TABOO

 Chapter 1

The late afternoon sun bled across the hardwood floor of the Harper family kitchen, its rays slicing through the blinds of a now half empty house. Evelyn Harper stood at the sink, her hands buried in warm, soapy water, scrubbing a plate with a ferocity that betrayed her turmoil. The sharp clink of porcelain against porcelain was the only sound in a house that had grown hollow, each empty room echoing the absence of the life she’d known. At 36 Evelyn was still a vision—her auburn hair cascaded in loose waves, grazing the tops of her full breasts, which pressed against the delicate cotton of her blouse, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. Her green eyes, once alight with a playful spark, now churned with a tempest of hurt and longing.

Two days earlier, her husband, Mark, had shattered her world. No prelude, no explosive argument—just the cold thud of a suitcase hitting the floor and his flat, unapologetic words: “I’ve found someone else, Evelyn. I’m done.” The “someone else” was a 22-year-old paralegal from his firm, a fact he’d flung at her with cruel indifference. She’d stood frozen as his silver sedan pulled out of the driveway, leaving her with a mortgage, a half-empty closet, and their 18 year-old son, Daniel, as the only remains to the life she’d built.

Evelyn’s gaze drifted to the window, where Daniel was pushing the lawnmower through the late summer heat. Shirtless, his lean frame glistened with sweat, each flex of his shoulders and arms carving sharp lines against the fading light. Droplets traced the ridges of his chest, sliding down the taut plane of his abdomen, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. At 19, he was no longer the lanky boy who’d once curled into her lap for bedtime stories. He was a man now—tall, dark-haired, with a quiet intensity that echoed Mark in his prime, a resemblance that stirred a dangerous warmth low in her belly. She yanked her eyes away, her cheeks burning as she muttered, “Get it together, Evelyn,” and plunged her hands deeper into the suds, as if the soap could cleanse her of the shameful flicker of desire.

The back door creaked open, and Daniel stepped inside, wiping sweat from his brow with a calloused hand. The air shifted with his presence, carrying the earthy scent of cut grass and the raw musk of his exertion. “Lawn’s done,” he said, his voice low, steady, like the hum of a distant storm. He reached past her to grab a glass from the cabinet, his arm brushing close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off his skin. He filled it with water, standing so near she could see the faint pulse at his throat.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Evelyn said, her smile brittle as she forced her eyes to the sink. “You didn’t have to do that today. Classes start tomorrow, don’t they?”

He leaned against the counter, one hip cocked, his jeans riding low. “Yeah, but it keeps my head clear. Dad leaving… it’s fucked up.”

The mention of Mark was a blade, sharp and sudden. Evelyn’s hands stilled, soap bubbles popping softly in the silence. “It is,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s been… heavy.”

Daniel’s dark eyes locked onto hers, searching, probing. “You holding up okay, Mom?”

The question hung like a taut wire between them, charged with unspoken weight. For a moment, she wanted to unravel—to collapse into his arms, to feel the solid strength of him and let the world fall away, like when he was small and her love was simple, uncomplicated. Instead, she nodded, her throat tight. “I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

He didn’t buy it—she could see it in the furrow of his brow—but he didn’t push. Draining his glass, he set it down with a soft clink. “I’m hitting the shower. Holler if you need me.”

“Will do,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. His footsteps faded down the hall, and soon the faint hiss of the shower upstairs filled the void. Evelyn gripped the sink’s edge, exhaling shakily. She needed to escape the thoughts clawing at her mind, the ones that whispered things she couldn’t allow herself to name.

That evening, the doorbell pierced the quiet. Evelyn opened it to find Lydia Brooks, her best friend since their college days, standing on the porch with a bottle of Merlot and a grin that promised trouble. At 38, Lydia was a force—short blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a body that still commanded attention in a black dress that hugged her curves like a lover’s hands. She exuded a confidence Evelyn hadn’t felt in years.

“Figured you needed a rescue,” Lydia said, sweeping past her into the living room, the wine bottle glinting in her hand. “And this.” Evelyn managed a laugh, closing the door. “You’re a godsend.”

They sank onto the couch, glasses filled with the deep, velvet scent of wine. Lydia kicked off her heels, tucking her legs beneath her, her sharp gaze pinning Evelyn. “So, Mark’s really gone, huh? Fucker didn’t even bother with a decent excuse.”

“He’s got a new plaything,” Evelyn said, the words bitter on her tongue as she sipped her wine. “Some paralegal half my age. I’m just… old news.”

Lydia scoffed, her eyes raking over Evelyn with unabashed appraisal. “His loss, babe. You’re a fucking knockout. Those tits, that ass—shit, I’d kill for your curves.”

Evelyn’s cheeks flushed, and she waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, stop.”

“I’m dead serious.” Lydia leaned closer, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You need to get out there, Ev. Have some fun. Get fucked proper.”

“Lydia!” Evelyn hissed, her eyes darting toward the stairs, half-expecting Daniel to appear. “I’m not ready for that.”

“Why the hell not? Mark’s probably balls-deep in his little sidepiece right now. You deserve to feel alive.” Lydia’s grin was wicked, her eyes glinting with mischief. “What about that gym trainer? The one with the arms that could bench a car?”

Evelyn shook her head, her mind elsewhere. “Not my type.”

“Then who is?” Lydia pressed, swirling her wine, her gaze unrelenting. “Come on, Ev. Spill it.”

The question hit like a spark to kindling. Evelyn opened her mouth, but her thoughts betrayed her, conjuring Daniel—his broad shoulders, the way his jeans clung to his thighs as he’d walked away earlier, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. She shoved the image down, horrified, her pulse racing. “I don’t know,” she said, too quickly. “Someone… gentle, maybe.”

Lydia’s smirk was all-knowing. “Boring. You need fire, Ev. Someone who’ll slam you against the wall and fuck you till you can’t think straight.”

The words sent a shockwave through Evelyn, her thighs clenching as a rush of heat pooled between her legs. She took a long gulp of wine, hoping it would douse the fire creeping up her spine. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, her voice unsteady.

“And you fucking love it.” Lydia grinned, then stood, stretching like a cat. “I gotta bounce—early meeting. But think about it, yeah? You’re too hot to waste away in this house.”

After Lydia left, the silence returned, heavy and suffocating. Evelyn finished her wine, the alcohol buzzing through her veins like a low current. The faint thump of Daniel’s music pulsed from upstairs, a reminder of his presence. She climbed the stairs, intending to say goodnight, but paused outside his room. His door was cracked open, a sliver of light spilling into the hall. She shouldn’t have looked, but her eyes betrayed her.

Daniel lay sprawled on his bed, shirtless, one arm propped behind his head as he scrolled on his phone. His shorts sat low, exposing the sharp V of muscle that dipped below his waistband, a trail of dark hair leading her gaze to dangerous places. Her breath hitched, her body responding with a shameful throb. She should’ve knocked, should’ve turned away, but her feet were glued to the floor.

He looked up, catching her staring. “Hey, Mom. You good?”

“Y-Yeah,” she stammered, forcing a smile that felt like a lie. “Just… goodnight.”

“Night,” he said, his voice soft, his eyes holding hers a beat too long. There was something in his gaze—something raw, unguarded—that made her feel exposed, vulnerable in a way that both terrified and thrilled her.

In her bedroom, Evelyn shut the door and leaned against it, her heart hammering. She stripped off her blouse and skirt, standing before the full-length mirror in her black lace bra and panties. Her body was still lush—breasts heavy and round, hips flared, her skin soft but firm. She ran her hands over her curves, imagining they were his, and hated herself for it. Climbing into bed, the sheets cool against her fevered skin, her hand slipped beneath her panties. She was slick, embarrassingly so, her fingers circling her clit as her mind betrayed her again. She pictured Daniel—his strong hands spreading her thighs, his mouth on her, his cock, thick and unrelenting, filling her completely. Her hips bucked, a soft moan escaping as pleasure coiled tight, then snapped, her orgasm crashing through her with a force that left her trembling, guilt and desire tangled in her chest.

Down the hall, Daniel lay awake, his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself with desperate urgency. He’d seen the way she’d looked at him, the flush on her cheeks, the way her eyes lingered. He imagined her beneath him, her nails digging into his back, her moans filling the air as he fucked her, hard and deep. His release hit like a wave, his cum spilling hot over his hand, her name a silent cry locked behind his teeth.

The next morning, they moved around each other in the kitchen, polite but careful, like dancers avoiding a misstep. The air between them crackled, heavy with a tension neither dared name, but neither could deny.