Chapter 2

My thoughts drifted away that afternoon three months ago.

Back then...

Ryan had just come back from outside, smelling of rain and dirt.

He headed straight for the stairs, intending to go back to his room to change.

I happened to be coming out of the kitchen with a glass of water.

We nearly bumped into each other at the narrow turn in the hallway.

He stepped aside.

I couldn't help but look at him.

His white T-shirt, soaked with rain, clung tightly to his body, outlining the distinct contours of his pectoral and abdominal muscles.

His shoulders were broad, and the muscles in his arms bulged slightly with his movement.

He exuded a unique sense of youthful strength—not yet fully tempered.

Drops of water trickled down his collarbone and disappeared into the neckline of his shirt.

Blushing, I was stunned for a moment before quickly looking away.

But that one second was enough.

That evening, Edward came home late as usual.

After his shower, he lay down on the bed and soon began breathing steadily.

I stared at the ceiling, replaying that afternoon's scene over and over in my mind.

I told myself it was just a coincidence.

But my body wouldn't listen.

I gently rolled onto my side and slipped my hand under my nightgown.

When my fingertips touched the spot that was already damp, I clenched my teeth to keep from making a sound.

Images shifted instinctively in my mind—not Edward's pale, weary body, but Ryan's rain-soaked chest, his cool, sharp jawline, and the curve of his shoulders as he walked.

I imagined my hand pressing against his body, the warmth of his skin, and his low, husky voice whispering in my ear.

I imagined him pressing down on me, staring at me with golden eyes and slowly stretching me open with burning heat.

The orgasm came quickly and silently.

Afterward, I lay alone in the darkness for a long time.

Shame washed over me like a tide.

I was the homemaker of this household and Ryan's nominal stepmother.

Yet, while my husband slept, I brought myself to climax by fantasizing about my stepson.

After that, nights like this became more frequent.

Edward grew busier and busier.

He always came home late, and when he occasionally touched me in bed, it was merely brief and routine.

He was getting older and his energy was limited, while I was at the peak of my sexual desire.

I began to get used to taking care of myself late at night, and every time, the same person appeared in my mind:

Ryan.

Sometimes I imagined him emerging from the training room, still carrying the scent of sweat.

Sometimes I pictured him sitting on the living room sofa with his long legs casually stretched out.

Sometimes I even heard the sound of his voice as he coldly called my name.

I hate myself.

But that can't change my body's reaction.

Right now, as I sit on his lap and feel his scorching body against me, the fantasies from countless late nights become crystal clear.

My breath catches, and the insides of my thighs tighten.

My panties are completely soaked through.