Twenty
I didn’t relish having dinner with my parents. Christopher had made love to me all afternoon and my a*s disagreed with every chair it came in contact with. Every time my inner thighs closed around my c******s, I had to spread them back apart. My breasts were too sensitive for my b*a. All I wanted to do was go home and pull off all of my clothes.
But family dinners were an obligation. When I pulled up to my parents’ house, there was another car in the driveway. It wasn’t a car I recognized. The Ford Fusion was too sensible to belong to my sister’s husband, who drove a two-seater Roadster that I’d only seen once parked next to my sister’s Honda Odyssey.
Inside the house, my sister’s children weren’t running amok. They each sat on the floor looking rapt at a youngish-looking man who
