he hides

Tom watched through the crack until he was sure she was nearly finished — towel wrapped tight, hair brushed, a faint trace of steam clinging to her skin — and then he backed away silently, his feet retracing the exact path his body already knew by heart.

He slipped into her bedroom and into the closet. It was the safest vantage point; he had done this before, too many times to count. In this life, this was second nature — a ritual honed over years of careful, obsessive practice.

The closet door was just wide enough to give him a view of the bed. As always, Sarah had laid out her clothes before getting in the shower: neatly folded jeans, a blouse, her underthings stacked at the top.

Tom’s gaze locked on the hamper by the dresser. He knew what he’d find.

Sliding his hand in, he pulled free the white cotton panties she’d been wearing earlier in the day. The warmth of her body had faded, but her scent clung to the fabric, intimate and unmistakable.

He inhaled deeply. His jeans were already unzipped before he’d made the conscious choice. His cock sprang free, throbbing, and he wrapped the panties around it, stroking slowly, savoring every inch.

Memories bled in — the first time he’d done this as a teenager, trembling with adrenaline. The years of cycling between guilt, fear, and irresistible compulsion. Each time he swore he’d stop, but it never lasted. He always came back to this.

He listened for the cues — the click of the bathroom door, the rhythm of her footsteps. Timing was everything.

Sarah emerged, her towel slipping slightly at the top. She walked to the bed and, with the most casual movement in the world, let the towel fall away. Tom’s breath caught.

She picked up a fresh pair of panties — light blue today — and stepped into them, one leg at a time. The sight made his pulse thunder in his ears. His pace quickened, the panties in his hand sliding over his shaft in smooth, damp strokes.

Then came the bra. Plain, practical — nothing meant to seduce — but to him it might as well have been silk and lace, the way it cupped and lifted. He was right on the edge now.

“Mom…” he gasped quietly, almost without realizing he’d said it.

She turned slightly, checking her reflection in the full-length mirror. One of her earrings slipped from her fingers, landing on the carpet. She bent at the waist to retrieve it, and Tom’s mind exploded with images: his hands gripping her hips from behind, yanking her panties down, pushing into her warm, yielding body.

He bit down on the sound trying to escape his throat, his strokes fast and **** now, every nerve tuned to her movements in the room just feet away.