This story takes place in the early/mid-eighties when Jill had an affair with Jack while married to John.

What We do Best

Having sex with one's stepmother shouldn't feel this right, but it does. God help me, it does.

If anything can be right between me and Jill, this is it: An abandoned cabin, a blizzard cold enough to freeze hell itself, and a secret tryst no one can ever know about. That's us.

This didn't come out of the blue. This was foreshadowed, maybe even promised, with every interaction between us for the last few months.

All those secret glances we've shared across the dinner table, her doe brown eyes meeting my blue ones for a quick second and only a second. Our hands grazing each other every time we passed the potatoes, touches that reminded us of the heat we used to create before it became forbidden with her marriage to my father. All that built up over time, leading up to this moment where she can't look away from me and we're all tangled up in each other. We're doing what we do best, making colossal mistakes and enjoying every second of it.

Sinking deep inside of her, I've got no regrets. Not a one.

She does.

We've only just started and already I see the regrets coming in. They wash over her, even as she moves under me, fusing our bodies together, then pulling them apart, again and again.

"Jack," Jill whispers. Tears fill her eyes. They shine up at me hauntingly beautiful in the flickering fire light.

I close my eyes to shut out the image.

Whispering against her lips, I lie that it's going to be okay. Everything will be fine.

She doesn't make another sound except for the labored breathing that's steadily becoming more jagged and harsh as we continue molding our bodies together.

That small bit of conscious I have tells me I should ask her if she wants to stop. I ignore it. No way am I giving her a clean way out, not when I just got her back. That damn conscious keeps nagging, so the only thing to do is give it a compromise.

I role us over so she's on top. Now it's on her terms if this goes any further. She pauses, but only for a second before she continues our rhythm.

Just like I thought! She's been wanting this as bad as me. She has to know we're the only ones who are really right for each other, but we've got too much of the screw up in us to make it work.

Jill leans over me to prop her arms above my shoulders. Her curly brown hair falls on either side of her face, surrounding me in a dark curtain. I let my hands get tangled up in those curls as our lips touch. God, I've missed this.

A drop of moisture hits my face and I realize she's still crying. We role over again and I see that those tears have spilled over her cheeks. She's so beautiful like this. Her dark curls still a little damp from the snow, her tan skin glowing from the firelight and the tears. Beautiful.

I kiss Jill's tear stained cheeks over and over, whispering crazy things I have no business saying like, how into her I am and how I always had a thing for her. I might even have been fool enough to say something about love. Like I could really love somebody. What a joke!

My mouth captures hers and I try to be gentle. I try. But like most things I try at, I fail. I move roughly against those crimson lips, and make them mine. Just like the rest of our body, they move in time with each other. She is mine...for tonight. Can't say I'd want her any longer than that. I might though.

She grasps onto my shoulders and sinks her nails in. She isn't just breathing harshly anymore. Like me, Jill's struggling to hold on while creating the most guttural sounds. We can only hold on for so long. Sharp gasps escape those perfect lips and all I can do is fall over the edge with her. We fall together, her and her regrets, me and my- I don't know what- selfish desire?

After its all said and done, all that's left is the howling blizzard outside, the crackling flames and the dying embers of the monster we created: the guilt that's been gnawing at her since the moment I pulled her too me, kissed her, and she let me.

Jill's turned her back to me. A wall of creamy tan skin that's just to touchable to resist. sure, I know she moved that way to create some distance between us while she cried out her regret into that bear skin rug beneath us, but I can't help it. Christ, I can't help but trace the soft plains of her back with the tips of my fingers, followed by my lips.

Her shuddering under my touch makes me want her all the more and it proves me right about what I thought about her too. Jill with her youth and vitality, her over the top emotions, selfishness, and lies... She's not good enough for my father, even if she does mean well, sometimes. He's a good man. He deserves better than a woman who kisses me back and lets me ease her down onto the floor and then takes the time to regret it.

She's not good enough for him, but she's just right for me.