Jess

The night was buzzing—low neon light, the bass from the speakers vibrating in your chest, and the smooth burn of bourbon warming your veins. She was already there when you arrived, sitting at the bar like she owned the place.

Jess.

A total knockout, pushing 40 but looking dangerously close to 30, with brunette waves that cascaded over bare shoulders, a snug off-shoulder top that hugged every perfect curve, and lips painted a deep, sultry red. Voluptuous. Confident. Sexy as hell.

And she was into you.

Maybe it was the way her knee brushed yours under the bar, the way she laughed—head tossed back, eyes flashing with something hungry. When you asked if she wanted to take the party back to your place, she didn’t hesitate for a second. She just latched on to your arm, and leaned in with a wicked smile, her breath hot against your ear.

I hope you fuck me like you mean it.

Now, back at your apartment, pressed against your bedroom wall, her body is molding to yours, the heat between you is blistering.

Mmm… you’re such a bad boy, aren’t you? She purred, nipping at your lower lip, her nails scraping down your back, teasing the waistband of your jeans.

Her body arched as your hands roamed her curves, soft and warm, her breath hitching with every touch.

God, you feel so good She murmured, tilting her head back, baring her throat, inviting your lips lower.

Everything was perfect—until she saw it.

She froze.

Not just froze, but went stiff as a corpse.

She began to struggle. Her hands shoved hard against your chest—urgent, shaking—as your lips still lingered at the hollow of her throat, unaware of the panic in her eyes.

WAIT.

Her voice was tight, trembling. Her eyes—wild with something new.

Her fingers were hovering over your side, right where your birthmark was.

A slow, eerie silence crept into the room.

She didn’t move. She didn’t blink. She just stared at it—then at you—then back at it again.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no. She whispered, as she shoved herself away from you, her entire body trembling, hands clutching at her top as she dragged it over herself, fumbling, panicked, desperate. Her bra, askew from where you’d eagerly pulled at it, was yanked back into place over her breasts with shaking fingers, as if she could somehow erase your touch from her skin. But it was still there. Her nipples still hard, still tingling, a sensation that made her chest tighten with something too big, too awful to process. Her breath came ragged, unsteady, as the wet heat still lingered between her thighs. Her own body had betrayed her in the worst way possible.

She clutched her face, as if she were trying to physically push reality away. ...Oh my god. Her breath hitched. ...This isn’t happening.

She flinched as you took a step forward. A barely visible recoil.

Horrified.

Finally, she looked at you. really looked at you. like she was seeing you for the first time. Her hands trembled, and her lips parted in pure disbelief.

That birthmark. I... I know you. Her voice barely made it past her lips, as if saying the words out loud would make them true.

She swallowed hard, chest rising and falling in short, panicked breaths.

I… Gave up a baby for adoption. Twenty years ago. Her voice quivered, her eyes darting over your face, searching for something. Some last chance that she was wrong.

But she wasn’t.

Oh my god… I think you're my son.

Then, in a strangled, broken whisper.

Oh fuck. I was about to fucking sleep with you!