The Denver International Airport was absolute bedlam.
Hundreds of stranded passengers jammed the terminal, rolling suitcases clattering like thunder while frustrated voices shouted over the constant robotic announcements. Snow hammered the massive windows in sideways sheets, turning the runways into whiteout hell. Natalia Voss stood rigid in front of Gate B32, her manicured fingers white-knuckling the handle of her carry-on. Her camel coat was dusted with melting flakes, but the real chill came from the glowing red letters on the departure board.
**CANCELLED.**
"Due to severe winter weather, Flight 472 to Seattle has been officially cancelled," the voice droned for the third time. "All passengers please proceed to customer service for rebooking."
"Fuck," Natalia muttered, pushing a strand of long, glossy dark hair behind her ear. At thirty-five she was still the kind of woman who stopped traffic—full lips painted deep wine red, hourglass curves poured into a snug cashmere sweater that hugged her generous D-cup breasts, and jeans that made her ass look criminal. But right now she just felt trapped.
A tall, broad shadow stepped up beside her.
"Next flight isn't until tomorrow night at the earliest," Ethan said, voice low and rough. "Every hotel within thirty miles is booked solid. I checked the apps while you were staring at the board."
She turned. Her twenty-five-year-old stepson loomed over her in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, shoulders straining the fabric, sharp jaw tight with irritation. He looked nothing like the lanky college kid from lockdown. He looked like a man who could ruin her in the best possible ways.
And they both knew he already had.
Natalia's throat tightened at the memory. Three years ago, when the world shut down and her husband—Ethan's father—was stuck overseas on endless Zoom calls, the big empty house had become their private playground. What started as "we're lonely, this is just comfort" had spiraled into pure filth. She still remembered dropping to her knees in the laundry room the very first time, wrapping her lips around that massive, veiny cock and choking herself on it until tears streamed down her face and spit dripped from her chin. She'd loved every brutal second—the way he'd gripped her hair, the way her throat bulged, the way she'd come untouched just from the degradation and the taste of him.
They'd done it again and again for months. Quick, desperate, secret fucks and throat-fucks whenever they could steal a moment. Until the world reopened, life went back to normal, and they'd silently agreed to pretend it never happened.
Until this storm.
"We can't stay here all night," Natalia said, forcing her voice steady even as heat pooled low in her belly. "The house is empty. Your dad won't be back from Tokyo for another ten days. It's better than sleeping on airport benches."
Ethan's hazel eyes flicked to her mouth for half a second too long. "Smartest choice? Or the riskiest?"
The question hung between them like smoke.
The Uber ride was pure torture.
The driver white-knuckled the wheel through the worsening blizzard while Natalia sat ramrod straight in the backseat, trying to keep distance. Impossible. Ethan was too big. His powerful thigh took up half the seat, radiating heat through his sweatpants. Every pothole, every slide on the ice, sent her knee brushing against him.
She tried not to remember. Tried not to picture herself on her knees again, gagging happily on that monster while mascara ran in black rivers down her cheeks. Tried not to think about how wet she already was just from sitting this close.
The car hit a deep, snow-hidden rut.
Natalia's hand shot out for balance—and landed high on his thigh. Way too high.
Her palm pressed right against it.
Rock hard.
Even through the soft fabric she felt the impossible girth, the throbbing heat, the thick length straining painfully against the material like it remembered exactly who she was. It twitched under her touch, swelling even more.
She froze. Her breath caught. Her nipples tightened instantly against her lace bra.
For three endless heartbeats her fingers stayed there, curled slightly, almost stroking.
Ethan's entire body tensed. A low, dangerous sound rumbled in his chest.
Finally she yanked her hand back like she'd been burned, cheeks flaming. "I—I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, Natalia," he growled, voice rough and quiet enough that the driver couldn't hear. "We both know it's not the first time you've had your hands on my dick."
Her pussy clenched hard at his words. She could feel herself getting wetter, soaking through her panties. The rest of the ride passed in thick, electric silence.
When the Uber finally crawled up to the dark suburban house, snow was already halfway up the front steps. The driver couldn't get away fast enough.
Ethan grabbed both suitcases without a word and carried them inside. Natalia followed, heart hammering against her ribs, thighs slick with arousal.
The door clicked shut behind them, sealing out the howling storm.
The house was cold and dark. Empty. Just like the old days.
Ethan set the bags down in the foyer and turned to face her. His eyes burned with three years of suppressed hunger.
Natalia leaned back against the closed door, trying to steady her breathing.
The lights overhead flickered once… twice…
Then died completely, plunging them into blackness.
End of Chapter 1