His mom arrives first

Peter lay there, catching his breath, the buzz from what just happened still humming through him. His girlfriend—once his dad, now this stunning woman with her dark hair messy across the pillow—snuggled up against him, her skin warm and smooth next to his. That faint jasmine smell hung in the air, mixed with everything else from their time together. She was drawing little circles on his chest with her nails, whispering something in Spanish he didn't fully get, her breath warm on his ear. The remote was just sitting on the nightstand, looking totally normal in the low light coming through the curtains.

For a second, it all felt unreal but exciting—like he could do whatever he wanted now. He glanced at her, taking in the way the sheets draped over her hips, and couldn't help smirking. This was only the start. With that thing, the possibilities were endless...

Then the door flew open with a loud smack against the wall. His mom stood there, eyes bugging out, dropping the laundry basket so clothes spilled everywhere. "Peter! What the hell—"

She stopped dead, staring at them: Peter barely covered on the bed, this woman on top of him, her blouse hanging loose and shorts tossed aside. The woman's head jerked up, her eyes widening for a split second, but then she broke into a sly grin, not moving an inch, still pressed right against him.

"Who is this slut?" his mom yelled, her voice shaking with rage and confusion. She charged into the room, face turning bright red, jabbing a finger at them. "And where's your father? He just got home—I heard the door! What's happening here?"

Peter's heart pounded like crazy, panic hitting him hard and fast, wiping out any leftover good feelings. He tried to sit up, the sheets getting all tangled, but she moved with him, her legs still holding him down. "Mom! Wait—it's not what— I can explain—"

Before he could get another word out, his girlfriend let out a low, mocking laugh, shifting her hips just enough to make Peter freeze. She tilted her head, looking his mom up and down with a smug, taunting stare. "Ay, señora, you look so surprised. Maybe you should knock next time, hmm? Or is this your way of joining the fun? Papi here already has his hands full—with me." She ran a hand through her hair, her voice dripping with fake sweetness, her accent thick and teasing. "And your husband? Who knows... maybe he's closer than you think."

"Explain? Explain this?" His mom waved her arms at the woman, who just smirked wider, her bracelets clinking as she shifted a bit more, not even trying to hide anything. His mom looked around wildly, like she expected her husband to pop out from somewhere, breathing heavy. "Where is he? Did something happen? Who is she?"

Peter's brain was scrambling, no good lie coming to mind. His mom kept coming closer, mad as hell, reaching out like she was gonna pull the woman off him. "Get off my son, you tramp! Peter, what did you do?"

In the middle of it all, Peter's eyes darted to the nightstand. The remote. It was right there. He lunged for it, his fingers wrapping around the plastic just as his mom got closer and pressign the button.