I watched her from the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the frame with my arms crossed, already wet between my thighs just from looking at her.

Claire. My stepmom. Forty-one, still built like she ran five miles every morning and did yoga that made her ass look criminal. Tight black yoga pants clinging to the curve of her hips, a soft gray tank top that showed the outline of her sports bra and the soft swell of her tits when she reached up to put away the glasses. Blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, a few strands sticking to the back of her neck with sweat. She’d just...