That's my mom?
He shook his head, trying to focus. This world was already testing his restraint.
He stumbled out of the room, the house a modern urban haven with polished wood floors and the faint aroma of bacon wafting from the kitchen.
He needed to find the bathroom, but curiosity got the better of him.
He opened the first door he saw.
Inside, a girl sat at a desk, her back to him.
Her jet-black hair gleamed under the morning light, falling in a silky cascade past her shoulders.
She wore a tight sweater that hugged her slender frame, the fabric clinging to the gentle curve of her spine. Her glasses perched delicately on her nose, giving her an air of studious intensity.
Books and papers were scattered around her, and her fingers tapped furiously on a laptop. She didn't bother turning around.
"What do you want, brother?" Her voice was sharp, laced with irritation. "Can't you see I'm studying? Stop bothering me."
Jack froze.
Brother? So she's my sister.
Her hostility stung, but her beauty was undeniable—high cheekbones, a pert nose, and lips that looked soft even when pressed into a scowl. He mumbled an apology and shut the door, his heart racing.
Damn, even the angry ones are hot.
He tried another door, and this time, he nearly choked.
A woman lay sprawled on a bed, her body a study in temptation.
She was asleep, clad only in a black lace bra and matching panties that dug enticingly into the plump curves of her ass.
Her hair, a rich chestnut like their mother's, fanned across the pillow, contrasting with her pale, flawless skin.
Her body was a paradox—lush and thick in all the right places, yet her waist was trim, her stomach flat.
The bra strained against her heavy breasts, the fabric barely containing their weight, and her hips flared into thighs that begged to be touched.
She stirred slightly, her lips parting in a soft sigh, oblivious to the world.
Jack's breath hitched.
Another sister?
The resemblance to their mother was striking, but her energy was different—wilder, more primal.
His eyes lingered on the way her panties wedged between her cheeks, the fabric taut against her curves.
His body responded instinctively, a familiar heat pooling in his groin.
He took a step closer, tempted to trace the curve of her hip, to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.
"Jack!" His mother's voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding.
She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, her blouse pulling tighter across her chest as she glared at him.
"What are you doing in here? I told you to shower. You're going to be late, and I'm not writing you another excuse note." She sighed, muttering under her breath, "This kid, never on time…"
She turned and left, her skirt swishing with each step.
Jack stole one last glance at his sleeping sister, committing the image to memory.
That's going in the memory bank for sure.
He finally found the bathroom—a sleek space with white tiles and a spacious glass shower.
He stripped, tossing his clothes aside, and stepped under the hot spray.
The water cascaded over his body, and his mind wandered back to his sister's curves, the way her panties hugged her ass.
He soaped his hands, his fingers wrapping around himself as he began to stroke, slow, imagining those thighs parting for him.
The door creaked open.