Chapter 9: Predatory Patience

The car door slammed shut behind Devin with a hollow thud, Hailey’s cherry-red convertible already rolling down the driveway before he could even wave goodbye. He caught the tail end of Samantha’s shy glance—her lips still pink from their session, fingers twisting the hem of her jersey—before Hailey gunned the engine and they vanished around the corner. Ice cream. Right.

Devin exhaled through his nose, flexing his hands. The house loomed silent. Too silent. “Mom?” he called, stepping into the foyer. No answer. His sneakers squeaked against hardwood as he checked every room—Dad’s office (empty, whiskey glass still half-full), Mom’s study (desk chair spinning lazily), kitchen (sink dripping), living room (TV dark). Even the master bedroom, where Diane’s robe lay discarded on the rumpled duvet like a shed skin. The ensuite shower dripped.

He shrugged, rolling his shoulders to shake off the unease. Brianna would understand. He took the stairs two at a time, already rehearsing his she wasn’t home apology—

The door creaked open.

Diane—Mother—arched naked against his mattress, wrists and ankles lashed to the bedposts with thick nylon rope he’d last seen coiled on a garage hook. Her gag was a knotted silk scarf, damp with saliva, but her eyes—fuck—her eyes burned. Brianna lounged beside her, bare as dawn, one hand idly tracing Diane’s ribs.

“Took you long enough,” Brianna purred, stretching like a satisfied cat. Her grin was all teeth. “So. I got hungry.” She palmed Diane’s breast, squeezing until their mother moaned. “Hope you don’t mind sharing.”

Devin’s pulse roared in his ears. The door clicked shut behind him.

Gotcha.

The ice cream parlor’s neon sign buzzed overhead, casting a pink glow over Hailey’s cherry-red sundae as she swirled her spoon through whipped cream. She glanced at Samantha, who was meticulously picking rainbow sprinkles off her chocolate scoop.

“So,” Hailey said, licking her spoon clean. “What’d you and Doc talk about today?”

Samantha’s cheeks flushed. “The tingles,” she admitted softly. “And the hunger. The ones I feel when you or Dev touch me.”

Hailey’s spoon froze mid-air. “Devin touched you?”

A nod. Samantha traced a fingertip along her collarbone, eyes flicking away. “Cheek to cheek. Foreheads. Then ... lips.”

A jolt of jealousy crackled through Hailey’s ribs—sharp enough that her fingers twitched around her spoon. She blinked it away, forcing a smirk. “Wow. Progress.” But her mind betrayed her, conjuring Devin’s hands peeling Samantha’s jersey off, his mouth dragging down her throat while Hailey pinned the girl’s wrists—

She shuddered, thighs pressing together under the table.

Samantha tilted her head. “You okay?”

“Fine.” Hailey cleared her throat, scraping her sundae dish. “So ... what’d you think of it? The session.”

Samantha exhaled, staring into her melting ice cream. “I understand it better now,” she murmured. “What the tingles are. What they ... want.” She lifted her gaze, bright blue eyes locking onto Hailey’s. “I feel them for you too. But—” A pause. A swallow. “I’m not ready. Not for where they lead.”

Hailey’s pulse hammered. Yet. She leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Take all the time you need.”

Samantha’s spoon clinked against the glass dish. The pink neon buzzed louder.

Devin’s mouth opened, then closed, his lips flapping uselessly. His gaze ping-ponged between Brianna’s smug smirk and Diane’s bound, glistening body, her nipples stiff under the ceiling fan’s lazy breeze. “What—how—why—” he managed, voice cracking like a pubescent boy’s. His fingers twitched at his sides, torn between reaching for the bedside lamp to check for hidden cameras and lunging forward to bury his face between his mother’s thighs.

Brianna rolled her eyes, dragging her fingertips down Diane’s sternum, pausing to circle a nipple until their mother whimpered against the gag. “Oh my God, Dev,” she sighed, as if explaining algebra to a toddler. “I got tired of waiting for you to figure out a ‘safe space’ to fuck me without Mom walking in.” Her hand slid lower, tracing the defined dip of Diane’s abdomen before disappearing into her blonde curls. Diane’s hips jerked against the restraints, a muffled moan vibrating the silk scarf as Brianna’s fingers slipped through slick folds. “Soooo,” Brianna continued, lifting glistening fingers to her lips, “I asked Dr. Renworth for a better solution.” She sucked her fingers clean, humming appreciatively. “Mmm. Delicious.”

Devin’s brain short-circuited. “But—but that’s Mom—”

“Exactly.” Brianna grinned, spreading Diane’s thighs wider, exposing her glistening pinkness to the humid room. “She can’t ground us for fucking...” Her index finger dipped inside Diane, drawing a wet line up to her clit. “ ... if we’re fucking her.” Diane’s back arched off the mattress, her muffled cry music to Brianna’s ears. “See? Problem solved.”

Devin’s knees buckled. He caught himself on the dresser, knuckles whitening around the wood. “And she—she wants this?”

Brianna’s laugh was a dark, honeyed thing. “Oh, Devin.” She leaned down, licking a stripe up Diane’s inner thigh. “She begged for it.”

The lie tasted sweeter than their mother’s cum.

Devin’s breath hitched. “Prove it.” His voice was gravel. “Take the gag off.” Brianna rolled her eyes but obeyed, fingers working the silk knot loose. Diane coughed, her swollen lips glistening.

“Begging was an exaggeration,” Diane gasped, licking spit from the corner of her mouth. “But Christ, Devin—yes. I want your tongue in me so deep I forget how to spell my own goddamn name.” Her hips strained against the ropes. “I want Brianna’s fingers stretching me open while you split me—every inch of that baseball bat you call a cock. Want you to make me whimper when you shove it down my throat, then scream when you flip me over and wreck my ass like some back-alley whore.”

Devin’s dick throbbed against his jeans. Brianna’s grin was feral as she traced Diane’s collarbone. “Still think I lied, baby brother?”

Diane’s laugh was ragged. “And after you’ve ruined me?” She bared her teeth. “I want you to do it all over again. Right in front of your father’s empty whiskey bottle.”

Brianna’s fingers pinched Diane’s nipple—hard. “She came twice just practicing on her dildo yesterday.” Diane’s moan was confirmation.

Devin’s zipper gave way.

The last swirls of melted cherry syrup pooled at the bottom of Hailey’s sundae dish, sticky-sweet and abandoned. Samantha’s fingers traced the condensation on her water glass, her voice barely louder than the clink of spoons. “Hales?” A pause. A breath. “Why do you touch me so much?”