GC Part 6 (v2): Leila gets in trouble with mom

POV: Leila Robbins

The party wasn’t even good.

Leila had spent two hours at Mason’s place holding the same drink and working the room like it was a job interview.

Because it basically was.

Next year, when Chrissie graduated, the cheer captaincy would be hers, assuming she did not screw it up. That meant being seen at the right places, smiling at the right people, and making sure the junior girls remembered her name while the senior girls had no reason to pick Jessica Chan over her.

Mason’s dad was not rich-rich, but he was somebody. He owned a construction company that handled half the new developments on this side of town. That was enough for Mason to throw parties people actually showed up to, and enough that missing one would be noticed.

Plus, her new outfit was cute.

Leila had bought it last week, a dark green top that dipped just enough in the back, paired with high-waisted jeans that hugged her ass. She had checked herself in the mirror before leaving, turned sideways, and liked what she saw. The jeans made her legs look longer and her hips look curvier.

Not Chrissie-level curves, but still.

And the outfit had worked.

She had caught Tyler, one of the varsity soccer players, staring at her ass when she bent to grab her drink from the coffee table. He looked away fast, but she saw it. Felt it too, a little pulse of satisfaction that had nothing to do with the vodka cranberry in her hand.

So yeah.

The night was not a total loss.

Now she was in Chrissie’s car, watching streetlights slide past the window and half-listening to Chrissie talk about someone. Something. Leila had tuned out ten minutes ago.

Chrissie’s voice had that quality, pleasant, melodic, completely empty. Like background music in an elevator.

“...and then Ashley was like, ‘I can’t believe she said that,’ and I was like, ‘Right?’ But also, like, you know how Ashley gets when she’s drunk, so...”

Leila made a noise that could have been agreement and kept watching the lights.

They passed the Turnbull house, the one with the weird lawn gnomes.

Almost home.

“...and I’m kind of worried about Brad, you know?”

Normally, it was easy to zone out during Chrissie’s rambling.

Problems with Brad, though?

That was unexpected.

Leila turned slowly. “Worried? Why?”

Chrissie’s face shifted. Genuine concern flickered beneath the party-girl mask. Her hands tightened around the steering wheel.

“He’s just... I don’t know. He’s been acting weird all night. Since dinner.”

“Dinner with Dad’s boss? And his nephew?”

“Yeah. Zeke.” Chrissie bit her lip, that stupidly sexy thing she did without seeming to notice. “Brad was fine at first, but then he just snapped. Started yelling about Zeke doing something inappropriate with his aunt.”

Leila frowned. “With Pamela Peterson?”

Her father had made sure the entire family knew everything about the Petersons. Leila knew how important it was for him to make a good impression on his boss.

Her family was already rich.

If Dad got promoted, though?

She might never have to work a day in her life.

“Pamela, yeah.” Chrissie shrugged, and her tits moved with it, the thin fabric of her top stretching and settling. She was not wearing a bra.

Of course she was not.

“Brad kept saying Zeke was touching her under the table. Feeling her up or whatever. He was freaking out. Standing up, pointing at them, the whole thing.”

“And?”

“And nothing.” Chrissie’s voice went uncertain. “I was sitting right there. We all were. Your parents, Mr. Peterson, me. Zeke and Pamela were just sitting there. Talking. Normal stuff. There wasn’t anything happening.”

Leila processed this.

“So Brad was seeing things?”

“I don’t know about seeing things...” Chrissie trailed off. “He was really upset. Then your dad yelled at him and he just shut down. Wouldn’t talk to me after. Wouldn’t even look at me.”

Her voice cracked slightly.

“I tried to check on him when we got home, but he said he needed to be alone. He’s never like that with me.”

The car slowed as they turned onto Leila’s street.

The Robbins house was three doors down, dark except for the upstairs window where Dad’s office was.

Good.

He was still working.

Still oblivious.

“Did you see anything weird?” Leila asked. “Before Brad lost it, I mean. Anything with Zeke and Pamela?”

Chrissie thought about it.

Her brow furrowed. Her lips parted like she was about to say something.

Then she blinked, and the expression cleared.

“No,” she said, but there was a tiny hesitation first. “I mean... no. They were normal. Talking. It was pretty obvious nothing weird was going on between them.”

They pulled into the driveway.

Chrissie put the car in park and turned to Leila. For a second, she looked younger than eighteen. Tired, maybe.

“Can you... I don’t know. Keep an eye on him this weekend? Since you’re home and I can’t be here?” She laughed, but it sounded hollow. “God, that sounds dumb. He’s your brother.”

“Yeah. I’ll see.” Leila grabbed her bag. “Thanks for the ride.”

She got out, closed the door, and waited until Chrissie’s taillights disappeared around the corner.

Then she stood in the driveway for a moment, looking up at the house.

The light in Dad’s office was still on, so he was probably buried in work. She did not have time to think about Brad acting weird.

She needed to sneak inside, get upstairs, and pray Dad had not checked her room.

Her feet hurt from the cute but impractical boots. Her mouth tasted like cranberry and cheap vodka. She wanted water, toothpaste, and bed.

She would think about Brad and Zeke tomorrow.

Probably.

---

The house was dark.

Just the way Leila liked it when she came home late.

She slipped through the side door, the one that did not creak, and eased it closed behind her. The lock clicked softly.

Good.

She stood still and listened.

The upstairs was silent. Dad’s office light was probably still on, but he would be buried in work with his headphones in. He would not hear a thing.

She needed water.

She needed to pee.

She needed to scrub the party smell from her skin before falling into bed.

Then she heard something.

Low voices.

From the kitchen.

Leila froze.

Was Dad downstairs? Had he waited up?

No.

One of the voices was too soft.

Female.

Mom?

She should go straight upstairs. That was the smart play. If Mom was in the kitchen, Leila could slip past and pretend she had been home for hours.

Instead, she crept closer.

Curiosity got the better of her.

Besides, getting scolded by Mom never had real consequences.

Leila peered around the corner into the living room.

Empty.

But the lamp was on.

A wine bottle and two glasses sat on the coffee table.

And on the floor lay her mother’s gray silk robe, crumpled in a loose heap with a dark stain spreading across the fabric.

Wine, probably.

Her heart hammered.

Were Mom and Dad fooling around downstairs?

Gross.

At least they were acting like a married couple for once.

Then she heard the voices again.

From the kitchen.

Water running.

Leila moved toward the doorway, staying close to the wall.

She looked inside.

And stopped.

Her mother was bent over with both arms reaching under the sink.

She wore nothing but black lace panties.

Nothing else.

The rest of her was bare beneath the kitchen light.

Leila’s breath caught.

Nicole’s back sloped in one long, elegant line from her shoulders to her waist, then flared into the heavy curve of her hips. Pale skin caught the light with a smooth, almost luminous sheen. The faint ridge of her spine disappeared into the shadow above her ass, and a small dimple marked the base of her back.

Leila had seen old modeling photos of her mother.

Those pictures had been professional, airbrushed, distant. Nicole posed beneath studio lighting in expensive clothes, frozen into something unreal.

This was different.

This was flesh.

Warmth.

Movement.

And her ass.

Leila hated that her eyes went there first.

Hated even more that she immediately understood why someone else’s would.

Nicole’s ass was full, round, and heavy enough to make the thin black lace look almost decorative. The panties were cut high over her hips and narrow across the back, leaving most of her exposed while pretending to preserve modesty.

Leila hated that her eyes went there first.

Hated even more that she immediately understood why anyone else’s would.

Nicole shifted her weight as she searched beneath the sink. The motion traveled through her body in stages. Her shoulders moved first, then her waist, then her hips followed a second later with a slow, soft sway. The lace moved with her, pulling taut, loosening, then settling again as if it could never quite decide where it belonged.

Leila’s stomach tightened.

Not because her mother looked bad.

Because she looked good.

Aggressively good.

Nicole had the kind of body people tried not to stare at and failed. A narrow waist. Broad hips. Long, toned legs. An ass that changed shape with every practical little movement.

When she stretched, it lifted.

When she leaned down, it softened and spread.

When she shifted her footing, the curves rolled subtly beneath the lace before settling again.

Nothing she did was deliberate.

That somehow made it worse.

Leila had spent years thinking of Nicole as simply Mom. Beautiful, sure, but safely beautiful. Abstractly beautiful.

This was not abstract.

This was warm skin beneath kitchen light. Breath moving through her ribs. Muscle tightening in her thighs. The faint sheen along her lower back. The small, absentminded adjustments of someone who had forgotten she was nearly naked.

Nicole reached deeper into the cabinet and braced one hand against the floor.

Her back curved.

Her hips rose.

The movement drew the lace higher and changed the whole line of her body. One leg straightened while the other bent slightly, making her stance uneven and strangely graceful. Her weight shifted again, and the fuller side of her ass gave a slow, delayed sway before coming to rest.

Leila looked away.

Then looked back.

“I swear I had more cleaning spray down here,” Nicole muttered, her voice muffled by the cabinet. “I bought it last week. It should get that wine stain out in a couple of minutes. Where did it go?”

The words barely registered.

Leila’s attention stayed fixed on her mother’s body and the way it filled the nearly empty kitchen.

Nearly.

Standing behind Nicole was Zeke.

He held his phone up near shoulder height.

At first, nothing about it looked strange. The screen cast a pale glow across his face, and from where Leila stood it could have been a flashlight, a message, anything.

Then Nicole shifted again.

Zeke’s wrist moved with her.

Barely.

Just enough to keep the phone aligned with the angle of her body.

Leila frowned.

Nicole reached farther and spread her feet a little wider for balance.

The muscles in the backs of her thighs tightened. Her hips lifted higher, then gave a small, unconscious wiggle as she tried to get comfortable on the tile. The movement was brief, almost impatient, but the soft curves of her ass continued moving for a beat after the rest of her had gone still.

Zeke adjusted the phone.

Again.

A small tilt downward.

A slight turn to the side.

Leila stopped breathing.

“Can you see behind that bottle?” Nicole asked.

“A little,” he said.

She lowered herself another inch.

Her waist twisted.

The lace shifted with the movement and settled more tightly between the curves. Nicole gave another tiny adjustment, a practical little side-to-side motion meant only to free the fabric where it had ridden up.

It failed.

The lace stayed exactly where it was.

Zeke’s mouth curved.

“Am I blocking the light?” Nicole asked.

“A little.”

She moved her hips to one side.

Then the other.

Each shift changed the silhouette. The roundness flattened slightly against one thigh, then rolled back into place. Her stance widened. Her back dipped lower. Her body gave one slow, natural bounce as she resettled her weight.

“There,” she said. “Better?”

“Much.”

Leila’s gaze finally dropped to the phone screen.

The red recording timer was running.

For one second, her mind refused to understand what she was seeing.

Then everything snapped into place.

The careful wrist movements.

The low angle.

The way he followed every shift.

The tiny smile.

He was filming her.

Not hiding it.

Not from Nicole, at least.

Nicole simply did not know.

Or worse, she had been made not to care.

“That’s okay,” Zeke said, his voice light. “Take your time. Stay just like that until you find it.”

Nicole’s movements slowed.

Not stopped.

Slowed.

She settled into the position as if suddenly there were no reason to hurry. Her feet planted more firmly. Her shoulders relaxed. Her hips remained raised while she searched deeper into the dark cabinet.

“There’s got to be some back here somewhere,” she murmured. Her voice sounded softer now, almost dreamy. “I know I had it.”

She reached farther.

Her whole body followed.

Her shoulders dipped first. Her breasts swung gently beneath her. Her waist lengthened. Her hips tipped higher, and the weight of her ass shifted with the motion in a slow, rolling aftereffect that Zeke tracked without missing a second.

Leila’s nails dug into the wall.

Nicole gave another small wiggle, this one slower, trying to settle the lace where it had bunched.

“There. That’s better.”

It was not better.

The motion only changed how the fabric sat against her and made the curves beneath it move again. A soft roll. A brief shiver through the flesh. Then stillness.

Zeke lowered the phone a fraction.

Leila felt sick.

He did not rush.

Did not look guilty.

Did not glance around to see whether anyone might catch him.

He simply watched the screen and let Nicole keep helping him without understanding that she was helping at all.

“Take your time,” he said again.

Nicole obeyed without appearing to realize she was obeying.

She shifted one foot back, lifted her heel, and leaned farther into the cabinet. The change tightened one calf and tipped her hips upward for several long seconds.

Zeke followed the movement with the phone.

Leila could not move.

Could not breathe.

She was watching a stranger record her mother’s half-naked body in her own kitchen.

And every innocent adjustment Nicole made gave him something new.

A different angle.

A different line.

A different motion to capture.

“It’s got to be here somewhere,” Nicole murmured. “I’m so clumsy tonight. Spilling wine everywhere. Losing things...”

The casual intimacy made Leila feel sick.

The exposed body.

The quiet instructions.

The steady phone.

The way Nicole spoke to him like they were alone.

“What the fuck.”

The words came out as a hiss.

In the quiet kitchen, they might as well have been a scream.

Zeke turned.

Surprise flashed across his face before smoothing into something calmer.

He lowered the phone and placed it face-down on the counter.

Caught.

Pathetic.

Nicole shuffled backward out of the cabinet and straightened.

She turned slowly.

Her face was flushed from bending over, and a strand of honey-brown hair clung to her cheek. The black panties rode low across her hips, framing the smooth plane of her stomach.

Above them, her breasts were completely bare.

Full.

Heavy.

Still faintly flushed across the upper curves.

They swayed when she turned, settling a beat after the rest of her body.

“Oh, honey. You scared me.” Nicole laughed without any real amusement. “We were waiting for you. You promised you’d be home by ten.”

Leila’s mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

“What are you doing, Mom?”

The words came out strangled.

She gestured at Nicole, at Zeke, at the phone, at the entire impossible scene.

Her mother’s breasts.

Her mother’s ass.

A stranger’s phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Lower your voice.” Nicole’s tone sharpened. “Your father is working.”

“You’re... he’s...” Leila waved helplessly. “What is this?”

“I spilled wine,” Nicole said, as if that explained everything. “All over my robe. It’s in the living room. I was looking for something to clean it with before the stain sets.”

“And him?” Leila jabbed a finger at Zeke. “Why is he here? Why was he...”

She could not say it.

Could not say filming you like a piece of meat.

Could not say standing behind you while you bent over in panties.

Zeke met her eyes.

Cocky now.

The panic was gone.

His gaze stayed fixed on her with an unnerving calm.

“Zeke was helping me,” Nicole said. “He’s been helping me all night.”

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, lifting them slightly. The motion pressed them together, deepening the shadow between them while she stood there lecturing her daughter as though she were fully dressed.

Then Nicole’s expression changed.

Her nostrils flared.

“Do I smell alcohol?”

Leila blinked.

“You’re too young to be out drinking. This is exactly what I’m talking about, Leila. I’ve been far too lenient with you.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Sneaking out. Coming home late. Drinking.” Nicole’s voice was flat, each word landing like a judge’s gavel. “I let it slide because I didn’t want to fight. No more. Things are going to be different around here.”

Leila stared at her, genuinely exasperated.

“This is about me? Right now? While you’re standing there in your...”

“Don’t.” Nicole raised one hand. The motion made her breasts shift again beneath the arm still supporting them. “Do not change the subject. This is about you, the choices you made tonight, and the consequences you’re going to face.”

Leila gave a bitter laugh.

“Consequences. Right. You’re going to ground me while your boyfriend watches.”

The word hung in the air.

Boyfriend.

Nicole’s eyes went cold.

Colder than Leila had ever seen them.

“That’s enough.”

Before she could continue, Zeke stepped forward.

Only half a step.

His voice was annoyingly calm.

“Don’t be a brat, Leila. You may not like it, but you do have to listen to your mother.”

The words landed inside her with a strange, sinking weight.

Leila shook it off.

“You don’t get to talk to me. You’re not part of this family. You’re some creep who showed up tonight and now you’re...”

She gestured at Nicole’s half-naked body.

“At whatever this is. Taking advantage of her. Filming her like she’s some kind of...”

“How dare you.”

Nicole’s voice cut through the kitchen like a blade.

Leila’s head snapped toward her.

Nicole stepped forward, furious and almost completely naked. Her breasts swayed with each step, but she showed no awareness of them. Her attention remained fixed entirely on her daughter.

“How dare you speak about him that way. Zeke is our guest. He has been nothing but kind to this family. He has helped me tonight more than anyone has in years.”

She jabbed one finger toward Leila’s chest.

“He is my friend.”

The word landed strangely.

Friend.

Like they were schoolgirls.

“And you,” Nicole continued, “come stumbling in drunk at one in the morning, and the first thing you do is insult him? Accuse him of what? Being decent?”

Leila’s mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

This was wrong.

Mom was supposed to be on her side.

Mom was always on her side.

“Zeke would never do anything like that,” Nicole said. Her voice softened, but the steel remained. “He has been nothing but respectful. If you understood what I’ve been dealing with, what your father puts me through, you would understand. But you don’t. You only see what you want to see.”

Behind Nicole, Zeke’s lips curved.

A tiny smirk.

Leila saw it.

She saw the red recording timer too.

She had not imagined anything.

She had watched his phone follow the movement of her mother’s ass. She had seen him adjust the angle. She had heard him tell Nicole to stay bent over.

Zeke was a creep.

He had filmed her.

He was taking advantage of something Leila did not understand.

None of that changed the command sitting inside her like a hook.

She had to listen to her mother.

The realization made her stomach drop.

Nicole took a breath and let it out slowly.

“We’ll discuss this tomorrow, Leila. All of it. Your sneaking out, your drinking, your attitude.”

She held out one hand.

“For now, your phone.”

Leila stared at the open palm.

“No.”

“This is not a negotiation.”

“I said no.”

But her voice sounded weaker now.

The anger was still there.

So was the horror.

Her body simply did not seem to care.

“Leila.” Nicole’s voice was quiet and firm. “Your phone. Now.”

Leila’s hand moved.

Her fingers reached into her pocket.

No.

They closed around the phone.

Stop.

She pulled it out.

What am I doing?

The thought was sharp, clear, urgent.

Her arm extended anyway.

She placed the phone in her mother’s palm.

Nicole closed her fingers around it.

“Passcode.”

Leila’s mind screamed at her to grab it back.

Run.

Call someone.

Do anything.

But Nicole had spoken.

And Leila had to listen.

“0219,” she whispered.

Her birthday.

Month and day.

Mom already knew it.

That did not matter.

She had made Leila say it aloud.

In front of Zeke.

Nicole nodded and held the phone as if it had always belonged to her.

“Now apologize to Zeke.”

Leila’s head snapped up.

“What?”

“You heard me. Apologize for what you said. For accusing him of horrible things. For being rude to a guest in this house, especially one who is so important to your father’s career.”

The last words came out in a low hiss, as though Nicole were embarrassed to remind her in front of him.

“Mom, I...”

“Now, Leila.”

Leila looked at Zeke.

He was watching her with the same smug, patient expression.

Triumphant.

Like he had all night.

The apology stuck in her throat.

She knew he did not deserve one.

She knew exactly what she had seen.

That knowledge remained intact.

It simply did not free her.

Her mother had ordered her to apologize.

So she would.

The thought made her eyes burn.

“What should I apologize for?” she asked, trying to buy time.

“For being a brat. For jumping to conclusions. For worrying your mother half to death.” Nicole’s tone allowed no argument. “Pick one. Or apologize for all of it.”

Leila’s vision blurred.

She would not cry.

She would not.

Then she opened her mouth, and a small sob escaped.

She swallowed it hard.

“I’m really sorry, Zeke.”

The words came out rough and broken.

She could not look at him.

Could not look at Nicole.

Instead, she stared at the floor, at her mother’s bare feet beside Zeke’s sneakers.

“For what I said. For being rude. And for being a... brat.”

Another sob pressed upward.

She choked it down.

Zeke’s eagerness showed plainly in his voice.

“Apology accepted, Leila. Get some sleep. You’ve had a long night.”

He smiled.

“And I suspect tomorrow will be even longer.”

She hated the way he said it.

Like he was granting permission.

Like he was the one in charge.

Nicole nodded, satisfied.

“Go to your room. Be quiet so your father doesn’t hear you. I want you to think about what you’ve done tonight.”

Her expression softened.

“I love you, sweetie.”

Leila turned.

Walked to the stairs.

Her legs felt wrong, heavy and light at once, as though they were not properly attached to her thoughts.

Each step took effort.

Behind her, she heard nothing.

No whispers.

No movement.

Only silence, and the weight of eyes on her back.

She climbed the stairs.

Reached her room.

Locked the door.

Then she finally let the tears come.

Leila sat on the edge of her bed and pulled her knees to her chest.

Her hand moved automatically toward her pocket.

Empty.

Her phone was downstairs.

Zeke had the passcode.

Her mother had given him authority.

And Leila had apologized for catching him filming Nicole’s ass.

She covered her mouth before the next sob escaped.

The lock on her bedroom door suddenly felt very small.