the kiss

The silence in the living room was thick enough to **** on. The only sound was the ragged breathing of two boys and the low hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen.

Derek sat back, cradling his arm against his chest, his face a mask of confusion and fury. He flexed his fingers, watching them twitch involuntarily, the nerves still misfiring from Rohan’s hidden attack. He looked from his traitorous limb to Rohan’s smug face, his eyes narrowing into slits.

“A fluke,” Derek spat, slamming his good hand onto the table. “My hand cramped! It’s a medical thing, happens when I lift too much. That doesn't count. I demand a rematch.”

Rohan opened his mouth to retort, to maybe apologize or deflect, but Riya cut him off with a sharp, dismissive laugh.

“Stop it, Derek,” she said, her voice cool and firm. She stood up straight, crossing her arms under her chest, pushing her cleavage up in a way that made both boys’ eyes flick downward despite the tension. “A deal is a deal. You were the one who wanted to make this interesting. You were the one who set the stakes.”

“But Mrs. Khan—Riya—” Derek stammered, his arrogance cracking.

“Don't be a poor sport,” she chided, stepping around the coffee table. She moved toward Rohan, her heels clicking on the floor, the sound rhythmic and hypnotic. “You agreed to the terms. If you lose, you pay up. That’s what a real man does, isn't it?”

Derek fell silent, his jaw working furiously. He shot a look of pure venom at Rohan, but he didn't argue further. He was trapped by his own rules.

Rohan sat frozen in his chair, his heart hammering so hard he thought it might burst through his ribs. He had won. He had actually beaten the monster. But as his mother approached, the victory felt dangerous. The guilt of the TENS unit sat heavy in his pocket, but it was drowned out by the sudden, overwhelming rush of blood to his groin.

Riya stopped right in front of him. She smelled of jasmine and expensive perfume, a scent that had haunted his dreams for years. She reached out, her fingers cool and soft, and cupped his chin, tilting his head up.

“Look at you,” she murmured, her eyes scanning his face as if seeing him for the first time. “You actually did it. You beat him.”

Rohan couldn't speak. He just stared up at her, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Close your eyes, Rohan,” she whispered.

He obeyed instantly, his eyelids fluttering shut. He felt her lean in. He expected a quick peck on the forehead, or maybe a dry brush of lips on his cheek—the kind of kiss a mother gives a child.

He was wrong.

He felt the heat of her face an inch from his, and then her lips were on his.

They were soft, wet, and warm. The kiss wasn't chaste. It was searing. Riya pressed her mouth firmly against his, parting his lips with a sudden, bold pressure. Rohan gasped into her mouth, and she took the opportunity to slide her tongue inside.

Rohan’s entire body went rigid, then melted. It was electric, better than anything he had ever fantasized about while jerking off in the basement. Her tongue danced against his, exploring, tasting, claiming. He could taste the mint of her gum and the lingering sweetness of her lipstick. A low, involuntary moan escaped his throat, muffled by her mouth.

She deepened the kiss, one hand moving from his chin to the back of his neck, her fingernails digging gently into his skin, pulling him closer. He was vaguely aware of the rest of the world fading away—the cold basement, the bullying, the cheating—all of it dissolved into the heat of his mother’s mouth.

But then, his eyes snapped open behind his closed lids. He remembered the audience.

He pulled back slightly, just an inch, breaking the seal of their lips but staying close enough to feel her breath. He looked past Riya’s shoulder.

Derek was standing now, gripping the edge of the mantelpiece above the fireplace so hard his knuckles were turning white. His face was twisted into a grimace of absolute jealousy. He looked like he wanted to tear the room apart. He was watching his prize being taken by the “skinny beta” he despised, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The sight sent a jolt of dark, twisted pleasure through Rohan’s veins. He looked back at his mother. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her lips swollen and wet. She wasn't looking at him with motherly affection; she was looking at him with a hungry, predatory gleam.

“Not bad, Rohan,” she purred, her voice husky. She leaned in and pecked him once more on the lips, a quick, stinging punctuation mark. “Maybe there is some fire in you after all.”

Rohan sat there, dazed, his lips tingling, his heart racing. He could still taste her.

Riya turned away from him, smoothing down her dress. She looked over her shoulder at Derek, her expression shifting back to one of cool authority.

“See, Derek? No harm done,” she said lightly. “A bet is a bet.”

Derek pushed himself off the mantelpiece, his chest heaving. The humiliation was rolling off him in waves, but beneath it, Rohan saw a dangerous resolve forming. The bully wasn't defeated; he was cornered. And cornered animals were the most dangerous.

“One to nothing,” Derek ground out, his voice low and rough. He didn't look at Rohan; he looked at Riya, but his words were for the boy. “But we aren't done. Not by a long shot.”

He took a step forward, his massive frame filling the room, casting a shadow over the coffee table. The easy, mocking grin was gone, replaced by a cold, hard stare.

“I won the right to choose the next challenge,” Derek said, crossing his arms. “That was the deal. Best of five. I pick the next one.”

Riya raised an eyebrow, looking intrigued. “Go ahead then, Derek. What’s next?”