The next day, we all woke up early to prepare for the trip. An hour later, we were already loading our stuff into the car. While heading back to the room to get dressed, Randy dragged his luggage out, looking effortlessly handsome.
He was wearing casual joggers and a thin T-shirt that clung to his frame in all the right places. He was dressed as if he were just going to visit a neighbor, but he still looked incredibly hot. The simple outfit did nothing to hide the power in his limbs; if anything, it emphasized just how much he had filled out.
"Good morning," he greeted.
"Good morning," I replied, glanced at him, and headed to the room.
I was still in the room, struggling with my own heavy suitcase, trying to zip it shut over a month's worth of essentials for a one-week trip. Suddenly, he was there, standing in the doorway with that effortless grace.
"You don't need to do that when I'm here." He said, stepping into the room and reaching down. His father had probably told him to come and help me.
As he grabbed the handle, his hand brushed against mine, and the contact sent a sharp, electric spark through my entire body. I pulled back, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Let me help you, Mom."
He picked up the suitcase as if it weighed nothing at all. I stood there for a moment, breathless, watching him step out to load it into the car. My husband, Henry, had already carried my first bag out, and I could hear his voice drifting through the open front door, sounding more than a little annoyed.
"But why is she taking all this luggage? We are not staying for a year! It's just one week." I heard him grumble.
I ignored him and took off my nightgown to wear one of my prettiest gowns. I had chosen a red floral-design light gown that stopped just above my knees. It was a modest dress, soft and feminine, but the fabric was thin. I knew I would have to be careful of the wind once we were outside. I looked pretty youthful, and for reasons I didn't want to admit to myself, I wanted to look my best today.
When I finally walked out to the driveway, Henry was almost done loading the trunk. I stopped in my tracks when I saw the interior of the car. Some of my overflow bags and Henry’s gear had taken over the entire front passenger seat.
"The front seat is occupied? Honey, where am I going to sit?" I asked, confused. I always sat in the front.
"You'll have to share the little space with Randy in the back seat." He said, not even looking up from the trunk.
"Little space at the back?" I moved to the rear door, checking the backseat and seeing a tiny space, barely fit for one person, let alone a woman of my size and a man of Randy’s stature.
"Two people can't fit in here, Henry. It’s impossible."
"Well, it's your own fault," Henry snapped, slamming the trunk shut with brutal finality. He turned to me, wiping sweat from his brow, his patience clearly exhausted. "You're going to have to ride on Randy's lap."
My heart skipped a dangerous beat, a sudden, cold sweat breaking out on my palms. "Excuse me? I am absolutely not sitting on your twenty-year-old son's lap," I shot back, my voice rising. The idea was scandalous—especially after the illicit fire that had been lit in me just the day before.
"It's the only option, honey, unless you want to stay home," he countered coldly, gesturing to the overflowing front and back seats. "Your bags took up all the remaining space."
"Maybe if your golf clubs and massive coolers weren't hogging the entire trunk, my things could go in there!" I argued, my frustration boiling over. "Everything I packed is important. I can't leave my essentials behind."
"I am not leaving my gear behind for a weekend trip," Henry said stubbornly, crossing his arms. "So, either you leave your suitcases on the driveway, or you share a seat with the boy. It’s the only way we’re all fitting in this damn car."
"Henry, this is ridiculous. It's a long drive! I'll crush him. I'm not exactly a featherweight, and it's wildly inappropriate," I protested, desperately looking for a way out of the inevitable—and the dangerous temptation it presented.
Henry rolled his eyes, utterly oblivious to the tension he was forcing me into. "Stop making a big deal out of nothing. He’s a grown man, not a twig. Those muscles he spends every weekend building aren't just for show. He can handle it."
He wasn't lying. Randy was technically only twenty, but years of dedicated lifting had built him into something formidable. Looking at his broad shoulders, thick chest, and powerful thighs, anyone would guess he was in his late twenties. He was a man in every sense of the word.
Our bitter staring match was interrupted when Randy rounded the corner of the house, slinging a heavy duffel bag over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. "Are we good to go?" he asked, wiping a bit of dust from his hands and glancing between my flushed face and his father's scowl.
"Yeah, but your stepmother overpacked," Henry sighed, throwing me under the bus without a second thought. "The passenger seat is stuffed with her bags. You two are sharing the back. She's going to have to sit on your lap."
Randy paused, his gaze shifting to me. There was a moment of silence where the air felt thick enough to choke on. Then, he gave a small, confident shrug. "If she’s okay with it, I’m good to go."
"Are you sure, Randy?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly. "This is more than a two-hour journey. I really don't want to hurt your legs."
"I don’t know your exact weight, Mom. I’ve never carried you before," he said, a playful, daring glint appearing in his eyes. "But I’m sure I can carry you all day."
"I weigh 75kg," I countered, challenging him. "Can you really handle that?"
"Seventy-five is like a piece of paper to me," he replied proudly, his beautiful smile flashing. "I can lap you. No problem."
Henry entered the house one last time to switch off the main power and lock the door. "Let’s go," he commanded as he returned, climbing into the driver’s seat.
Randy entered the back seat first, settling into the small space and tapping his muscular thighs. "Come on, Mom. Come and sit." He said with a low and inviting voice.
"Alright," I whispered. I climbed into the car, letting my right leg cross over his legs as I maneuvered myself to settle onto his lap.
At first, I tried to sit perched on his knees to keep some distance, but I wasn't balanced at all. I desperately didn't want to settle over his crotch, but the small cabin offered no other choice if I wanted to stay stable. I had to push my butt back a little, sliding further onto his thighs to get into a better position. I tried to be careful, not wanting to sit directly on his fly, but the space was just too cramped.
"Have you settled down back there?" Henry asked, looking in the rearview mirror.
"Yeah," I replied, my face flushed a deep crimson.
"Randy, what about you?" Henry asked from the front seat, glancing in the rearview mirror. The lingering annoyance from our earlier argument bled into his tone, wrapping his words in a thin layer of sarcasm. "Are you holding up okay back there? Try not to let her crush you."
I opened my mouth to snap back, but before I could utter a word, I felt Randy’s large, warm hands settle firmly on my waist.
"She’s perfect, Dad," Randy replied. His deep voice was smooth and effortlessly polite, "Honestly, Dad, she's a lot lighter than that massive cooler of beer you refused to leave behind in the trunk. I can hold her like this all day."
Henry cleared his throat, ignited the engine and backed out of the driveway. As we hit the main road and picked up speed, I realized just how difficult this journey was going to be. I wasn't sitting comfortably at all; I was tense, holding onto a luggage handle and gripping the back of the front seat to keep myself upright.
We hit a sharp corner, and as Henry drifted the car, I lost my balance entirely. Randy’s grip on my waist tightened suddenly to steady me. The contact sent a violent chill down my spine. I couldn't deny that his hands felt really nice.
In an instinctive move to find a more permanent balance, I pushed my butt backward, trying to tuck myself against him so I wouldn't slide. But I pushed too far. I ended up sitting directly on his fly, my weight resting fully against him. The realization that I was sitting directly over his big member made my heart race hard. I could feel the heat of him through my thin gown, and I knew, in that moment, that this two-hour drive was going to be the longest, most torturous journey of my life. Or maybe... the best one.