Forbidden Glances in the Mirror

Aisha stood before the wide vanity mirror in the upstairs bathroom, the steam from her morning shower still curling around her bare shoulders like a lover’s breath. At forty-two she carried her confidence the way other women carried perfume—unapologetic, settled deep in the curve of her hips and the full weight of her breasts. The new wedding band on her finger caught the light as she smoothed rich lotion down one arm, then the other. Hassan had left for Singapore two nights ago, a ten-day stretch of meetings that left the big house quiet except for the soft pad of Camila’s bare feet somewhere down the hall.

She had married Hassan knowing full well he came with a grown daughter. What she hadn’t expected was Camila herself: twenty-three, openly bisexual, freckled across the bridge of her nose, and built like temptation given a body. Free-spirited didn’t begin to cover it. The girl wandered the house in tiny tank tops and sleep shorts that rode high on her thighs, hair always a little wild, lips always a little parted as if she were tasting the air.

Aisha heard the soft knock a second before the door eased open.

“Mind if I—” Camila’s voice was sleep-rough, warm. She stepped in without waiting for the answer, already peeling her oversized T-shirt over her head. Underneath she wore nothing but a scrap of pale pink cotton that clung to the soft mound between her legs. Her breasts were high, small, nipples the color of dark berries already tight from the cooler air outside the steamy bathroom.