After the intense sparring session in the backyard, my muscles ached in that satisfying way, a mix of happiness and fun running through me. Mom—Grace, as she insisted I call her when we were alone like this—had put up one hell of a fight. She was fierce, her body toned from years of training, and damn if it didn't turn me on seeing her sweat-glistened skin under the sun. We were both covered in dirt and grass stains, our clothes clinging to us like second skins. As we headed inside, her hand brushed mine, a silent promise of what was to come.
"Let's get cleaned up, Austin," she said with that soft, knowing smile, her voice laced with the same heat that had been building between us all afternoon. "Bathroom's calling our names."
