirts a generous amount onto one of those mesh loofah things, the poufy ball that belongs to her. She leans over the edge, her bare tits swaying slightly with the movement, and starts working the lather across my shoulders.

She might be a brat. The brattiest person I’ve ever known, actually. But she’s a loving brat, and right now her hands are pressing the soapy mesh into my aching shoulders in slow, firm circles, and it feels so good on my sore muscles that I let my eyes close and my head drop forward.

“That feels amazing,” I murmur. “Seriously, Jess. Thank you.”

She works her way down my arms, across my chest, taking her time over my stomach where she can probably feel me flinch. Her touch gets gentler there, more careful, and something about that tenderness makes my throat tight.

“There’s nothing I won’t do for you,” she says quietly. And when I open my eyes and look at her, the smirk is still there, sly and knowing, but underneath it is something completely sincere. “You know that.”