continuing

Her kiss deepened, a languid claiming that swallowed the last shred of James’s protest. Sarah’s tongue pressed between his lips, teasing, curling, sliding until he opened fully to her without even realizing it. His whole body responded before his mind could, hips arching, thighs quivering, his breath caught in ragged little gasps that melted into hers.

Sarah’s hands were everywhere—squeezing his breasts, circling his nipples through the thin halter until the fabric felt unbearable, tugging it up so her palms could cup bare skin. “So soft… so perfect,” she murmured, her voice low, reverent but edged with hunger. She pressed her mouth to his collarbone, then lower, tracing a wet trail between his breasts before sucking one nipple into her mouth with slow, deliberate pulls.

James groaned—high, unfamiliar, achingly feminine—and his own fingers clutched at Sarah’s shoulders like an anchor. His mind was chaos: This is wrong, she’s my wife… she’s my mother… she’s— But each thought drowned under the rush of sensation. His body craved it. No, her body craved it. Every touch, every lick, every hot breath seemed to line up with memories that weren’t his but felt like they belonged—Ariel’s first kiss, Ariel’s fumbling touches, Ariel’s secret fantasies whispered into pillows.

Sarah lifted her head, eyes dark and wild. She whispered against his lips, “Say it. Say you love me. Say you want your mommy.”

James whimpered, torn between the name on the tip of his tongue and the flood of arousal that surged at her words. His thighs spread wider on instinct, skirt riding high, panties already damp with need he couldn’t deny.

Sarah smiled, slow and triumphant, her hand slipping lower again, fingers hooking the waistband of his panties. “That’s my good girl,” she crooned, kissing him hard again as her hand slid down, down, until her fingertips brushed the slick heat between his thighs.

James gasped, his back arching, breasts heaving against hers. His voice broke into a whimpering plea—half denial, half **** invitation.