Just jeans

Jeremy just smirked, stretching his arms behind his head, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight across his chest. The bathroom door creaked open—and I froze. The scent of her coconut body wash hit first, warm and thick, followed by the soft shuffle of bare feet on hardwood.

Mom stepped out wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung jeans, the button undone just enough to show the dip of her hipbones. No bra, no shirt—just golden skin gleaming under the hallway light, her tits swaying slightly with each step, nipples stiff from the shower’s chill. My throat went dry. She was humming, oblivious, rubbing a towel through her damp hair like this was normal. Like Jeremy wasn’t devouring her with his eyes, his tongue darting over his bottom lip.

"Mom!" I yelled, my voice cracking. Her head snapped up, those doe eyes widening as she finally seemed to register Jeremy's presence—and her own near-nudity. But instead of covering up, she just laughed, tossing the towel onto the couch. "Ay, relax, mijo," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's just Jeremy." The way she said his name—soft, familiar—made my stomach twist. Jeremy's fingers drummed against his thigh, his gaze locked onto her bouncing tits as she leaned over to grab a soda from the fridge. The curve of her ass flexed, jeans straining, and I saw his cock twitch against his jeans.

She popped the tab, taking a long sip while Jeremy openly stared, his smirk turning filthy. "Fuck, Mrs. R," he drawled, licking his lips. "You're gonna give me ideas." Mom choked on her drink, coughing into her hand—but she was blushing, her nipples hardening further under his gaze. My hands trembled. This wasn't just bullying anymore. This was something else—something thick and suffocating, like the air before a storm.

The fridge door swung shut, and Mom leaned against it, crossing her arms under her tits, pushing them up. Jeremy’s nostrils flared. I wanted to vomit. Or punch him. Or—god help me—watch. The realization hit like a slap: I was jealous. Not just of his freedom to touch her, but of her reactions—the way her breath hitched when his eyes dropped to her waistband, the way her thighs pressed together when he chuckled low in his throat. She was enjoying this. And I hated how much I wanted to see more.

No- I should stop this. "Mom, enough is enough. Jeremy's home. You need to stop prancing around naked." My words came out harsh, but the way she blinked at me—slow, like a cat assessing prey—made my pulse stutter. "Naked?" Her lips curled as she gestured down at herself. "Mijo, I'm wearing pants." Jeremy snorted, spreading his legs wider on the couch, the bulge in his jeans unmistakable. "Yeah, Lachlan. Don’t be such a fucking prude."

Mom sighed, shaking her head like I was the unreasonable one, and that’s when Jeremy moved. In one fluid motion, he stood and closed the distance between them, his hands rising to cup Mom’s bare tits like they belonged there. My breath seized. Her breath hitched—not in protest, but surprise. Jeremy’s thumbs brushed over her nipples, and Mom’s eyelids fluttered, her lips parting on a silent gasp. "Happy now?" Jeremy teased. "Her tits are covered now."