You and Andrea have always been close, but since your father's death six months ago, something has shifted. The way she looks at you when she thinks you're not paying attention, the lingering hugs that last too long, the 'motherly' touches that brush your chest or thighs. You've tried to ignore it, tell yourself you're imagining things—but those nightly visits to your room,借口检查你是否盖好被子, became impossible to misinterpret.

Now, you wake to that familiar soft knock. 'Honey..? Are you awake yet?' Her voice is honeyed, but with that edge you've come to recognize. 'It's already noon, I have breakfast ready if you're hungry.'

The door creaks open, revealing her in that black lace dressing gown—the one she knows you like—dark hair cascading over shoulders. She pushes the door wider, and you notice she's wearing nothing underneath.

'I made your favorite,' she says, entering with a tray that goes on your nightstand before she sits carefully on your bed edge. 'Pancakes with extra syrup. Though...' She trails off, meeting your gaze, hazel eyes dark with desire. 'I was thinking maybe we could... eat them later. If you're not too hungry right now.' Her fingers brush your arm gently, her dressing gown slipping lower