Empty Nest
"His son's college girlfriend keeps visiting after the breakup. She says she left things behind. What she really left behind was pretense."
She knocks on my door three weeks after the breakup.
"Mr. Warren? Is Tyler home?"
"He's at his mother's this weekend." I don't move from the doorway. "I'll tell him you stopped by."
"Actually—" Amber shifts her weight. She's wearing a sundress that's too small, straining across her chest and hips. "I left some things. In his room. Could I maybe grab them?"
I should say no.
I step aside and let her in.
Amber Chen dated my son for two years.
She's twenty-one, a junior at State, majoring in something I can never remember. She has black hair that falls to her waist, a round face, and a body that Tyler used to joke about—"more cushion," he'd say, laughing like an idiot.
She's not thin.
She's probably two-twenty, maybe two-thirty, with breasts that strain against every top she wears and hips that sway when she walks. Her belly is soft, her thighs thick, her ass the kind that makes jeans weep.
Tyler broke up with her because he found someone "hotter."
Tyler is an idiot.
She's been in his room for twenty minutes.
I should check on her. I should call up the stairs, ask if she found what she needed. Instead, I'm in the kitchen, pretending to work, listening to her footsteps overhead.
The footsteps stop.
A moment later, she appears in the doorway.
"Mr. Warren?"
She's holding a t-shirt. One of Tyler's. Her eyes are red.
"He really threw away everything, didn't he?"
"Amber—"
"Two years." She laughs, hollow. "Two years, and he couldn't even pack up my stuff himself. Just threw it in a garbage bag."
"I'm sorry. He shouldn't have—"
"Did you know? That he was seeing someone else?"
I don't answer. Which is answer enough.
"Of course you did." She drops the shirt. "Everyone knew except me."
She starts crying.
Not loud, dramatic sobs. Just tears, streaming down her face, like she's too tired to make a sound. I should stay where I am. Should offer tissues, maybe coffee, anything from a safe distance.
I walk toward her instead.
"Hey." I put a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. You're better off without him."
"Am I?" She looks up at me. "Because right now it feels like I wasted two years on someone who was just... waiting for something better."
"That's his loss. Not yours."
"You're just saying that."
"I'm not." I hold her gaze. "Tyler didn't deserve you. He never did."
Something shifts in her expression.
"You really think that?"
"I know it."
She steps closer.
Too close.
"I used to wonder," she says, "if it ran in the family."
"If what ran in the family?"
"That thing. That magnetism." Her hand finds my chest. "Tyler had it, a little. But you..."
"Amber—"
"I'd be here for dinner and you'd walk in from work, still in your suit, and I'd forget Tyler existed." Her fingers curl into my shirt. "I used to think about you. At night. In his bed."
"Stop."
"Why?"
"Because you're my son's ex-girlfriend. Because you're half my age. Because—"
"Because you thought about me too."
I don't deny it.
I can't.
"I saw you looking," she continues. "At Christmas. At the barbecue last summer. Every time I bent over or stretched or—"
"That doesn't mean—"
"It means something." She rises on her toes. Her mouth is inches from mine. "Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you never wondered what it would feel like."
"Amber—"
"Tell me, and I'll leave. I'll get my stuff and go and we'll never talk about this again."
The silence stretches.
"That's what I thought."
She kisses me.
She tastes like cherries.
Young and sweet and nothing like the women I've been with since the divorce. Her body presses against mine—soft everywhere, yielding, hungry. Her tongue slides into my mouth and I groan.
"Fuck," she breathes when we break apart. "I've wanted that for so long—"
"We can't—"
"We already are." She takes my hand. Places it on her breast. "Feel that? That's for you. That's always been for you."
Her nipple is hard through the fabric. I squeeze, and she moans.
"Tyler never made me feel like this." She reaches for my belt. "Never looked at me like you do."
"Like how?"
"Like you want to devour me."
I do.
God help me, I do.
We don't make it upstairs.
She drops to her knees in the kitchen. Frees my cock. Takes it in her mouth with a moan that vibrates through me.
"Christ—"
She's eager. Sloppy. Inexperienced but enthusiastic. She bobs her head, strokes what she can't fit, looks up at me with those dark eyes while she sucks my cock in my own kitchen.
"You're so big," she gasps, pulling off. "Tyler was—he wasn't—"
"Don't talk about him."
"Sorry." She strokes me. Kisses the tip. "I just wanted you to know."
"I know."
She takes me deep again. I grab her hair—that long, black hair—and guide her. She moans around me, accepting it, wanting it.
"Gonna come," I warn.
She doesn't pull off.
I spill down her throat. She swallows every drop, keeps sucking until I'm too sensitive, then sits back on her heels with a satisfied smile.
"Your turn," I tell her.
I pick her up.
She squeaks—surprised, delighted. I carry her to the living room, drop her on the couch. She's panting, spread out, her sundress bunched around her waist.
"Take it off," I order.
She pulls the dress over her head.
She's not wearing a bra. Her breasts are enormous—heavy, soft, nipples dark against pale skin. Her belly rounds beneath them, soft and real. Her panties are pink, already damp.
"All of it."
She hooks her thumbs in the waistband. Slides the panties down. Kicks them away.
She's perfect.
Young and thick and waiting. I kneel between her thighs, spread them wide, and lower my mouth to her.
"Oh god—"
She's sweet. Wet and sweet and she bucks against my face the moment my tongue touches her clit. I eat her like I've been starving—licking, sucking, sliding my tongue inside her while she writhes.
"Mr. Warren—please—"
"My name is David."
"David—fuck—I'm gonna—"
She comes fast. Young, inexperienced, overwhelmed. I keep going—through the first orgasm, into the second, until she's begging me to stop.
"Inside me," she pants. "I need you inside me—"
I climb on top of her.
I slide in slowly.
Watching her face. Watching her stretch around me, her mouth falling open, her eyes going wide.
"You're so—fuck—you're so deep—"
I sink to the hilt. She's tight—young and barely used—and she clenches around me immediately.
"Tyler never—"
"I said don't talk about him."
"Sorry—sorry—just move—please—"
I move.
I fuck my son's ex-girlfriend on my couch while the sun sets through the windows. Her body ripples with each thrust. Her breasts bounce. She moans my name—David, David, David—like a prayer.
"I've wanted this," she gasps. "For two years. Every time I came over. Every time I saw you—"
"You hid it well."
"I had to." She wraps her legs around me. "He was your son. I couldn't—but I dreamed—"
"About what?"
"This." She clenches around me. "You. Inside me. Making me yours."
"Is that what you want? To be mine?"
"Yes—"
I thrust harder. She screams.
"Say it again."
"I want to be yours—"
"Again."
"I want to be yours, David—"
She comes.
I follow—burying myself deep, filling her, claiming her completely.
We lie tangled on the couch.
Her head on my chest. Her body soft and warm against mine. The living room is dark now. My son's ex-girlfriend, leaking my cum, in my arms.
"What happens now?" she asks.
"I don't know."
"Tyler will find out."
"Probably."
"He'll hate you."
"He already resents me." I stroke her hair. "One more thing won't matter."
She's quiet for a moment.
"I don't want this to be a one-time thing."
"Neither do I."
She looks up at me. Hopeful. Young. Beautiful.
"So what are we?"
I cup her face. Kiss her softly.
"We're whatever you want to be."
After
Tyler finds out.
He comes home early one Sunday. Finds her making breakfast in my kitchen, wearing my shirt, freshly fucked and glowing.
The fight is brutal.
He calls me every name he can think of. Calls her worse. Storms out, doesn't speak to me for six months.
But Amber stays.
She moves in that summer. Transfers to a closer school. Sleeps in my bed, cooks in my kitchen, fills the empty house with noise and laughter and life.
"Was it worth it?" she asks sometimes.
I look at her. This young, beautiful woman who chose me. Who wants me. Who fills every space my son left empty.
"Every moment."
She climbs into my lap.
"Then show me."
I do.
Two Years Later
Tyler calls on my birthday.
"Dad."
"Tyler."
Silence. Then: "Is she... is she still there?"
"She is."
He exhales. "I don't understand it. I'll never understand it."
"I know."
"But... she seems happy. In the photos. With you."
"She is."
Another silence.
"I'm not ready to forgive you. Either of you."
"That's fair."
"But... happy birthday, Dad."
He hangs up.
Amber appears in the doorway. "Was that—"
"Yeah."
"Is he okay?"
"He will be. Eventually."
She crosses to me. Wraps her arms around my neck.
"I'm sorry. For everything."
"Don't be." I pull her close. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me."
She kisses me.
In the house that was empty, in the life that was hollow, she's everything.
My son's ex-girlfriend.
My everything now.