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I did the same. My mother, though approaching seventy, did not look it. She had lines from age, from worry, grief, and loss. But she also had crinkles from happiness, joy, and love. She was small. Especially compared to me. Petite, and delicate-looking. Her hair was blonde, pulled back off her face. The face that was always expertly made-up. Same with her clothes—always pressed, expensive-looking.
My father thought appearances were important.
“Go and have a shower,” my mother ordered me after her inspection. “You’re filthy.”
“I work on a construction site, Mom,” I said, smiling because I couldn’t help it.I’d missed her.
She pursed her lips. “Well, we’re eating in ten minutes, and you can’t sit at the table in that.” She gestured to my clothes.
“Jesus fucking Christ, I’m a grown fucking man, Mom,” I groaned.
“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain,” she snapped.
“You’re an atheist,” I pointed out.
“Yes,” she muttered. “But we don’t know what your new bride is,” she stage-whispered.
I chuckled at that.
As did Fiona. The sound was warm. Genuine. I felt it in my dick. Not a sensation I enjoyed while standing this close to my mother.
“Oh, take his name in vain all you like,” Fiona offered. “Blasphemy is my favorite.”
Mom grinned at that, her eyes dancing. “I like her,” she stage-whispered again.
I needed a fucking beer.
“I’ll get changed,” I said.
“Aren’t you going to kiss your wife hello?” my mother asked, frowning. She stepped back. “Don’t mind me. Act as if I’m not here.” She waved her hand as if she weren’t going to look, but I knew she was watching every second.
If she weren’t here, I’d nod hello to Fiona. Maybe exchange bullshit small talk. Then we’d each retire to different rooms of the house, then sleep in different bedrooms.
Fiona raised her brow at me from her spot on the sofa. Her eyes were dancing with mischief. She looked… light. Carefree.
My cock stirred again.
“I’m dirty,” I tried to protest.
“I’m sure Fiona doesn’t mind you a little dirty,” she teased.
Oh Jesus fucking Christ.
She wasn’t going to stop. I knew my mother. There was nothing for it.
I strode over to where Fiona was sitting, leaned down, and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Though it was quick, I could still smell her. Citrusy and sweet.
My cock twitched once more.
“Oh, come on now, you’re not eighty,” Mom chastised. “You’re newlyweds. Act like it.”
I glared at her, as she was grinning ear to ear. And fuck if that didn’t hit me. She hadn’t smiled at me without sadness in years. I’d made a point to make sure I wasn’t in her presence for extended periods of time because of it.
Guilt overcame me for that.
So, what the fuck did I do?
I grabbed Fiona from where she was sitting, yanked her upward against my body, and kissed the ever-living fuck out of her.
