Novel Full Chapter 797: All The Wrongs (r-18)
Chapter 797: All The Wrongs (r-18)
Sunlight spilled through the half-open blinds in soft, golden bars across mom’s bedroom, late-afternoon warmth that made the sheets glow and the air taste like honey.
I woke slowly, the way you do when everything feels perfect before your brain catches up.
My face was buried in the curve of her neck, her hair tickling my cheek, her body curled into mine like we’d been carved to fit together. She was still asleep, breathing slow and deep, one arm draped possessively over my waist, her bare breast pressed warm against my ribs.
I didn’t move for a long minute. Just breathed her in. My mother. My Linda. The woman who raised me, who loved me first... and now my woman too on my growing harem, the woman whose bed I woke up hard in, whose naked skin was flush against mine, whose heartbeat I could feel against my chest like a secret we were never supposed to share.
Then her fingers twitched against my back, a sleepy little stroke that told me she was surfacing too.
Her eyes fluttered open, soft and heavy-lidded, and the smile that spread across her face when she saw me was so tender, so full of forbidden, aching love it hurt my chest.
"Hi, baby," she whispered, voice husky with sleep and something deeper, something that made my cock throb against her thigh. "My sweet boy... all grown up and still Mommy’s."
"Hi, Mom," I whispered back, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, my thumb lingering on the same cheek I used to kiss good-night when I was small.
She turned into the touch, lips grazing my palm, then my wrist, soft, open-mouthed kisses that felt like worship and sin at once, her tongue flicking out to taste my skin, moaning softly like she couldn’t help herself.
"Mmm... my beautiful boy," she breathed against my pulse, "Mommy missed waking up to you like this."
I leaned in and kissed her forehead first, slow, reverent, letting my lips linger on the warm skin that had kissed away every childhood fever.
Then the bridge of her nose. The tip of it. The faint laugh lines at the corners of her eyes, lines I had helped put there. Each kiss was deliberate, worshipful, a silent confession: I love you, need you, want to be inside the same body that made me.
She sighed, a small, happy, shame-soaked sound, and tilted her face up. "Kiss Mommy properly, sweetheart," she whispered, voice trembling with the weight of how wrong and how perfect it felt.
Our mouths met, soft at first, just the brush of lips, the shared breath. Then deeper. Hungrier.
Her lips parted for me instantly, tongue sliding against mine in a slow, lazy swirl that tasted like sleep and home and the most forbidden kind of sin, her soft moan vibrating into my mouth, "Mmm... baby..."
I kissed her like I was starving but had all the time in the world, long, wet, filthy kisses that made her toes curl against my calf, her hips rocking instinctively against my erection. She whimpered into my mouth.
"Oh, my sweet boy... Mommy’s baby is so hard for her..."
My hand cupped her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone while I devoured her mouth, swallowing every tiny, shame-laced moan she fed me, her tongue stroking mine like she was teaching me how to love her all over again.
She melted, body going liquid, pressing closer until her hard nipples dragged across my chest with every breath, her thigh sliding between mine so I could feel how wet she already was.
I broke the kiss only to move lower, lips trailing down the column of her throat, sucking gently at the spot just beneath her ear that always makes her shiver. "Mommy..." I whispered against her skin, the word dripping with worship and guilt and need.
She arched, offering more, fingers threading through my hair, holding me there, moaning, "Yes, baby... kiss your mother... love your mother..."
I kissed every inch of exposed skin, collarbone, the soft slope where neck meets shoulder, the hollow at the base of her throat, open-mouthed and slow, tasting her, breathing her in like oxygen, murmuring "Mom" against every spot like a prayer.
When I reached the swell of her breast, I paused, lips hovering, letting my breath tease the sensitive peak.
She whimpered, hips shifting restlessly against my thigh, "Please, sweetheart... kiss Mommy’s breasts... they’re yours..."
I smiled against her skin and finally closed my mouth over her nipple, soft suction, slow circles of my tongue, then a gentle scrape of teeth that drew a broken, "Oh, my baby!" from her lips.
Her back bowed, pressing herself deeper into my mouth, fingers tightening in my hair. "That’s it... nurse from Mommy again... just like when you were little... only now you make me so wet, baby..."
I lavished the same attention on the other breast, kissing, licking, sucking until both nipples were swollen and glistening, until she was trembling, soft, needy sobs of "My sweet boy... my perfect son..." spilling from her lips.
I kept moving lower, lips brushing the curve of her ribcage, the soft, warm plane of her stomach, the faint silver stretch marks I kissed like they were sacred, because they were, because they were proof she was our mother carried my sisters inside her, proof of the love that had turned into this beautiful, sinful hunger.
"These marks are from your sisters, baby... from carrying my babies... and now you’re kissing them... oh God, what are we doing..." she moaned, voice thick with tears and lust.
Every kiss was slow, deliberate, worshipful. Every kiss said mine, mine, mine, Mommy’s boy forever.
When I reached the sheet tangled low on her hips, I paused again, looking up the length of her body. Her chest was heaving, lips parted and swollen from my kisses, eyes dark with need and so much love it stole my breath.
I pressed one final, lingering kiss just above the sheet, right over the soft swell where her thighs met, feeling the heat of her soaked pussy through the thin cotton, inhaling the scent of my own mother’s arousal.
She shuddered violently, a soft, broken "Baby..." escaping her lips.
Then I crawled back up, sliding over her, settling between her thighs without entering, just letting her feel how hard her son was for her, the thick ridge of my cock nestling against her slick folds, separated only by air and the last shred of restraint.
I kissed her mouth again, soft and deep and endless, tongues tangling in slow, wet strokes while she moaned "Mommy loves you... Mommy needs you" into my mouth, her hands cradling my face like I was still her little boy and her lover all at once.
We stayed like that, making out slow and filthy and sweet, bodies pressed together, hearts hammering in perfect sync, the afternoon stretching golden and lazy around us.
No rush. No hurry.
Just mother and son, lost in the most forbidden, perfect love, whispering "I love you" between kisses that tasted like guilt and salvation.