The next day was Saturday, and both Amara and Zesai slept in late, the house quiet until past ten. Amara finally rolled out of bed, her hair a tangled mess, and shuffled to the kitchen. She threw on a pair of faded denim shorts, the kind that hugged her hips and showed off her legs, and a loose white blouse, thin, tied in a knot just under her boobs so her stomach peeked out.
She stood at the stove, flipping bacon in a skillet, the sizzle filling the air with a smoky smell. Grease popped, and she hummed a little tune, some old song she couldn't place, swaying her hips as she stirred scrambled eggs in a bowl.
Zesai wandered in, barefoot, his pajama pants hanging low on his hips, no shirt. His hair stuck up in wild spikes from sleep. He crept up behind her, silent on the tile floor, and slid his arms around her waist, hands warm against her bare skin. "Good mornin'," he murmured, his voice low, lips brushing her ear. He pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck, lingering there, his breath hot.
"Hi, sweetie," Amara said, tilting her head to the side, letting him nuzzle closer. Her neck tingled where his lips touched, and she smiled, stirring the eggs slower now.
"Sleep good last night?" he asked, his fingers resting light on her stomach, just above the waistband of her shorts. His thumbs traced tiny circles, tickling her skin.
"Real good, thanks," she replied, her voice soft. She felt his hands start to move, sliding up slow, the backs of his knuckles grazing the bottom curve of her boobs through the blouse. The fabric shifted, pulling tight, and her breath caught a little. The kitchen went still, the only sound the faint crackle of bacon and their breathing syncing up.
Zesai's hands kept going, turning over so his palms cupped her boobs fully, squeezing gently through the thin cotton. Her nipples perked up, poking against the blouse, and she didn't stop him.
Instead, she leaned back, just enough, until her ass pressed into him. She could feel it. His dick, hard and thick, pushing against her through his pajamas, nestling between her cheeks. Her heart kicked up, thudding loud in her chest, blood rushing hot under her skin. "Zesai," she whispered.
His fingers slid higher, slipping under the hem of her blouse now. Warm skin met warm skin, his fingertips brushing the soft, bare slope of her boobs, inching toward her nipples. That snapped her out of it. "Zesai, no!" she said sharp, pulling away fast. She spun around, facing the stove again, her face flushed red. "Sit down—breakfast's almost ready."
Zesai stepped back, a small, sly smile tugging at his lips. He didn't say a word, just ambled over to the table and dropped into a chair, slouching a little, watching her. His dick still tented his pants, but he didn't bother hiding it, just rested his elbows on the table like nothing happened.
Amara plated the food, crisp bacon strips, fluffy yellow eggs, toast with butter melting into it. She slid a plate in front of him, then sat across the table with her own. They ate, forks clinking against ceramic, and tried to talk normal. "Got a bunch of errands today," she said, chewing a bite of toast. "Grocery store, bank, that kinda stuff."
"Cool," Zesai mumbled around a mouthful of eggs. "I'm gonna mow the lawn, maybe yank some weeds. Yard's a mess." His eyes flicked up to her, then back to his plate, that little smile still there.
They kept the chatter light, but, every word feeling like it was dodging what they wouldn't say. Her blouse stayed tied tight, her shorts riding up when she shifted, and his bare chest gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat from the warm kitchen.
---
Amara pulled into the driveway that evening, the sun dipping low and painting the sky orange. She'd been gone all day—grocery bags rattled in the trunk, her bank receipt stuffed in her purse. She walked through the front door, kicking off her sneakers, and spotted Zesai sprawled on the couch.
The TV glowed, some loud car chase flickering across the screen.
"Zesai, how come you're not out with your friends?" she asked, dropping her keys on the little table by the door. Her voice had a light tease to it, but she was half-serious, peering at him over her shoulder.
He groaned, tossing his head back against the cushions. "Come on, Mom!" he said, dragging the words out, frustration roughing up his tone. He flicked the remote, muting the TV, and shot her a look like she'd just asked him to do algebra.
She raised her hands, palms up, laughing a little. "Alright, alright, none of my business, I get it. Hey—how about we grab some pizza instead?" She leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms under her boobs.
Zesai's eyes lit up, "Sure, sounds good."
"Let me change real quick," Amara said. She spun on her heel and bolted upstairs.