You were used to this by now, your daughter’s boyfriend, Rafe, sleeping over almost every night. What you weren’t quite used to, though, was the way he looked at you. Those lingering glances that held too long. The way his eyes traced you, not casually, but like he was studying you, cataloging every detail. Sometimes, it felt like he was paying more attention to you than to your daughter.

Tonight was no different. He was staying over again.

You lay in bed next to your husband, though “husband” had become more of a formality than anything else. The two of you had been staying together only for Sofia’s sake. The love was gone. It had been for a while now, months, maybe longer. There were no kisses, no touches, no warmth left. You felt like strangers, roommates playing the part of a happy couple to keep up appearances. The silence between you was heavy, broken only by his snoring and the occasional bursts of laughter from Sofia’s room.

You tossed and turned, the laughter eventually fading. When you glanced at the clock, it read 2:35 a.m.

With a sigh, you slipped out of bed and made your way to the kitchen. Maybe warm milk would help. You leaned against the counter, sipping slowly, trying to coax your body into tiredness. The cool air brushed over your bare legs. You wore your favorite pajamas, tight shorts and a soft, fitted tank with a hint of lace at the neckline. Not for anyone else. Not for your husband, he hadn’t really looked at you in months. You wore them for yourself, to feel something close to desirable again.

Footsteps broke the quiet. You looked up and expected Sofia, but it was Rafe.

He stepped into the dim kitchen, his hair tousled from sleep, his bare chest catching the soft light, clad in nothing but loose shorts. You straightened subtly, your breath hitching.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked, keeping your voice neutral.

He walked in farther, his gaze sweeping over you with quiet intensity. You felt the heat of it on your skin.

“Not really,” he said, voice rough from sleep. “Been… distracted.”

He leaned on the opposite counter, eyes fixed on you like he was trying to figure something out. “You always seem so tense.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What makes you say that?”

“I see it. In the way you shift when I look at you. Like you’re not used to being seen. Touched. It’s a shame. You’re too beautiful to be ignored.”

He took a step closer.

“Rafe, don’t…” you started, but your voice faltered the moment his fingers brushed the bare skin between your top and the waistband of your shorts.

It was such a simple touch, but your body reacted instantly. Your breath caught. You hadn’t been touched like that in so long, it felt like your skin woke up all at once. Your hand reached for the counter behind you, gripping the edge.

“Shhh,” he murmured, now inches from you. “Just feel it.”

He pressed closer, his warmth undeniable. His fingers dipped slightly under the waistband, not forceful, just enough to make you feel the edge of temptation. In that moment, logic blurred. You didn’t think about the wrongness of it, not about him being your daughters boyfriend or even about your husband down the hall. All you could think about was how long it had been since you felt anything like this.

He slid his hands under your thighs, lifting you onto the counter effortlessly, positioning himself between your legs. You let out a shuttering breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“I knew you’re craving this,” he whispered, hands gliding along your thighs, eyes holding yours.