The steam from the shower wrapped around them like a secret. Lena, her curves slick and gleaming under the spray, lathered the washcloth again. Her son, Alex, stood with his back to her, water sluicing down the defined muscles of his shoulders. He was a man now, twenty-four, all hard lines and quiet intensity.

“Turn around, let me get your chest,” she said, her voice husky. Her eyes weren’t on his face.

He obeyed, and her breath hitched. His abs were a tight grid, a trail of dark hair leading down from his navel. The soapy cloth moved over his pecs, circling his nipples, feeling them pebble under the terrycloth. Her touch lingered, purposefully slow. She saw the thick bulge already forming behind his wet boxer briefs, the fabric clinging obscenely.

“Those need to come off,” she murmured, not asking. Her fingers hooked into the waistband. “Can’t get you clean with them on.”

Alex lifted his hips, letting her peel the soaked cotton down. His cock sprang free, fully erect, thick and veined, the flushed head already leaking a pearl of pre-cum. Lena bit her lip, a low moan escaping her. She dropped the cloth.

Her hands, slick with soap, went straight to him. One palm cupped his heavy balls, rolling them gently, feeling their weight. The other wrapped around his shaft, her fingers not quite meeting. She began a slow, firm stroke, the sound a wet, rhythmic squelch mixing with the shower spray.

“Mom…” he groaned, his head falling back against the tile.

“Sh