Mother Dearest

Three years vanish the moment Katy steps through the door. Mom is gone. Business called. Cindy waits in the kitchen, silk robe loosely tied, holding two glasses of red like she expected this all along. Katy's bag drops at her feet. Her stare lingers on the way the fabric slips off Cindy's shoulder. Nothing feels polite anymore. Cindy sets the glasses down, reaches out, and traces Katy's jaw with the back of her knuckle, slow enough that the air changes. The door locks behind them with a small, decisive click. Katy's pulse jumps at the base of her throat. She doesn't pull away when Cindy presses closer, mouth brushing hers in that first, shallow tasting. Fingers slide beneath cotton to find bare skin; Cindy hums once—quiet approval—before the kiss turns deeper and hungrier. Katy's hips meet the counter. Cindy's hand pushes the robe completely open, bare breasts brushing against Katy's chest while the younger woman gasps into her mouth. The silk falls. Cindy's thigh parts Katy's knees; a bare palm cups the damp heat between cotton panties. Two seconds later the panties hit the floor with a soft sound. Cindy's fingers sink in to the second knuckle, thumb circling the swollen clit like she’s always known the rhythm. Katy grinds down without thinking. Breath stutters. Nails rake across Cindy's back. The older woman pins her hips harder, pace quickening, curling once, twice, drawing out a low, helpless sound that Katy barely recognizes as her own. When Katy comes her forehead thuds against Cindy's collarbone; her whole body shakes. Cindy keeps her fingers moving until every aftershock finishes, then pulls them out and slips them between Katy's lips. Katy sucks them clean without hesitation, tasting her own orgasm on the warm skin while Cindy's free hand squeezes her ass once, possessive and rough. The fridge hums in the background. No words. Only the faint creak of the floorboards as Cindy leans in, kisses Katy again, tongue lazy, and walks her backwards toward the hallway that leads upstairs.