Conversation with Mom

Mom unscrewed the cap, taking a long sip. Water dripped down her chin, trailing between her tits, and Jeremy's fingers twitched like he wanted to catch it. "Long day?" he asked, voice dripping with fake concern.

"Ugh, sí," Mom groaned, rolling her shoulders. The tank top slipped down one arm, revealing her tanlines. Jeremy's nostrils flared. "Ay, perdón," she laughed, tugging it back up, but the damage was done. The thin fabric clung to every curve, the outline of her nipples now unmistakable.

Jeremy chuckled, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "Relax, Mrs. R. It's not like we haven't seen it before." His smirk was poison. "You go braless on Insta all the time. Those beach pics? Fuckin’ legendary." My blood turned to ice. Since when did this fucker follow her?

Mom smiled, "That is true, but only because my followers demand for me to keep cool. It is so hot in the summer." She tugged at the hem of her tank top, which only succeeded in pulling it tighter across her chest—her nipples now visibly peaked against the damp fabric. Jeremy’s grin widened as his fingers drummed against his thigh, his gaze locked onto the subtle bounce of her breasts with each breath.

I stepped between them, my voice tight. "Mom, put on a robe or something. You’re—" I swallowed, my throat dry as I gestured vaguely at her body, "—dressed like you’re at a fucking pool party." She blinked at me, confusion flickering in her eyes before she laughed, swatting my shoulder.

"Ay, Lachlan, relax! It’s my house, mijo," she said, shaking her head like I was being ridiculous. Water droplets still clung to her collarbones, catching the light as she moved. Jeremy’s chair creaked as he shifted, his stare burning into her back. "Besides," she added with a careless shrug, "it’s too hot for layers."

Jeremy laughed, "Yeah! I'm actually surprised you're wearing so much!" Mom nodded enthusiastically, "Well, yeah. I don't know why I even bothered putting clothes on." My blood froze. What the fuck was she saying?

That’s when I remembered—last week, scrolling through Instagram, Mom’s post had stopped me cold. A bathroom selfie, steam still clinging to the mirror, her damp skin glowing under the dim light. She’d censored it with a pixelated blur over her tits and pussy, but the caption burned in my brain: *Ay, this heatwave! Even naked isn’t enough. Stay cool, mis amores.* The comments were worse—thirsty replies from random dudes, and one username I recognized instantly: *@JeremyFucksHard* with a fire emoji. Mom had liked his comment.