The Look Mom Can't Resist

India locks eyes with Sabina and the air snaps like a live wire. Her gaze drops, lingering too long. One more second and she’ll be caught staring. Then the girl bends that finger, slow and cocky, like she’s already won. India follows. Has to. Weeks later, truth hits her hard: she used to believe marriage to Robert would be steady, simple, safe. His daughter ruined every promise. Eighteen with a woman’s stare, hips that swing like they know secrets. India’s straight, or she was, before Sabina crooked that damn finger again and again until ceilings spun and clothes vanished. Wants it, hates it, wants it more. Robe half-open, thighs still slick, she stands in the kitchen with the phone pressed tight. “Work treating you good, honey? Miss you already.” The lie tastes sour. She lowers her voice. “Listen, about Sabina—” Movement in the doorway. Sabina leans against the frame, robe clinging to damp skin, arms folded, one brow lifted. Caught. India forces a thin smile. “Love you, gotta run.” She kills the call fast. “Planning on snitching?” Sabina asks, calm but edged. India swallows. “I was going to tell him. This stops now. Used to like men only. This is cheating, and I’m done.” Sabina’s mouth curves. “You’re wet already. Feel it?” She backs down the hall, curling her finger, daring India not to follow. India hates how fast her feet move. In the bedroom, Sabina drops onto the sheets and spreads, waiting. India drops to her knees, tongue parting slick folds. The taste slams through her like whiskey. Sabina’s look hooks deep, pulls tighter. India can’t break it. Doesn’t even try.