There had been a spattering of rain all the way back from the airport, but as she was parking in the driveway, the skies opened. Almost immediately there was so much water running over the windscreen that she could barely make out her own front door.
Sharon sighed, staring out through the world of running water. She'd just taken her husband to the airport, a trip more than an hour each way at this time of day. She didn't begrudge the fact that he'd been silent the entire trip, texting and emailing or whatever. He was good at his job, it came with marrying a man in his line of work.
Nor did she begrudge him the hurried peck on the cheek before jumping out of the car, she'd even let the lack of a "goodbye" go. There had been a lot of traffic after all.
What
did
wind her up was seeing Moira Stuart step out of a mini-cab two cars back, as Sharon checked her rearview mirror. Her husband had specifically told her that the office's lawyer wasn't going to the inspection at the Maldives property. He'd made a point of saying it, in fact. And he'd done the exact same thing when he'd gone down there two months ago. Then she'd arrived home at the same time as his-
their,
mini cab.
She hadn't asked who else was going on the trip, this time or last, but she assumed that Patrick would be as ham-fisted in his extra-marital affairs as he was with everything else. It was hurtful, and extremely frustrating. Patrick had long ago lost interest in having sex, just a dutiful fumble that ended too soon on birthdays and anniversaries. It made her wonder how long this sort of thing had been going on.
It's not like a divorce would be an utter tragedy. Their older son was already away at university, his younger brother would be going away this fall. On the other hand, this was a comfortable enough life.
Her weary thoughts were interrupted by a distant rumble of thunder. Sharon groaned quietly. She wasn't about to sit outside in a metal box, no matter how safe everyone claimed it was, but the rain wasn't letting up. If anything, it was getting heavier.
Sharon took a deep breath and threw the car door open and ran for the front door and she was soaked through by the time she was halfway up the walk. There was another roll of thunder, much closer this time, as she got inside. Slamming the door behind her, she leaned against it for a moment, catching her breath.
The house was dark, but Greg should have been home by now. Sharon checked her phone, but there wasn't anything from him. He was probably waiting out the storm somewhere dry. Frowning at the approaching thunder, she ran her hand through her soaked dark-blonde hair and walked through to the kitchen. Patrick kept his good whiskey hidden in the back of a cabinet and Sharon decided that her husband owed her a drink or two.
She retrieved the bottle and pulled a glass from the other cupboard and put a couple of inches of the amber liquid in it. She looked at the bottle in her hand for a moment and then took a generous mouthful before capping it. The smoky, sharp liquor burned a trail to her stomach and Sharon coughed a little before picking up her glass and standing in front of the window, watching the storm outside.
She was surprised by the sound of footsteps behind her and spun to see Greg walking through the kitchen in his underwear. He froze, looking just as surprised to see her.
"I didn't hear you come in," he said lamely.
Sharon had to smile. "Obviously."
"Uhm, so, there aren't any towels in the bathroom," he said uncomfortably.
"There are some in the dryer. I'll bring one up."
He nodded and went back to the stairs. Sharon took another sip of whiskey, admiring his body as her son went quickly back to the stairs. She'd never admit to thinking it, but Greg was the better looking of her two sons. Lithe and graceful, he'd looked more like her than his father. Luckily, he'd taken after her side of the family as well in other ways; as he retreated upstairs, she noticed his marvelous round bum, tightly encased in his white boxer-briefs. He'd always had a bit of a bubble-butt, but in the last few years it had gone from adorable to seriously sexy. Hearing the shower go on upstairs, she went back to staring out the window, lost in her thoughts...
"...Mum!"
Sharon blinked. The sound of the water had stopped, how long had she been standing here? She went through the kitchen to the laundry and retrieved a clean towel before going upstairs. The door to the bathroom was ajar, wisps of steam and the odor of men's soap escaped as she reached in blindly, offering the towel.
"Thanks!" her youngest said. "Crazy storm out there."
"It's absolutely lashing," she said. "Didn't you hear that thunder?"
"Supposed to get really bad," he answered, toweling off his hair. "I'm going to stay in tonight."
"Good, you can protect your poor old ma from the lightning."
He laughed and she noticed that she could see movement through the steam. The shower door was open and it reflected the room enough that she could make out her son toweling off his hair. She moved her head slightly, curious how much of the bath one could see reflected. That's what she told herself later, anyway. The human eye was automatically drawn to movement, it was just a biological thing. But she probably shouldn't have moved to get a better look inside. He had turned, his back was toward her. As she watched, he bent to dry his legs.
He'd always had a nice round bum and her breath caught, seeing it outside of his clothes. The pale skin of his buttocks was unblemished, and her hands flexed slightly, imagining having those smooth hemispheres in her hands. Her eyes were drawn to the heavy testicles that hung down between his thighs, covered in hair that was just a few shades darker than the hair on his head.
Oh my. Are those bigger than Patrick's?
Suddenly ashamed of herself, Sharon went back to her room to find something dry to wear. She opened her dresser drawer to retrieve some flannel pajamas but froze as she saw the reflection of Greg emerging from the bathroom in her dressing table mirror. He was wearing the same style of tight boxer-briefs, in a light gray this time. He didn't notice her watching from the dark bedroom and adjusted the sizable package between his legs before turning to go into his room. Her nipples were exquisitely hard as she watched, nearly panting. Her imagination was treacherous just now, but Greg's bulge looked bigger than his father's as well.
Just stop it, that's your son, not some piece of meat!
