Her words cut off as her knee buckled, and she stumbled, catching herself on the counter.
"Mom!" Jack rushed to her side, helping her to a chair. "Are you okay? What happened?"
She winced, rubbing her ankle. "It's just a small sprain, nothing serious."
Before he could respond, the door swung open, and his younger sister, the one with the black hair, stormed in.
Her jet-black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, her glasses glinting as she clutched a book.
Her sweater clung to her slender frame, hinting at the budding curves beneath, and her skirt was just short enough to show off her toned legs.
"Breakfast, now," she demanded, her tone flat, ignoring their mother's discomfort.
"Coming, dear," their mother said, starting to rise.
"Sit, Mom," Jack interjected, his voice firm. "You'll make the sprain worse. I've got this."
He moved to the stove, serving up plates of omelets and toast for himself, his younger sister, their mother, and a spot for his older sister.
His mother's eyes widened, a rare flicker of surprise crossing her face.
"Thank you, Jack," she said, her voice soft. "You don't usually… do this."
He grinned, shrugging. "It's nothing."
The sister, engrossed in her book, ignored the exchange, her fork moving mechanically to her mouth.
The door opened again, and the older sister sauntered in, still in her underwear.
She plopped into the chair opposite Jack, her bra straining against her full, heavy breasts, the lace barely containing them.
She leaned forward to grab a piece of toast, her cleavage on full display, the soft mounds spilling slightly over the table's edge.
Jack's fingers twitched, an urge to reach out and squeeze them nearly overwhelming him.
Swallowing hard, he spoke up. "Mom, I think I should stay home today. You're hurt, and I can help around the house."
His mother frowned. "It's just a small sprain, Jack. You need to go to school."
"I want to help," he insisted, his tone earnest but calculated.
And maybe get another shot at this morning.
The younger sister snorted, not looking up from her book. "Idiot Jack just wants an excuse to skip school."
"Don't talk to your brother like that, Olivia," their mother scolded, her voice sharp. Jack noted the name—
Olivia, got it.
Olivia rolled her eyes, finished her food, and stood.
"I'll be in the car," she muttered, storming out.
The older sister, still munching on toast, grinned at Jack.
"You're a good son, Jacky, looking out for Mom."
She stood, her breasts bouncing slightly as she moved, and disappeared into her room.
A minute later, she returned, transformed.
Her professional attire was a fitted blazer that hugged her curves, the deep V-neck revealing a hint of lace beneath.
Her pencil skirt clung to her hips and thighs, ending just above the knee, and her heels accentuated her long, shapely legs.
Her chestnut hair was pulled into a sleek bun, giving her an air of authority laced with sensuality.
"See ya!" she called, blowing a kiss as she left.
Jack and his mother were alone.
They ate in silence, the air thick with unspoken tension.
When they finished, he gathered their plates and headed to the sink, starting to wash them.
The rhythmic scrub of the sponge grounded him, but his mind kept drifting to the morning's shower—her body, her flush, her trembling.
"Ja… Jack," his mother's voice broke through, hesitant.
He turned, drying his hands. "Yeah, Mom?"
She fidgeted, her cheeks faintly pink. "What… what did you do to me this morning? When you were scrubbing… there." Her eyes flicked downward, toward her lap.
Jack's pulse quickened, but he kept his face innocent. "I was just cleaning you, Mom. That's all."
She hummed, her brow furrowing. "It felt… different."
"Should I scrub it again?" he asked, his voice casual but laced with intent. "I felt like I didn't clean it properly this morning."
She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edge of the chair.
Then, with a small nod, she relented. "Fine." and tried to stand up.
"Don't move, Mom," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "Keep sitting—you've sprained your ankle."
He knelt before her, his hands steady despite the fire in his veins.