Jack stood in the bathroom, the steam still lingering, his body buzzing with unspent desire.
Damn, that was close, he thought, replaying the shower with his mother.
Her flushed cheeks, her trembling under his touch—he'd pushed too far, too fast.
I need to be smarter about this.
The goddess's promise echoed in his mind: a world of virgins, no rules for him to break. He just needed to play it right.
He wiped himself dry, wrapped a towel around his waist, and reached for the door.
Before he could step out, it swung open, revealing his blonde sister, her face soft with sleep, a yawn stretching her full lips.
She wore only a black lace bra and matching panties, the bra's thin strap slipping off one shoulder, exposing the edge of a light pink nipple peeking through the sheer fabric.
Her chestnut hair—just like their mother's—fell in tousled waves over her shoulders, framing a body that was all curves and temptation. Her breasts were heavy, straining against the lace, their weight shifting as she stretched.
The panties hugged her hips, the fabric wedged slightly between her plump ass cheeks, accentuating their roundness.
Her thighs were thick, her skin creamy, and a faint tan line hinted at hours spent in the sun.
She was a vision of careless sensuality, oblivious to the effect she had on him.
"Oh, Jacky," she mumbled, her voice husky with morning grogginess.
"You're up. Nice. Get ready—I'm driving you and Olivia to school, then I've got an important meeting at the office." She shuffled past him, her breast brushing his arm as she moved to the toilet.
Without a hint of hesitation, she tugged her panties down to her ankles, revealing a neatly trimmed patch of brown hair and the delicate folds beneath.
She sat and began to pee, the soft sound filling the room as she leaned back, eyes half-closed, completely unbothered by his presence.
Jack's throat tightened, his eyes darting away.
"Uh, okay," he muttered, stepping out and closing the door behind him. His heart raced, the image of her seared into his mind.
This world is gonna kill me.
He returned to his room, still reeling.
Dropping to his knees, he clasped his hands together, staring at the ceiling.
"Goddess, whoever you are, thank you. This… this is incredible. I'll make the most of it, I swear."
His gratitude was fervent, a promise to honor the opportunity she'd given him.
He dressed quickly, pulling on a school uniform he found in the closet—navy blazer, white shirt, and khaki pants.
Heading toward the dining room, he caught sight of his mother by the stove, an apron tied over her casual outfit.
The apron did little to hide her curves; her fitted blouse hugged her full breasts, the top button undone to reveal a hint of cleavage, and her skirt clung to her hips, accentuating their sway as she moved.
Her chestnut hair was loose now, framing her face, and her hazel eyes sparkled as she turned to him with a warm smile.
"Morning, Jack—"