pair of booty shorts, is gorgeous. “Yeah,” she calls behind her. “And I’ll beat you if you make me eat this breakfast cold.”
“Hey, Mal,” I call out, shortening her name in such an easy and casual way. “Has anyone ever told you you’re trouble?”
She stands, unzipping a lightweight jacket, her tits about to spill out from a tank top that doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
“All the fucking time. Now get showered so we can eat.”
It’s steel, fucking hard as a rock, when I turn on the shower to start my day, the water beating on my head, and my hard as fuck cock does nothing for the release I need.
I wrap my hand around it, and in my mind, I think of those short shorts of Malia’s or how her tan legs disappear at the apex of her pussy. My idea as I begin to stroke my cock is burying my face in that apex I can’t stop thinking about. I tip my head against the glass of the shower stall, watching me stroke it. My mind’s on Malia and Malia alone, along with all her body parts I want to get lost in.
“Ah,” I let out as I take my other hand and cup my balls. Her tits…are the nipples large and pink? Yes, my dick likes this idea. Her moans...are they loud, or are they intermittent? Would she wrap her legs around me when I pick her up and toss her on my bed to sample that area between her legs?
My cock thinks that I’m balls deep in Malia, and I can’t convince it otherwise. I continue to stroke and stroke. With a couple more up and down movements, I explode all over the side of the shower, but it’s not the same. Not like being lost in Malia, which apparently excites my cock more, and just the thought makes it come back to attention.
“Sorry, buddy, that’s a no-go zone for us.” And with that, whatever Malia is cooking beckons me to hurry and dress to find out what she’s concocting for us.
I push my plate back, moaning at the decadence I just ate. “What the hell is this again?”
She has a pleased smile on her face. “It’s bananas foster stuffed French toast.” My mind runs through everything this dish is, and I know very little except you need rum for bananas foster. “Wait, you can’t buy rum.”
“Nope, I can’t, but when it’s in your cabinet, and I’m cooking you breakfast, I sure as hell can use it.” She stands, pulling at my empty plate. “Do you want some more?” she asks, and I can’t help but watch her as she sashays away from me.
“No, and I better get to work unless I want my boss to go apeshit crazy on me.” She begins to scrape the scraps into the trash can. “So, when do you start school?” I make a beeline to the coffee pot, grabbing a to-go cup.
“There’s almost two weeks before classes start.” This surprises me with such an early check-in, but she begins before I can ask. “Greenlyn is a part of the cheerleading squad, and everyone in sports activities moves in early. My aunt’s farm sold, and I didn’t have anywhere to go. I could have stayed with Georgia, which, if I did, I was afraid I wouldn’t want to leave. With my tuition being paid by the state of Oregon, after many waivers to attend an out-of-state school, I requested early move in.”
“Ah, that makes sense.” It pains me to think of Malia having nowhere to go. “You know, you have a support system now with the Montgomerys and..” I stop to think if I should give her more—and in this false hope, but I don’t stop. “You have me, too, Malia.”
She stops at the sink but doesn’t look at me. I know what she wants. It’s what I want, too, but I can’t go there. Thirteen years is too far of a gap—too forbidden.
“Hey.” She spins around with a huge smile on her face. “Do you mind if I stay and clean up? I’m avoiding the dorms, all the jocks and cheerleaders are driving me crazy. Except Greenlyn, she’s pretty cool.”
“Yeah,” I begin, “why don’t you hang out for the day, watch some television, and when I get home, I’ll repay your breakfast with dinner?”
“You’re going to cook?” she asks.
I give out a large snicker. “Oh, you don’t want to eat what I make,” I explain. “I’m taking you to