Next step

At 6:52, the garage door rumbled open. Julia’s heels clicked across the concrete. The Urus beeped as it unlocked. Riley pressed herself flat against the wall behind a stack of storage bins, barely breathing as Julia slid into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and backed out.

The garage door closed again. Silence.

Riley waited another five minutes—counting in her head—until she was sure Julia was gone for the day.

Then she slipped back inside through the side door, locked it behind her, and moved through the quiet house like a ghost.

Nick’s room was her target.

She pushed the door open slowly—no creak this time—and stepped inside.

Nick was still asleep—sprawled on his back, sheets kicked to his waist, boxer briefs tented with morning wood. The faint scent of him—sleep-sweat, faint musk—hit her like a ****. She closed the door behind her, locked it, and stood there for a second, staring at the outline of his cock through the thin cotton.

She set her phone on his desk, propped it against a textbook, and hit record—video mode, sound on, angled perfectly to capture the bed.

Then she knelt beside him, heart slamming so hard she could feel it in her throat.

She tugged his boxers down slowly—careful, quiet—freeing that thick length. It sprang up, already hard, pre-cum beading at the tip.

Riley leaned in, lips parting, and took him into her mouth—slow at first, tongue swirling around the head, tasting the salt of sleep and arousal.

Nick stirred—soft moan, hips twitching upward on instinct.

She sucked deeper, hand wrapping around the base to stroke what her mouth couldn’t reach, bobbing slowly, deliberately, letting the wet sounds fill the quiet room.

His breathing changed—hitched—eyes still closed but fluttering.

“Mom…?”

Riley moaned around his cock—low, vibrating—taking him to the back of her throat.

Nick’s hand drifted to her hair, fingers tangling, hips rolling lazily.

She kept going—faster now, sucking harder, tongue pressing flat against the underside—until his hips jerked, breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Fuck—Mom—”

He came with a choked groan—thick, hot spurts flooding her mouth. Riley swallowed every drop, throat working, milking him dry as he shuddered beneath her.

When he finally stilled, she pulled off slowly—lips swollen, chin wet—turned to the phone, and ended the recording.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, stood on shaky legs, and sent the video to “Alex” with a single line:

Riley: Proof. I did it again. Please… keep me.