Min-jae stood frozen against his bedroom door, heart slamming like a drum in his chest. The hallway light seeped under the crack, casting long shadows. Ji-eun's voice lingered in the air—soft, inviting, like a hook pulling him back. *Come eat... before it gets cold.*
He ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to shake off the heat pooling in his groin. His cock was still half-hard, straining against his jeans from the kitchen tease. *Fuck. She's your stepmom. The woman who made your lunches, who hugged you when you failed that math test in tenth grade.* But the image of her robe slipping, that smooth thigh, the faint outline of her nipples... it wouldn't leave.
He took a deep breath and opened the door. The scent of samgyetang hit him harder now—rich broth, ginseng, a hint of her perfume mixed in. Ji-eun was at the dining table, two bowls steaming in front of her. She'd changed the robe for something even more dangerous: a loose white tank top that clung to her large breasts like a second skin, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the hard peaks of her nipples. Below, black shorts rode high on her thighs, her round ass pressing into the chair as she sat.
She looked up, those dark eyes sparkling under the warm pendant light. "There you are, Min-jae. I thought you'd fallen asleep." Her smile was innocent, but the way she crossed her legs, one foot dangling, sent a message that wasn't.
He sat down across from her, the wooden chair scraping loud in the quiet apartment. Rain still pattered against the windows, a steady rhythm that matched the pulse in his veins. "Sorry. Just... studying." The lie tasted bitter. He picked up his spoon, dipping it into the soup, but his eyes kept drifting. To the way her tank top dipped low when she leaned forward, offering a glimpse of deep cleavage. To the curve of her hip as she shifted.
Ji-eun took a sip, her full lips wrapping around the spoon. A small drop of broth escaped, trailing down her chin. She wiped it with her finger, then licked it clean—slow, deliberate. "Mmm. Tastes good, doesn't it? I made it extra spicy tonight. For the cold."
Min-jae swallowed hard, the soup burning his throat. Spicy. Yeah. Everything felt spicy right now. "It's... perfect, Eomma." The word slipped out again, and this time he didn't correct it. Her eyes flashed with something dark, pleased.
"Call me that more often," she murmured, her voice dropping low. "It makes me feel... needed." She reached across the table, her fingers brushing his as she adjusted the napkin. Warm. Soft. Lingering just a second too long. "You've been so quiet lately. College stress? Or is it something else?"
He set his spoon down, heart racing. The guilt twisted in his gut—his real mom's face flashing in his mind, the way she'd smile at family dinners. But Ji-eun was here. Real. Alive. Her scent wrapping around him like a trap. "Just... missing Dad, I guess. He's always gone."
Ji-eun leaned back, her tits rising with the motion, the tank top stretching tight. "He's always gone. But we're not. You and me. And Yumi." She paused, her foot under the table grazing his calf—accidental? No. Deliberate. Slow circles. "It's nice, having the place to ourselves. No one to interrupt."
Her toes trailed higher, brushing his knee. Min-jae's breath hitched. His cock twitched again, fully hard now, pressing painfully against his zipper. *Stop. This is wrong.* But he didn't pull away. Instead, he shifted, letting her foot slide between his legs, the sole pressing lightly against his inner thigh.
Ji-eun's eyes locked on his, a wicked glint there. "You're tense, son. Let Eomma help you relax." Her voice was a whisper now, husky, like velvet over steel. She stood slowly, circling the table. Her hips swayed, those round ass cheeks flexing under the shorts. She stopped behind him, hands on his shoulders—firm, kneading the knots there.
"Ji-eun..." he started, but her fingers dug in, thumbs pressing into his neck. It felt too good. Too right.
"Shh. Just eat your soup." She leaned down, her breath hot on his ear, tits brushing the back of his head. Soft. Heavy. He could feel the heat of her body, the faint scent of her arousal mixing with the broth. "You've grown so big, Min-jae. Strong arms. Broad shoulders. A man now." Her hands slid down his chest, nails grazing his shirt. "Does it feel good when I touch you like this?"
He nodded, words failing him. Her fingers traced lower, stopping just above his belt. The tease was killing him. Guilt screamed in his head—*She's the one who tucked you in at night*—but lust drowned it out. His cock throbbed, begging for more.
Ji-eun's lips brushed his earlobe. "I see how you look at me. In the kitchen. When I bend over. When my robe slips." She nipped his ear lightly, a tiny moan escaping her. "You want Mommy, don't you? Say it."
"Mommy..." The word came out hoarse, broken. Taboo. Filthy. Perfect.
She chuckled, low and throaty, her hand finally dipping lower, palming the bulge in his jeans. "Good boy. Mommy's been waiting for this. For you to stop pretending."
The rain outside roared louder, masking their heavy breaths. Her fingers squeezed gently, stroking through the fabric. Min-jae gripped the table edge, knuckles white. *One more second. Just one.*
Then his phone buzzed on the counter. Loud. Insistent. Ji-eun froze, her hand still on him.
He glanced at the screen. Dad.
*Son, just landed in Singapore. Everything okay there? Tell your mother I love her. Miss you all.*
Ji-eun pulled back, but not before whispering, "Answer it. But remember... Mommy's not done with you tonight."
The call connected. Dad's voice crackled through the speaker. "Min-jae? You there?"
Min-jae stared at Ji-eun, her eyes dark with promise, lips parted. The soup sat forgotten, cooling between them.
"Yeah, Dad," he said, voice strained. "Everything's... fine."
To be continued...
What happens when the call ends and the apartment falls silent again?