Her Son’s Devotion

Lydia stood in front of her son’s bedroom door, her palm flat against the wood, and her heart pounded in her chest. She had no business snooping, but something had nagged at her all week—something about the way Ryan had been acting, furtive and flushed whenever she walked into the room. Now, late at night, with the house quiet and her curiosity gnawing at her, she couldn’t resist.

She pushed the door open softly, stepping inside. Ryan was asleep, his head tilted to the side, his breathing slow and steady. His laptop was still on, balanced precariously on his lap. Lydia hesitated, her fingers brushing against the edge of the screen. She knew she shouldn’t—but she couldn’t stop herself. She gently lifted it and placed it on his desk, then sat.

She didn’t know what she was looking for, but luckily the word processor was open already, the title of the document: “Forbidden Desires.” Not sure what to expect, she began to read. The first few lines were enough to make her blood run cold—and then hot. He was describing her. The way she tied her hair up when she cooked, the way her sundress clung to her hips in the summer heat, the way she laughed when she thought no one was watching. It was her, in great detail, and Ryan’s thoughts on her appearance.

“She’s everything,” he wrote. “Her curves, her softness, the way she looks at me sometimes, like she wants to say something but she doesn’t. Does she feel it too? Does she think about it, like I do?”

Lydia’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling the gasp. She glanced at Ryan, still asleep, oblivious. Her heart raced, her thoughts spiraling. This was wrong. She shouldn’t have gone snooping. She should have just left well enough alone. She should stop immediately and never think of this again. Instead, she kept reading, unable to resist, like rubber-necking a violent crash on the highway. She was shocked again and again as she saw herself through her son’s eyes. Every seemingly innocuous event twisted into a lust-filled parody.

Lydia’s fingers trembled slightly as she clicked through the files on Ryan’s laptop, each one revealing a different facet of her son’s obsession. One document titled “Laundry Day” detailed her bending over to pull clothes from the dryer, her shirt riding up to reveal the curve of her lower back. “She doesn’t know how much I ache to kiss her there,” Ryan had written, “to feel her skin against my lips, to make her shiver.” Shocked at first, Lydia felt a strange warmth creep into her cheeks.

Another file, “Summer Garden”, painted her in the afternoon sun, her hands buried in the soil. “Her sweat glistens on her neck,” he’d penned, “and I wonder what it would taste like. She’s so alive, so full of life, and I want to consume her, to make her mine.” Lydia’s breath hitched, her hand pressing against her chest as if to steady her racing heart.

A folder labeled “Dreams” contained more explicit fantasies. In one, Ryan described undressing her slowly, his hands trembling as he peeled the sundress from her body, his lips worshiping every inch of her. In another, she stood before him, her breasts bare, her desire for him written plainly in her eyes. The language was raw, unfiltered, and yet beneath the lust lay a tenderness that made her heart ache.

As she read on, her shock began to wane, replaced by something else—flattery. Ryan’s words were filled not just with desire, but with reverence. He saw her beauty in the smallest details, the way her lips curved when she smiled, the softness of her hands as they brushed against his. Her breath quickened, her stomach fluttering with an unexpected thrill.

She glanced at him, still asleep, and felt a pang of guilt. But she couldn’t stop. The documents were a mirror, reflecting her through Ryan’s eyes, and she was captivated. Her son’s words awakened something in her, a longing she would never have thought possible. Without thinking, she leaned closer to the screen, her pulse racing as she clicked open the next file, eager to see what else he’d written, what else he’d imagined.

Lydia’s breath quickened as she clicked open another folder, her fingers trembling slightly. The screen lit up with a cascade of files, each title more explicit than the last. “Beneath the Dinner Table,” “Shower Secrets,” “Midnight in Mom’s Bed.” Her heart pounded as she opened the first one, her eyes scanning the words that painted her in the most illicit of acts.

He’d imagined her on her knees under the dinner table, her lips wrapped around him, her hands gripping his thighs as she took him into her mouth. The detail was staggering—her hair falling over her face, the muffled moans, the way he’d buried his fingers in her curls to guide her. Lydia gasped, her hand flying to her chest as heat bloomed in her belly.

The next document was a vivid depiction of them in the shower, steam curling around them as he pressed her against the tiles, his mouth trailing down her body. The words were raw, filled with an aching desperation. He’d written about the way her skin would feel beneath his hands, the taste of her, the sounds she’d make as he worshipped her.

By the time she reached the last file, her body was alive with a forbidden arousal. Her nipples hardened painfully against her nightgown, and a pulsing warmth spread between her thighs. He’d thought of everything—every room in the house, every possible scenario. The audacity of it should have revolted her, outraged her, or shamed her, but instead, she felt a twisted sense of pride, a glowing affection for his devotion.

Her breath shallow, Lydia closed the laptop and set it aside. She stared at Ryan, his face peaceful in sleep, and felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Disgust should have been the first to rise, but instead, it was curiosity, love, and pleasant warmth in her that her son loved her so much. Her fingers brushed his forehead lightly as she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss against his skin.

“Goodnight, Ryan,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She lingered for a moment, her heart racing, before slipping out of the room. Her body still thrummed with heat as she slipped into bed, her mind feverishly replaying his words. Sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight—not with the echo of his fantasies lingering in her thoughts.

*****

The kitchen was awash with the soft glow of morning light, the scent of coffee mingling with the faint tang of bacon on the skillet. Ryan shuffled in, his hair a messy tangle, his eyes still heavy with sleep. He stopped short when he saw her. Lydia stood at the counter, the sun catching the hem of the sundress—the very one he’d described in Summer Garden. The fabric hugged her curves like water, her shoulders bare, the straps thin and delicate.

His breath hitched.

“Morning,” she said without turning, her voice smooth as glass. She poured orange juice into a glass, letting the moment linger more than necessary, feeling his eyes on her, before turning back to the stove, leaving the glass on the counter for him.

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice thick. His gaze traced the curve of her spine, the way the dress skimmed her thighs as she shifted weight from one hip to the other. He grabbed the glass and took a big swig, eyes still on her.

She glanced over her shoulder, catching him mid-stare. His eyes dropped so fast it was almost comical. A small smile played on her lips.

“Sleep well?” she asked, turning fully now, leaning back against the stove. Her hand rested casually on the edge, but her pulse thrummed beneath her skin, alive with nerves.

He nodded, not meeting her eyes. “Yeah. You?”

“Fine.” She let the silence stretch before adding, “I was up late last night. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh,” he said with all the eloquence that only a teenager can produce.

“Mm-hmm. Did some… reading.” Her tone was light, almost teasing, but her eyes held his, unflinching.

“Anything good?”

“You could say that.” She stepped closer, her movement unhurried, deliberate. She reached past him for the salt shaker, her arm brushing against his in the process. He stiffened, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

He was so cute in his obviousness. It was a wonder she hadn’t figured it out before. But then, who would ever suspect a son had a crush on his mom?

Lydia turned back to the stove, flipping the bacon with a practiced hand. She could feel his gaze on her, pressing into her. Heat pooled low in her belly, a slow, steady burn that made her press her thighs together.

The table was set quickly, the clatter of dishes filling the space between them. She intentionally bumped into him a few times and his face got redder every time.

Ryan sat down, poking listlessly at his eggs, stealing quick glances at her as she joined him, her movements fluid, the dress swishing around her legs as she sat. She reached for the syrup, her fingers grazing his as he passed it to her. She didn’t pull away immediately, letting the contact linger for a beat too long.

“Thanks,” she said softly, her voice warm, intimate.

He nodded, his cheeks flushing.

They ate in silence, the tension thickening with every passing second. Every glance he stole, every shift in his chair, she noticed it all. How had she been so blind to it before? His knee bounced under the table, his fingers drumming restlessly against the wood. She let her leg brush against his under the table, just once, just enough to make him freeze.

When he finally pushed his chair back, she stood too. “Heading out already?”

“Yeah, uh, school and stuff…” His words stumbled over themselves, clumsy in their haste.

She moved closer, her hand resting lightly on his arm. “Hey, I barely see you anymore. Can’t spare a hug for your mom?”

His body tensed, but he didn’t pull away. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her, his hands hovering awkwardly at her back. She pressed herself against him, her chest flush with his, her arms tight around his shoulders.

Her heart raced. She could feel his, pounding hard beneath his shirt.

“Love you, sweetie,” she murmured, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

“Love you too,” he managed, his voice strained.

She tilted her head slightly, her lips finding his cheek. Her kiss lingered, warm and soft, close enough to his mouth that her breath ghosted over his lips for the briefest moment. He shuddered, his grip tightening unconsciously around her waist.

When she pulled back, her eyes flicked to his face, taking in the raw, hungry look in his eyes. It sent a thrill through her, sharp and electrical.

“Have a good day,” she said, her voice husky despite herself.

He nodded, stepping back quickly. He grabbed his bag, his movements jerky, and practically bolted for the door. She watched him disappear outside, her fingers tracing along her lips where she’d kissed him.

The house fell silent, but the warmth inside her burned bright. What was she doing? Why was she encouraging this? Why did it please her so much to feel his eyes on her? To see the flush in his cheeks?

*****

Lydia stood by the sink, her hands submerged in sudsy water, plates clinking softly against one another. She wore one of Ryan’s favorites—a soft, white blouse that clung to her figure, the top button undone just enough to hint at the swell of her breasts. The air was thick with steam, her skin tingling with anticipation.