I’m burning the fuck up. We might as well be standing in the fire, heat surrounding us where we writhe, using the wall for support. My hands move up to his chest, and I feel the muscles constricting beneath his shirt, his strength and his size twirling my brain into a frenzy of lust and greedy desire.

I want more. I need more.

More of him sucking my bottom lip, then the top, then the bottom again, biting it with tender nips from his teeth, his tongue working to soothe the pain that tightens my balls and has me clenching with an unbearable yearning to be filled.

God, please never let this stop.

But then he rips his mouth off mine, aggressive breaths flying in and out of him as my eyes peel open. I catch him glaring behind me, and just as my face is turning, he stumbles back, putting space between us.

Oh right. The window.

We were literally sucking face right next to the front window of our house. The one that looks out onto the street.

It’s highly unlikely that anyone saw us, or that anyone is even out there, since it’s Christmas and snowing like crazy.

But obviously those rationalizations don’t matter to a father who just made out with his son.

Adoptive son. Let’s not forget that part.

James rakes his hands through his hair, shoulders hunching over as his fingers scrape down his face and he holds it, mumbling behind his palms, “Jesus, what have I done?”

My lips part, as if there’s any possible way I could speak right now. Of course, nothing comes out.

I have no words… No comforts to give.

He may have initiated it, but this is still my fault. I’m the one who’s manifested my crush into a reality. And while in most other situations that would be a great fucking thing, in this one, it’s nothing short of a terminal disaster.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, shaking his head, refusing to make eye contact. “I’m so fucking sorry…”

And then he storms out of the room, racing up the stairs as fast as his legs will carry him.

Leaving me standing among the shattered ruins of my family and broken glass.

It’s official.

I’ve lost my damn mind.

Things have taken a turn for the devastating, and I can’t get my brain to comprehend how or why this is happening.

I fucking kissed him. I kissed my fucking son.

Stop. He’s not really your son.

If the only comfort I can take in the matter is that he’s not a blood relative, then I’ll squeeze onto that with white knuckles. This is the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life, and I need something to justify it… To rationalize.

Because right now, I’m spinning the fuck out.

When I glance at the clock, I find that I’ve been up here for over an hour, though it feels like it’s been seconds. Guilt is whirring around inside me like a blender, crushing and whipping up everything I’ve ever known about myself and my relationship with my kid, leaving me with something new. Something unexpected and dangerous… Exciting in how goddamn terrible it is.