When I reach in the doorway, I pause. She is standing in front of the stove in one of my t-shirts that fit her like a dress. The material hangs like a shapeless sack over her body, but her bare legs stick out the bottom, and as she reaches to flip something on the back burners, the hem lifts high enough that I can see the curve of her butt and a pair of lacy red panties. The sun is barely up, and I’m hard as a rock.
No woman has ever made me breakfast. Not the morning after we’ve f****d. I’ve never even brought a woman to the mansion before. I go back to their house, get what I want, and then leave. So, this is new, and I’m surprised to find I don’t hate it. Seeing Eve move around my kitchen in my clothes might be the second sexist thing I’ve ever seen. The first being her laid out on the
