Sleepover | NEON LIT

Derek's out cold by midnight.

Six beers and half a joint—he never could pace himself. I cover him with a blanket on the basement couch and head upstairs for water.

The kitchen light is on.

Mrs. Patterson is at the counter, pouring herself a glass of wine. She's wearing a silk robe, loosely tied, and when she turns at the sound of my footsteps, I see it gape open at the chest.

"Oh!" She pulls the robe closed. "Jake. I thought you boys were asleep."

"Derek is. I'm just thirsty."

"Help yourself." She gestures at the fridge. "I was just... having a nightcap."

I get my water. I should go back downstairs. I should say goodnight and disappear into the basement and pretend I didn't see what I saw.

I sit across from her at the kitchen island.

"Couldn't sleep either?" I ask.

She looks at me for a long moment. Something shifts in her expression.

"No," she says. "I couldn't."

Mrs. Patterson—Denise, she told me to call her years ago, though I never have—is forty-eight and recently divorced. Derek's dad left her for his secretary six months ago. Classic midlife crisis bullshit.

She's also the reason I've been friends with Derek since freshman year.

Not the only reason. But the main one.

She's a big woman—always has been. Thick thighs, wide hips, breasts that strain against everything she wears. She's probably two-sixty, maybe more, and she carries it like a queen. Dark hair, dark eyes, a smile that makes me forget my own name.

I've been jerking off to her since I was sixteen.

"You've grown up," she says, swirling her wine. "I remember when you first started coming over. Scrawny thing. All elbows and acne."

"I was fourteen."

"Now look at you." Her eyes move down my chest. I'm wearing a tank top, and I've been lifting. "Twenty-two. Filled out. Handsome."

"Mrs. Patterson—"

"Denise." She takes a sip. "I think we're past formalities, don't you? You've been sleeping in my house for eight years."

"Denise, then."

"Better." She sets down her glass. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you think I'm attractive?"

The question hangs in the air. I should lie. I should deflect. I should—

"Yes."

She doesn't look surprised. "Even now? After the divorce? After I've let myself go?"

"You haven't let yourself go."

"I've gained thirty pounds since David left."

"You're beautiful." The words come out before I can stop them. "You've always been beautiful. Derek's dad was an idiot."

She stares at me. The kitchen is silent except for the hum of the refrigerator.

"Come here," she says.

I stand up. Walk around the island. Stop in front of her.

She reaches up, touches my face. Her hand is warm.

"I've seen the way you look at me," she says softly. "For years. I told myself I was imagining it. Told myself you were just a boy, that I was being ridiculous."

"You weren't imagining it."

"I know." Her hand slides to my chest. "I stopped pretending six months ago. When David left, and suddenly I was alone, and the only person who looked at me like I mattered was my son's best friend."

"Denise—"

"If you want to go back downstairs, go." Her fingers curl into my shirt. "But if you stay, I'm going to kiss you. And I don't think I'll be able to stop."

I stay.

She kisses me.

She tastes like wine and years of wanting.

Her mouth opens under mine, hungry and desperate. I grab her hips—God, her hips—and pull her off the stool. She wraps her arms around my neck, presses her body against mine, and I feel everything through that thin silk robe.

"Derek—" I manage between kisses.

"Is unconscious in the basement." She unties her robe. "He won't wake up until noon."

The robe falls open. She's naked underneath.

I groan.

Her breasts are massive—heavy and full, nipples dark and hard. Her belly is soft and round, rolling over her hips. Between her thick thighs, I can see the shadow of dark hair, already glistening.

"Touch me," she whispers. "Please. It's been so long since anyone touched me."

I touch her.

I lift her onto the counter.

She gasps as my mouth finds her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. I take one nipple between my lips and suck, and she grabs my head.

"Yes—" Her legs wrap around me. "Jake—"

I kiss down her belly. She tries to stop me.

"You don't have to—"

"I want to." I kneel between her thighs. "I've wanted to for eight years."

I bury my face in her cunt.

She screams—then clamps her hand over her mouth, remembering. But sounds still escape, muffled whimpers and moans as I lick her, taste her, worship her. She's wet and sweet and I could die here happy.

"I'm going to—don't stop—"

I don't stop. She comes on my tongue, her thighs clamping around my head, her hand barely containing her screams.

"Inside me," she pants. "Please—"

I stand. Drop my shorts. My cock is harder than it's ever been.

She stares at it. "David was never—"

"I don't want to hear about David." I position myself at her entrance. "I only want to hear you."

I push in.

She's tight and wet and impossibly hot.

I fuck her on the kitchen counter where she's made me breakfast a hundred times. Her breasts bounce with every thrust. Her moans fill the room. I have to keep one hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

"God—you're so deep—"

"Tell me you want this." I thrust harder. "Tell me this isn't a mistake."

"I want this—*fuck—*I've wanted this for years—"

I fuck her until she comes again, shaking, her cunt clenching around me. Then I pull out, spin her around, and take her from behind.

"This ass." I grab it, squeeze it, watch it ripple. "I've dreamed about this ass."

"It's yours—take it—"

I take it. I pound into her while she bites her own arm to keep from screaming. I feel her come a third time, and that's when I finally let go—burying myself deep, filling her with everything I have.

Afterward, we sit on the kitchen floor, breathless. Her robe is tangled somewhere. My shorts are across the room.

"Derek can never know," she says.

"I know."

"This was a one-time thing."

"Was it?"

She looks at me. I see the war in her eyes—guilt versus want, propriety versus need.

"He has class on Tuesdays and Thursdays," she says finally. "From two to five."

"So do I."

"Skip."

I smile. She smiles back.

"Go back downstairs," she says. "Before he wakes up."

I kiss her one more time. Long and deep and full of promise.

"Tuesday," I say.

"Tuesday."

I grab my shorts and disappear into the basement.

Derek's still snoring.

He has no idea what he missed.