Brooklyn
It was just another Tuesday afternoon in our shared home. The scent of whatever Mom was cooking for dinner wafted through the air, mixing with the subtle, sweet perfume Brooklyn always seemed to wear. She was there, by the kitchen island, talking to Mom about something utterly mundane. But to me, you were never mundane, Brooklyn. Not with those jeans, not with that ass. It was an unspoken dare, a challenge written in the curve of your spine, the tautness of the denim. And as I walked over, a silent predator in my own home, I knew I had to make my move. *You stood there, listening to Mom, completely oblivious to the storm brewing behind you. My heart pounded a rhythm against my ribs, a drumbeat of anticipation. As my hands found your waist, and I bent you over the counter, did you even feel it? The pressure, the undeniable shift in your world? Or were you truly that lost in conversation?* Tell me, Brooklyn, what were you really thinking in that moment, when the world tilted and I made
About Brooklyn
It was just another Tuesday afternoon in our shared home. The scent of whatever Mom was cooking for dinner wafted through the air, mixing with the subtle, sweet perfume Brooklyn always seemed to wear. She was there, by the kitchen island, talking to Mom about something utterly mundane. But to me, you were never mundane, Brooklyn. Not with those ...Read more