Thoughts crept in, questions about what they had done and what it meant, but Max’s voice cut through the haze. Something deeper. Milf porn Her hands slipped under his open shirt, fingertips tracing the hard planes of his chest, the smoothness of his skin burning beneath her touch. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her grown son. It was intoxicating, the way he tasted—spicy, sweet, and something uniquely him. She watched, her breath catching as he peeled off his shirt, revealing the full expanse of his chest. “There were twelve in the box, so ten left.”
“Good,” she responded. Florence was… God, Mom, the art, the food, the people. There was a new confidence in the way he carried himself, a swagger that hadn’t been there before. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, trembling slightly as she worked them open one by one.
